One More Step (6 page)

I pulled on a shirt, hauled on my sweats and stuffed my bare feet into my sneakers. I stood up. That's when it felt like someone hit me with a two-by-four. And my stomach. It started to churn as if someone was in there trying to make butter.

That tub was a heavy monster. “Lift on three,” he ordered. “
Un, deux, trois
.”

I grunted and groaned and pulled. I couldn't budge my end. Then, I lost it. I don't mean my temper. I mean the contents of my stomach. I threw up in the driveway.

Jean-Paul just stood there with his arms folded. His grin was dorkier than ever. No patting me on the back this time.

“Your mother was worried sick last night,” he began. “So was I. Why did you drink until you got drunk?”

“It was a p-p-party.” I was still retching.

“Pretty stupid thing to do.”

“Who are you calling stupid?”

“No one. I said it was a stupid thing to do. You could poison yourself and die that way.”

“Why would you care?”

“Anyway, you're grounded. Not because you got pissed. You'll pay today for that. You'll suffer. Believe me. We ground you, your mother and I, for breaking curfew and not calling, for not thinking about the results.”

“Who are you to tell me—you're not —”

“Your father? I know this. I never will be. But, I am going to be here, Julian. For your mother. And for you, if you need me. Always.
Toujours
.”

“Always?” I was wiping the dribble from my mouth. My throat was burning, filled with bile. “I don't believe in
toujours
, okay? That's for idiots like you.”

I expected anger, hollering. He started to laugh.

“Who looks like the idiot at this moment?” I looked down at myself. Gross. “Go back to bed and sleep it off. I'll get a neighbor
to help me with this… monster tub. And… don't go near your mother yet. She's ready to…” He drew his finger across his throat, “you know, make you suffer more.”

I was sick all day. He brought me in toast and tea after supper. “Eat slowly,” he said. “When you're ready, go tell your mother you are sorry.” Oh, was I sorry.

The wedding reception was a huge party and dance. All J.P's family was there (yeah he's J.P. to me now)—including Bernadette. Sweet Bernadette. I boogied the night away with sweet Bernadette. I even got a real French kiss before the night was through. Maybe two. Maybe three.

Don't go there.

Tomorrow, Chris has to leave for his summer job out west. He was away at school all this last year and I hate to admit it, but I missed him loads. Even the look.

I'm glad for him though.

“I spent the year being bad,” he keeps
telling me. He won't give details. Probably finally kissed Becca or used a condom.

So, I'm off to spend a week with Dad and Erika and the Munsters. We're camping in the valley. Should be cool. Since J.P.'s been around, it seems Dad has made more time for me. Or maybe, I've made more time for him.

Until the lovebirds come home from their honeymoon, I'll be here with Nana. She's so lonesome without Poppie, it breaks my heart.

“Julian, you're so like him,” she keeps telling me. “Stubborn and bow-legged and immature for your age.” Now, that, I take as a compliment. When I am at their place, I think Poppie's still around. I half expect him to come up behind me and put me in a headlock and shout, “Say Uncle!” I go to the basement and fool around with his electric train set. He left it to me. It came with a note. Nana says he wrote the note years ago when he thought he had cancer. “To Julian. Remember, Poppie loves ya. And son, all us men realize sooner or later, we must learn to
be fathers to ourselves.” I think a lot on that. I've had a lot of role models to pick from.

I don't know what's ahead for us as a family, really. I showed them edited videotape of our trip to Quebec last night. With music and everything. They loved it. Especially what I called “The Lovebirds in Moonlight or Caught Ya!” Even got a high-speed shot traveling down that toboggan hill. Seems like a long time ago now.

“In good times and hard times,” they said in their vows to each other. Instead of “for better or worse.” I guess they know, at their age, there's no real happy ever after. There's just… after. But that's something. It's really something. Maybe it's everything.