Pretend You Love Me (34 page)

I raised my head a little. When did my brother grow a brain?

“Question three.”

“Look, just forget it.” I scrambled to my feet.

Darryl scrabbled up after me. “No reason,” he said at my back. “No fucking reason that I could ever come up with why he did
it.”

I hung over the railing, staring down into the nothingness. The dirt, weeds. I felt like hurling. Or hurtling.

“Did you hear me?”

“He didn’t fall, did he?” I heard myself say.

Darryl appeared at my side. “No. No, he offed himself.”

I knew it. I’d always known it. I’d even said it out loud, acknowledged the truth. Still, I didn’t want to believe. My dad
committed suicide. Why?

Darryl and I locked gazes for a brief instant and quickly averted our eyes.

“I don’t know what the hell was going on with him,” Darryl said. “He never talked about personal stuff. We don’t do that,
you know? Expose ourselves that way. We never have. For, like, a year afterwards, I went around and talked to everyone Dad
ever knew, everyone he spent time with, and I asked them why. Why’d he do it? Did he talk about problems he was having? At
work or at home? Maybe with this worthless-piece-of-shit-of-a-son who’d never amount to anything.”

I cut a glance at Darryl. It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t either of our faults.

“The only person who could tell me anything was Nel, and all she said was Dad would come into the tavern lots of nights and
go into the storeroom. He’d sit back there on the beer boxes and cry. Not even drink. Just cry.”

Dad? I’d never seen him cry. Not once in my whole entire life. “Don’t cry, baby,” he’d said to me. He was always laughing
and joking around. Not only with me. With everyone. He fooled us. He had us all fooled.

The silence grew. Darryl and me breathing together.

“It wasn’t you,” I told him. “If it was anyone’s fault, it was Ma’s.”

Darryl shook his head. “No.”

“Yes.”

“No!” he barked. “Okay, yeah, she was starting to go off the deep end even before it happened. When I was in high school—junior
high—she began to change. Decline, I guess you’d say. She’d tell me
at breakfast she was coming to watch my track meet and never show up. Or we’d be out shopping for groceries and she’d have
these panic attacks. I practically had to carry her home. She’d hide in her room and eat all day. Finally, she couldn’t leave
the house. She didn’t have the strength, or the will. Whatever it took. She didn’t make it to my graduation.”

Yeah, I’d lit into her about that too. How much strength did it require to get your fat ass out of bed and attend your only
son’s high school graduation?

No wonder she hated me. Feared me.

“She’s sick, Mike,” Darryl said. “Same way Dad was sick. Depressed or whatever. I don’t know. I’m no psychiatrist. All I know
is, she’s killing herself same as he did. Only slower, over time. There are lots of ways to die.”

That sounded familiar. Ma already seemed dead to me. Inside. “She accused me of stealing him from her,” I said.

“What?” Darryl frowned.

“Dad.” I turned to him. “She said I stole him from her.”

Darryl scratched his head. “Huh. I could say the same thing about you.”

“What?”

“He loved you most. You know that. He didn’t know I was alive.”

“That’s not true—”

“The two of you were inseparable,” Darryl said. “You were always his baby. His favorite. After you were born, he forgot all
about me. Me and Ma both.”

That’s a lie. “What about Camilia?”

“Who?”

“Our sister.”

Darryl looked vacant.

“Our sister, Camilia? The baby who died?”

“Oh. Her.”

“Yeah, her. What was that, immaculate conception?” Dad didn’t forget about Ma. I never stole him.

Darryl said, “I forgot about the baby.”

“You forgot a lot of things. Dad loved you. Just… in a different way. He went to your graduation, didn’t he?”

Darryl snorted. “I wish he hadn’t. He was drunk off his ass before he even got there. He embarrassed the hell out of me.”

He did? I didn’t remember that. Dad never seemed drunk to me. He put on a good act.

“Well, Ma loves you,” I told Darryl. “She hates me, but she loves you. She’s scared of me.”

Darryl met my eyes. “Who isn’t?” A grin creased his face. He sobered fast and added, “Ma doesn’t hate you. She hates herself.
It’s the Szabo family curse. We’re all born hating ourselves.”

I didn’t have a response for that. The way I was born… The way I am now…

“How’d Camilia die?” I asked.

Darryl blinked at me. “I don’t know. Why? You think Ma killed her?”

“No!” God.

“You blame her for everything else.”

“I do not. I blame you.”

We both cracked smiles. I looked away.

“So, how did she die?” I pressed. “Do you know?”

He shook his head. “A heart defect or something. Why are you dwelling on this?”

“I’m not. I just wondered, okay? You wanted me to share so I’m sharing.” A heart defect. Defective hearts. That’s the Szabo
family curse. “She should’ve gotten help,” I thought out loud. “Him too. They should’ve gone for professional help when they
needed it. Ma should still go.”

“You’re right,” Darryl said. “But I think you know as well as I do, we don’t ask for help. It’s not our way.”

Not our way. Our way was killing us. We were slowly dying. Of loneliness, isolation, withdrawal.

A redtail hawk swooped off the top of the water tower and dive-bombed the ground. It scooped up a bull snake and flew off.

“Score,” Darryl said. He took the last drag of his cigarette and flicked his butt over the side of the tower. We watched it
flutter to the ground and disappear in the long prairie grass. Resting his elbows on the railing, Darryl gazed off into the
distance, beyond the town, the wheat fields. “Know what he said to me that morning? The day he did it?” Darryl didn’t wait
for me to answer. “He said, ‘Take care of Mike and your mom. I’m counting on you.’”

I fixed on Darryl. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted to the sky, “How’m I doin’, Pops? I bet you’re happy you
left me in charge.”

Darryl’s head lolled back and a strangled laugh issued from his throat.

The eerie sound sent chills up my spine. “Hey, you’re doing okay,” I told him. “You’re doing good. The bills are paid at home.
There’s food on the table, a roof over our heads. Sort of a roof.”

“I’m a fuck-up, Mike.” He wheeled on me. “I always have been. I always will be. Dad knew that. He
knew
it.” Darryl’s Adam’s apple bobbed.

He made me so mad. He
was
a fuck-up. A self-made loser. His whole life was one self-fulfilled prophecy. “If Dad knew, how come he left the business
to
you
?” I said. “Why didn’t he give it to
me
?” My voice broke. “I loved that business. I would’ve carried it on. Dad knew that. He
knew
it.” I swiped an arm across my nose.

“You were fourteen, Mike.”

“So!” I practically screamed at my brother. “I could’ve handled it. I would’ve quit school to run that business.”

Darryl said, “Yeah. I’m sure that’s what he was afraid of.” He peered deep into my eyes. My burning eyes. Stupid tears. Darryl
reached over to touch me, but I lurched away. He said, “The business is yours, Mike. It’s not going anywhere.”

“It’s
not
mine. He left it to
you
in the will.”

Darryl’s jaw clenched. “I’ll give you the fucking business. Here.” He made a grand gesture of handing it off to me; brushing
his hands of it. “Everybody knows you’re Szabo Plumbing and Heating. You always have been. You always will be. It’s just…”
He trailed off.

What? Darryl wanted his cut? Fine, whatever.

“I thought you’d want to do more with your life is all,” he said. “Get out of this town, make a name for yourself. Go to that
camp and get recruited. Earn a softball scholarship for college. Have a future. Be somebody.”

I am somebody. I was. Mike Szabo. Szabo Plumbing and Heating.

“Do you know you have nearly a thousand dollars in your account already? I deposited three hundred more at the bank this morning.”

“What?” I sniped at him.

“The town council agreed to match whatever money I collected dollar for dollar. If that isn’t proof people around here love
you, I don’t know what is.”

I reeled back a step. “Wait a minute. You started the Can-paign? Catch-Her-Star? That was you?”

Darryl held up his hands. “Hold your applause. It was the least I could do. You don’t listen to me about anything else.” He
grilled a stiff finger into my arm. “Like boozing your life away.”

I slapped him off. “I hate you. How’d you even know about the camp?”

“That folder you left in my auto zines. I called over to Dr. Kinneson and she filled me in.”

Darryl? This was his doing? “You decorated all those cans?”

“Well,” he said. “I had help with that.”

Jamie. I’d kill him. I’d kill him and Darryl both.

Darryl said, “It’s kind of weird, but I felt like finding that folder was
a sign. Sort of a kick in the pants from Pop, like this was the way I was supposed to take care of you. Since you never take
stock of my sage advice.”

“Shut up.” I stared at him, my brother. The old Darryl was back. The one with substance, heart.

“What if I don’t want to go?” I said. “What if I don’t want people’s charity? Did you ever think of that?”

Darryl didn’t answer right away. Finally, he drew out a long, “Yeeeah. And I thought about how Pastor Glenn’s always preaching
the joy of giving. How everyone would love to feel the joy of giving toward you. How sometimes we need to ask for help, and
even accept it when it’s offered.”

“Did you ever think how I might let them down? How I might not be good enough? How I might disappoint them?” There, it was
out. The tears welled again. I knew what it was to be let down by someone you admired, someone you loved. Your hero. MVP.
Most Valuable Person in your life.

Darryl was gaping at me, slack-jawed.

“What?” I rubbed my eyes.

“I can’t believe it. The great Mike Szabo? Not being good enough? Sorry, I don’t buy it. I don’t even think you believe that.”

“Shut up.” What did he know? He didn’t know anything.

Maybe a couple of things. He didn’t know me.

The wind kicked up and prickled my arms with goose bumps. Darryl shivered. We stood together, quiet, the wind whistling through
the metal slats of the tower. Finally, I said what I was thinking: “That article for the
Gazette
. You write that?”

He shrugged. “Guilty. So crucify me.”

“I could never lift you to the cross, not with that gut. I’m trying to tell you it was good. You did a good job on the Can-paign,
okay?”

Darryl looked shocked.

“Have you been keeping my stats?”

“No,” he admitted. “Well, not all of them. Manny helped. And Dr. Kinneson.”

I’d kill them too. So much help. “Did you ever think about being a writer?” I said. “Seeing as how you’ve got all these keen
insights into life.”

Darryl smiled. “Maybe I’ll apply for a job at the
Gazette
.” He had a nice smile, my brother. I saw it for the first time in a long time. Saw him. He wasn’t a total loser. He had potential.
He should use it.

Something else I noticed. “Where’d you get that shirt?” Dad’s blue work shirt. “I’ve been searching for those.”

Darryl winced. “I took them. Don’t tell Ma. I don’t know. I wanted something of his. Something personal”

I closed my eyes. Yeah.

The two streetlamps along Main came on as dusk settled over the town. “So,” Darryl heaved a long breath and turned to me,
“Any more questions?”

I shook my head. I didn’t think I could take much more truth today.

Darryl exaggerated a shiver and said, “This place gives me the willies. Why do you come up here?”

“To get closer to…” Sky. Dad.

Darryl nodded, like he got it. “I’m going home.” He took a step back. “You coming?”

“Not yet.” I had some crying left to do. Crying I’d never done for Dad. Two years. It needed to get out.

Darryl clomped across the walkaround and paused at the gate. “You’re not going to jump, are you? I can’t afford another fucking
ER bill.”

I sneered at him. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sticking around. If only to make your life a living hell.”

He laughed. “You’re doing a good job at that.” The gate screeked and he disappeared.

The sky was turning pink. Pink and pewter and gold and dragon-
fire red. Colors blazed the sky, swirling and spiraling over my head. Suddenly I was moving, walking, circling the tank to
the west side.

Here was a whole different world. Miles and miles of fields—brown now, but late in summer they’d be filled with sunflowers.
I’d forgotten about the sunflowers. Their beauty, their expanse. To the south, River View. Was that the last thing he saw,
his final resting place?

Oh Dad.

I lowered myself to the walkaround, dangling my legs off the edge. Now, when I wanted to, I couldn’t cry. Guess I was all
cried out. It’d hit me later, I knew. I wouldn’t fight it anymore. I needed to get beyond it.

The sun began a slow descent, infusing the sky with dazzling hues of brilliant color. A spectacular show. They probably didn’t
have sunsets like this in Michigan.

Michigan. It seemed so far away. I was going to Michigan. I had to go. Not to make a name for myself, like Darryl said. I
had a name. Mike Szabo. Mighty Mike Sza-bo. Darryl was wrong about Szabos hating ourselves. I didn’t hate myself. Not for
being born. Not for the person I was. I was a good person. I tried to be, anyway, kind and generous. Giving. I could be more
forgiving, maybe, toward Darryl. Toward Ma. I’d try.

I didn’t even hate myself for being gay. I just wanted to get to the place where Jamie was. Stage three. Past wishing I’d
been born different, to accepting that I was. Finding the joy in that. It didn’t seem so far to go.

It was away from Coalton though. To a bigger place, more populated, where I’d find her, the girl of my dreams. The one who
wouldn’t think it didn’t mean anything, okay? The one who’d realize that being loved meant everything. It meant everything
to me.