The Second Son (28 page)

“Doesn’t count,” he shot back, “you’re still only thirteen.”

“Stop that bickering,” my mother scolded, then suggested a compromise. “I guess it wouldn’t do you any harm to attend a party, Mike. Although I’m sure a white shirt and tie, with your good grey slacks will do quite well. The girls may be all dressed up but I don’t think all the boys will be wearing suits, not by any means.”

“A suit costs money,” my father added, “for something you’ll only wear once. You’ll probably outgrow it before you ever need it again.”

I don’t know why I was so stubborn about that suit business. Somehow I had decided I needed one and was determined to have it. I was still staring down at my plate when I said, “I’ll pay you back. I’ll get a job this summer. I’ll cut lawns.”

My mother studied me for a moment before she finally answered, “Well, Andrew has that navy blazer we got him for Christmas the year before last. Maybe it will still fit you. I could let the sleeves out a bit and — ”

“I don’t want Andrew’s damn old hand-me-downs. I want a suit of my own.”

“Don’t you swear at your mother,” my father barked. They were all staring at me, mystified at my sudden preoccupation with something so square as a suit.

I was getting desperate. “I’m taking Gail MacDonald to the party and I need a suit.”

“Wha-aat?” Andrew wailed. “You are not. You’re a liar.” Now he was the desperate one. He turned to my mother. “Mom, he can’t do that.”

“Michel, what’s this about?” she asked me. “You’re not playing some mean joke on your brother, are you?”

“It’s nothing to do with him. Gail asked me. That’s all.”

“Mom,” Andrew was fit to be tied, “he can’t do — ”

“Now dear,” she leaned over and touched his arm. “I’m sure it’s nothing very formal. I’m sure she just asked him if he was going, that’s all. Isn’t that right, Mike?”

“No.” I could feel the anger building but I was determined not to lose this argument. I tried to keep my voice flat and calm. “I’m her date. She asked me. Only I don’t have to buy her a corsage. Her father is. I just need to learn to dance. There’s going to be dancing.” Just like Joe Friday on Dragnet, I was thinking, the facts and nothing but the facts, Ma’am.

My mother looked back and forth between me and my father, looking for some kind of support, I suppose. He was silent, probably thinking about the episode with the rifle by then. “Well,” she finally said, “this is certainly a surprise. I hope that girl isn’t up to some sort of mischief. I’m not sure either one of you is being very considerate of your brother’s feelings.”

I will admit I hadn’t thought much about what this would mean to Andrew. I tried not to enjoy the pain I saw in his eyes as he glared at me across the table. I didn’t succeed, giving him kind of a halfgrin.

He blurted out, “She’s just doing this to get at us.”

“Waddaya mean,
us
?” I yelled back. I knew exactly what he meant. In my mind’s eye I was back on that life raft.

And Andrew answered me from up on that ship, “To get at me, I mean. She’s just trying to get at me.”

“How?” I was afraid I knew the answer to that, too.

“To make me jealous, of course.”

“Now, Andrew,” my mother interjected, “I don’t think you can know that for sure.” Then she eyed my father. “Anyway, maybe your dad has some news for you that will take your mind off that girl. Something better than a date. Don’t you think, dear?”

“What?” My father looked at her over his teacup, apparently trying to figure out what she was talking about.

“You know, dear,” she nodded at him, “your idea. About the car thing.”

“Oh . . . yeah,” my father finally remembered and put his cup down. “I was telling your mother, son, we should make you a birthday present of your driver’s licence.”

“But I’m only turning fifteen,” he protested at the same time as his whole face began to light up like a Christmas tree.

“Well,” my father gave him a sly smile, “we’ll go down to Cornwall and get it. I’ll tell them you’re sixteen. You wouldn’t squeal on me, would you?”

“Uh, no . . .”

I felt the ground shifting under my chair. “How can you do that?” I protested, looking back and forth between my mother and father. Now they had big smiles on their faces, too.

“It’s no big deal,” my father answered. “Hell, farmers’ sons get their licence at fifteen. And Andrew was driving the tractor for your Uncle Roddy last summer, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah, but . . .” I can’t describe exactly how I felt at that moment because I couldn’t figure it out myself. I settled for an accusation. “I know what you’re doing, you know.”

“Michel Landry,” my mother scolded, “I don’t understand you. It’s just a birthday surprise for your brother. Why can’t you celebrate the good news with him?”

“But it’s not his birthday yet.”

“Well,” she managed to look mystified, “it’s the kind of present you have to plan for.”

I tried my best to evil-eye the three of them, wondering why it was so hard for them to see what they were doing. Why couldn’t they ever see, I asked myself. If only I could have screamed at them, “You people are all on this big ship and I’m stuck on a goddamn raft and instead of throwing me a rope you keep pushing me away. What the hell is the matter with you people?”

None of that came out, of course. All I could manage was one more feeble call for help. “Okay then, am I gonna get my licence when I turn fifteen?” Before the words were out of my mouth I knew the answer that was coming and I cursed myself for being stupid enough to ask.

“We’ll see, son,” my mother said, “if you’ve matured enough by that time. It will be up to you, of course.” Big news.

My father said more of the same, “Andrew is pretty mature for his age, you know. I mean, you’ve never shown any interest in driving the car, have you?”

They had this real serious look on their faces, as though they were willing me to suddenly mature, to seize on this opportunity to show I could be more like Andrew. I knew I was beat. “I don’t care. I’m taking Gail MacDonald to the dance and I need a suit.”

That was it, my declaration of rights. By now I had the nerve to keep staring them both in the eye, my mother and father, daring them not to acknowledge my existence. Because that’s what I was equating it with, the right to be the big shot for once. Let Andrew be the big shot next week when he turned fifteen and got his goddamn licence. Me, I was going to be the big shot in the new suit taking the beautiful girl from across the street to that goddamn dance in that goddamn church hall.

MY MOTHER NEVER DID TEACH
me to dance. She did take me down to Mr. Feinberg’s clothing store and buy me a suit, a dark blue suit with light blue lining and two inside pockets on the jacket, one for my wallet and one for my comb. She wanted me to get a sports jacket and a pair of grey pants but I held out for a suit. Mr. Feinberg helped by telling her it was a much better buy, especially if he fit me with one I could grow into. He even threw in a new shirt and tie, for free. A graduation present, he said, for Ed Landry’s boy. I remember that part because it made me feel guilty about the things I’d heard my father say about the Jews. But I put it out of my mind before it spoiled the thrill of getting my first new suit. As we walked down Main Street with our purchases I felt like I was Andrew for the afternoon. Or at least I felt like I always thought Andrew must feel, being the important one in the family.

As for the dancing, I asked her once and she put me off. I didn’t ask her again. I went over and asked Gail, telling myself it would be a good test of her intentions. I also let her know we had spent twenty-seven dollars on a suit, in case she had any crazy notions about changing her mind. She laughed and said she wanted all along to bring up the dancing thing but was afraid to scare me off. I guess that suit business cut both ways.

I was over there every night for a week, learning to waltz, and jive, and some other jiggly stuff Gail said people were doing. I thought it was pretty dumb, except for that slow waltz, where I got to hold her close. I never said anything, though. Who complains when they wake up one day and find themselves in heaven. I didn’t try to kiss her, or anything. I wasn’t sure I even knew how. She did ask me about Andrew a couple of times, which made me a little suspicious. I was having too much fun, though, to let jealousy come creeping back in.

The party turned out all right, too. Gail’s father drove us in his new Buick. The back seat was like a living room couch. After the dance he picked us up and drove us to the Hub for a late supper with some of the kids. It sounds kind of lame now, but it was a big deal for us kids. Mr. MacDonald said we could have anything on the menu. Gail laughed when I ordered a club sandwich. I didn’t care. I wasn’t about to take a chance on knowing which fork or spoon to use. I didn’t make a fool of myself dancing, either, mainly because most of the guys were pretty hopeless at it, the ones that even danced. Sister Anthony put her foot down and tossed out a couple of older guys from high school who tried to crash the party, so there was no one to show us up. It’s funny, the things I ended up being grateful to that woman for. She even passed me out of Grade 8. I’ve often wondered if she only did it after she found out about my big date with Gail.

The more things seemed to go my way, the more despondent Andrew seemed to get. It was obvious he had put all his hopes on Gail. And now she had doubled his pain by choosing me. Not that I was feeling sorry for him. He’d had everything his way for years. Now it was my turn. Besides, he still had my parents in his corner, the way I saw it. A week before the graduation party, my father took him down to Cornwall and got him his driver’s licence. I knew damn well that come next year the old man wouldn’t be lying to anyone about
my
age. Just like I knew he’d never trust me to change the oil in the car, or any of those other things Andrew did to prove how mature he was. That’s why I had so little sympathy for Andrew Landry, especially after what Gail’s father did.

He came over to our place a couple of days after the party. When I saw him coming I gave him a big wave. I thought he wanted to talk to me. He had been pretty friendly when he was driving us around that night of the party. I was sure surprised when he asked if my dad was in.

“Uh, yeah. I guess so, Mr. MacDonald.” I must have sounded pretty stunned. The last time I knew of my dad talking to him was when he sold him the Model A, and I knew he was still pissed off about that. I went and called my dad. Andrew came out the front door with him.

“Yeah, Don,” my father said, kind of cool-like, his hand on Andrew’s shoulder, “you wanted to see me?”

“That’s right, Ed.” Mr. MacDonald had that big smile he always had, like the world was perfect and everybody had everything they wanted, just like he did. “I was wondering,” he said, “Gail tells us Andrew here has gotten his driver’s licence. I didn’t know he was that old.” He had a grin on his face, so I guess he knew the story. Ed Landry wasn’t the only man in Alexandria who thought there were lots of laws that were made to be broken.

My father relaxed a little. “Yeah, we’ve been feeding him raw oats. Speeded up his growth something fierce.”

“Well then,” Mr. MacDonald went on, “what do you think of letting him drive the Model A in the Dominion Day parade, next weekend?”

“Oh, wow!” Andrew reacted. “Can I, Dad?”

My father hesitated before finally answering, “I don’t want you getting your hopes up, son. I won’t be buying it back, not anytime soon.”

“I know, but it would still be great to drive it in the parade. You could get dressed up in your clown suit and ride in the back. You know, and throw candies to the kids.”

“Yeah, Ed. Why don’t you?” That was Mr. MacDonald. I think he had a blind spot about some things.

My old man took a deep breath before he answered, “I’m riding on the Kinsmen’s float. Wouldn’t be fair to back out now.” Then he must have noticed Andrew’s long face. “You can go ahead, if you want, son. Drive the truck, I mean. You got any ideas for a display, Don?” I knew darn well what my father was thinking. Just last year he’d decorated the truck up with signs about Landry’s Groceries. I was a little proud of him, the way he made himself smile at Mr. MacDonald.

Like I said, though, the man had a blind spot. He just smiled back and said, “Not yet. We’ll think of something.”

“Sure,” Dad made himself answer. I could tell from Andrew’s blank look that he wasn’t listening to them. His mind was leaping ahead already, to the parade and some other good stuff that might be happening to him.

Mr. MacDonald slapped him on the back and said, “So, we’re all set, then? You’ll come over and see me toward the end of the week to firm things up? Maybe you can help decorate the truck.”

“Yeah, sure, Mr. MacDonald.” Andrew only gave him a half-smile as he watched him turn and cross back to his house. I imagine he was thinking about Gail again. I don’t think my brother could ever accept the idea that half a loaf was better than none. I could see it in his face, the way he looked over at Gail’s house. He was still focused on what was missing, instead of enjoying what he had. I guess that’s why he started his big brain working overtime. I heard him talking to my mother about it, when he thought I wasn’t around.

“Mom,” he asked a few days before the parade, “do you think maybe it was Gail who asked her father to let me drive the Model A? It had to be her, don’t you think? Probably she wants to ride in the truck with me. You know, in the parade.”

“I don’t know, dear. It could be. Perhaps.”

“She still likes me. I can tell.”

“Don’t get your hopes up, dear. Girls can be very fickle at that age. I told you that before.”

“But now that I’ve got my driver’s licence, she’s bound to want to go out with me again.”

“Now don’t count on that. I’m not sure your father’s going to let you take girls in the car. You’re really only fifteen, you know. I’m beginning to wonder if he was right to lie about your age that way.”

“Aw, Mom, I’m mature for my age. You said.”

“Yes, I did. So let’s see some maturity over this Gail business. A man has to learn to take these things in stride, Andrew.”