The Things a Brother Knows (19 page)

“It’s Levi. Tell her it’s important.”

The sounds of rustling sheets and whispers follow. Then the sound of feet on the floor and a door closing.

“Oh God, Levi. What happened?” She’s breathing heavy into the phone.

“Nothing. Sorry. I mean, I’m not sorry that nothing happened, I’m sorry to call you so early, but the thing is it’s hard to find a time when he’s not around, and he’s still sleeping, we had sort of a rough night, and I wanted to talk to you, because he’s not hiking the Appalachian Trail, he’s somewhere in New Jersey, Riverside to be precise, and I’m with him, and
we’re heading toward Washington, and I don’t know why, but I’m wondering if it’s really you we’re heading toward.”

“Slow down, will you? I’m still half asleep.”

I breathe in the scent of wet grass.

“Did you break up with him?”

“What?”

“Did you dump him once he got over there?”

“It’s more complicated than you’re making it sound.”

“Was it complicated? Really? Or did you just meet someone else?”

“Levi, what is this about?”

I sit down. I don’t care if my clothes get wet. I don’t care if the grass makes my skin itch. I see someone go running by, somebody about my age, enjoying a morning run.

“I guess I’m calling to ask if you think there’s a chance he isn’t over you. That he’s trying to prove something to you with all this walking. Maybe he wants to win you back. Maybe he has something to give to you.”

“Oh, Levi. I don’t think so. I don’t think you understand.”

“I know I don’t understand. I don’t understand anything, and I certainly don’t understand him. I don’t know who he is anymore. Or maybe I never did. But I certainly don’t understand who he is now.”

A long silence follows.

“Listen, Levi. I want to choose my words carefully here, because I don’t want you to think I don’t care about Boaz, because I do, but he was my high school boyfriend. I’m not in high school anymore and neither is he. I know it seemed to you like nothing else mattered to us but each other. That’s
the myth of young love, isn’t it? Or maybe it’s not a myth, maybe it’s true for a time. And you were just a kid back then, so I know that’s how you saw us. As two people who loved each other until nothing else mattered. But other things mattered. Obviously, other things mattered more. He went his way and I went mine. And I still care about him, I do. I’ll always care about him. But this isn’t about me. I can promise you that. And whatever you may think, I don’t know him the way you do. You know him,” she says. “You know him better than I do, because I
was
his girlfriend, Levi. And you. You
are
his brother.”

I close my eyes and see her butterfly tattoo. The royal-blue wings with purple swirls. Those wings begin to flutter slowly and I watch as that butterfly takes flight from her smooth, bare shoulder.

“I have to go,” I say, and I snap my phone closed.

I find Paul and Bo in the kitchen, sitting at the table with coffee, a pile of toast and the local paper. I want to know where Celine is but I can’t very well ask. It would come out sounding wrong. Or I guess it would come out sounding right—like just what it is. Like the way Zim sounds when he talks about Sophie Olsen. It would come out sounding like I’m hot for Celine.

I sit down and pour myself some coffee.

I think I hear footsteps upstairs. Is she awake? Will she come down and join us for breakfast? I could eat slowly, complain of a headache, find a way to drag out the morning so I can spend more time with her.

Or maybe she’s not even here. Maybe she’s gone by now. After all, she could have a job. Or a boyfriend.

“I might be able to think of some other folks who’d put you up. My sister lives south of here a stretch. Not too far out of your way. She makes a roast chicken that makes grown men weep,” Paul says. “In fact, you should give me a copy of your route. I’ll see what I can come up with.”

Yeah, good luck, Paul. I’d like a copy of his route too
.

“Sure,” Bo says. “Thanks.”

I stare at him with a mouth full of toast, but just then Celine arrives in the kitchen. I couldn’t say if I smell her or see her first. Either way it’s aces.

She’s just out of the shower. Her hair is spiky and wet.

“Morning, honey.”

“Morning, Pops.”

She goes right for the refrigerator. Doesn’t even look my way.

“You’re up early. Going somewhere?” Paul asks.

“Yeah, it’s my day at Mom’s. So I thought maybe I’d do something kinda crazy and walk there.” She takes a swig of juice right out of the carton. “With these guys.”

Excitement whips its way through me like I’ve just hit blackjack.

“Honey, your mother’s house is ten miles from here.”

“Duh.”

Paul is the kind of dad who thinks before he says no. I’ve seen the type. The opposite of Abba. Paul’s the
I’m your friend
kind of dad. The
I dress younger than I am so I’m cooler than your dad
kind.

I can see him thinking it over. He’s probably thinking that it’s all fine and good to throw a barbecue for a marine he doesn’t know, but letting his daughter wander off with one and his long-haired little brother is another story entirely.

“Dad. Mom’s isn’t out of their way. And anyway, I could use the exercise. I’m getting flabby.”

So totally not true.

“Is your mother okay with this?”

“Are you kidding? Walking instead of filling the air with pollutants from my gas-guzzler? She’ll probably want to buy me a pony.”

Paul pulls his hands through his white hair.

“How about you guys? Okay if my daughter tags along for the day?”

“Yes,” I say way too quickly. Crumbs fly out of my mouth. “I mean, sure. That’d be cool. Right, Bo?”

“Of course.”

After we finish up breakfast Paul and Bo disappear to a room with a computer to go over our route.

“And a lovely morning to you.” Celine is hiding behind the front section of the paper. She shakes the page as she turns it. “I trust you slept well.”

If only she knew.

“I slept okay, I guess.”

“You should thank me. I could have left you passed out on the lawn, but the sprinklers kick in at five-thirty. I took pity on you.” She puts the paper down. Cocks her head to the side.

“You’re funny,” she says.

“I am?”

“Yeah. I would have sworn that you were going to kiss me last night. And then: Nada. Zip. Zero.”

“I … I … I …”

I … need to do a lot better than this.

“It’s all right, Levi. I’ve been wrong before. This wasn’t the first time.” She pats my hand. A friendly pat. With the flavor of condescension.

“So tell me. What does a girl need to do to properly prepare herself for a day’s walk with you?”

“Well, you could start with some shoes. I noticed you favor bare feet.”

“So you noticed something about me.”

“Oh, I noticed.”

She holds one leg out. Twists her foot this way and that. “I do have very attractive feet.”

“They’re not half bad.”

“Shoes it is, then.” She gets up from the table and I watch her walk out of the room.

I never figured leaving could be such a beautiful sight.

“So this is what it’s like,” she says.

“Whaddya mean?” Bo’s up ahead a ways. Keeping his distance. I’m not sure if he’s leaving me alone with Celine or just leaving me alone.

“I’ve never been on any sort of a political march before. I guess I thought it’d be a tad more exciting.”

She has absolutely no idea how much more exciting this day is for me than any of the days before it.

“I’m not so sure this is any kind of a march.”

“What is it, then?”

The question of the day
.

“I’m … just keeping an eye on my brother.”

I could tell her about the box. I could lean in close and let her in on a secret. We could hang back and whisper about Bo and wonder what he’s up to, but I’m not going to do that, no matter how nice it’d feel to lean in close.

“Aren’t you headed to DC?”

“Yeah.”

“Why else do people walk to DC except as part of some political statement?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never been.”

This doesn’t answer her question, but it does happen to be the truth. I spent the sixth-grade class trip to Washington, DC, home in bed with strep throat, and I never had occasion to go back.

I sent along a card to the president, bundled with those of my classmates, part of a pretty uninspired civics assignment. In it I thanked him for protecting our freedom.

I was only a kid. My world was different. Even the president was different.

But still.

We all have things we wish we’d never said or done in our lives, and among many regrets, one of my greatest is that folded piece of blue construction paper dotted in white stars affixed with the last dregs of a glue stick.

If I could have that card back, I’d shred it into blue and white confetti.

Celine grabs the bottle of water out of the pocket of my
cargo pants. (And Pearl thinks these pants serve no purpose! Ha!) She takes a long drink. It’s hot out here. Very hot. And sunny. But there’s no way in hell I’m putting on that flowered hat.

“Does he ever tell you anything? Anything about what happened over there?” she asks.

“No. Not at all.”

“Mitch either. I try asking him, but all he does is tell me I don’t want to know. Which is annoying, because if I didn’t want to know I wouldn’t bother asking. Then he just says I might think I want to know, but the truth is I really, really don’t. So I don’t ask him anymore.”

“I don’t even try.”

“You don’t even try?”

It isn’t until she repeats this that I realize how ridiculous it sounds.

“I mean, I know there’s no point.”

“Except for the part where he knows you want to know.”

“Yeah, except for that.”

“Hey, don’t beat yourself up. You’re here, aren’t you?”

I look down at her laced-up boots. I’m missing her bare feet.

“Listen. With Mitch I had to sort of relearn how to talk to him,” she says. “How to relate to him. I had to stop being Ass Wipe and start being Celine.”

“But do you recognize him? Does he treat you the same? Does he treat your parents the same? I mean, does he seem like the same person he was before he left?”

“Yes and no.” She looks at me. “You think Bo is totally
different? Because a certain amount of different is unavoidable.”

“He’s different. That’s for sure. He seems so lost. He can go through the routines, you know? He can show up to dinner and comment on the food and kiss my mom on the cheek when it’s over, but sometimes I wonder why he came back at all. It seems he’d rather be anywhere but home.”

“But he came home.”

“Yeah, I know. I know he came home and we’re all grateful. Of course we’re grateful.”

“That’s not what I mean, Levi. I mean he came home. He didn’t have to. He could have reenlisted. Or moved in with friends. Or started out someplace new on his own. But he came home. He … chose to come home. So he must miss you too and he must want … your help finding his way back.”

Bo has turned into a dot. A small figure on the horizon. We’ve fallen far behind. There’s no doubt that Celine slows me down, but I could do this all day. Forever.

Eventually we catch up to him outside a convenience store. He’s been waiting awhile; he’s taken off my Red Sox cap and he’s sitting on the curb with a half-eaten sandwich and an empty bottle of soda.

I go in to grab some food for Celine and me. I don’t know what she likes so I buy too much. I cover all the bases.

When I come back out she’s sitting beside him and she’s laughing at a story he’s telling. It’s a story about her he heard from Mitch. About when she was three and she’d gone to the mall with her family, and she’d wandered off during the
scramble in the food court as everybody searched for something different to eat, and they didn’t find her again for over an hour, and when mall security brought her back to her parents, she was wearing a scarf and sunglasses and carrying a purse, none of which belonged to her. She seemed surprised at how upset everyone was.

Where were you?
they asked her.

I was shopping!
she said.

“I’ve never been much of a shopper since,” she says now. “I guess it’s not as much fun when you actually have to pay for what you want.”

There are too many things to count about this scene outside the convenience store that shock me:

He knows her. He knows something about her that I don’t. He has stories. He remembers how to tell stories. He can charm people. He hasn’t lost that. He’s still able to make those around him smile. People can be with him and feel at ease. Unguarded.

Just look at Celine.

I stand there stupidly with my bags of too much prepackaged food.

“Your brother,” Bo says. “He’s a good man.”

Celine laughs. “A man? He still has a pair of Spider-Man pajamas in his drawer and I know all his ticklish spots.”

I spread out my purchases on the sidewalk.

“Your lunch is served, my lady.” I do a little bow. “I’ve tried my best to cover the major food groups.”

She eats more than I’d have thought possible, including
packing away three bags of chips. When she’s done she dusts the crumbs off herself, stands and says, “Well, guys, I guess it’s time for us to go our separate ways.”

“But … we’re going to take you to your mother’s. This is a door-to-door delivery service.”

“She lives another two miles east of here. I’m pretty sure you want to continue south.”

“Door-to-door,” I say again.

Boaz nods.

“How very chivalrous of you.”

The two miles go by like two blocks.

Before I know what’s happening we’re standing in front of a town house.

“This is it.”

“This is it?”

“Turn around,” she says.

I’m afraid she’s about to push me on my way without anything more. I have no idea how to do moments like this.

Bo pretends to study his maps. He’s leaned up against a lamppost. She waves to him. He waves back.

“Safe journey,” she calls out.

He returns to his studying.