They Come by Night (16 page)

I let him change the subject. “Until the beginning of the week, unless Dad kicks me out sooner.” Dad snorted, and I knew if I didn’t have that problem with being touched, he’d have whacked the back of my head. “Did you know he replaced me with a puppy?”

“Yep.”

“And you never told me? Jimmy, you’re supposed to be my friend!”

“Well, you moved out. The Harkster’s staying.”

“
Harkster
? James, James, James!”

“And that reminds me! How the f—” He glanced at Dad, cleared his throat, and changed what he’d been about to say. “How the heck were you able to afford a house?”

Okay, here it was, the question I’d been dreading. But Dad and I had discussed it, and we’d decided what spin we were going to give it. “Well, you know I’d saved a bunch of money to go to Disney World, but when this house came on the market, it was too good an investment to pass up, so I used my savings as a down payment. Dad cosigned with me, and there you go.”

I held my breath, waiting to see if he’d buy it. He looked like he might challenge me, but then I heard a voice I never thought in a million years I’d be grateful to hear.

“Yooo-hooo! Benjamin!”

“Shoot, Dad! Here comes Mrs. Andrews!” She’d lived next door to us for as long as I could remember, and her main goal in life was to know everything that was going on in the neighborhood.

“Ty, I’m outta here!” Jimmy knew her as well. “I’ll see you before you leave.”

“You bet.” I let out the breath I’d been holding. I hated lying, wasn’t good at it, and I was relieved the rest of this conversation was tabled for the time being. “How about if we catch a movie? Saturday or Sunday?”

“Sounds great. I’ll give you a call. I… uh… want to talk to you. Bye, Mr. Small! Merry Christmas!”

“Bye, Jimmy. Merry Christmas to you and your folks.”

My friend made good his escape before I could ask what he wanted to talk to me about, and I stood fidgeting beside Dad. “What did you tell her about why I’m not living at home anymore?”

“Relax, Ty. All she knows is you got a job out of town with your Uncle Dave.”

“Who?”

“My middle brother.”

“You really have another brother?” Other than Uncle Phil, Dad had never spoken of his family.

“Not amusing, Tyrell.”

“Tell me about it. It would have been nice if you’d mentioned something about him sooner. You know I’m not a good liar.”

“He’s in construction, just like your grandpa—”

I had a grandpa?

“—and you’re his helper. You’ve been on enough jobsites with me to fake it.” He raised his voice. “Ah, Mrs. Andrews. Merry Christmas!”

“Now, now. How many times have I told you to call me Marian? Merry Christmas, Benjamin, Tyrell.”

“Hi, Mrs. Andrews. How have you been? Looks like we’re going to have a white Christmas,” I babbled, barely giving her time to answer. “Well, it was nice seeing you, but we have to get going. Uncle Dave’s waiting for us.”

“Oh? I didn’t know you had an uncle.”

“Yeah, I do.” Nosy biddy. As if it was any of her business.

“And he’s visiting?” She craned her head, looking around. “Is he here?”

Dad stepped on my toe, hard. “He wasn’t feeling well enough to chance coming out in this weather.”

I gave a very wet, very explosive sneeze, hoping it didn’t come across as phony as it was. “Sorry,” I muttered against my palm, and I fumbled in my pocket for a handkerchief. “Uh, Dad?”

“Did you forget your handkerchief, Tyrell?” He sighed. “Here you go.”

“Thanks. I think Uncle Dave gave me whatever he’s got.” I blew my nose, wiped my hand, and offered Dad his handkerchief back. He took it, his expression pained. God, I loved my dad.

“We’d better get you home. It was nice seeing you, Mrs. Andrews. Please wish your family Merry Christmas from all of us.”

“Oh, but won’t I get to meet your brother?”

“Maybe next year.” Dad hustled me out of there.

“Merry Christmas,” she called after us.

We got in the car, and Dad put the key in the ignition. “‘Uncle Dave is waiting for us’? Really, Ty.” But his shoulders were shaking with suppressed laughter and little snorts kept escaping his tightly clasped lips.

“That was the only excuse I could think of to get us out of there. I told you I wasn’t a good liar.” I laughed myself.

“Well, his ‘illness’ will just have to keep him incommunicado.”

“I’ll keep an eye on her door to see when she goes out. When she comes home, we can tell her Uncle Dave had to leave.”

“And you felt you had to return my handkerchief?”

“It was yours.”

“I wish your Uncle Dave could visit. He’d love you.”

“I really do have another uncle?”

“Yes. And a grandfather as well.”

“Grandma?”

He shook his head. “No, she passed on when I was your age.”

Right, he’d mentioned that when he was explaining to me about being a sabor.

Our amusement faded. I wanted to ask why he’d never told me about them, why they never had come to visit, but I was afraid to hear the answer. So I buckled my seat belt and fiddled with the radio dial. The silence on the ride home was broken only by the Christmas music on the radio.

I
SLEPT late, because I’d tossed and turned, too edgy to get any rest. Even thoughts of Adam hadn’t soothed me.

The sky was light from the falling snow, but I knew it had been almost five when I’d finally fallen asleep.

How Dad slept…. Well, I just didn’t know.

He came out of the bathroom just as I left my room. He was still wearing pajamas, and there were bags under his eyes. I guessed he hadn’t slept too well, either.

“Morning, son. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Dad.” I knew he wanted to hug me, and I knew he wouldn’t.

“I’ll get the coffee started.”

“Okay. I’ll be right down.” That was the usual routine. He’d make the coffee, I’d make waffles or pancakes courtesy of Aunt Jemima or Bisquick, and after breakfast we’d go into the living room and open our presents.

The radio was on when I walked into the kitchen. The station Dad listened to had started playing holiday music at eight on Christmas Eve and would continue until the same time tomorrow night.

Right now, José Feliciano was singing “Feliz Navidad,” and Dad was humming along with him as the Mr. Coffee burbled and brewed a big pot of coffee.

Eggs were beside the bowl on the counter, and the waffle iron was plugged in and preheating. I reached for the first egg and cracked it.

“Dad?”

He looked up. “Yes.”

“You said Mrs. Wilder was going to spend the day with her family.” I watched him from the corner of my eye. “Did she ask you to go with her?”

“Yes, but I’d already invited you.”

He meant I’d invited myself. “Oh, Dad, you should have told me! I didn’t mean to butt into your romance! I could have stayed home.”

“It’s not a romance yet, Ty, and if it couldn’t withstand our being parted for a couple of days, then it never will be. Besides, I missed you. Now, let’s get breakfast done. I want to see what Santa brought us.”

I
T WAS a good Christmas. Since I hadn’t known about Harker, I hadn’t brought a gift for him. The day before, I’d run out to the local pet store and picked him up a present from me. I wanted to put Adam’s name on the gift tag as well, but I wasn’t sure how Dad would take it. He didn’t know much about sabors, but he did know I wasn’t still supposed to be in love with Adam.

I was familiar with the pet store, since after I’d turned fourteen, Dad had let me get my working papers and I’d worked there on Saturdays. I got to play with the puppies, as well as the kittens, and I’d also learned how to handle the reptiles we stocked—
carefully
!—and to not grow attached to the mice that would be fed to the snakes.

The Kong Extreme Goodie Bone wasn’t much, but it was the thought. What Dad had for him more than made up for that lack: a nappy berber cuddler shaped like a sock monkey, a heated bed, rawhide chews, a neck ruff, and four paw ruffs with bells on them. Poor Harker sat there, shaking his head and looking bemused at the sound it caused.

Dad was really touched by the Circle of Life pendant I gave him. The words started on the outside and wound around and around. He had to get a magnifying glass to decipher them, and when he did and read the inscription, his eyes got all misty.

“Thank you, Ty. This….” He ran his fingertip over the pendant, and when he raised his head, a single tear had slid down his cheek.

“It wasn’t supposed to make you cry, Dad.”

“This means so much to me! Thank you.” He reached for me, and I let him hug me.

But as much as I wanted to let him have this moment, I had to step back.

He undid the clasp, put it around his neck, and smiled. “Open your gift, son.”

“Not Nikes?” It was a slim, flat package, and I tore off the wrapping paper.

“No, the Nikes are still under the tree. This one is from Santa.”

“A DVD?”

“Not just any DVD.” He took it from its case and slid it into the DVD player. A title appeared on the screen.
Tyrell Small: The Boy, The Teen, The Young Man
.

“Ah, Dad!”

He had always taken a ton of videos, and while an ABBA song played in the background, the important events of my life moved across the screen, a toddler me swimming across the pool unassisted for the first time, dangling by my knees from the monkey bars, going from pre-K to the heady world of a kindergartener, earning my Tiger Cub badge.

I laughed, snorting coffee from my nose, as my second grade class put on a Thanksgiving skit. The girls were going to prepare the feast while we boys went out to hunt for the main course. The recording of a turkey gobble sounded, Jimmy dropped to a knee and braced an imaginary gun in the palm of his left hand, à la all the cop shows we watched, and took aim at a tree. I stood to the side, staring at him with my hands clutching my equally imaginary gun and laughing helplessly.

There were images of the Halloween party with its costume contest that took place a couple of years later. Dad had gotten some green face paint, and while I smeared it all over my face, he blew up a bunch of green balloons. Then he helped me attach them to the green shirt and sweatpants I wore.

“You took first place with that,” he remembered proudly.

“Thanks to your help. I think that was the only time a bunch of seedless grapes won!”

“Good times.”

“Yeah.” The next scene unfolded. This was for the Christmas pageant when I was in seventh grade. “That’s Marv Jean! I’d forgotten all about this!”

Marv was one of two black kids in our class. Tall and skinny, he came bouncing across the stage dressed as Santa Claus, a couple of pillows stuffed under his red coat to give him the requisite “chubby and plump” appearance. His long white beard had a tendency to sag, and he had to keep yanking it up, but he was grinning and shaking harness bells, having the best time, while the rest of us tried not to collapse in giggles as we sang about reindeer pausing up on the rooftop.

There were scenes of my high school art contest, which I’d entered with a replication of a facehugger from the
Alien
movies.

It didn’t even get a nod, and I still thought I was robbed.

I did well in the two-mile, though, and Dad and I both grinned proudly when the blue ribbon was hung around my neck.

The last of the footage was of my graduation last June.

“Argh! You didn’t include all those speeches, did you?” A local politician had rambled on and on for more than an hour, and when any of the teachers tried to encourage him to wind up and finish, he’d failed to take the hint and just kept talking. Most of the senior class had almost fallen asleep, me included. Finally the principal had stood and thanked him for his thoughtful words, interrupting him in mid-drivel.

“Don’t worry. They were edited out.”

“Thank God for that!” I started to get up to turn off the player.

“No, wait. There’s a little more.”

“Oh?” I sat back down. Dad actually had credits rolling. And then there was a shot of me dressed in black trousers and a blood-red shirt, walking toward the front door. It was the night Adam had come for me. “Oh, Dad! How did I not know you were filming that?”

“You had your mind on other things.”

“I guess I did.”

He rose, ejected the disc from the player, and put it back in its case.

“And I guess that’s the last of the home movies.”

“Not quite.” He had a mini camcorder in his hand. “Say parmesan!”

“Aw, Dad!” But I laughed and began mugging for the camcorder.

J
IMMY CALLED later that evening, and we made plans to go to the midafternoon showing of the latest 3-D blockbuster movie on Saturday. He knew the day after Christmas was one Dad and I spent together, hanging around in sweats, stuffing ourselves with leftovers, and watching all the games that aired: football, hockey, basketball, even getting up before dawn to catch Manchester United on ESPN.

Of course that was the day Mrs. Andrews came over, ostensibly to share some of her baking with us, but actually to meet Dad’s mysterious brother Dave.

“Sorry, Marian,” Dad said. “Ty and I really aren’t dressed for company.”

She looked us up and down. “I can see that. Well, I’ll just drop off these chocolate chip cookies.”

“Thank you.” Dad took the holiday tin from her. “That’s very kind. I’m sorry you missed Dave.”

“There was an emergency on his job and he had to rush back,” I said.

“That’s a shame. This was the first time any of your family came to visit, Benjamin, and I’ve been hoping to meet him.”

“Another time. I won’t keep you standing on our doorstep. Thank you again.”

She gave Dad a tight smile, turned around, and marched home.

“Y’know, for someone who claims he doesn’t lie well, you did a pretty good job.”

“Thanks, Dad.” I lifted the lid of the tin.

“That wasn’t meant as a compliment!”

“I know.” I grinned at him, and then looked at the cookies. “I’m willing to bet these are Chips Ahoy.”