I’m not a good man,
he thought, staring at the sheer, still curtain.
My brother needs help and I know I should care, but I can’t. I don’t.
He was still trapped, but here there were no guards, no one on the catwalks, and the only locks opened from the inside.
Gordon was scraping patches of peeling paint on the back of the house. His resolve to call Delores and apologize grew with the rhythm of the work. Maybe they couldn’t spend time with each other, but they could at least talk on the phone, he would tell her. What would be the harm? The adoption people wouldn’t know. And then when she passed all the tests and finally did get May Loo, they could see each other again. He carried the step stool around front, relieved to see more blistered clapboards. Work was his refuge. He began to scrape, working through the layers, not once gouging the wood. He didn’t know why he’d lost his temper and spoken to her that way. Maybe he’d never know how to deal with people. How could he be part of a relationship when he didn’t even know how to be a friend? Friendships had always been for other people. It had always been easier to not have feelings, to just go through the motions, but he was tired of being alone. Even pain and anger might be better than this.
Climb down now, then, and call her,
he kept telling himself, but he was afraid. He could feel his resolve weakening. He went inside and picked up the phone. What if Delores wanted him to leave her alone but was too kind to say it? Maybe May Loo was her best excuse for getting rid of him. The number he dialed was Dennis’s.
“Dennis? Gordon’s here.”
Lisa slowly opened his study door. His brother’s greeting was a dim smile. It was Lisa who told him to sit down, who said Dennis had missed him and was glad to see him. She said she’d be right back with coffee for them. Neither wanting to be left alone with the other, each declined, but she left anyway.
The brilliant July morning seemed worlds away from this stale room dim with closed blinds and Dennis’s heavy silence. Gordon was reminded of his father’s morose visits to Fortley and the pain of their forced conversations.
He cleared his throat and shuffled his feet. “Lisa says you’re not feeling too good. Are you sick?” he asked. Had Dennis nodded? He wasn’t sure.
“I’m all right,” Dennis finally said in such a low voice, it was a moment before Gordon understood.
“You don’t look all right.”
Dennis sighed. “I don’t, huh?”
“No. You look . . . well, depressed.”
“You think so, huh?”
“Are you?” he said quickly, to parry the glint of threat in his brother’s tone.
“I said I was all right, didn’t I?”
“Well, that’s good.”
Returning, Lisa set the tray between them on the glass-topped table. Dennis waved off his mug. “Then don’t take it,” she said. “But Gordon might like some.”
“He already said he didn’t,” Dennis said with such contempt that Gordon couldn’t look at her. He squirmed, as unnerved by their strife as he had been by his parents’.
“But this is good,” he said with a quick, eager sip. “I’m glad now that I have it. I got up so early to start scraping before the heat that I didn’t get a chance to make any.”
“Scraping what?” Dennis asked.
“The house. It’s coming along good. Yesterday I got the back done. Now I’m starting on the front.” His next sip deteriorated into a slurp that sent coffee down his windpipe.
“What the hell’re you scraping the house for?”
“So I can paint it,” he said, coughing. “Thanks,” he wheezed as Lisa handed him a napkin.
“I just had it painted. It cost me two thousand dollars and now you’re scraping it all off?”
“It was starting to peel. I did some, so then I figured I might as well keep going.”
“ ‘Keep going’? What do you mean, ‘keep going’?”
“The places that peeled, that’s all. So I can touch it up like Dad always did.”
Dennis stared at him. “Kaminski came by. What’s he talking about, you want to cut up Jukas’s tree? What the hell’s that all about?”
“No, a branch. A big branch, it—”
“What the hell’re you thinking?”
“I just offered. I thought it would help, that’s all.”
“Help? Help who, you?”
“Mrs. Jukas, of course.” He stiffened.
“Don’t you get it? Don’t you see what’s happening here?” Dennis rose from the shadows like a flame to oxygen. “They think you did it! Naturally! Of course they do!”
“They’ll find out I didn’t.” Fury burned in his chest.
“Yeah, and meanwhile they’re asking questions all over town about you.”
“Dennis,” Lisa warned. “What’s the point? Gordon knows what’s going on. You don’t have to make him feel more uncomfortable about it all. So let’s just drop it, please. Gordon,” she added quickly, “how about coming to dinner next Sunday? I thought we could do something special for Mum and Dad,” she was telling Dennis. “The next day they leave for Australia and they’ll be gone so long, over a month.”
“I don’t care. Do what you want. I’ll probably be in bed anyway.”
“No! No, you won’t, Dennis Loomis. I think you can sit down and have dinner with your family at least one night, especially before Mum and Dad’s trip.”
“That’s all right, Lisa. I can’t anyway, so—”
“I don’t ask much of you, Gordon, do I?” Her tone hardened. “So will you please do this for me and for your brother?”
Stunned, Gordon nodded. She had never spoken to him this way.
“He doesn’t want to.” Dennis seemed amused. “He wants to be left alone. He doesn’t need anybody. He doesn’t care about anybody. He never did, never in his whole life, so why the hell should he start now?”
Jada was lonely. She had been looking for Thurman. His cousin Antawan hadn’t seen him since he’d shaved his head. His older sister, Jesenia, on Margin Street, had heard that he’d gone to New York with a couple of gangbangers. “You Jada?” she asked as Jada went down the steps.
“Yeah!” she said, turning with a smile.
“If you’re smart, you’ll stay away from him.”
“Thurm’s cool. He’s good. He’s my friend.”
“He’s saying things about you. Bad things.”
She shrugged and continued on her way. She went into the drugstore and looked at the pictures in
People
until the Indian at the counter said buy it or leave, he wasn’t running any library here. She walked by the Market, slowing down just enough to flip the bird at the bitch with the tubes. She turned in to the parking lot, then pushed her way through spindly trees and trash-blown brush. Twigs snapped underfoot. Maybe Cootie’s dog was still alive. She should have gone back that day and given him something to eat. No sound came as she neared the cardboard lean-to, not a cry, nothing. Not wanting to look, she ran by. When she came to the flattened box on the ground, she sat down and hugged herself. If only someone would hold her like this, be close to her the way Thurman had. She closed her eyes to meditate the way she’d seen once on television.
Sink into the dark, into the deep, deep, deep, deep,
she tried to will herself. Instead, she thought about the baby and how much she already loved it, even if Polie was the father. Her mother was still on crack. She had promised Polie she was getting an abortion. Twice now he’d come to bring her into Boston, but she’d start throwing up and saying she was sick. Jada knew she was just too scared. Scared of everything and everyone. Yesterday a sheriff banged on the door. Her mother locked herself in the bathroom, shaking and sobbing that it wasn’t her, that the old lady was lying, but all the sheriff did was slide another eviction notice under the door. Jada almost hoped they did get evicted. Because that’s what her mother needed right now, a jolt to get her back on her feet and thinking straight. Yesterday when Delores helped her carry the rug up the steps, she had almost told her how bad things were.
She was cutting through backyards when she heard barking. “Hey, c’mere, boy,” she called softly. The black-and-white puppy ran toward the fence, wiggling all over, the way Leonardo used to. His little snout stuck out through the chain link. She touched the wet pink nose and laughed. “What’s your name, pretty boy?” She hurried to the gate with the dog squealing and yipping alongside the fence, his stubby tail wagging. “Yipper, huh? That’s a good name, you little yipper.” The puppy jumped against the fence and squealed even more. “Shh. Shh. What’s the matter? You don’t like it in there, do you. Jesus Christ, I don’t blame you.”
The rusty gate creaked as she forced it open. A tattered trampoline took up most of the tiny yard, leaving little room for the puppy to roam. A scum of leaf bits and dead midges floated in his water bowl. “Wanna come with me? Wanna go for a walk? Yeah, you need some exercise.” The minute she touched his warm, fuzzy head, the puppy grew quiet and she knew how desperate he was for love. Nobody was ever out here with him. He was always tied up. They probably only came out to give him a kick when he barked. “Good boy, that’s a good boy, now,” she whispered as she untied the rope from the red leash. “Here we go!” she cried, snatching him up and running as fast as she could, four, five, six blocks. Three more and she’d be home. Safe. She put him down on the sidewalk and pulled on the leash, expecting him to strain back the way Leonardo used to. Instead, he trotted alongside. His jaunty bounce made her laugh.
When Gordon finished priming the scraped clapboards, he washed his brush and then went back out to spray the roses. All his care was finally paying off. There were only a few black spots on the leaves, and each bush had new blooms. He cut off three full-flowering stems. They were for Lisa. Her dinner was tonight, and he was dreading it. He wished he could call Delores and ask her to go with him. It seemed so strange that just when he realized how much he needed her in his life, she had to step away. A plastic grocery bag and newspaper pages had blown up against Mrs. Jukas’s steps, but there was nothing he could do.
“Hey, look at my new dog,” Jada called, crossing the street. The puppy wiggled toward him. “Sit down! Sit!” she said, and he did. “Good boy!” she said, and the puppy leaped at Gordon. “Sit!” she ordered, and once again he obeyed, however reluctantly.
Gordon laughed. He knelt down and petted his back. The puppy sprang, jumping and squealing. She told him to sit again, but Gordon said it was all right, that he was a very nice puppy. “A very good little puppy,” he said now as he rubbed his head. “What’s his name?”
“Yipper.”
“How long have you had him?”
“Not too long.”
“He’s pretty well-trained.”
“Yeah, well, we been working on it, haven’t we, Yipper?” She knelt down, too, and stroked her hand along his back to the tip of his tail. “I told him, You gotta have manners. You can’t be jumping and barking and pissing on people all the time.”
“Well,” he said, standing up. She did, too. “I’d better get my things put away here.”
“Yeah, I been watching you. You been working out here a lot, huh? How come?” she asked as he reached down for his spray bottle. She picked up his pruner and handed it to him. With the puppy happily alongside, she followed him toward the garage. “You gonna sell it? That’s what my uncle Bob used to say, ‘Time to fix’er up and sell.’ He does that every place he lives to get a better house, and now you should see his house, the one he lives in now. It’s like this wicked nice place with marble floors and all kinds of beautiful paintings,” she called into the hot, musty garage as he hung the pruner on its nail. Her ragged, run-on voice filled the bright doorway. “I was just there last week and my aunt Sue, she wanted me to stay a couple days and help her with this big party—she’s always having parties—but I couldn’t. My mother,” she said as he stepped out past her. “She’s gonna have a baby, did I tell you that? Yeah, I’m really excited. I can’t wait, but anyway, she’s got, like, that morning sickness, ’cept for her morning’s all day long. So I have to stay home, you know, to help her and stuff,” she said, so close on his heels that he almost tripped on the puppy. He picked up the cut roses. “Oh, my God, they’re so beautiful.” She leaned close to smell one. “They for Delores?”
“No, my sister-in-law.”
“Oh yeah, the one with the kids, a boy and a girl, right?”
“Yes, well, I better go in and get ready.” He started toward the house.
“Get ready for what? She having a party or something?”
“No, just dinner.”
She picked up the puppy and climbed the steps after him. “You should get a dog. I’ll bet you’d like that. It’s nice to hold them, and the way they love you and stuff,” she said as the puppy licked her chin.
“It wouldn’t be fair to the dog, having to be alone all day.”
“Oh, yeah, where you working now? I see you leave early, but you don’t get home till after six usually.”
“Yes. It’s a new job.”
“Where?”
“You probably never heard of it.” He put his hand on the knob. “Well, I’d better get busy. I’ve got quite a few things to do in here.” If he opened the door, she’d be right in after him.
“Too bad about the old . . . about Mrs. Jukas, huh?”
“Yes. It’s a terrible thing. Poor woman.”
“Well, don’t feel too bad. She hated you almost as much as me and my mother.”
“She didn’t hate me,” he said quickly.
“Well, she was a bitch—to me, anyway. Like I’m some piece of . . . crap. Like I don’t have feelings or something.” She looked up at him, and for a moment he was afraid she might cry.
“I better go get ready.”
“You’re still mad at me! I told you, I was scared, that’s all. That’s what happened that time.” She gestured up toward the second floor.
“Yes. Well. I understand.”
“No, you don’t. You think I’m some kinda little slut or something. Well, I’m not! I’m a good person. I am!”
“Yes. Of course. I know you are.”
“Then how come we’re not friends anymore? Ever since that night you won’t even talk to me.”