The Book of Joby (32 page)

Laura was going out with super-jock Kevin Branscom now, a senior with a build like Ben’s, and a shiny red Camero. Joby didn’t even have a permit. His mother had refused to allow it. Joby tried to imagine himself pedaling over to pick up Laura on his bike.
That
would sure have Kevin running scared.

At home, he parked his bike in the side yard and went in the back door, careful to wipe his shoes clean on the mat. The scents of cooking drew him toward the kitchen.

“Smell’s awesome, Mom!”

“Hi, honey!” She turned to give him a hug. “Have a nice day?”

“Great.” He smiled. “You?”

“Wonderful,” she said. “Why don’t you go wash up. This is just about ready.”

Walking through the dining room, Joby saw that his mother had hung crepe paper and balloons everywhere, and set the table as if for two visiting dignitaries, but despite the festive decorations, the house seemed full of gloom. Joby told himself it came of staying so long out in the bright sunlight, and went to wash his hands.

“Well, Karen,
Kevin
may be dating his car, but
I’m not.
” Laura looked at her watch. “Oh my God! If I don’t hang up, my parents will call the phone police.”

“They can’t,” Karen laughed. “You’re on the
phone.
So, are you telling me you’re dumping Kevin?”

“No,” Laura sighed. “I’m just saying . . . he’s wearing a little thin, that’s all.”

“You
poor thing,
” Karen scoffed. “Kevin Branscom’s hands all over
everything.
I’m sure there’s not a girl at school who doesn’t thank God every night she’s not you.”

“Shut up, Karen. At least your boyfriend’s idea of intelligent conversation isn’t debating the weight-gain benefits of burgers versus Mexican food. That’s the only thing Kevin seems to think about, besides his car . . . and getting . . . you know.”

“Yes, I
do,
” Karen vamped. “And, FYI, Brian’s interests aren’t nearly as
broad
as you seem to think, which suits me fine.”

“What!”
Laura demanded. “You’re not doing
that
with Brian!”

There was a somehow smirky silence on Karen’s end.

“I don’t believe it!”
Laura gasped.

“Laura, grow up!” Karen scoffed. “We’re not little kids anymore. Brian’s
graduating
next year! Besides, he
knows
perfectly well we don’t even get
started
until I
see
his little stash of Trojans. I can’t
believe
you and Kevin really never—”

“With
Kevin
?!!” Laura blurted out. “
Where?
On the hood of his
Camero
—in between mouthfuls of
burger
? Don’t make me
retch
!”

“Well, then with someone else,” Karen said impatiently. “We’re not gonna be beautiful forever, you know. Better get it while we’re hot, I say.”

“Oh,
please
!” Laura scoffed. “We’re only seventeen!”

“It’s your call,” Karen said, “but I’m not just going to wait around for
Mr. Perfect.
”

Laura shook her head, and turned to look out her bedroom window. “I wish Joby had a clue.”

“Joby Peterson?”
Karen said incredulously. “He’s got pretty eyes, and nice hair—for a
twelve
-year-old. . . . Brian says he’s gay.”

“Joby’s not gay!”
Laura snapped. “Where does Brian get off spreading such bullshit?!” She heard Karen laugh quietly. “Look, Karen. He’s into church, okay? He has a whole set of values. If you don’t know what those are, you can look it up under ‘make the world a better place.’ That prob’ly seems
gay
to Brian the stud-wonder, but I—”

“You don’t need to get
nasty,
Laura,” Karen said frostily.

“You don’t call what you said about Joby nasty?” Laura asked.

“
Okay! I’m sorry!
I had no idea you were in
love
with this guy.”

Laura slammed the phone down without caring what Karen would think. “You can be such a bitch,” she muttered, then went to her bedroom window to watch shadows stretch across her lawn in the last clear light of day, and wonder what had ever happened to the Joby she still remembered from so long ago.

Disguised as a mourning cloak butterfly, Gabriel perched tenuously atop a wreath of chrysanthemums someone had left at the feet of a marble angel, then fluttered into the air again in Miriam’s wake as she moved slowly through the Mt. Madonna Cemetery toward her parents’ grave site. Her head was bowed, her hands thrust into the pockets of her coat, and her shoulders hunched as if against a cold wind, despite the pleasant summer morning. At the grave site, she pulled a handkerchief from her purse, and bent down to
clean the black granite headstone’s polished face. When she had finished, she remained hunched over and motionless, gazing at the simple inscription:

IN LOVING MEMORY:
ABIGAIL MARY EMERSON
1893–1956
EMERY MERRILL EMERSON
1880—1969

It seemed especially cruel to Gabriel that she should suffer such deception, even in this. The angel wondered, yet again, why the old man had chosen to perpetrate such a seemingly senseless fraud on his own daughter. How much better might both Miriam and her son have come through all of this, Gabe thought, had her father simply been there to turn to. The old wizard’s untimely pretense made so little sense. Then again, when had the motives of wizards ever made sense, even to angels?

Miriam sat down, leaning against the headstone, folded her arms as if against a chill, and, haltingly, started speaking to her father about how terribly she longed to repair her marriage and how unequal she felt to raising her son alone.

Perched on a small bouquet of daisies not fifteen feet away, Gabriel listened, slowly opening and closing his wings in the sunlight, and wishing with all his heart that he could do something. He had never understood why the Creator had agreed to such a one-sided set of rules for this wager. Especially
this
wager!

Filled with frustration, Gabriel realized that, strictly speaking, his Lord had only forbade him to help
Joby
uninvited,
not
those around him. Surely one fleeting bit of comfort for Miriam wouldn’t constitute any real breach of the Creator’s command.

He fluttered up to land unnoticed on Miriam’s shoulder, and sent his faith in the Creator and his own care for Miriam into both her mind and body, then watched her careworn face relax, her eyes close, her hand reach back to stroke the polished surface of the headstone. As Gabriel fluttered away across the cemetery lawn, her face softened in a smile, as rare these days as it was lovely.

While Rebecca was still off in the bathroom with her girlfriends, doing God knew what, Ben began his second circuit around the pool deck, sipping at
his drink, nodding at the occasional familiar face, bobbing his head to the music, and trying to look something other than bored. Pete Blackwell’s Summer Kick-Off party was Hawaiian-themed, but the thought of donning some loud flowered shirt had made Ben feel like a corny lounge singer, so he’d opted for plain beach casual, and a simple onyx stud in his left ear. A year ago, he’d have given not a single thought to what he wore, but within days of their first date, it had become clear that if
he
didn’t fuss over his appearance, Rebecca
would,
and while Ben liked some parts of her attention quite a lot,
that
kind wasn’t one of them.

A burst of catcalls and laughter from behind him made Ben turn in time to see Kevin Branscom holding Laura’s upper arms from behind, amusing his buddies by pretending he was going to push her into the pool, only to pull her back from the edge as she tried to wriggle free of his grasp.

“Saved yer life!” Kevin grinned, turning her around to face him. “You owe me now, girl. Come on. You know what I want,” he burbled, as if addressing a toddler while he puckered up and leaned in for a kiss.

To Kevin’s obvious displeasure, Laura twisted away before his visibly greasy lips found any purchase. “Try asking again,” she said with an almost unforced laugh, “when you’ve wiped that big string of cheese off your chin, Kevin.” Kevin’s friends clearly found her gambit even more entertaining than his, which didn’t please Kevin. Letting go of her to reach up and wipe his face, he found the long string of cheese left there from nachos he’d been wolfing down a moment earlier. Looking first at it, then at her, as if the disgusting artifact were entirely her fault somehow, he huffed, “Whatever,” and waved her away as if she’d just blown the opportunity of a lifetime.

Ben tried pretty hard not to judge people, but for all Kevin’s ability on the field and reputation as a hunk, no matter how Ben sliced it, Kevin Branscom was just an inexcusable jerk. Ben never understood what someone as sharp as Laura was doing in his clutches to begin with, much less why she’d stayed this long. For all his own reputation around school as a ladies’ man, girls were as mystifying to Ben now as they’d been when he was ten.

As Laura seized the opportunity to escape Kevin’s presence for a more secluded corner of the yard, Ben followed, and sat down beside her on a bench beyond the light of Pete’s tiki torches.

“How ya doin’?” he asked casually.

“I’m tired,” she said, and sounded it.

“Good,” Ben said, looking back toward the crowd of partyers around the
pool. “Does that mean you’re finally dumping meathead? Like,
tonight,
I hope?”

“I’ve been meaning to for months,” she conceded without objection, or even attitude. “I don’t know why I haven’t.”

“Me neither,” Ben said, still not looking at her for fear of seeming too interested and shutting her down. “You could have anyone at school you wanted, Laura. He’s not even close to worthy of you.”

“You offering?” she asked, almost defiantly.

Ben turned to her in surprise. “I’m with Rebecca,” he said, before he could check himself.

“Who’s about as worthy of you as Kevin is of me,” Laura said, still sounding as if this were some kind of dare.

“Yeah, okay. You got me,” Ben said, looking down into his glass of cola, and wondering how much she’d seen before he’d recovered his composure.

“It’s probably not my place to say it, Ben—especially right now—but you really ought to hear the way she talks about you when you’re not around. She’s probably off with her little fan club right now, parading every detail of your sexual exploits together.”

“Our
what
?” Ben said, whirling to face her.