The Things a Brother Knows (21 page)

His voice is shaking. The brim of my Red Sox cap is low over his face, so I can’t see if he’s crying, but I don’t try to find out. I don’t stare. One of the things about walking I always appreciated is the way you don’t have to look someone in the eye.

“I don’t know,” I say. “I can’t imagine.”

“So if I don’t have to get in a Humvee, or a truck, or a car, or even a train, if there’s a choice, if I have a choice and I don’t have to follow orders, if I can do what I want to do, and my legs still work, I’ll just walk.”

I step off my board and I tuck it under my arm and I don’t get on it again for the rest of the day.

Tonight we’re staying at Paul’s sister’s house. Otherwise known as Celine’s aunt’s house. You’d think that this connection might warrant a call back, but no. Leaving messages on Celine’s voice mail is like mailing a letter to Santa Claus. I do it with as much hope and optimism as a little kid. And apparently I’m as likely to get a call back as that little kid is to get a handwritten letter from the big man himself.

But still.

I give it another shot.

And this time she answers.

“Hey, Levi, what’s up?”

“Hey! Um, I’m just calling, um, again, because I’m on my way to your aunt’s house and it, like, made me think about you.”

Again: telephonic communication = not my strong suit.

“Where are you?”

“I’m in Edgewood. Two blocks from your aunt’s house.”

“How are you finding Edgewood?”

“It’s lovely this time of year.”

“Where are you now?”

“About a block and a half from her house.”

“Keep me posted, will you?”

“Can do.”

“I like you, Levi. Did you know that?”

“You do? ’Cause it’s kinda hard to tell.”

“Well, I do.”

“Good thing, because I like you too.”

“Now?”

“I’m on the block, I think. I just have to find the house.”

“Two houses up on the left.”

I’m looking up before fully understanding what she’s saying, and there she is, on the front steps, in her bare feet, waving wildly.

“Hi,” she says into the phone.

I still can’t quite believe what I’m seeing.

“Hi,” I say into my phone.

“It’s good to see you.”

“You too.”

Bo hangs back and I take the steps until we’re standing almost toe to toe.

“I’m going to hang up now,” I say.

“Okay.”

“And then I’m going to kiss you.”

“Sure thing.”

I think about all the times in my life when the minutes have passed like hours—Passover at the Schwartzes’, Mr. Michaud’s French class, Mom’s trips to the department store to pick up new makeup. Why can’t time ever slow down when it’s convenient? When you want it to last forever?

After dinner, when everyone goes off to bed, I tiptoe down to Celine’s room in the basement. I knock lightly. Hesitantly. The kind of knock I used to do on Bo’s bedroom door.

It’s past midnight.

She’s still in her T-shirt and cutoffs. “You wanna come in for a drink?”

“What’re you pouring?”

“I’ve got tap water in a glass with dried toothpaste on the rim.”

I grab her and I step inside. I take her by the waist. I close the door behind me. Pause for just a second before I land my mouth on hers.

I expect a rush, endorphins, some sort of high, but what I feel instead is a total calmness. Peace. It almost sweeps the legs out from under me.

I pull back.

“So why didn’t you return my phone calls?”

“I liked getting your messages. The way they sounded more and more desperate each time.”

Girls can be so cruel.

“That’s not very nice,” I say.

I kiss her again.

“Maybe I’m not a nice person.”

She kisses me back. Harder.

“I doubt that.”

I pull her onto the bed.

“I knew I’d see you again,” she says, kissing me more. “And anyway, talking is way overrated.”

My shirt is already off.

I pull hers over her head.

I hold her against me. Her skin on my skin. Her chest pressed against mine. It’s the single most amazing feeling in all of human history. Nothing has ever felt better, and I don’t care if anything else happens, or if this is all there is, because I can’t imagine anything feeling any better than this feels right now.

She pulls away. “So whaddya think?”

I prop myself up on my elbow and look her in the eyes. Try to catch my breath. “I think you’re beautiful.”

She is. She’s so incredibly beautiful.

“I mean … should we?”

Should we have sex?

There’s only ever one answer to that question, isn’t there? Of course we should have sex. I’d be crazy to say no. But somehow, right at this moment, even though I’ve done little else but imagine some version of this for years, I don’t care. For so long I thought having sex would change everything, it would make me a different person, a better person, a man. But now I’m here with her. And tonight that feels like enough. It still feels like one of those big moments without it being
the
big moment.

Plus there’s the fact that with all that I’ve got in my hypochondriac’s kit for bug bites, warts, blisters, splinters, fevers—I’ve brought along nothing for getting laid.

I run my hand over her shoulders, between the blades, all the way down to the small of her back. “Listen, Celine. I really, really like you. But …”

“But what? You’re not ready to go to sleep yet? Because that’s what I was asking about.”

“Oh.”

“You thought it was something else? You thought I wanted to have sex with you? You thought you’re so irresistible that I was ready to throw myself at you and let you have your way with me?”

“Well …”

“Well, no, you big pervert. I was asking if we should go to bed. You upstairs in your room and me down here. Quickly before my aunt finds you here and calls my dad and he comes after you guns a-blazing.”

“Right.”

“So good night.”

I stand up.

“Good night.”

She smiles at me. She pulls on her shirt and stands up and walks me to the door. She blocks my exit. “But before you get out of here, don’t forget my good-night kiss.”

Dov wakes me in the morning. Six a.m.

I forgot to put my phone on vibrate.

He insists on meeting us tonight. In Baltimore. He’s catching a flight and he’s picked the restaurant. I tell him we’re fine, that he doesn’t need to come, but I know him. He wants to see for himself. He won’t take my word for it that we’re okay, or maybe it’s that my word doesn’t come out sounding all that sure, because the truth is, when I’m on the phone with Dov, I get this homesick feeling. I’ve never been gone from him long enough to miss him. Didn’t even know he was missable, but he is. He’s missable, and I’m sure he can hear it in my voice.

“I understand Baltimore is famous for its crab,” he shouts. He still doesn’t get that you can hear just as well on a cell phone as on a regular landline.

“And your mother. She’s gone off the deep end with this Jewish
mishugas
. She’s placed a ban on shellfish in the house. Shellfish! What did a shellfish ever do to her?”

So he’s coming. And I have to tell Bo. I haven’t even told him Dov knows we’re not on the Appalachian Trail, or that I’ve been giving Dov updates on our trip the whole way.

And all of that’s a big drag, but not as big a drag as it is having to say goodbye to Celine again.

A few short minutes remain before the house starts to stir. Before people get up and brush teeth and grind coffee beans. So I do what I can to make those minutes feel more like the minutes at the Schwartzes’ or in French class or at the makeup counter in the department store. I do what I can to make those minutes feel like hours.

I tiptoe down to the basement, where Celine is still sleeping.

I climb into bed next to her, wrap her in my arms. I close my eyes and I hang on tight.

I
WAIT UNTIL THE LATE AFTERNOON
to break the news of Dov’s visit to Bo.

“Have you thought about dinner?” I ask him.

“Not really.”

“There’s a place I’d like to go.”

“There is?”

“Yeah. It’s a place for crab.” I pause. “And Dov is going to meet us there.”

That buys me about a mile or so of silence, during which I think of all the things I want to learn about Celine. All the questions I want to ask her. All the places on her body I’d like to kiss.

Finally I explain to Bo that I can’t lie to Dov, I never could, that when I was leaving home I told him what I knew, which wasn’t much other than that I was pretty sure the Appalachian Trail was a dodge. I tell him that Dov loves him and is worried about him and that he wants to see him, just see for himself that we’re okay.

“Fine,” Bo says.

He doesn’t sound angry. I don’t even get the sense that
I’ve flushed away whatever trust I’ve built up so far. I just get a whole lot of quiet, but that’s something I know pretty well by now.

Dov is standing out front when we arrive.

He grabs us into a big bear hug and he kisses us both on both of our cheeks and it isn’t until after all that that he notices my rose-covered hat.

“You’re really taking your look to a whole new level.”

“I’m doing my best, Dov.”

I hug him again, absorbing the feeling of his strong arms around me.

He’s brought a backpack. I know he doesn’t own one, so he must have gone shopping. He looks like a kid on the first day of kindergarten. I can picture him in the store. Asking for a backpack like the one his grandsons have. I reach for it, to lighten his load, but he smacks my hand away.

We order way more than we could reasonably eat. Crab comes in every form. Fried, cracked, sautéed, lumped, cold, steamed. The only thing missing is liquid crab, but then I notice the crab soup on the menu. There is no crab territory left uncharted.

Dov wears a look of satisfaction. He stretches his arms out, resting them on the back of our booth. He sticks his gut out a little. Takes in the sight of us.

“You did this. You really did it.” Broad smile. “What an adventure, walking so far. I admire you. Both of you. You’ve shown tremendous skill. Maturity. Conviction. I also hope along the way you’ve managed to have some fun.”

I blush at this even though Dov can’t possibly know that I’ve met a girl and held her naked chest against my own. He may know a ton, but he can’t know everything.

He clears the plates from in front of him and leans forward. His huge forearms resting on the table. His face turns serious.

“And now it’s time to come home.”

Dov didn’t come to eat crab. Of course he didn’t come to eat crab. He’s here on a rescue mission. He’s come to Baltimore to bring us back.

“We’re going to Washington, Dov.” Bo stays calm. His voice strong and flat.

“Baltimore. Washington. What’s the difference but a few hundred miles?”

“Actually, Dov,” I say, “it’s only about forty-five miles.”

He shoots me a look. “Nobody likes a smart-ass.”

The waitress approaches but then backs away slowly. Skilled enough at her craft to recognize when people don’t want to be asked if everything is okay.

“Why not finish it here? Over an orgy of crab. It’s as good a place as any.”

Bo stares Dov down. For the first time ever, Bo actually looks bigger than Dov to me. “I can’t do that,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

“Listen,
motek
. I know about war. Okay?
I know
. I’ve been there. I never had a doubt about serving, and there were times I even enjoyed being a soldier, but I deeply regret if I made it sound easy. It’s still war. It’s still ugly. It’s still painful. But it fades. It does. Those memories, the things
you’ve seen, they become like something from a book you once read, or somebody read to you, by a dim light, a long, long time ago. It takes a while, I know. That’s why I thought this trip was not such a terrible idea. I thought it would give you the distance to close that book and start over again. You get a second chance. You can start over again. Like moving to a new house. Or a new country. Come home. Forget what it is you think you need to do. Come home. And let’s start over.”

Bo shakes his head.

I cover my face with my hands. It doesn’t seem to hit Bo the way it hits me that Dov is pleading. I wouldn’t have guessed Dov was capable of this kind of desperation, and watching it, I remember Abba and his naked body that day we fixed the fence.

There are parts of the adults around you you’re never meant to see.

“There’s a cab out front. It’s taking me to the airport so I can catch the last flight back tonight. Come with me. Please.”

“I can’t,” Bo says. “I won’t.”

Dov sighs. He reaches for Bo’s hand and squeezes it across the table cluttered with empty crab shells.

“Okay.”

He gets up and collects his new backpack. I walk him out to the street.

“Come back,” I say.

“What?”

“In three days. There’s a big rally on the Mall to support
the troops. A Million Strong for America. Fly down for that. Bring Mom and Abba. Let’s all go together.”

He puts his arms around me and I hold on for more beats than one of our regular embraces. He doesn’t make a move to end it. That comes from me, finally.