Читать книгу The Underdog Parade - Michael Mihaley - Страница 12

Uncle Herb

After the cab pulled away, Abby sprinted through her morning cleanup routine, taking minutes to accomplish what normally would take her through lunch. She chose to avoid the everyday distractions that dragged her routine out: television, phone, magazines, children.

She dashed between rooms, dropping dirty coffee mugs into the kitchen sink, picking puzzle pieces off the living room floor, and lugging the laundry basket to the basement. She had energy. She moved purposefully. This was not a common weekday.

Peter took notice but pretended not to, stealing glances at her from the couch as she darted past.

“Peter, after we get Uncle Herb, I have to go out for a bit. I need to take a shower now.”

“Who is staying home with us?” Peter wanted to know. If she said nobody or gave a line saying how he was old enough now to be trusted, that meant he was babysitting CJ. Kids got good money to babysit, and that’s where he wanted to lead the conversation. Plus, these handsomely paid babysitters weren’t watching CJ; there should be some extra combat pay for that.

“Uncle Herb will be here,” she said, as if this was the most ordinary thing in the world.

“Really?” Peter loved his Uncle dearly, but he was not what you’d describe as the typical babysitter.

Abby stopped what she was doing and placed her hands on her hips. “Really. Problem?”

“No,” Peter said. Unlike CJ, he knew when not to push his mother. The hand-on-the-hip thing was a dead giveaway. The topic of monetary compensation would have to wait.

“Please wake up your sister now. I’m in a hurry,” Abby said.

Peter’s shoulders sagged. He had just given in to his mother, and this was how he was rewarded?

The Worst Things To Do In The Morning—A List by Peter Grady.

1. Wake Up.

2. Wake Up CJ.

A tornado outbreak from the minute she woke, CJ slept on her back, totally still with her hands folded over her chest. Her resting pose always freaked Peter out, as if his little sister was part vampire or something. And she slept hard. You could shake her, and she’d roll a little like a large log, only to return to the original resting spot. She had resisted a set bedtime since she was two, and now that their father was out of town a lot, Abby didn’t have the energy at night to battle and enforce. So she let CJ run and run until she was totally out of gas, then she’d find her curled in some random spot—the middle of the hallway, under the kitchen table—and Abby would carry her to bed.

Peter hovered over her bed. He sighed.

“Wake up, CJ.”

Baby Vampire didn’t respond. Her interwoven fingers sat motionless on her chest.

He stood on the bottom of her mattress and jumped up and down, chanting “Wake up!” but CJ’s body just moved with the waves.

Frustrated, Peter jumped off the bed and headed to the door. “All right, CJ, we’re picking up Uncle Herb. See you later.”

CJ bounced into the air. “Where’s my lasso?”

Peter had CJ buckled into her car seat, eating a granola bar and drinking a juice box, when their mother crashed out of the front door running to the car, buttoning her blouse and pushing her wet hair over her ears. A look of bewilderment crossed her face as she reached the car.

“You got her dressed too?” she said, pointing to the Wonder Woman outfit on CJ, accumulating bits of granola crumbs by the mouthful.

“She slept in it.”

Abby dropped her purse at Peter’s feet in the passenger’s seat. She shook her head, impressed. “I don’t know, Peter. Sometimes I think you’re more cut out for this gig than me.”

* * *

Uncle Herb lived in a group home, a twenty-minute ride from the Creek. Peter didn’t know the exact definition of a group home; it’s what his mother had always called the place, but from what he could gather a group home was where several people lived, related only by the fact they all were disabled, and the house had staff acting as caretakers.

Back when they were house hunting, Abby’s conditions were a ranch home for its wheelchair accessibility and no farther than a half hour from her brother. She wanted her brother to feel welcome, though Herb hadn’t spent any significant time there as of yet. They had moved in right after Peter’s summer vacation last year, and during Christmas, Nick was adamant about going skiing over the holidays. He was so stressed out over the new business that Abby didn’t fight him on it, but she wished she had. She spent much of Christmas morning feeling guilty, thinking how her brother had to spend it with only the staff who worked in his home. It was the first Christmas they’d ever spent apart.

In turn, Abby’s conditions annoyed Nick, who didn’t like the location limitations or the nixing of his dream to buy and restore an old Victorian, though Abby’s rebuttal that it was too much of a project for them was valid. Nick would never admit it, but DIY was a letter combination that didn’t agree with him. He was hapless with a hammer, and his only experience and knowledge of construction had been gleaned from watching home improvement shows on television.

“How long is Uncle Herb staying with us?” Peter asked as he fiddled with the air conditioner vents, then the radio station presets—anything to distract him from his mother’s aggressive driving. Cars in the process of being towed had more distance from the bumper in front of them than the poor car Abby was tailgating now.

It didn’t help Peter’s nerves that his mother was applying eyeliner as she drove.

The car in front braked and Peter winced.

“Mom, can you pay attention to the road?”

She pointed to Peter with her eyeliner pencil. “Hey, the driver controls the radio,” she said and pressed the button setting for the “all news, all the time” station. “Uncle Herb has two weeks of vacation. Hopefully, he’ll stay the whole time, but I’ll leave that up to him. Sometimes it’s easier for him to be in his own environment.”

“Uncle Herb, yay!” CJ cheered from the backseat.

Listening to the all news station was a form of torture on Peter’s ears. What a broken record, repeating the same things every twenty minutes, especially now with the drought and all. Today will be super hot and super dry outside. Tomorrow the same. The next day, ditto. And the next day, well, you know where I’m going with this, right? the radio host blabbed.

A citrus scent floated under Peter’s nose. He turned to his mother and noticed the pressed slacks and expensive blouse. It wasn’t unusual for his mother to wear sweatpants the entire day.

“Why are you so dressed up?”

She smiled. “Do I look pretty?”

Peter hated when she asked him that. She was his mother.

“Well, if you need to know, nosy pants, I might be going back to work. Just part-time though. Mrs. Stewart is doing quite well in real estate, and she wants me to come in today and talk to her boss. I can work a flexible schedule, and to tell you the truth, I think I might be good at that type of work. We met a lot of those agents when we were looking for our house. They weren’t anything special. I’ll just need to get my real estate license, but I can cobroker some deals for now.”

Peter turned around to see if CJ was listening. She was off in her own world, rigging her lasso into some sort of pulley system, stringing it through the seat and around the seat belt latches. Peter turned back to his mother.

“Why?” he wanted to know.

“Because you need a license to sell homes, silly.”

“No, why do you need to go back to work? Dad makes a boatload of money now. He says it all the time. Why do you have to work too?”

She seemed taken aback by the question, but Peter didn’t see anything wrong with it. He was confused, so he asked. Whatever happened to “there’s no such thing as a stupid question?”

Abby’s eyes darted back and forth from the road to Peter. “Maybe because I want to, Peter. Is something wrong with that?”

Peter sensed his mother getting angry, so he abandoned his question to hang and slowly die in the air-conditioned car. He stared out the window, and they drove the rest of the way in silence, though at times he could feel his mother’s eyes glancing over at him.

* * *

They pulled into the half-circle driveway of Uncle Herb’s group home, parking next to a large van. The home was in a wooded area—the only house on the block. Abby had once told Peter that a lot of people don’t want to live near group homes even though the homes and properties were immaculately kept. Some residents fought fiercely to keep group homes out of their own neighborhoods. Abby said that people feared different, even in this day and age, and there was still a stigma on people with disabilities. Peter couldn’t understand it, but considering Herb was one of the first names he could speak, his experience was unlike other people’s.

“Uncle Herb will be so excited to see you guys,” Abby said, putting the car in park.

CJ kicked the back of Peter’s chair. “Uncle Herb! Uncle Herb!”

Peter said nothing, and his mother looked over at him as she stepped out of the car.

“Is everything all right, Peter?” she asked.

Peter didn’t look at her as he unbuckled his seat belt. “Yeah. I’m just tired of the sun, I guess.”

Uncle Herb was waiting in the shade of a tree with a suitcase on one side of his wheelchair and an aide from the home on the other. His button up shirt drooped down from his atrophied muscles as if it was wet.

Abby said, “Sorry we’re late, Maria. Traffic.”

The aide acknowledged the apology with pursed lips. Maria was a stump of a woman, barely an inch over five feet, but built solid from three decades of working two, sometimes three jobs at a time—always physical work, because it made the day go faster. She looked imposing compared to the man in the wheelchair next to her, his body swallowed by chrome and padding. In Maria’s four years working for the group home, Hoobie—as she liked to call Herb—had become her favorite resident. He had handsome, gentle features, and she playfully flirted with him as she helped him eat, go to the bathroom, or bathe. Unlike some of the lazy and stupid college kids she had to work with, Maria had found it easy to understand him. Her English was average, but Hoobie had such trouble speaking that he broke down his thoughts into the simplest terms, which was helpful in overcoming the language barrier. Maria’s anger would surge when her coworkers acted surprised and delighted when Hoobie said something smart or funny, those patronizing fools. Maria knew that Herb was a thousand times smarter than they or their children would ever be. Young people are so visual, Maria thought. They see drool and wheelchair, they think stupid. Hoobie might not be able to walk by himself, but Maria recognized early on he could run circles around people with his mind.

And now Maria felt like she should be slapped for not protecting her loyal friend. She was letting him go with this woman who was constantly chasing her own tail—always in a rush, always late! Always talking, never listening. Who cared if she was his sister? How could she take care of Hoobie for two weeks around the clock? This wasn’t Christmas dinner. She couldn’t even take care of her own children. The boy walked around with his head down like a kicked puppy. And the girl in her crown and holding a rope, loco rematado, raving lunatic. She was cute, though, you have to give her that, with her blond curly hair and big blue eyes. The mother was a hound dog, always chasing an invisible scent just out of reach.

Maria frowned as she watched Hoobie’s family spill out of their car. “Are you sure you want to go, Hoobie?”

But Herb was too occupied to answer, smiling and waving at his approaching niece and nephew, his fingers and arms crooked and rigid like those of a conductor cueing up his orchestra. He smiled at Maria, and she shook her head disapprovingly as she had done thousands of times to her adult children, knowing that they too had to make their own decisions. She pulled a napkin from her pocket and dabbed at bubbles of saliva forming at the corner of Herb’s mouth.

When Abby and Herb’s mother died seven years ago—not even a year after their father—the first thing Abby bought with her portion of the inheritance was an oversized SUV with large trunk space to hold Herb’s electric wheelchair. They had standardized vans made for this type of transportation, but Abby couldn’t bring herself to buy such an unattractive vehicle.

Abby leaned down to kiss her brother, which was followed by a gentle hug from Peter. CJ came at him with a flying hug, almost leaping into his lap.

Maria yelled, “He no piece of furniture!”

CJ paid her no mind until her hug was finished, and then she scowled at Maria as she let go. Maria, after getting over the initial shock of the little girl’s brashness, scowled in return.

They all followed Abby to the SUV. Maria helped them load and buckle Herb into the center seat of the back row. CJ and Peter would sit closely on each side of him for support. Maria leaned in and patted Herb on the chest. She whispered, “See you soon, Hoobie.”

Herb smiled. “Ew-ill.”

“I know I will.” Maria turned to Abby, “Two weeks is long time. Any problem you call me, right?”

Abby was struggling to lift the electric wheelchair into the back of the SUV, and this time, Maria didn’t offer any assistance; she was done helping. After much effort, Abby had the chair over the lip of the trunk and slammed the door shut. She pushed the hair out of her eyes and glared at Maria, who despite her cool appearance was laughing hysterically on the inside. Abby marched past her and slid behind the wheel. “I appreciate your concern, Maria, but I think I can take care of my own brother.”

Maria turned and walked away without saying goodbye. Abby noticed her roll her eyes.

They were on the expressway heading home when Abby finally finished cursing Maria in her mind. In the rearview mirror, she could see the three of them sandwiched in the back, the kids leaning toward the center to keep Herb upright. CJ was making silly faces at him, crossing her eyes and distorting her mouth. Abby said, “After this vacation, Herb, you might need a vacation.”

Herb smiled at the joke even though he didn’t share the sentiment. He had been looking forward to this for weeks, months maybe. The kids were growing up so fast. Usually he saw them once or twice a month for lunch or dinner, because it was easier on Abby not to have to take care of another body. But this time Abby was adamant about him staying for an extended period, and she didn’t have to twist his arm too hard. His group home was okay; he had fun with some of the staff, like Maria, and he got along with all the other residents, though most of them had more developmental disabilities than physical ones, but nothing could replicate time with Peter and CJ. They were his blood. The group home wasn’t bad at all if you looked big picture. If he’d been born twenty years earlier, he could have ended up in an institution.

“What’s that, Uncle Herb?” CJ asked. She was pointing to the indentation on the side of his forehead.

Peter groaned. “You ask that every time, CJ.”

“It’s his birthmark, honey,” Abby answered.

Herb didn’t mind CJ’s asking at all. It wasn’t a visit until she did. He loved how CJ’s fingers softly traced the horseshoe impression that started near his eye and curved above his ear and into his hairline, left by the forceps during his delivery. He was an “instrument baby” of the late 1960s. At birth, he was wearing his mother’s umbilical cord like a scarf. The loss of oxygen during that critical time left Herb with spastic tetraplegia, unable to walk and with limited arm control, so despite his age—he was turning forty-two in a couple of months—his muscles had withered to the point that his frame was pretty much equal in size to Peter’s.

“So,” Abby said, trying to get everyone’s attention. “Like I was telling Peter before, I need to go out for a little while, and Uncle Herb is going to watch you, if that’s okay with you, Herb.”

Herb nodded. Watching was no problem, it was one of the few the things he could do well. His only concern was if something happened that required action.

“So, despite Uncle Herb’s presence, Peter, you should still look after CJ and go to Uncle Herb for guidance. Uncle Herb is there only to supervise, and under no condition do you leave the yard. Understand?”

Peter had no problem with the directions, but he turned and glared at someone who would. CJ wasn’t listening of course, busy tracing her pointer finger down the window as she gnawed at the plastic top of her travel cup.

Herb took it all in, smiling.

“Did you hear that, CJ?” Peter said, looking for some sort of affirmation.

CJ couldn’t be bothered.

“CJ?” Abby said, stressing each letter as she usually did.

CJ’s stared at the back of her mother’s head. She seemed perfectly content to let her wait.

“Mommy’s talking to you,” Abby added.

“I-I-I-I know-w-w-w,” CJ said, parroting the inflection of her mother’s voice.

Peter’s head dropped, exhausted by his sister’s defiance.

“CJ!” Abby said sternly.

Herb didn’t care if this car ride never ended. He was enjoying every second of it. CJ turned to him as if she was appraising his value, her squinty eyes fixed on his face. Then she turned back to her mother and said, “You talking to me?”

Uncle Herb let his chin fall to his chest, in hopes of hiding the smile that cracked his face.

Abby shot back, “Young lady, I don’t know where you learn these expressions, but I strongly suggest you unlearn them quickly.”

CJ ignored the threat, choosing to stare at Uncle Herb, who looked like he was choking but was really trying to prevent his niece from seeing him bottle his laughter.

“She’s always like this, Uncle Herb,” Peter said.

A string of saliva dropped from Herb’s bottom lip to his lap. CJ bowed her head to get a better look at Herb’s face, so he turned his head toward Peter’s window. When he thought he could keep a straight face, he glanced over at CJ, but she was waiting for him, smiling. His body then bobbed in uncontrollable laughter, falling forward like a puppet dropped from the top of a building. Only the constraints of the seat belts and Peter’s grip kept Herb from falling face first onto the floor of the car.

* * *

At home, the family had barely dropped Uncle Herb’s suitcase, and him into his chair, before Abby jumped back into the car and left. She was late for her first day of work. Peter found himself in the front yard, a willing captive of CJ and her lasso. Uncle Herb sat parked on the driveway, thinking how lucky he was to get a front-row seat for this show.

As Peter let himself be tied, he heard shouting. He looked up and saw an attractive young woman storm out of Josh's house. Josh followed, not looking in a particular rush, and taking his time to look at the sky and his yard.

“Waste away your life if you want to, but I’m not going to be around to see it,” she shouted at the air, but Peter guessed her words were aimed at Josh.

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Josh said. He looked over at Peter and CJ, but didn’t acknowledge them.

“Don’t give me your self-righteous crap. You piss away everything, that’s what you do, you and your crazy ideas and beliefs. There is just too much collateral damage with you. You leave it in your wake.”

“I don’t think that is a fair assessment,” Josh calmly replied.

The woman threw her arms up the air. Her pocketbook, which was wrapped around her shoulder, hit her square in the head on the rebound, fanning her anger. “You know what, Josh? Me wasting my life waiting for you to grow up, that’s not fair.”

She opened her car door, sat, and slammed the door shut. She stared at Josh as if she was taking a mental snapshot, and for a second, her anger seemed to turn into something sadder. “I’m sorry,” she said. The engine roared and the tires screeched. The back end of the car fishtailed as she sped away. Counting Dad’s taxi and Mom’s car, Peter noted it was the third car today to speed off down Ranch Street.

Across the street, Mr. Terry had watched the entire scene from his knees in his flowerbed. When the car was out of sight, he shouted, “Girlfriend needs some medication, I believe.”

Josh waved and headed back toward his house. From the ground, Peter craned his neck to watch Josh’s every step. Josh stopped at the stoop in front of his door and looked over their way. “That didn’t go too well,” he said, and flashed the peace sign before disappearing inside.