Fragile Beasts (47 page)

“You were little. Maybe you made a mistake.”

“No. No. I wasn’t little.”

I look away from my brother to the house sitting behind him. I wonder about the family living there. Do they have terrible secrets, too? Or are we the only ones?

Can everyone see the damage? Does it show up on our surface? How many times can the shattered pieces of me be patched back together before the glue stops working? What happens when I can’t hold on to anything good anymore, when it always leaks out through the cracks?

I stare at the house and imagine it on fire, but what I’m really seeing is my life engulfed in flames. I hear the roar of the inferno devouring everything inside. I watch the blackened frame begin to crumble. I feel my skin blister and burn from the heat. I should run, but I can’t leave. Everything I am is trapped in that house and soon it will be devoured and it will be as though I never existed.

Klint falls on his side, curls up in a ball, and cries.

I lay down behind him and put my hands on his shoulders, absorbing his shudders and facing the fact that the person I love the most is someone I don’t know at all.

H
e needs to escape the country and indulge in a city from time to time, plus he loves to visit shops specializing in culinary products and gourmet foodstuffs. He always brings home wonderful treats and all kinds of new gadgets for the kitchen.

Whenever Luis leaves me for any period of time, whether it be for a few days or the trips he takes to visit his family in Spain, he always cooks in advance and freezes meals for me.

I haven’t decided yet what we shall eat tonight. Klint’s appetite has decreased dramatically in the past few weeks, which has bothered me but getting any information from him is as futile as talking to a brick.

Eating has always been one of the great joys of my life, but I’m beginning to lose my sense of taste. Flavors don’t stimulate and thrill me the way they used to. I’m also losing my appetite, but this isn’t as troublesome at my age as it is at Klint’s.

My plumbing, as I’ve heard Jerry refer to the inner workings of his body, isn’t what it used to be. Digesting a rich, five-course meal is quite impossible for me now. I practically nibble at my food.

At first, not surprisingly, Luis took this behavior on my part as an insult. He thought after decades of praising his cooking to the heavens that I no longer cared for it.

Once I convinced him this wasn’t the case, he became concerned about me and after weeks of constant harassment finally persuaded me to see my doctor. After much poking and prodding and invasive whatnot on his part, a diagnosis was made: I’m old.

The boys are late tonight. I know Klint has a game but even so, they’re usually home by now.

I haven’t been able to bring myself to go to one of his games yet, although I still have plans to eventually do so. I’d never admit my misgivings to anyone, and especially not to Luis, but I do harbor a rather strong fear of people—not as individuals but in large cheering groups.

A screaming crowd takes me back to the day of Manuel’s death. I’ll never forget how beautiful the day was. The palpable love and excitement in the air of the humble town welcoming home their glorious native son, their prince, their star, on the eve of his birth.

They were magnificent when they met in the ring that day, Manuel and Calladito, the graceful, urbane man in his civilized suit of wealth and light, and the powerful, feral bull anxious to prove his strength; two very different beasts who seemed each in his own way to be completely in command, yet their meeting would end with one or both of them dead and bathed in each other’s blood.

I was changed so profoundly that day that I never recovered. Observers would say naturally this occurred because I lost the love of my life and I watched him die in a horrific manner, but there was more to it than this.

That day I realized God or no God, Fate or no Fate, it didn’t matter. All the centuries of man looking for answers with his philosophy and politics, his science and his arts; all of it was meaningless because none of it could help us cope with our most devastating enemy: the randomness of life.

This is why I dislike a cheering crowd. It will always symbolize for me the terror of knowing that we ultimately know nothing.

It’s getting dark, and I’m growing concerned.

I make myself a cup of tea and take it out onto the porch.

I hope nothing’s wrong. Klint has been acting even more withdrawn than usual. The change happened after he saw his mother, and I can’t help placing some of the blame on myself.

I’m afraid I didn’t handle that situation very well. I know now in hindsight that I should have told them their mother was coming to see them. She’s not the type of woman who should ever be sprung on someone.

I’m still negotiating with her. I certainly don’t plan to send the boys packing, but she’s demanding an absurd amount of money.

If I don’t pay her, she’ll take the boys and tell them I’m the one who decided they can’t live here anymore. They’ll believe her because she’s already announced, with all of us present, that she doesn’t mind if they continue to stay with me; therefore, if they don’t get to stay, it will look as though it was my decision to get rid of them.

She’s banking on the belief that I won’t hurt the boys by telling them their mother is a monster who’s using them to extort money from me.

It’s ingenious in its way.

I’ve taken a seat with my tea when I hear the sound of a vehicle coming up my driveway. A few moments pass and I realize the racket can only be coming from Tyler Mann’s truck.

My guess proves right.

The old truck rattles and roars to a stop in front of me. Tyler and Kyle get out.

“Hello, Kyle. Hello, Tyler.”

“Hi, Miss Jack,” Tyler responds to me but I notice not with his usual vigor.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

“I don’t know if it’s gonna be a pleasure,” he replies.

“Kyle, what’s wrong? You look very upset. Where’s your brother?”

“We don’t know.”

“What do you mean?”

Kyle looks at Tyler.

“What’s happened?” I ask.

“He kind of had a breakdown at the game,” Kyle tells me.

“What do you mean?” I ask again.

“He …,” he starts to explain. “He left. He was up at bat, and he ran away.”

“And where is he now?”

“I told you. We don’t know. I went after him and I caught up to him and talked to him.”

His voice trails off and he stares at the ground while he continues his story.

“I got him to go back to the game, but he went straight to his truck and drove away. We haven’t seen him since.”

He won’t look up. He’s obviously not telling me everything.

“We’ve been looking for him,” Tyler jumps in to assist Kyle. “We went everywhere he likes to hang out. We’ve been calling people. We drove all around town.”

“He’s not answering his cell,” Kyle adds.

“What do you think, Kyle? Should I call the police?”

“No, no,” he says vehemently, shaking his head. “No. No police. It’s nothing like that. I’m sure he’ll come home.”

Tyler claps Kyle on the shoulder.

“Don’t worry. He’s just blowing off some steam.”

Kyle nods. Neither one of them seems to put much faith in his words.

“Would you like to stay for dinner?” I ask Tyler.

“No thank you, ma’am. I appreciate the invitation, but I have to get home.”

Kyle goes straight up to his room. He doesn’t want to talk to me.

I manage to convince him to have some dinner but the meal is a dismal affair. He picks at his food and I pick at mine.

He refuses to make any eye contact with me. I think he looks ill.

After dinner I ask him again what he thinks we should do about his brother and again he says we should do nothing.

Time passes and Klint doesn’t come home. Kyle continues to try him on his cell phone, and he doesn’t answer.

I finally decide to go to bed, even though I know there’s no chance I’ll be able to sleep. I change out of my clothes into my nightgown, brush out my hair, and get into bed with a book that I open on my lap and stare at but find impossible to read.

This is one of those situations where I’m hampered by the fact that I’m not a relative of any kind. I’m not even a legal guardian. I also don’t have the instincts of a mother since I’ve never been one, but I’m fairly certain if Klint was my son, I would have already called the police.

But only if he were my son. Even if he were my grandson, I doubt I would be as equally presumptuous. If a similar scenario was unfolding involving Shelby, I wouldn’t take it upon myself to involve the authorities. I’d leave that up to her parents, but this boy has no parents or at least, no functioning ones. But what if I were caring for Shelby because her parents were unavailable? Say they were out of the country? What would I do right now? Would I call the police? Yes, I’m fairly certain I would, but Shelby’s a girl. There are so many
more terrible things that can happen to a girl than can happen to a seventeen-year-old boy. But are those the kinds of things I’m worrying about? Am I supposed to be concerned that something terrible has befallen Klint at the hands of someone else? No, I think what Kyle is worried about is that Klint may harm himself. By design or by accident.

Despite my worry and my racing mind, apparently I do doze off because I practically jump out of my skin when there’s a knock at my door.

I hurry toward it without even stopping to put on a robe.

It’s Kyle. He’s visibly shaking.

“I just got a call from Klint. I think something’s wrong.”

“Why? What did he say?”

“Well, he was crying a lot.”

“Klint was crying? What did he say? Where is he?”

“He wouldn’t tell me anything. He just kept saying don’t tell anybody what I told you. He told me something before. He wants to keep it a secret.”

“What is it?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Kyle …,” I begin to prod him but he interrupts by bursting into tears.

“He told me I’m a good brother,” he sobs. “He’d never tell me that unless something was really wrong.”

Before I have a chance to calm him or try to think clearly, the phone rings and this time we both jump.

I rush back into my room with my heart in my throat to answer it.

“Hello.”

“What the hell’s going on over there?” an unmistakable voice shouts at me.

“Excuse me? Rhonda, is that you? What are you talking about?”

“I just got a call from my kid and he was blubbering like crazy.”

“I still don’t understand what you mean?”

“What is wrong with you? Go put your hearing aid in. I said Klint just called me. What did you do to him?”

“Did he tell you where he is?”

“What do you mean where he is? I figured he was with you and you’d done something awful to him. Maybe you told him he couldn’t live in your palace anymore. That’s a big mistake. They’re gonna hate you …”

“What did he say to you?” I interrupt her.

“He didn’t say anything. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. He didn’t say a goddamned word. He just cried and cried and hung up.”

I hang up on her, too.

“Kyle,” I call out.

He comes running into my bedroom.

“That was your mother. Klint just called her.”

“What? Klint called Mom? Why? What did he say?”

“Apparently all he did was cry, then he hung up.”

All the color drains from Kyle’s face, and he sits down helplessly on my bed. His body begins shaking again.

“Kyle,” I say to him. “You have to tell me everything. I can’t help unless I know exactly what’s going on.”

It only takes him a few minutes to tell me what his brother revealed to him earlier, but as he’s doing it I feel as though time has come to a complete stop and by the time he finishes, I feel as if we’ve both aged twenty years.

I try to keep both my rage and my fear in check. I try to remain calm.

“What place means the most to Klint?” I ask Kyle. “In a good or bad sense. Where would he go to make a stand? The baseball field?”

“Home,” he says.

“Of course. Can you call Bill?”

“He’s not there.”

“How do you know?”

He gives me an exasperated look.

“It’s Wing Night.”

“Oh, I see. Then let’s go.”

We both start toward the stairs. It doesn’t even cross my mind to get dressed.

“Luis isn’t here,” Kyle says.

“I can drive.”

“Ah, yeah, I know you said you could before but can you really?”

“Of course.”

“When’s the last time you drove somewhere?”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s like riding a bicycle. You don’t forget how to do it.”

We arrive downstairs. I pull on my walking boots.

“I can drive,” Kyle suggests, anxiously.

“You certainly cannot.”

“I know how. My dad used to let me drive out in the country when there was no one around.”

“You don’t have a license.”

“So? This is an emergency like your wife having a baby.”

“Fifteen-year-olds aren’t supposed to have wives who have babies. I should take my purse. Where is my purse?”

“Come on!”

Kyle grabs me by the arm.

“We don’t have time.”

I refuse to be daunted by this task. I’ve been in this car countless times. I do know how to drive. It’s been close to thirty years since I’ve done so, but all that’s required is turning a key in the ignition, shifting into drive, pushing down a gas pedal, and steering. I remember how to do all that.

I insist that Kyle put on his seat belt.

He’s breathing heavily and bouncing around in his seat like a cooped-up puppy. Apparently I’m not moving quickly enough for him.

We start on our way.

It all comes back to me. Driving is easy. I’m doing fine.

I remember to check my mirrors, to keep my speed under control, to hold the steering wheel securely. I’m feeling confident and capable, but then we get to the end of the driveway.

“Miss Jack!” Kyle cries out. “We’ve got to go faster. Come on!”

“Yes, yes, you’re right.”