The Practical Navigator (34 page)

Luis is just getting out of the truck, intent on going back inside for rescue purposes, when Leo comes out the door and down to the sidewalk.
Aturdido.
He seems dazed.

“You two figure it out?” asks Luis.

“Huh? Yeah, sure,” says Leo. “No big deal.”

“Bueno.”

What else is there to say? Luis starts to turn for the truck. Before he can, Leo throws his arms around him, pulling him close. Leo's a head shorter, so his ample stomach presses awkwardly against Luis's
pelotas
and though Luis is decidedly unsettled by the sensation, he decides that this one time he doesn't mind.

 

57

Jamie is home when the mail arrives, and when Michael tells him there is a letter addressed to him, he is excited.

“From who?” he asks. “From who?”

“Your mom,” Michael tells him, having recognized both the stationery and the graceful handwriting.

Jamie stares at him a moment.

“Read.”

“You can do it.”

“No. You. Read.”

Michael carefully opens the letter and takes out the single page. He studies it a moment, preparing, trying to find her voice inside himself.

“‘Jamie,'” Michael says. “‘Your mother loves you so very, very much. She will come back to you. But first she has to learn to love herself. She will. I promise. Take care of Bear-Bear. He's always yours. Love, Mom.'”

Michael studies his son's face, trying to decipher what he might be feeling, unable to. He wonders if he should show Jamie the other piece of mail that arrived, a bank statement in Jamie's name, a balance of almost fifty thousand dollars, Michael the custodian. No. He wouldn't understand. Save it for the future.

“My mother is off in the world of men.”

“Yes. Yes, she is.”

“She will be back.”

“That's what she says.”

“She loves me.”

“We both do.”

“I do too.”

Later that day, Michael finds the letter taped to the bathroom wall, under the photographs.

Mom.

Dad.

 

58

They meet at Starbucks, which is silly because Tisha Beacham orders tea and Michael is ambivalent about three-dollar coffee. But Starbucks it is unless you're going to meet for a beer somewhere and Michael doubts his ex-mother-in-law has ever had a beer in her life.

“Neal tells me you turned down his job offer.”

“You might say.”

Tisha Beacham, Michael has always thought, is an unsettling woman. Like Anita, desirable and distant in equal measure but with none of her daughter's very human frailties showing.

“May I ask why?”

“His job didn't include the people I work with.”

“Loyalty. No wonder he thinks you're a fool.”

“I think he is. I don't know how you stay with him.”

“I have no choice really. He's been diagnosed with Parkinson's.” Tisha sips her tea. She stares at Michael. Waiting.

“I'm sorry,” he finally says.

“Why? What goes around comes around.”

“No, I mean, I'm sorry for you.”

“God doesn't give you more than you can handle, Michael.”

“Nice of him.”

She regards him a moment.

“There are two separate back-to-back cottages down on Ocean Avenue just off Mission Bay. Do you know the area?”

She's segued so quickly he feels like he's talking to his mother. “I do. Back to back?”

“Individual lots. They're owned by a family trust. The trust is interested in tearing them down and putting in a luxury apartment building, six to eight units.”

“Who's the family?”

“That's not important. Would you like the job?”

“Are there strings attached?”

“No strings. Just a job. You'll have to find an architect. Someone young and smart that you can create an ongoing relationship with.”

“I can do that.”

“I'll tell the lawyer to call you then.”

He sips the expensive coffee. The family, of course, is Tisha's. Michael knows all about the trust. He's often felt it was one of the things holding Anita back.

“You mind if I ask why you're doing this?”

The gaze is unwavering. “Jamie. I want to help him. I want to help you. You're a decent man and I like you. And I'm tired of arm's length.”

“I can't promise anything on that front.”

“I already told you. No strings.” Pushing her cup aside and rising, Tisha gathers her things. “I've got to run. I have church.” She hesitates. She decides. “If you hear from her, anything at all, you'll let me know?”

“Of course. You do the same.”

Tisha nods. Turning, she moves away, looking straight ahead, her steps decisive and resolute.

If Anita has half her mother's strength
 …

Michael doesn't complete the thought. He looks at his watch, his father's watch, the one he is wearing full-time again. It wouldn't do to be late.

*   *   *

“Hey, Luis! How you doin', my man!” Robert Caulfield shouts out, shocking Luis completely. Busy applying drain wrap to a second-floor exterior wall, he didn't even hear the man's little
coche deportivo
pull up to the worksite. Why isn't he bothering somebody else?

“Lookin' good, dude!”

Increíble.

How a gringo in silly sports clothes should know his name is beyond Luis. And that anyone should think manufactured fiberglass sheeting looks good is equally
ridículo.
Or maybe the man's
un maricón
and his “lookin' good” was meant as a compliment. Luis has nothing against fairies. His cousin Emanuel wears his hair long and likes to paint his nails.
No gran cosa.
But if this pale, chubby
bastardo
so much as looks at him cross-eyed, Luis will make him eat his designer sunglasses.

The man takes a step closer and Luis prepares to deck him. “So listen,” says Robert Caulfield. “Mike was telling me you got a nephew, bright kid, lookin' to get into Stanford. He says you need some recommendations.”

¿Qué
demonios?
thinks Luis. What the hell? He shrugs, noncommittal. “Maybe we do.” He has no idea where this is going. Obviously it's not about drain wrap.

“Well, it just so happens, Luis,” says Robert Caulfield, “that
I
am a Cardinal.”

“A bird?” says Luis, more confused than ever.

“No!” Caulfield laughs. “Stanford, my man! Undergrad and med school. So, look, I'd be happy to meet the kid, chat with him, see where he's at, see what I can do to help.”

“You would do that?” Luis can't believe it. This has got to be a trick. The man must want something.

“Luis, look at me. Look at my car. Look at this house I'm building. I'm a lucky guy. God gave me a brain, but he also cut me a few breaks along the way. I know it and I'm grateful for it. If I can help a kid like your nephew, if I can give back a little, that's where I'm at. 'Cause what goes around, comes around, know what I mean?”

In Luis's experience what's usually going and coming is
mierda
. But not this time. No, not this time.

“Anything you need, anytime, you ask,” says Luis. “We are friends now.”

“Good,” says Robert Caulfield, beaming. “Good.”

 

59

Fari takes passport, ticket, and baggage claims from the airline counter attendant and, turning, sees Michael standing beyond the passenger rope, about ten yards away, waiting for her. Her astonishment is only matched by the delight she feels at the sight of him. She had given up on him calling back. She had convinced herself it was for the best. She approaches carefully, trying to hide her pleasure.

“What are you doing here?”

“Seeing you off. I wanted to introduce you to someone before you left,” Michael says, and he steps aside. “This is Jamie.”

The boy, Fari sees, looks like his mother. He stands, very still and unaffected, at Michael's side, his father's hand on his shoulder.

“Jamie, this is Dr. Akrepede.”

The boy's gaze doesn't waver. He doesn't blink.

“Hello, Jamie,” Fari says, hoping a smile will help.

“Do you give shots to people?” he says.

“I'm sorry?” Fari suddenly feeling on uncertain ground.

“He's talking about injections,” says Michael.

“Oh.” The ground feels solid again. “No. I'm not that kind of doctor.” She hopes she hasn't disappointed him. “Why?”

“I said I didn't need one but the doctor said I had to.”

“I'm sure he had a good reason.”

“Yes. Are you going to see your mom?”

The boy is going too quickly for her. But at the same time she realizes this is coming from Michael. He has obviously been talking about her. “Yes, I am. In England.”

“Is she nice?”

Fari glances at Michael, who seems amused and not obliged to help her. Is it a test? she wonders.

Be that way.

Fari kneels so that she and the boy are face-to-face. “She is. She's very nice.”

“My mom is nice but she had to leave.”

Again, Fari quickly looks at Michael. And sees from his face that it's true. She turns back to Jamie.

“I'm sorry. I'm sure she'll be back.”

“I'm ready to go now,” Jamie says.

“Little man, they're selling gum over there.” Michael points to a kiosk just across from them. “Why don't you get Dr. Akrepede some for her plane ride.”

It must be telepathy, Fari thinks gratefully. She'd love a moment alone with him. “Jamie, do you have money?”

“Yes, I do.” And oblivious to the two sets of eyes following and protecting him, he moves away toward the counter.

“He's remarkable,” says Fari.

“He's something,” says Michael. Who will start? he thinks.

I will.

“What are your plans?”

“Six hours to New York. A change of planes. My sister will meet me at Heathrow.”

“Round-trip?”

“I haven't booked the return yet.”

“Soon I hope.”

“I think it will be.”

As one, they move the short distance into each other's arms. Holding a person for at least thirty seconds, Fari has read, lifts serotonin levels, elevates mood, and creates happiness. She feels this one lasts at least that long.

“I don't want to leave now,” she says.

“I'm not going anywhere,” he replies.

“I got you peppermint,” says Jamie.

And
how
did you do it so fast? Fari wonders as she slips from Michael's embrace.

Children.

“Peppermint is my favorite. It was nice to meet you, Jamie.”

“Yes, it was.”

A last look at Michael. “Soon,” he says again. Fari nods. She turns and starts down the concourse. Looking back, she waves. He raises a hand in return. “Hey,” he calls. “Answer your phone!” Fari reaches into her pocket, pulls it out and holds it up. Feigning excitement, like a young girl with too much to say in one breath, she puts it to her ear. She turns away, already contemplating the time change.

 

60

It's as her mother said. There is nothing in the apartment that is meaningful to her. Not even a memory. Anita closes the door and doesn't look back. She gets in the car and drives. It is a direct route, Interstate 10, out through Palm Desert and Indio, continuing east to Phoenix and then south. About five hundred miles altogether. The Prius should make it on one tank.

She has found his number—in the book, as he said—but she hasn't called to say she is coming. She wants no obligations. She might not even call once she gets there. But she thinks she will. She has a sense there is healing there. Divine intervention, Anita thinks, places its angels in unexpected places and in unlikely packages.

 

61

The new puppy, Robin Williams, all stomach, huge feet, and ears, races across the back terrace to pounce on the resting Abigail.

“Oh, you are just the most abusive creature,” says Penelope, looking up from her newly blooming roses. It has been three days since Michael brought the puppy home from the shelter—“for Jamie”—and despite her initial reserve, Penelope has quickly fallen in love. Abigail, who merely tolerates the new presence in the house, rises from the bricks, upending her attacker, and dignity intact, meanders back into the house.

“You are a beast,” says Penelope. “A horrible, brutal little beast.”

“Brrff,”
says Robin Williams, and he waddles back across the patio to reclaim the leather shoe he's been chewing on.

*   *   *

Jamie, led to the garage by his father, has his eyes closed.

“Okay. Open'm.”

Jamie does so. To see that Michael is holding …
something
. It is long and smooth and polished to a high gloss with three odd-looking fins on the bottom.

“What is it?”

“Dude. It's a surfboard.”

“Oh.”

“It's yours, little man. See?” There are large dark letters beneath the last coat of resin—
Jamie Hodge—8'6"—by Michael Hodge.
“You're the owner. This is the length of the board. This is the name of the shaper.”

“You. You did it?”

“Yes. What do you think?” Michael suddenly has his doubts. The solemn expression on his son's face doesn't bode well. Jamie dislikes gifts, usually rejects anything he doesn't pick out himself. Still, Michael had hoped.

“I love it,” says Jamie.

Giving has never felt like this before.

“You want to hold it?”

“Yes.”

“Careful,” says Michael, “it's a little heavy.”

But not too. Michael is sure of that. The board, with its rounded nose and tail, is long and thick enough to be stable in the water but should still paddle and turn easily. It might hurt Jamie if it accidentally hits him but that's surfing. That's life.