Part 4 (1/2)
”Uncle Tony! Crazy Uncle Tony!”
”Hey,” said Brendan. ”How come he's Uncle Tony and I'm only Cousin Brendan?”
”Come on, guys,” called Eileen from the kitchen. ”Come hang out with the big kids. Girls, dinner'll be ready in an hour.”
It was warm enough to sit outside on the deck, looking out onto a small stand of maples still clinging to their s.h.a.ggy red leaves. Now and then one of the children would wander out, the girls looking for snacks (refused) or attention (given), Peter simply standing for a moment beside his father before turning and walking back inside.
”Tony said he's starting to read?” Eileen asked. She alone was drinking wine, a good Semillon that gave off topaz sparks as sun struck her gla.s.s.
Brendan's mouth twitched in an automatic smile. ”Actually, no, I don't think he's reading. Well, we're not sure he's reading. We have close-captioned TV, and he watches it, and Teri thinks maybe he makes out some of it. But I don't know,” he ended, pressing his gla.s.s of club soda to his cheek. ”I just don't know.””Well, but everything has to be taken slowly, doesn't it?” Eileen leaned over and touched his knee. ”Every little thing is sort of a major triumph with kids. Any kids.”
”Sure.” Brendan thought of Peter going in by himself to watch TV with the twins. ”Every little bit counts.”
”It's all important,” agreed Eileen.
”Sure,” said Kevin, standing. ”But what's really important is football.”
Tony looked stricken. ”What about The March of the Wooden Soldiers?”
”Don't worry, Tony, we got it all set up.” Kevin started for the kitchen. ”And you know what else, Tony? This year you even get to sit at the grownups' table.”
When dinner was ready they all moved into the formal dining room. At his father's side, Peter sat quietly as Brendan cut up turkey and green beans. For a little while the room was happily silent, except for grunts of ”Great job, Eileen” and m.u.f.fled requests for more stuffing. Seconds were dispersed, plates emptied, and soon everyone save Peter began talking at once-the twins eager to tell Brendan about some complicated arrangement they had for sharing hamsters, Kevin ribbing his cousin about the last football game, Eileen sharing her recipe for jalapeno-pumpkin dip with Tony.
And, gradually, and despite Eileen's best efforts, the conversation began to turn to childhood.
Brendan and Kevin and Tony's childhood, in particular; Chip Crockett, in even more particular.
”Kevin, man, you got to check out his Web site. I was gonna show it to Brendan the other night but it got too late. It'll blow your mind. Right, Brenda?”
Kevin sniffed. ”Sounds more like something the girls'd go for, Tony. I personally don't watch a lot of Chip Crockett these days.”
”Well, no one does,” said Tony. He turned to Eileen. ”You remember Chip Crockett. They had him over in New Jersey, right?”
”Oh sure. He was great-you girls would've loved him. I had a total crush on Chip Crockett,” she added dreamily. ”He was-”
”What was he like?” Cara broke in.
”He was just like your Uncle Tony,” said Kevin. ”Plus or minus a few brain cells.”
”I was going to say,” Eileen continued, ”that he was like my father. Or what I wanted my father to be like. He was funny-”
”He was silly,” said Kevin.
”He was wonderful. I still remember, after Kennedy was a.s.sa.s.sinated-that Monday morning Chip Crockett came back on the air and tried to explain it to us. He looked awful, but he was so gentle and sad-I never forgot that.”The twins looked bored. ”Can we be excused? Please?”
Eileen nodded. ”Yes. Of course, just clear your plates ...”
They were already out the door. A moment later Cara poked her head back in. ”Peter? Wanna come? We have that movie-”
”The movie!” Tony shot to his feet. ”Wait, girls-”
”Go ahead, Peter,” said Brendan, smiling encouragingly. ”Go with Tony.” Peter slid from his chair and left.
”Tony! Clear your place!” Kevin shouted as Tony hurried down the hall. ”G.o.d, he drives me nuts.
Doesn't he drive you crazy, Brendan? Living with him?”
”Not really. Well, a little. He's very neat.”
”Neat? Well, his life's a f.u.c.king mess. You know he got canned from Gigantor Music?”
Brendan blinked. ”No.”
”Yes. He showed up for work last night, they told him to go home.”
”Kevin.” Eileen's lacquered red nails poised menacingly above his wrist. ”Shut up.”
Brendan began to unwind a crescent roll. ”What happened?”
”Who knows? Who cares? Look at him-forty-three years old, he's still wearing a leather jacket and hightop sneakers and waiting to collect his first royalty check. He's a f.u.c.king loser.”
Eileen's eyes narrowed. ”Yeah? Well, I've never seen anyone wearing a T-s.h.i.+rt with your face on it.”
”He hasn't even played a pickup gig in three years.” Kevin picked up his gla.s.s of non-alcoholic beer and stared at it. ”He depresses me.”
”He makes me laugh.” In a swirl of red velvet and Chakra perfume, Eileen stood. ”He's the only one who's still the way we were when we all met. I think he's a sweetheart.”
”Oh yeah?” sputtered Kevin. ”Well, then, why-”
”And you can do the dishes.”
She stalked off, carrying the bottle of semillon. Kevin stared after her. ”Christ. My wife's leaving me for Tony Maroni.”
Brendan took a bite of his roll. ”You know, it's a concept.”
”What?”
”T-s.h.i.+rts with your picture on them. They could give 'em out at Greenpeace rallies. You'd be bigger than Saddam Hussein.”Kevin gazed broodingly at the deconstructed turkey. After a minute, Brendan asked, ”Why does he bother you so much?”
”Tony? Because he's superfluous. He has absolutely no place in the food chain.”
”Then why do you stay in touch with him at all?”
Kevin sighed. ”Because he's the only one of us who's still the same as when we met.”
”Dad?” Caitlin stood in the doorway. ”The tape's not working.”
”I'll go.” Brendan stood, put a longyear on his cousin's shoulder. ”You help Eileen with the dishes.”
He followed the girl into the hall. ”How's Peter doing, Caitlin?”