Howdy. :) I'm happy. This chapter is a big one. The big one-oh. Double digits. Ahhh...tis a grand thing. :) Oh! And last chapter we hit 100 reviews! Oh yeah baby, you better believe I'm happy. Giddy even. :)
Okey-dokey. So last chapter I got a reviews saying how much they wanted to know why Uncle John's here...and I'm sorry to say that doesn't exactly happen in this one. I needed to set up the foundation for him - let you get to know Uncle John before I stick him in a situation where you might end up not liking him. And I have to say, that would make me really sad because I'm in love with the spaz. :) I HIGHLY suggest that you go check out the pictures of him I have on my profile BEFORE you read this, because then you'll have a visual...and the first sentance might not seem so odd. :)
This chapter is basically just family stuff, Uncle John, bye-bye migraine, and some funny stuff with el padre. Hope you like it, read review and be merry as always...and make me smile again!
My father's brother was a handsome man with chiseled features indicative of Native American ancestry: high cheekbones, wide brown eyes, dark skin, dark hair, and a strong jaw-line. Uncle John had long black hair that was always either perfectly straight or braided into two pigtails that reached just past his shoulders. He could usually be found wearing a cowboy hat or a bandana.
Today, he had pigtails and a worn out blue bandana that matched the one sticking out the back pocket of his jeans. His face was covered in engine grease and he had it smeared all over his once cleanly-pressed white button down shirt.
"How've you been Bug?" He asked, lurching forward to wrap me in his big strong arms.
A million childhood memories floated through my mind: swimming in Lake Chelan at Christmas, fishing in the Columbia River; the summer that Lucas, me and Uncle John had decided to we were going to build a tree house…and then got bored and built a fort in the living room instead.
Uncle John was a very comforting person who always had a hug to give, a shoulder to cry on, and something wise or funny to say.
But I wasn't comfortable. Because I knew that Uncle John wasn't here just to visit and reminisce about ancient adventures; he was here because my dad needed to talk to him about something important. About Jared.
Jared, who had just driven me home. Jared, who had just tried to kiss me.
Behind my uncle's back I dug my nails into the palm of my hand for not letting him.
"What're you doing home Kimmy? Your dad said you got out of school at two thirty."
I glanced over at the shop-clock on the wall. Eleven fifteen.
"I uh- didn't…don't feel good." I muttered into his chest. Uncle John let go of me so that he could put his leathery hand on my forehead.
One of his eyebrows rose and he clucked his tongue.
"I've got bad news Kimberly Norene. You're fatally ill and you only have two minutes to live." His face took on a comically distraught expression. "Quick!" He shouted, making me jump. "What do you want to do with your last two minutes of life?" He pointed an imaginary microphone at my face and I just rolled my eyes.
Uncle John was the biggest kid in the world.
After a few seconds of silence he started tapping his foot impatiently and checked his watch repeatedly.
"Oh, would you look at that? Your times up. You have to die now. Buh-bye!" His hand shot up to push hard on my shoulder. I lost my balance and plummeted towards the floor; but – just like he always had – my uncle saved my butt before I got hurt.
"Saved your life! What's my prize?"
"How about you put me back on my feet…and I don't barf on you."
He narrowed his eyes. "Deal."
When I was righted, and comfortably sitting on the stack of tires in the corner of our garage – I remembered something.
"Uncle John?" I asked. "Where's my dad?"
My uncle had rolled himself underneath his beat up old Mercury sedan using Brandon's skateboard, and his reply came out echoing like he was on the other side of a wide chasm.
"He's out running – preparing for that big marathon he's got coming up…or something."
I started laughing so hard I almost fell from my perch.
"My dad doesn't run in marathons! I can barely get him to walk out and get the mail!"
Uncle John slid out from under his car, and we locked eyes. He started laughing and the sound was warm – comforting. Like a cup of hot chocolate on a cold day.
"Your old man'll do anything to try and one-up me won't he?"
It was true. Over the years, the brother's relationship had consisted of numerous random competitions.
Who could gain a higher tribal standing in La Push? Who could make more money selling junk on e-bay? (My father had gone so crazy during that stage that for a while we had nothing in our house except a few folding chairs, sleeping bags, and our clothing.) Who had the nicer car? (Dad had been winning that one…before I crashed his trophy into a lamp post.)
Brandon and I were both under the firm suspicion that these ridiculous competitions were the reason the brothers hadn't spoken in four years.
Uncle John had been going to college for well over eight years to get his judicial degree - so my father was ahead in the career department for a while – at least until Uncle John graduated and got a job at a law firm in Oregon.
Lawyer beat mail man – Dad was pissed. The competitions kept going though, and I highly doubted they would ever stop.
"Don't be facetious – you would do anything to beat him."
"True," he allowed. "But at least I don't deny it."
xXx
"Kimbo?" Uncle John poked his head in my bedroom door and then blinked against the bright colors.
I rolled over so that I could face him from where I lay in bed.
After we had spent a few more minutes innocently bashing my father, I'd excused myself upstairs to rest and try to fight off my migraine. Thankfully, a few hours of sleep without my brother sin my room had done the trick, and not even my psychedelic walls could make me dizzy now – well…any more than was normal anyways.
"Yeah?" I grumbled.
"Could you go pick up Brandon at the bus stop? I would go, but I'm going to clean up the kitchen before your dad comes home and skins me alive."
My eyebrows pulled together. "Brandon's twelve Uncle John; he can walk home by himself now."
"Oh, that's right." For some reason this news seemed to sadden him. Uncle John had no children of his own – he and my aunt had decided they weren't the fruit bearing type – so Lucas, Brandon and I had sort of been adopted as their children too. Four years away must not have been easy for him – all alone in Oregon with only Aunt Becky to talk to.
Poor guy.
"Well then," Uncle John smiled, temporary misery forgotten. "Do you want to sleep a while longer or are you feeling better?"
I nodded. "Much."
This news brightened his mood considerably. He cleared his throat. "That's wonderful. Do you think – if you're up to it of course – that you could help me with dinner? Just watch or something – give me a few pointers…"'
I could see where this was going.
"Do you want me to cook Uncle John?"
"Yes! That would be wonderful! Thank you, you glorious child!" I rolled my eyes at his praise and threw off my quilt. "God smiles on your existence. May Taha-Aki bless your children!" His ludicrous blessings followed me into the bathroom where I splashed some water onto my face, then down the stairs and into the garage to grab a can of tomatoes for spaghetti sauce.
"Barney will bow to your magnificence. The munchkins of Oz will sing you to sleep…"
"Okay, I get it!" I laughed and shoved past the spaz to grab a wooden spoon out of the drawer. "I'm cooking aren't I?" I dumped the tomatoes into a pot, put the pot on the stove, and turned up the heat. "See? Coo-king."
He shook his braided head and stood behind me at the sink to clean his mountain of dirty dishes.
Before too long, when we had fallen into a comfortable silence, he started to sing. I recognized the song as one from my childhood – a Quileute lullaby my father still sang to Brandon when he was scared at night.
It told the story of the Mighty Raven Bayak, and how he placed the sun in the sky to save the Quileute people from an eternal winter.
Half way through the song I joined in – I knew the words well from years of learning our language in school.
Our voices melded together in a way that made me forget who I was. For a moment I could imagine myself buried deep in a mud-hut covered with deer skin pelts and watching the sun rise over A-Ka-Lat Island.
"Ki-Kie a-lita, Ki-Kie a-lita Bayak!
O-lit shi-pa wi-ta- cho-cho,
Di-a-di hibbib shi-pa Bayak…"
I heard a key jingling outside and motioned for Uncle John to stop singing.
"Brand?" I yelled. We heard a back pack tumble to the ground and my little brother poked his shaggy head around the corner.
"Who's here Kim? I heard voices-" his words got stuck in his throat as he caught sight of the man behind me. "Uncle John!"
"Hey Little Buddy; how ya been?" The two of them met in the doorway for a hug and Uncle John balked when he realized how close Brandon's head was to his own.
"Woah!" He shouted and leveled a hand with my brother's forehead. He brought it to his body and gaped down – Brandon was almost to his shoulders now. "When'd you get so tall Pipsqueak?"
"Just a few months ago." I offered. Brandon had shot up a foot since he entered middle school – he was now almost as tall as me.
"Quite a growth spurt there little man." Uncle John marveled.
Brandon was positively beaming. Not only was he proud of his newfound loftiness, he adored our uncle and getting praise from him was like being handed the key to the city for Brandon.
This was my family; but two substantial members were missing. I figured my father had probably walked down to the McDonalds or was holed up in Deputy Mike's house down the street, avoiding the conversation with his children about his apparent 'marathon' training. I had no idea where my other brother was. Lucas was usually still sleeping at four o' clock in the afternoon, but I had checked his room and he wasn't in it. Uncle John hadn't seen him since arriving, and Brandon had been at school all day so he had no idea either.
Probably out getting drunk again. I thought grimly. Even though he was only eighteen years old, Luke had the terrible habit of drowning himself in a bottle of vodka on a regular basis.
"Have either of you heard from Luke today?" I asked, even though I knew what their answers would be. They both shook their heads.
"Nah, I haven't seen Lucas," Brandon started. "But do you guys know why Dad's sleeping in the Navigator outside?"
Uncle John and I shared a look.
"The mighty marathoner returns?" He asked with a smile on his face.
"The mighty marathoner never left." I laughed – and then froze. My father was asleep in the car. The car that was in the driveway. The car that had been right next to Jared's Jeep when he'd dropped me off today. When he almost kissed me.
I couldn't believe our luck that he hadn't seen us.
"I should go get him." I tapped the spoon on the side of the shiny silver pan, set it down on the plate I had sitting by the stove, and marched myself to the front door. My feet slid comfortably into my father's over-sized and over-used house slippers, and I wiggled my toes inside them.
Comfy cozy.
It was raining outside so I ran to the car and tugged open the door. Sure enough, there was my father, snoring loudly and stretched out in the back seat. He had on a pair of worn out running shoes I recognized as Lucas's, some blue shorts that were so short they should have been outlawed, and Brandon's Gold's Gym T-shirt. The old man had outdone himself with the lying this time – it actually looked plausible. If not for the layer of flab hanging over the shorts, and the line of drool dripping from his saggy mouth, I almost could have believed that he ran marathons…almost.
"Daddy," I said quietly and shook his leg to try and wake him.
Houston we have a problem.
"Dad," I coaxed, a little louder this time. Still no response.
"Henry!"
He sat up with a snort and blinked against the setting sun that was shining right into his eyes.
"Kim?"
"Yeah Daddy it's me. Let's go inside okay? It's raining."
I had never seen my father blush before. After a few moments – just long enough for his left over grogginess to wear off – he had realized that he'd been caught in the act of lying. Worse…he'd been caught by his teenage daughter.
"Guess the jig is up huh?"
"Yeah," I laughed and put a balancing hand on his back as he climbed out of the SUV. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and we headed inside. "The jig was never really down Dad."