Translations – Part 3
Chapter 29…Words…
"Granddad. He's not here. Five eleven. I don't understand." I grab onto Leif's red vest with both my hands, but the satin is slippery and I can't keep hold of it and a fractured jumble of thoughts spills out my mouth and I'm floating, floating away. "Five hundred and eleven….Where?...Granddad…I don't understand." I feel hands digging into my arms as he drags me into Henry's room, shaking me, and I can hear again, hear myself, and my words sound like, "Baba baba. Ibi kis ebi. Arun mokanla. Ko ye mi. O gorun marun arun. Nibo. Baba baba. Ko ye mi."
Leif continues to shake me and I say "Help!" over and over again, only it sounds like, "Egbabawa o! Egbabawa o! Egbabawa o! Egbabawa o!"
Through a long tunnel I hear, "Ellawyn!" He shakes me harder and it hurts. It hurts! "Come back to me. Ellawyn!" he implores, his eyes roving like a searchlight.
He stops shaking me, searching my face for something. He reaches his hands up to clutch my face. Still searching. Panicked.
He presses me hard against his body.
And he kisses me.
On the mouth.
When he pulls back, he looks as shocked as I feel. I am no longer floating. I have reached the shore.
We stare at each other for an eternity.
"Are you with me again?" I nod. "Use words. I want to hear you say it." He searches my face again. "Talk to me. Please. Are you here? Are you with me?" His eyes blaze into mine and they are like a beacon and I find equilibrium in their blue depths and in his touch and his voice and the lingering feel of his lips.
I nod again, licking my lips. Tasting him. "Yes, I'm right here." I reply, and it sounds exactly like "Yes, I'm right here." Relief floods his face.
"Hold onto me, okay? Okay? I'm going to need my hands."
"Alright," I say. When I make no move, he takes one of my hands and puts it on his hip. Then places my other one on his other hip. He waits for a moment, and I dig in, clutching tightly.
"Don't worry. We're going to figure this out." I think I nod. Then he whips his phone out of his pocket. But he doesn't dial. His eyes are fixed on something to his left, behind me. I turn my head to follow his perplexed gaze, but I don't let go of his sides.
It takes me a moment to understand the perfectly ordinary thing I'm seeing.
In one corner of the room there are two half-deflated mylar balloons floating a few feet from the ceiling. They're tied together with red string.
One reads, "Best Wishes," and the other, "Good Luck!" I'm mesmerized by the smiling cartoon animals on one of them and the colorful lettering on both.
Leif swears under his breath then says what sounds like, "I'm going to kill him." He starts to punch some numbers in his phone.
I'm not sure who he's calling, but I put my hand over his phone. "Wait," I say. "Just wait." We both stare at the balloons again.
I glance around the room, thinking, my fractured thoughts slowly gaining clarity.
The chairs, tables and bed are all hospital issue.
Henry never answered his phone this weekend, but that is not uncommon.
Bea said he was fine. I don't think she would lie. Not now.
She gave me specific instructions.
Everything ran over—the graduation ceremony, my picking up the gifts, traffic, and we were later than expected getting back.
She changed those instructions to pick her up at a Chelsea address.
But we came here instead.
Bea rarely goes anywhere. I would've thought of that sooner had I not been wrapped up in the man standing in front of me.
I piece all these fragments together.
"Leif, Bea texted me an address to pick her up. She rarely leaves the house. We'll find answers there." He watches me as I pull my phone out of my bag.
I text Bea, Sorry so late. Traffic and all. We should be there in fifteen or so.
She replies, Call or text when you're close.
Another realization makes me power off my phone immediately. Leif looks at me quizzically. I tell him, "Both Henry and Bea have a tracker app for my phone. In case they look at it, I don't want them to know I'm here." Another thought—I have that same app for both their phones. I could look to see where Henry is, or at least where his phone is. But I don't turn my phone on again. We'll figure it out in a few minutes and I'd rather them not know where I am.
And one more realization: I'd just assumed that Leif would stay with me, but he starts his job tomorrow, too. He's probably ready to get home. I look up at his dark eyes. "I'm so sorry. The address Bea sent is in Chelsea, probably not far from yours and James' apartment or your boat and you've surely had more than enough of me already this weekend. We can drop you off first. If you'd like."
His face grows fierce as he looks at me. "I'm not leaving you!"
Oh, sweet relief! I didn't know until the words were said that this is exactly what I wanted, needed. I become hyper-conscious that I still have one hand digging into his hip and he still has one arm around my shoulders. I feel his strength flowing into me. "But you're always saving me," I whisper.
Why does he look as if I've slapped him? No! I can't stand this. I don't think about it, I just lift up on my toes and kiss him. Right on his beautiful mouth.
When I pull back in shock at my actions, I see his eyes are closed. He licks his lips.
Mon Dieu! "I'm sorry," is all I can breathe out. When he opens his eyes again, he looks lost. Right before that inscrutable mask slips over his face.
"Let's go," he says, taking me by the hand and leading me out into the hall.
I only turn on my phone to text Bea when we're already on the block of the address she sent. She'd texted back to say to pull into the adjacent garage. The address is a five-story white stone-clad townhouse on a semi-commercial street. The garage seems to cover most of the first floor, although there is what looks to be a shop front to the left. As the door eases up, Bea ducks under it in a swirl of white caftan that breezes around her like a flag. Her scowl reminds me a little of Leif when he met us in the alley of the Philly townhouse. She points toward an open parking space; there's only one other vehicle in the garage, a van.
As I'm getting out she says, "What took you so long!"
Cycles repeating.
"The New Jersey Turnpike is not exactly an easy road," I say, with what I hope is nonchalance. "Why do we need to park? Aren't we picking you up to go see Henry?" On the way over here, Leif and I talked about not mentioning our stop at the Rehab.
"Something like that. Come with me." She won't look at me again, as she plods toward an elevator, in high dudgeon. Leif takes my hand and we follow.
Bea pushes the button for the fifth floor muttering, "I just want you to know I had nothing to do with this, but I have…there is…um…a surprise for you."
Leif squeezes my hand as I shrug saying, "Okay." Bea knows full well that I am not a fan of surprises.
We get off the elevator and my heart is about to pound out of my chest. We come to an ornate wooden door and Bea punches in a code on a keypad next to it. Then down a hallway. Bea stops outside an open door and throws a bitter thumb toward it to indicate we should go in. She won't lift her eyes from the floor. Leif starts to drop my hand, but I won't let him, I can't. I clutch it tighter and look up at his face. We both take a deep breath. And turn to walk into the room.
Granddad is standing in front of his club chair. Smiling.
"Surprise!" he exclaims, delightedly throwing his arms out. Petal is at his feet and when she sees us, she comes wiggling over. I don't trust myself to lean over to pet her without falling over. Instead, I look at Henry.
He is alive. And looks well. Very well. I exhale a profound relief.
But right on its heels, overtaking that relief like a tsunami wave?...I want to kill him.
I really, really want to kill him.
Henry glances down to Leif's hand holding mine, then smiles even wider, even more delightedly, saying, "I want to hear all about Philly, but first, I'm sure you're wondering what I'm doing here. I'll give you a tour later, but come sit. Come sit!" He waves us over to the same chairs that are in front of the same table, with that same tablecloth that were last in his room at the Rehab.
I paste a smile over my enmity, drop Leif's hand, and go sit at the table. Leif takes a chair next to me. Petal leans against my shaking legs. Bea has disappeared.
"So…" Henry turns to me. "I bet you're wondering what I'm doing here." I nod, not trusting myself to speak. "Remember Dr. Magoo? This is his new neuroscience center! A philanthropist billionaire gave him and his partners this townhouse and the adjacent building to use as well as a hefty endowment. And Dr. Magoo suggested I come stay here to participate in his research." Henry eyes me. "Don't look so shocked. I am rather the Holy Grail of the neuroscience of language, if I say so myself." He chuckles.
He chuckles? Seriously?Shocked is not at all what I'm feeling. I grimace-smile wider, nodding, "Hmm…"
"Lost your words, have you?" Henry smiles.
No, I already did that, I want to say. When you weren't at the Rehab and I thought that you'd…! Now I'm just trying to keep from screaming out all those foreign curse words you taught me.
I feel a hand squeeze mine under the table as Leif says, "What kind of research will they do?"
"Dr. Magoo, Mathieu, I mean, his specialty is language, but there are other doctors working on other aspects of the brain in conjunction with different organizations that are interested in, for example, how meditation can change the brain. And something called neuroplasticity—how the brain can change itself after a trauma, say. There's a new kind of enhanced MRI machine that is due to be delivered soon and they will use that to help chart their subject's progressions. Dr. Mathieu still has the scans he's taken of me over the years, starting from when I met him about thirteen years ago and he's practically chomping at the bit to compare them to my post-stroke scans."
"How do you know this doctor?" Leif asks.
Henry pauses. "From when Elle was a patient of his. In D.C."
"Why was she a patient?" Leif is asking the questions I would if I could—if I wasn't so effing furious at my granddad. Probably for the first time ever.
Henry falters, his smile dimming as a steaming plate appears on the table. Blintzes. Cheese ones. With all kinds of fruit. My favorite. I look up at Bea, who's scowling at Henry as she spatulas blintzes onto two plates and puts them in front of both Leif and me.
It is she who answers, directly to me. "Because after your accident, you didn't speak. For more than a year. Not a word. You went from never shutting up, ever, in English, French or Spanish, depending on where you were, to nothing. In any language. You were just kind of…gone."
A quiet descends on the table. This is what I overheard Bea talking about on Friday—years seven and eight. And there was something about Henry being scared I would "go away" again, although I only heard Bea's side of it. Leif squeezes my hand, while Petal rests her head on my jiggling knee. I scratch her head and between the two of them, I feel a comfort, a centeredness. Enough to try to ingest all this.
"Yes." Henry says quietly. "You were…lost…for a while. A long while. Your grandmother found a neuroscientist at Johns Hopkins and we took you to him. To see if it was a neurophysiological injury. But it wasn't."
"Dr. Mathieu?" My interpreter asks. Henry nods. "What made her speak again?"
"An angel, really. I got assigned to a project in Central Africa…Cameroon. We hired a housekeeper there who ended up becoming Elle's home-schooling teacher. She was a mix of Nigerian and Kenyan descent, although her family had been in Cameroon for several generations and she spoke French, English and…Yoruba. Elle clung on to her, followed her around like a baby chick, listening to her Yoruba songs, her folk tales. One day Elle sang along to one of her songs. Then she started speaking some words, but only in Yoruba. It was a start and we went from there." Henry pauses before asking gently, "Do you not remember her Elle? Ife was her name. She would've been just a little older than you are now."
I shake my head, staring sightlessly at the blintzes as Henry continues. "Dr. Mathieu will be around a lot. He can explain better what he thinks happened; how Elle knitted the language portion of her mind back together after the…uh… trauma."
"What did happen in the accident?" Whoa! My interpreter has deviated from my silent script of questions. I don't want to talk about this. I don't want anyone to talk about this. I feel exposed. Naked.
Through a roaring in my ears I listen to Henry's answer, "No one knows. It is locked behind the walls of Ellawyn's mind." Images flit through my mind, now becoming clearer. My stomach roils. "All we do know is she was found alone in the rain forest. Having stayed there by herself all night, half-buried in..."
I drop Leif's hand and bolt out of my chair. "Boat wh…bathroom! Where's the bathroom?" I've startled everyone, maybe Petal most of all, who gazes at me with her sweet chocolate eyes from under the table.
Bea comes from behind to take my arm. She leads me down the hall, stopping at a door. "I'm sorry," she says. "Maybe I was wrong." I walk in and shut the door in her concerned face.
Yes, I opened up about the accident a little, as much as I could, to Leif last night and then James, and I told Em more details about my parent's death today than I ever had before. But this…this is too much all of a sudden. The walls are wavering, cracking, closing in, and it feels like a punch to the head and the gut and the heart. I pace this large vintage bathroom with green and black tiles and old peeling black wallpaper before I really notice what's depicted on it. Stylized palm fronds and trees and… laughing monkeys—jungle scenes. Each of the monkeys has their hands over their mouths, ears, or eyes in a depiction of "See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil." I instantly feel terrified and sick at seeing them. And then angry. At everything. Even the fact that they're all probably talking about me right now at the table. Ugh! I can't stay in here with all those monkeys mocking me. When I wrench open the door it is not Bea, but Leif who is waiting for me. He tries to take my hand and I shrug it off.
"I don't need you to save me again!" I spit out.
I stomp back in the room, a living room, I notice now, with sofas and chairs in addition to Henry's table and chairs. Bea has disappeared again. I plop myself down at the table and pick up a blintze with my fingers even though there are forks. I get strawberry compote all over my hands as I stuff it in my mouth.
I finally meet Henry's eyes and he pastes a smile on his face. I only realize now he's been working hard at that delighted smile thing he's had going on since we got here. Underneath it, the thing behind it, is guilt. I think. That makes me angry, too. I put my hands on my lap, not caring that they're sticky from fruit goo.
"So…tell me about Philly!" He looks at Leif as he takes his seat again. "Did you learn anything new about each other?"
"What ever do you mean?" Leif asks in a brittle voice. He seems a little mad at Henry, too.
Henry replies, "Anything about a day four years ago? The words, 'It's what they are together'? Ring any bells?" This time Henry's smile is real.
"You could've told me," Leif says tightly.
"I did give you a chance, but you probably weren't ready for it; maybe none of us were." Henry's eyes are twinkling and I don't understand all of what he's saying, but why is Leif mad that Henry didn't tell him he'd moved? What about me? He should've told me! Henry continues, "Besides, where's the fun in that?" Henry's eyes are twinkling. "But those same words seem just as apt today, albeit slightly different than four years ago, don't you think?"
Great! Another oblique reference that goes over my head. I don't give Leif time to answer. "Here's a word! Pendejo!" I blurt out caustically. "I learned Leif can be a real pendejo. A tingju, a jaku, un connard! Oh, wait, I guess I already knew that. I particularly enjoyed how he uses anger as his go-to defense mechanism. To push people away when he gets uncomfortable, which apparently I make him often. That was a fun experience trying to manage that."
Leif tries to take my hand under the table again, but all he gets is gross slippery goo as I move it away.
To my surprise, Henry laughs, gazing at Leif, who starts nonchalantly licking red fruit off his fingers. "Yes, I believe I have experienced that a time or two with him." My anger deflates a little, and dammit, I want it back. "But I understood what was behind it just as I understand that maybe you are not the one my granddaughter truly wishes to call a name right now."
Henry turns to me. "Elle, just be happy in the righteous knowledge that you would never employ that self-same mechanism when you are uncomfortable, or say, turn your anger onto someone with whom you're not even angry." Henry looks at me with that loving wise-ass face I know well, his eyes sparkling sweetly. "Anger is not always a bad thing; it can sometimes be a galvanizing force for change. I'm actually sort of heartened to see you angry, Little Dove. That is so rare for you as to be practically nonexistent."
Oh, no way, no how! This is not coming back to talking about me again. "Oh yeah, here's something else. In addition to betting on all kinds of swimming and rowing races, in which he bet, I learned that the highly-alliterative Invincible Vince Vincent was the undefeated champion in some kind of secret fight club ring while at Penn. Go figure—an Ivy League school!" I snort caustically as Leif stiffens, then whips his head toward me. That's what Megan's husband Thomas told me at the car. "Until this weekend, I thought that only happened in the movies. But I guess that explains why some guy referred to him as 'the Fist of Fury'—one of those many nicknames James mentioned at lunch last week. Bet you didn't know that, Henry!" I laugh with no mirth.
Leif gapes at me with incredulity. "You knew." It's not really a question. An array of emotions collides on his face, ending in defeat. My guilt descends, handily winning the battle with anger. I feel awash in shame at my behavior of the last few minutes.
Leif gazes down at the table. "That's why I didn't know if Mr. Ellis, Henry, would want to see me again. I said some words in anger when he confronted me about it a few years ago. That was the last time I spoke to him. Until last week," he says contritely. All I want to do is comfort him now.
Wait! Granddad knew? I'm the one gaping with incredulity now.
Henry smiles his benevolent smile at Leif. "You misheard everything I said to you that night. You couldn't hear it through your own inner walls and guilt and your suppositions about what you thought I would think. But guilt or any kind of admonishment was not what I wished to impart." Henry pauses, but Leif won't look at him. "There is a long history of warrior contests in our world; Sumo wrestling and Jujitsu and Karate, even our Olympics have boxing and judo and wrestling and taekwondo. What are they if not one man physically besting another in different forms and with different rules? If it's for money or just pride of being champion or a medal, I would make no judgment on that. Do I wish the world was different? Sure. But it's not like a bar fight or one man jumping another in the street, or a dog or cock fight, which is plainly nothing but abject cruelty to animals. But consenting adults? Who were not pushed into it in any way?" He shrugs. "I would only hope you would ask yourself the question: why do I choose to do this? Just so you could better know yourself."
Henry pauses. "What I actually said was to take care, be mindful, because everything you do has ramifications. I didn't want you to be a part of something that you might not be able to take back, that might plague you for the rest of your life. Such as getting caught by the IRS for not paying taxes on winnings. Or getting kicked out of school for it. Or whatever else. That is all. Just a quick word to remind you to be fully aware of your choices. You didn't hear me; you weren't able to listen then. But I think there are some cracks in your walls at present." Henry inexplicably looks at me with that familiar sagaciousness. "And I believe you are able to listen now."
After a beat Leif mutters, "I hear you," looking up at Henry in surprise. They have a silent conversation before he adds, "And we did pay taxes on our winnings, by the way. James and I worked out how." Leif and Granddad share a wry smile and then there is a long moment of silence.
Henry breaks it. "Were you really undefeated?" He kind of looks… impressed. Jeez, Granddad! Boys! Leif's response is the barest shrug and one vaingloriously raised eyebrow that somehow conveys so much conceit and pride in that couple millimeters of movement. Henry snorts.
"Then why did you quit?" I blurt the question out, but I bet I already know the answer.
Leif says gravely, "I put someone in the hospital."
Thomas.
Henry says soberly, "And that has stayed with you." Leif nods, all pride evaporating. "You might want to think about if there is anything you can do to rectify it either inwardly or outwardly with the man you hurt. So you can let that guilt go. I myself have one major regret from my time at the State Department that I have not been able to accept or fix, and it might be too late now. But maybe that is a conversation for another time."
I wonder what that could be. Something else to ask Henry about.
I watch Granddad shake it off, then turn to me exclaiming brightly, "So! Let's talk about Dr. Oz's speech! Did you listen to that Elle? Did you think of your grandmother and how she used to quote Dr. Oz to admonish us?"
"I wished she was there with me," I say quietly.
"Perhaps she was, Little Dove. Perhaps she was," Henry says wistfully. "I certainly was, in my way. Bea found an online broadcast of the graduation and I watched it. I liked what he said about finding a mentor who can make you comfortable being uncomfortable. And perhaps you both have found that mentorship in each other. But I most especially enjoyed the part about applying love to decisions." Henry takes a deep breath before he says, "And that is why I made the decision not to tell you I was moving here. You worry too much and take too much on. Let me hazard a guess…You've been fretting about how to work out my coming back to The Rambler, right?" I don't reply, but as usual, Henry already knows the answer. "I applied love to this situation and took that right out of your hands. It may have been a bit of a shock, but it was not for you to concern yourself with. I will continue as an outpatient at the stroke rehab and live here free of charge. Shad and his evil minions of torture will continue to work on my motor skills every day and they have a van here that can transport me to and fro. I will do additional therapies here."
"But why now? You had such good care as an inpatient!" A wisp of the one-sided conversation I overheard between Henry and Dr. Grange comes back to me.
"They cannot keep me on when they have other patients waiting for a bed and I met all the criteria to move from inpatient to outpatient—responding to the medications, progressing in every way. One final one being mobile, being able to get outside, because if you are able to go out, you are determined to be able to become an outpatient. I asked Dr. Grange and Shad to give me time to work out this move, which they were kind enough to do."
Oh no! I forced Granddad out last week. That was all me! We practically ran over Dr. Grange with Henry's wheelchair as I was taking him out of the rehab building last Sunday. And all because I was trying to prove something. That I was not that girl. The one who would get all discombobulated over a boy. If not for me and my stupidity, Granddad could still be an inpatient.
Henry must hear my silent thoughts. "Do not do that to yourself, child. There is no reason to feel guilty. If you hadn't pushed me, literally, we would have never run into Dr. Mathieu. I am very grateful for your actions. It seems it was meant to be. It seems as if it was time for me to graduate, too."
"But why not The Rambler, G?"
"For several reasons, one of which is that I want you to go have fun and be young and enjoy your new job and new friends and not worry about the details of my recovery." He looks at both Leif and me and then over my head at a hovering Bea. "Another is that I have a promise to keep, and it will be easier for me to do that here. I am quite content with my situation, so you should be, too." Bea now takes a seat at the table, putting a hand over Henry's.
"What promise?" I ask, again remembering the overheard conversation.
"One that I made to your grandmother. I will tell you another time, okay?" Bea makes a subtle thumbs up motion to Granddad. I don't have a choice in the matter, but I think I can accept this. For now. I might even be too exhausted for any new emotionally-fraught revelations.
What an odyssey of a weekend!
Henry must be reading my mind again. "Now…how about we give you a tour tres rapide of my new home and then send you home yourself. You both have a big day tomorrow and both look exhausted."
The whole top floor is made up of two different apartments of two bedrooms each and one studio apartment. Henry says that a succession of visiting scientists, scholars and even monks from all over the world will be coming through and staying on this floor with him. That should be right up Henry's alley. The décor in the place is shabby, but comfortable and makes me wonder what Grandmother would've done with it if she could get her hands on it. It needs some updating. Bea is rapturous about having a whole kitchen to make Henry's meals. I would bet she's already scoured the place because it looks Bea-clean. As Henry takes Leif into the adjacent dining room, I stop to wash the stickiness off my hands.
Bea whispers, "I showed up at the Rehab yesterday and there were men boxing up all your Grandfather's things. I would've died on the spot, but Shad came wheeling your grandfather with these ridiculous balloons tied to his wheelchair. I've never really been mad at Henry, not really, but let me tell you I wanted to kill him then." Welcome to my world, I think. She adds in a complete non sequitur, "So…did you catch the music on the way here?" Sometimes I swear she's as A.D.D. as the twins.
When I figure out what she's asking, I gawk at her. "I figured he got them from your website. Did you actually send all those I'm Sorry songs to him?"
"Yeah, and the other theme, too. He's given me his iTunes password," she says gleefully. This is like a precious gift to Bea—to have access to anyone's music. She lives to teach people about music they mightn't have heard. She has access to mine, Henry's, Em's, Pat's, the twins, and heaven knows who else's.
"Wait…What other theme?"
"You didn't catch those? Robbie Williams 'Better Man'? Chris Young's, 'The Man I Want To Be'? Relient K's 'Who I Am Hates Who I've Been'? All those great horns on The Blow Monkeys' 'Forbidden Fruit'? Clint Black? Tim McGraw? They were all themed with trying to be a better man, making efforts to change. Obviously." Bea looks at me like I'm the stupidest dolt on the planet for not making this connection. Missing some great musical moment, especially one that she put together, is a crime in Bea's book; it falls somewhere on a par with assault on her personal wrongness scale. "Leif requested my help with both that and the sorry songs because he said he was an ass. Here I went and created this brilliant 'Better Man' playlist in, like, two seconds and you didn't even catch it? I'm kind of hurt."
I roll my eyes at her. "Why don't you send me the playlist, too, and I'll listen to it later." This is intriguing—Leif wanting to be a better man. Was it Bea he was talking to outside the bookstore? "How does he have your number?"
She shrugs. "Henry gave it to him. They've been talking, I guess."
I want to ask her how this happened, but Leif and Granddad come back in the kitchen then. Something else to put in my mountainous pile of questions.
Is there any crevice of my life this man hasn't entered? Not that I mind, really, but… I tune into Henry and Leif's conversation. Leif is asking about Henry's safety. Henry says he has a button right by his bed if he needs medical assistance and there is a caretaker always in the studio next door who will check on him periodically. I hadn't even thought of that yet, but I'm glad to hear there's always someone here.
"There is only one thing left to do now," Henry says, and for the first time I realize he is speaking clearer since I last saw him Friday morning. I realize Bea even understands him a little now. And he's standing upright, with energy, although he's still using the walker. "We need to decide what to do for your birthday next weekend. I thought I would come to The Rambler and maybe let's have a Salon."
"A Salon?" Leif asks.
"My grandparents used to hold these gatherings they called 'Salons,' with all kinds of people. Totally old-school and wonderful, like the Algonquin Round Table in the twenties, but more inclusive and less snarky. I've not shown you that room they used to hold them in yet. It's been closed up since…" I glance at Granddad and Bea. "For a few years now."
"Unless you'd like to go out, that is," Henry says.
"No! A Salon at home sounds great!" Maybe if Henry comes there—for the first time since he had the stroke—he'll want to move back. "But just something …you know…small." I look at Bea. "And I mean my kind of small, not your kind of small." Bea would turn it into a dance party in a snap. "And no presents! Just our extended family."
"Does that include me?" My beautiful, fake boyfriend, compelling, secretive jackass, kind interpreter, fighter, smart honor grad, fierce sea god, and kind sweet savior asks.
"Of course." I smile at him. And it's true.
Somehow he is in.
