CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Stevie ran after the ball, laughing as his grip failed and the grubby orb bounced across the brown lawn. He ran after it, and Al watched the child's loping stride with mute joy. The ghosts of chemotherapy were gone. A full head of black curls framed a face no longer pale or lined with pain. The little body that had been so skeletal was now filling out. The brown eyes glittered with health and innocence.
To Celestina, it was a miracle. Al wished he could believe that. It would have been nice to be able to believe in such a kind and loving God—a God who really cared. With the practiced eye of the cynic, he viewed the boy's recovery in pragmatic terms. Science had conquered the cancer. Modern medicine, that brutally horrific and yet marvelous institution, had driven back the malignancy. Now, motherly love, nurturing, and good food were restoring the little victim to health.
"Mithta Al, catch it!" Stevie cried, tossing the baseball. Al fell from his squat into a kneeling position as he reached for the ball. His fingers closed around it with a soft, satisfying thump. The boy crowed in delight.
"Ready?" Al asked, posing to throw.
"Yup, yup!" Stevie said, bouncing eagerly.
"Catch!" Al called. He still had the technique and the accuracy that had made him an all-star pitcher—though the long years of torture and the slow ravages of age had robbed him of his power. A gentle pitch arced beautifully through the air, landing right in the child's outstretched hands. Stevie laughed in delight and threw it clumsily back. Al fumbled this time, making a comedic production of scrambling after the ball. Then he tossed another perfect one.
Neither man nor boy realized Celestina had come outside until she spoke. "Supper is ready," she said, smiling benevolently at the scene. The single tear shed in thanks for this stranger who was now so much more than a friend dried quickly in the desert wind.
"Suppertime, Stevie!" Al said, offering his hand to the child. Esteban took it, and they followed Celestina indoors.
She had, as usual, worked a miracle with her kerosene hot plate. Al took in the contents of the small table as he settled Stevie in his chair and tucked a towel around the child's neck to protect his woolen sweater. There were tortillas and refried beans, a dish of salad, a plate of fruit that must've cost more than Celestina really could afford to spend, and a bowl of Mexican rice. Al felt a pang of guilt every time he ate here, knowing that she was making real sacrifices for this hospitality. At the same time, he knew that this was the only way she had of thanking him for what she saw as a great service. He didn't think it was anything special: he'd just done what anyone with half a heart would have. He knew, though, that despite his own understanding of how insignificant his contribution to the child's health had been, it meant the world to his mother. She needed to do something to show her gratitude, and the extravagant meals she laid out on his weekly visits were her only means of doing so. Thus he accepted them graciously, and hated himself for it in silence.
"I don't know how you do it, honey!" Al enthused. "You're a wonder."
"Wonder? Sí, a wonder," Celestina said, smiling a little. "You sit."
Al took his customary seat next to Stevie, and Celestina began to fill a plate for her guest. Al took another dish and started serving up portions for the child. The smell of the food sent his stomach snarling. He still wasn't eating enough, but he just didn't have the heart. He poured all of his energy into seeming happy. He didn't have any left to actually care about anything.
The meal passed pleasantly, at least from the view of a casual observer. As usual, Al put on a smile and imbued his voice with a friendly lilt to hide his anxiety and desperation. Gavin hadn't been able to get a court date until the middle of January. It was December 18th today. He was going to have a very long, lonely Christmas.
Things had gone as well as they ever did in New York. The old Calavicci charm was as good as ever. Best of all, he had another girl in his little black book. Maxine, Maxine… God, she was gorgeous! The thought of their morning after made him grin. Poor kid had been sore as heck after a night of vigorous exercise on her new tattoo. After an hour or so, though, he had her feeling better despite their mind-melting hangovers…
Santa Fe. Six hour drive, seven, tops. He had her number in his wallet and was thinking of giving her a shout for New Year's. That was, if he didn't decide that a party full of total strangers would be more fun…
The mind-numbing effects of pleasure couldn't be underestimated. Not when he was coming home to an empty suite and an unused dog dish every damned night…
After supper, Al settled down on the bed with Stevie and a tray of brightly colored alphabet magnets he'd picked up before leaving New York. They went through this several times every Saturday. Al didn't know the first thing about teaching someone to read, but the alphabet seemed like the place to start.
Stevie knew the drill. He sat with his back against the adult's stomach, one foot tucked up against his body and the other leg stretched out towards the limp pillows. He waited patiently while Al picked up one of the plastic forms.
"Do you know this one?" Al asked.
Stevie reached out and touched it, tracing the two perpendicular lines. "Uhm… "P"," he said.
"That's close," Al said. "Good. Real close." He took the small hand in his and moved the fingers over the letter again. "That's 'T'. 'T' for… train." Stevie laughed and made a sound like a chugging steam engine. Al smiled. "Right! 'T' for… tortilla. 'T' for trailer. 'T'."
"Tee," the child repeated triumphantly.
"Good!" Al cheered. He replaced that letter in its slot on the tray, and grabbed another. "What about this letter? What letter is this?"
Stevie knew this one. He clapped his hands. " 'A'!" he crowed. " 'A' for Al!"
The captain chuckled. "That's right!" he said. "What about this one?"
"Em for Mama!"
"And this one?"
" 'E' for Ethteban!"
"What about this one?"
"Uhm…" Stevie's face wrinkled in concentration. "Uhm… 'D'?"
"Close," Al said. "That's 'P'. 'P' for… park. 'P' for…"
They went on like that for half an hour or more. Celestina lit the candle and sat next to the bed, watching them and mending one of her shabby frocks. At last Al started to put the magnets away.
"Where'th 'chuh'?" Stevie asked, reaching out and grabbing the tray.
Al looked down at him, puzzled. "Where's what?"
" 'A' for Al," Stevie said, pointing to each letter in turn. " 'M' for Mama. 'E' for Esteban. Where'th 'chuh', for Chethter?"
Al laughed softly and picked up two of the magnets. "You put 'C' and 'H' together, and that makes 'chuh' for 'Chester'," he said.
" 'Thee', 'haych', 'chuh' for 'Chethter'," the child said. He reached across the thin mattress and gathered up his stuffed dog, hugging it tightly. "Love Chethter," he said happily.
"Yeah," Al murmured. "Yeah. Me too."
He helped Stevie into his pajamas and settled him in bed. After a couple songs, the boy was fast asleep, and Al got to his feet and picked up his helmet. He left the leathers outside: no sense tracking dust into Celestina's home. He bent to kiss her forehead.
"See you," he said.
She reached out and grabbed his sleeve, shaking her head. "Where is Chester?" she asked. "Sometimes he come, some times he does not. Why?"
Al shifted uncomfortably. He didn't want to talk about it. "Sharon's got him," he said simply, hoping she would leave it at that.
He should've known better. Without regard for her sleeping son, Celestina sprung to her feet. "Why?" she demanded. "Why she have him? Chester is your dog! You have him before, even before you meet her! Why she have him? I go, get him back—"
Al caught her arms and laughed. "Naw, honey, you can't get him back. I'm trying. I'll do my best."
"I help," she pledged. "How I help?"
The laugh was bitter now, but he couldn't help it. "Why don't you pray about it?" he said. He kissed her cheek and smoothed her hair. "I'll be here for Christmas, just like we agreed," he said.
Celestina's sad smile just about broke his heart. "Sí," she said. "Sí, for Christmas."
Al paused. "Is Juan coming?" he asked.
Her eyes flashed dark fury. "No!" she snapped. "No! He not welcome in this house. Never again! Wicked, wicked man!"
Remorse could travel at ninety miles an hour. It followed Al all the way back to Starbright. Somehow, he knew this whole mess was his fault.
MWMWMWMMWWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWM
Back at the compound, he peeled off his dusty clothes and made for the shower. A good hot, thundering wash was just what he needed. He emerged just before one o'clock, red and wrinkled, and his feet traced the path to the cupboard full of liquor even before he knew where he was going. The trips to Wickenburg took from him any chance of making advances towards Saturday night company, and he had to spend those nights alone. He could feel the emptiness pressing in around him, the loneliness encroaching on his mind. Anxiety that always came with solitude was starting to take hold in his heart. The best thing to do was to get drunk as a skunk and try to numb it.
He poured himself a generous glass of whiskey and was just about to lift it to his lips when the telephone ran.
Al stiffened. It was the outside line. No one ever called on the outside line… at least not at this time of the night. He set down the drink so quickly that some of the amber fluid sloshed over the side onto the small counter.
"Calavicci," he panted, catching up the receiver.
The voice on the other end was slurred and low, and incredibly anxious. "U-uncle Al?"
Al frowned, not quite able to place the voice. "Possibly…" he said warily.
"It's… it's Luke…"
Al felt himself relax. "Oh, hey! How you doing, kid?"
"Uncle Al… you and Aunt Sharon… you aren't… still seeing each other or anything?" the young man asked. He sounded nervous as hell.
"Well, we're back in court in three weeks, but—"
"Will she know I called you?" Luke blurted.
"No," Al said. "No. It'll be between you and me." He shifted the receiver to the other ear. "What's wrong?"
"I'm sorry to call so late… I… but you said if I ever needed anything… anything…"
"And I meant it," Al said firmly. "What can I do for you?"
"I'm in trouble," Luke confessed.
Al sat down, folding his shaking right hand into his left armpit. He needed that whiskey… "Okay. Everybody gets into a bit of trouble now and then. What kind of trouble?" He kept his voice deliberately calm and conversational. Luke obviously needed a little support.
"I… I'm at a party… Mom thought I was out stud-udying, but I went to this party… everybody's pretty smashed, and… and…" There was a muffled hiccough.
"And you are too," Al finished. "That's okay. I've been smashed once or twice myself."
"Thing is… I dunno if I can drive…" Luke confessed. "I mean, I know that 'don't drink and drive' stuff's a load of crap, but…"
"Yeah, but why take the risk, huh?" Al said cheerfully. "Okay. You driving your father's wagon?"
"Uh-huh."
"Where are you?"
"Uh… it's about… maybe forty miles south of town? Rural route 74… you can't miss it: they did the fence in Christmas lights…"
"All right," Al said. "I'll find it. You stay there, okay? I'll be there within an hour."
"Within an hour… thanks, Uncle Al." The gratitude in the kid's voice was unbelievable.
"Sure thing, kid. Just stay there."
"Promise…"
The line went dead.
So much for getting plastered, Al thought as he hastened to the bedroom to dress.
MWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWM
He made the journey in less than thirty minutes. Luke was right. You couldn't miss the place. In addition to the decorations all along the road, there had to be twenty or thirty cars parked in the ditches. Al found the Quinn family station wagon, and settled his bike next to it. Then he made his way towards the house.
The front door was hanging open in defiance of the nocturnal chill, and the remains of what looked to have been a great party were scattered around. Half-conscious revelers sprawled over the floor, the furniture and each other, reeking of booze and pot. Al smirked. Must've been a fun night.
"Uncle Al!" Luke cried, standing up unsteadily and lurching towards him. Al caught the boy with a good-natured chuckle.
"Hey. Had a good night?"
Luke nodded guiltily.
Al surveyed the wreckage. "What about the rest of these kids?"
Luke shook his head. "Everybody's staying the night, but I can't. Mom'd kill me."
Al laughed a little. "Yeah, I imagine she would. C'mon. Let's get you home."
They loaded the bike carefully into the trunk, and Al thanked the fates that Luke was driving a station wagon. Then Luke got into the passenger seat and Al started the engine.
"Thanks," Luke said again, rolling his window down and leaning his head against the frame of the vehicle. "You're my best friend."
Al shook his head in amusement. "Rule number one: the designated driver is always your best friend," he said.
Liquor had loosened the boy's lips, though, and he was in the mood for a soul-searching confession. "No, I mean, I don't have friends…" he said. "Nobody likes me. Nobody. Sometimes I feel like I'm so alone, you know? You know?"
"Yes," Al said softly. "Yes, I know just what you mean."
"No, but you've got freedom, and a job, and a dog, and all I've got is two stupid parents and a lousy little sister… if it weren't for Gramps, I think maybe I'd go crazy…" Luke sighed drunkenly. "I just wanna run away and never come back, you know?"
"Well, that's one solution," Al agreed. Luke looked at him in bewilderment. That wasn't what he had been expecting to hear. "You're old enough to make it on your own. Of course, there's another solution."
"There is?" Luke asked.
"Sure. You're a senior, aren't you?"
"Yeah…"
"Do well in school?"
"If I want to."
Al nodded. "Well, there's your way out. You buckle down and work hard this next term, and get good grades."
Luke wrinkled his nose. "I don't get it," he said.
"That's 'cause I'm not finished yet," Al told him. "When you get your diploma, tell your folks you want to go to university. I bet your dad'd send you anywhere you wanted. You could study whatever you want—I don't care. But it'd give you a chance to find out more about who you are."
"University's for people with brains," Luke mumbled.
"And you haven't got brains?"
"I just wanna live my own life, you know? Just wanna be free… I just want a friend…"
The kid was drunk beyond all caring. Al smiled a little and let him doze off. Finally the city rose around them, and Al navigated towards the right neighborhood. Luke awoke with a snort when he stopped the car.
"You got a plan for getting into the house?" Al asked.
Luke nodded, getting clumsily out of the vehicle. Al caught his shoulder and pulled him back. "Hang on," he said. "Help me get my bike down first, okay?"
Between the two of them they removed the motorcycle. Then Al brushed out the trunk hastily and locked the vehicle. Luke was by this time staggering up the front walk. Al ran after him, trying to prevent him from doing something stupid like ringing the bell. All this subterfuge: he wouldn't let the boy blow it just because he was three sheets to the wind. At the house, however, Luke turned sharply and moved towards the side of the building. Al followed him into the backyard.
"I got my secret entrance," Luke explained thickly. "I'll fall asleep in my chair—do it all the time…"
He knelt in one of the flowerbeds and popped the screen out of one of the basement windows. He swung his legs into the gloom within, and looked up at Al.
"Thanks…" he said. "You're the best friend I got."
Al smiled. "Sure," he murmured. "Any time."
Luke nodded and slipped into the darkness. A moment later, a skinny hand reached up and dragged the screen inside. Then the window closed, and Al was alone in the night.
There was so much pain in the world, he reflected as he returned to the street. Here was a kid with all the advantages of home and family, and he still felt completely alienated from the world—so much so that his womanizing ex-uncle was his best friend?
He wished he could help Luke, but he couldn't even help himself. There was nothing to do but roar off at top speed for Starbright, and wash away his cares with the kind of merciful amnesia that you could only find in bottles.
Just a couple drinks, and everything would be okay again.