Bradington Bay E-Book

Alaric Mark Lewis

• Herausgeber: Story Machine
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 404

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

A hurricane is about to hit New York City and Edward has (probably) just been dumped by his boyfriend. He could use a break. Bradington Bay is a journey into the heart of America. Stopping at roadside bars, diners, and even the grave of the Kentucky Colonel, he will find that – thankfully - journeys home rarely go as planned. Alaric Mark Lewis's debut is an unforgettable epic. Bradington Bay is Homeric in scope, suffused with the adventurous energy of Jack Kerouac, and the heart of James Baldwin.

Leseprobe

BRADINGTON BAY

Alaric Mark Lewis

Bradington Bay, copyright © Alaric Mark Lewis, 2023

Print ISBN: 9781912665167

Ebook ISBN: 9781912665174

Published by Story Machine

130 Silver Road, Norwich, NR3 4TG;

www.storymachines.co.uk

Alaric Mark Lewis has asserted his right under Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, recorded, mechanical, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher or copyright holder.

This publication is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

For Kathy

Prologue

In January of 1983, Edward James Allerton Bradington IV hatched a conspiracy to commit academic fraud. As conspiracies go it was rather simple: Edward would approach a stuttering-but-brilliant scholarship student from Winston-Salem, North Carolina and offer him money to write a paper on The Odyssey. But as is often the case with conspiracies, straightforward simplicity gave way to a series of twists and turns that would involve not only the two boys but also Edward’s cousin Annabel, credit card fraud, and Krispy Kreme doughnuts.

It should probably be noted that Edward was not a substandard student – on the contrary he was in the top quarter of his class. He reached out to his co-conspirator because he just couldn’t be bothered to do the work, couldn’t even feign an interest in the comings and goings of Odysseus. Edward’s mind and heart were elsewhere, and his privilege instilled in him the confidence that he could sit this exercise out without really having to face any consequences. Even if he were caught, he surmised, nothing would come of this infraction, his wealth protecting him like the veil of the sea nymph Ino (about whom Edward knew next to nothing).

An agreement was made: the paper would be delivered for the not-insignificant price of $150 plus a dozen warm Krispy Kreme doughnuts. Edward agreed to pay half of the money up front, and the other half and the doughnuts upon completion of the paper.

The paper was a triumph, truly capturing Edward’s own style, and he happily forked over the remaining $75. The unforeseen problem was the delivery of the warm doughnuts. Unfortunately, at the time Krispy Kreme doughnuts were only available in the southeast, some eight hundred miles away. That was challenge enough, but the stipulation that the doughnuts had to be warm significantly elevated the complexity.

Edward immediately called his cousin Annabel, who was overjoyed to be of some seedy service to her seemingly perfect cousin. She loved the idea that she would have something to hang over his head, stole her mother’s credit card, and booked two round-trip tickets from Boston to Winston-Salem.

On a free weekend, a car was arranged to pick up the two academic fraudsters and drive them to Logan Airport. At first feeling churlish that he been played, Edward soon gave into the nerdy charm of his travel companion. As they had very little in common, their conversation revolved mainly around – of all things – The Odyssey, and their discourse was so stimulating that Edward almost wished he had read it.

But more than any grand insight into hexameter, what Edward discovered on that trip was simply how enjoyable life could be if he paid attention to the journey and – most importantly – to the people who could crop up like a pack of pleasant Phaeacians along the way. Sitting with his rather improbable new friend whose enthusiastic, pimply face was bathed in the red glow of the “hot doughnuts now” sign, Edward realized that they were out there – these experiences, these improbable friends, this courage. And he learned that journeys could begin whenever he allowed himself to be gently moved by fate’s hand.

So it was that fate began to stir in the fall of 2012 in a hurricane’s violent winds and Edward stepping in to help his father. Sea terrors and a father’s rescue? Had Edward actually read The Odyssey he might have suspected that his life was about to become positively Homeric.

Chapter One: 2012

The rains at first seemed almost gentle. Sitting in a small but well-lit conference room with his anxious client, Edward remarked that the water which ran down the windows in sheets didn’t seem too bad; he’d seen worse. His client – Julie? Judy? He’d have to look at her file – didn’t appear to take much comfort in his words. He didn’t care, really. He was there to make both her and her soon-to-be-ex-husband pay through the teeth.

Edward had never planned on becoming a divorce attorney. It had always been assumed that he would do corporate, working for a few years in some prestigious firm before getting involved in the running of the assortment of his family’s enterprises as an only son and heir should. But just as he was finishing law school a CFO of one of his father’s businesses embarked upon a rather contentious divorce and hearing the details of it piqued his interest. Edward had always loved a good story (especially if it was about other people’s drama and not his own) and he ended up in family law, specializing in divorce. Even if he had now been working in that field for twenty years, his father still seemed to regard it as a phase and, since Edward was making ridiculous amounts of money, tolerated his choice.

But no one – including Edward – had counted on him liking divorce law so much. Maybe because he didn’t really need the money or maybe because wading into the brambles of other people’s lives meant he could avoid the thornier parts of his own, he viewed his professional life much like a game. He treated the women who hired him – his clients were almost all women – much like pieces on a game board: after rolling the dice he would gently move them where they needed to be. “You’re heartless,” Ben, his romantic partner of three years, once said to Edward when he was discussing the details of a particularly salacious case; he was visibly horrified when Edward responded with “Thank you.”

“They’re late,” Julie or Judy said, looking at her Cartier watch.

Edward smiled and placed his hand on her arm like a parent dismissing the anxiety of a child. The opposing lawyer was playing the game in much the same way that they all did – according to time-honored rules that Edward, personally, found ridiculous. Meet in a neutral place so that no one has the upper hand. Edward chose to meet at the offices of opposing counsel as their confidence in the home-court advantage made them sloppy. Women should wear business casual in muted colors. Edward advised his clients to wear cocktail dresses and expensive jewelry as it frequently produced an unbalancing impact on the husband. If possible, avoid any emotional displays. Edward actually tried to wind his clients up, as emotional displays frequently brought an embarrassed surrender from the other side.

Although he knew what he did was almost always horribly sad and quite frequently downright sordid, the game thrilled him so much that he was able to ignore the sordid sadness, was able to get to the point where he saw the institution of marriage itself as little more than part of the game.

He himself had never married, having grown up in a time and environment when such things weren’t even considered for gay men. There had been boys, of course. Lots and lots of boys. But Edward had never seriously considered anything permanent with them. Ben was the only one with whom he had ever shared a home. Although Edward had been forthright about the fact that he didn’t ever want to settle into anything more permanent (and Ben had said he accepted that), in the past few month cracks had been appearing. Edward believed – not in some religiously dogmatic way, but rather in that way that things just were – that only married couples had children. And since Edward would never marry, the syllogistic conclusion was quite evident.

Evident to Edward, of course. Over time Ben seemed to become less tolerant of Edward’s philosophy. A silence had grown between them, the not-mentioning of something becoming a clashing cymbal that, when combined with the cacophonous din of shattered expectations, was leaving little peace in their home.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. It would be Ben. “I need to take this,” he said to Julie or Judy before stepping out into the hallway. “Hello.”

“Where are you? We need to leave for the luncheon in fifteen minutes.”

“I think you’re going to have to go to this one without me. We’re still waiting for the other side to show up.”

The silence that Edward had grown so accustomed to was ringing once again. Seconds went by before Ben spoke. “This was really important to me.”

Edward hoped that he could detect some sadness skittling like a water spider on the surface of Ben’s words, misguided but harmless. Instead, there was only coldness, the water had turned to ice.

“I know it was, and I’m really sorry, but there’s not a lot I can do about it. It’s just one of those things that comes with my job. Please don’t be angry. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. You go without me, and I’ll see you at home later tonight. We can have a late supper at Angelica’s and talk about vacation. Just think, Benny: two whole months of lying on our asses in the sun somewhere.”

More silence.

“Don’t bother with supper reservations,” Ben replied, “I’m going to go out with Michelle and Larry tonight. Don’t wait up.”

“OK,” Edward replied, trying to sound cheery, as if everything was fine and no one was unhappy.

“Later,” said Ben before the click that brought another different, though equally troubling, silence.

Edward turned around to see his client’s husband and lawyer walking down the hall. He couldn’t play the game if his head wasn’t in it, so he banished any thoughts of his own disintegrating relationship and turned his attention back to the matter at hand. “Fuck him,” he said under his breath, and he was already so into the game that even he didn’t know who he was talking about.

Later, back at the office so as to avoid Ben, Edward’s phone buzzed in his pocket again. High from the afternoon’s meeting – he had fucking slayed it – he was sure his winning streak was co tinuing and that it was a penitent Ben on the other end but was surprised to see that his father was calling.

“Dad?”

“Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“Not really. What’s up?”

“Well, I’ve had a little spill.”

“A little spill? What the hell does that mean?”

“Calm down – Jesus, you love the drama. I was getting out of the Jacuzzi earlier tonight and I slipped and fell. It’s nothing serious, but I’ve got a hairline fracture in my hip. I’m at the hospital now. It’s not a big deal, but I do have to rest up for a while.”

“Where was your wife?”

“She’s right here.”

“No, where was she when you fell?”

“At bridge. What the hell does that matter?”

“Well, Dad, you’re not thirty years old anymore. And don’t tell me that you still work twelve-hour days – I know you do. It’s just … well … what’s the use of having a wife who is so much younger than you if she can’t look after you?”

“I don’t need looking after, you goddamned know-it-all. These things happen. You never fall?”

“Yes, of course I fall. But I don’t break a hip when I do.”

“It’s a small fracture – you can barely see it on an X-ray. It was bad luck – I just happened to land the wrong way, that’s all. Don’t be an ass.”

“Right. Anyway, do you need something? Do you want me to fly out?”

“Of course not – I’m fine. The only problem is that I’m not going to be able to make it to Bradington for Founders Day. There’s never been a Bradington Founders Day without a Bradington family member present to do our part. Never – not even during both of the World Wars. I don’t want this year to be the first. I’ll need you to go.”

“You mean, like, go do all those silly rituals and all that? Are you serious?”

“Don’t be an ass, Eddie. Pardon me if I sound like a curmudgeon, but there are such things as tradition and honor left in the world. It’s important to the people of Bradington. It’s important to me.”

His voice cracked, and images of his father as a young man washed over Edward, memories of a man who was once caring and light-hearted, but now a man whom life seemed to have hardened more than most. Hearing his father’s voice like that momentarily instilled a strange kind of hope in Edward that the father of his childhood was still in there somehow, even if he had been difficult to see for many years.

“Yes, Dad, of course I’ll go. Is it still Thanksgiving weekend?”

“Yes.”

“OK. I’ve been needing a vacation, so I’ll probably go somewhere else first – Antibes or someplace sunny – but I’ll make sure I get there by then.”

“OK. Thank you. It means a lot to me. I’ll give Leo Koester your phone number – he’ll be in touch with the details. Talk to you later, son.”

“OK Dad. Bye.”

Edward hung up, feeling like he maybe should have told his father he loved him.

*

He didn’t end up leaving the office until after midnight but was surprised to see the streets so deserted; people must have really been worrying about the hurricane. Walking up Broadway he was stopped by a young woman with a baby in her arms, big eyes looking around calmly while its mother’s signaled fear and panic with every blink.

“Excuse me,” she said, on the point of tears, “I’m not from this neighborhood, but I heard there was a Duane Reade in these parts that still had flashlights. You don’t know where it is, do you?”

“No, I’m sorry, I don’t.” Edward walked the same street twice a day every day, but, outside of the café where he got his morning coffee, rarely noticed anything. He liked walking and not seeing, thinking himself a part of the city somehow without feeling bound to it. “Is it really supposed to be that bad? The hurricane, I mean?”

The woman gave him an incredulous stare. “Haven’t you seen the news? They’re evacuating parts of the city!” She stretched out the word evacuating so that each syllable was equal, like a third grader sounding out a big word.

And then, looking up and holding her free hand out, palm up, she said, “Great. It’s beginning to rain again.”

She ran off without another word, her baby bouncing up and down like a kid playing on a trampoline.

He was completely soaked by the time he arrived home. Knowing that Ben would not be pleased if he dripped water all over the new parquet, he stripped naked in the hallway. Rummaging around for his keys he thought how funny it would be if Mrs. Dawson in 14B – a sour-faced old woman who smelled of cinnamon but made it seem like disappointment’s perfume itself – happened to come out at that moment and find him, totally nude, in the hallway. But he entered the apartment without being seen.

“Ben? You here?” The apartment was dark and silent. Relieved, he grabbed a beer from the fridge, went into the bathroom and stepped into the shower. He drank the beer slowly, relishing the sensation of its coolness sliding down his throat while the hot water cascaded down his body.

He finished, wrapped a towel around his waist, and went into the living room to watch CNN. The hurricane was, indeed, due to hit New York later that morning. The woman on Broadway had apparently not been overdramatic. He looked at the clock on the wall: 12:51. Where was Ben? Edward wasn’t really worried, but he did wonder if he should have been worried.

His phone rang and he saw Ben’s familiar smiling face appear on the screen.

“Hey you. I was beginning to get worried. The wind is really picking up outside. Where are you?”

Silence.

“Hello? Ben? Everything OK?”

Silence.

“Listen, I think we’ve got a bad connection – goddamned AT&T. Hang up and I’ll call you back.”

“No, I’m here.” Ben’s voice was soft, distant. “I’m staying with Larry and Michelle.”

“If this thing is as bad as they say it’s going to be, that’s probably a good idea.”

Silence.

“The worst is supposed to happen tonight – early this morning, actually – so we’ll make plans when you get home tomorrow. There might be some trouble at the airports, but we’ll figure it out.”

Silence.

“Listen, Ben, is everything OK? You’re not saying much.”

“I’m staying with Larry and Michelle,” Ben repeated.

“I know.”

“Let me finish. I’m staying with Larry and Michelle for a while. I’m not going on vacation with you. We’ve got some serious problems, Edward, and I need some time away from you to sort them out.”

“Wow,” was all Edward managed to say.

“It’s just that I don’t feel like we’re moving forward. We’re just sort of stuck. It’s something I’ve felt for quite some time.”

“OK,” Edward said. He looked at his feet crossed on the coffee table in front of him and noticed that he needed to trim his toenails.

“So, you take off. Go on vacation. I’m going out to Southampton with Michelle. When you get back, we’ll see where we are.”

“OK, if that’s what you want.”

“Well, obviously, Edward, it’s not what I want, but it’s the way it’s got to be.”

Edward sat up straight as if talking to a client, getting back in the game. “Listen,” he said, “if all of this is just a way to break up with me in stages, I guess I’d prefer you just did it now, you know? If you think that the probability is that when we get back from vacation, you’re just going to pack up your things and leave, then you may as well let me know now. If you’re sincere about this whole time away and thinking thing – fine. We’ll do that.”

“I’m always sincere,” Ben countered.

“And I’m not?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“No, but your stress suggested that, didn’t it? I’ve always been honest with you.”

“Whatever.”

“Whatever my ass. Tell me! Tell me when I haven’t been honest with you!” Edward’s voice raised with the indignation of a liar caught in a lie.

“Look, Edward, it’s late and there’s a hurricane. I don’t want to discuss this now.”

“Well maybe I do.”

“I don’t care, Edward. I’m going to hang up now. We’ll talk when you get back.”

“Yeah, we’ll see.”

“Goodbye, Edward.”

“Goodbye, Ben.”

Silence.

He opened another beer and turned his attention back to the television. A reporter somewhere in Delaware was standing screaming into a microphone while rain pelted him in the face. Onlookers were waving and mugging for the camera; what kind of idiots chased after disasters just to get on TV?

He watched television and drank beer until the power went out. Ben was mad for candles – Edward teased him that the number of candles and pillows they had spoke more about the gayness of the apartment than the fact that two men were having sex in it – so Edward lit several of them and just sat, staring into space, able to enjoy the sound of the wind outside even if he knew that it could well be causing harm to someone. On top of the piano across the room, photographs of family and friends seemed to dance in the flickering light. One photograph of his mother’s parents stood out.

It would have been taken in 1971 or 1972 and it was certainly taken at the Bay, because he recognized the pattern on the wallpaper from the kitchen: rows and rows of old-fashioned percolator coffee pots sitting on tables with checked tablecloths. How many times, sitting at the table, being tutted over by Grams, had he imagined how many cups of coffee could be poured from all of those pots, how many hours of conversation and laughter and dirty jokes and occasional quarrels they would fuel? Enough coffee, surely, to fill the bay that lapped up against the grand house’s stilted wrap-around porch.

In the photo Gramps and Grams are sitting in the kitchen, chairs facing away from the table, bodies blocking what is surely a coffee pot not unlike the hundreds on the wallpaper around them. Gramps’ mouth is open in a big talk-smile, as if he were in the midst of a story, or teasing Grams, or some combination of both.

Gramps’ arm is draped around Grams, who is looking straight-on into the camera, annoyed, lips pursed as if she has just accidentally drunk a coffee without putting her customary three spoons of sugar in it or, more probably, as if she is registering disapproval at whatever it is her husband has just said. She is wearing what she described as her “best house dress,” which is a step down from her Sunday dress but a step above all the others. Her hair sits imperiously upon her head, rows and rows of hair tiaras piled high and shellacked into place by the Aqua Net Hair Spray she bought by the case. It must have been a Saturday, because the hair is so perfect that she most certainly has just come from the Klip and Kurl. And if she has, indeed, just come from the Klip and Kurl, it means that Gramps has dropped her off there and gone to meet his buddies at Buck’s Tavern, which accounts for the big-mouthed story-joke pose on Gramps. Grams said she could never shut him up when he was “in his cups.” (To which Gramps would reply, “Woman, I’m not in my cups, I’m drunk. Giving it a fancy name don’t make it more genteel!”)

Those were the good times. And though he didn’t relish the thought that, at age forty-six, his best times were perhaps behind him, sitting there alone in the midst of a hurricane Edward had to admit that it just might be the case. How many summers had it been that the Bay had remained closed? How many summers had it been since the kitchen had hosted laughter and stories and fried chicken and oceans of black coffee and the occasional drunken polka?

He continued to stare at the faces.

*

The next morning he woke up in the same place on the sofa. He looked at the photograph and Gramps seemed to be saying, “You really knocked back the brewskies last night, Spark Plug!” Grams was silent, judgmental. Edward reached for his phone.

“Hey Dad, it’s me,” he said, still looking at the disapproving face of his grandmother.

“Hello Eddie. I was just talking about you. I guess you survived the hurricane?”

“To be honest, Dad, I slept through the whole thing.” He got up and looked down to the street below. “Seems quiet now. How’s the hip?”

“Fine, but I’ll have to do some physical therapy. I’ll work from home, of course.”

Edward felt a tenderness that surprised him. “Hey, listen, Dad, I was wondering if it would be alright if I came out there early. I’m sure the airports are a mess here, but as soon as I can find a flight, I was thinking about taking off and spending a couple months in Illinois.”

There was a pause on the other end followed by some shuffling noise.

“Listen, son,” his father said quietly like he was trying not to be heard, “you know you can’t really stay here. I’d love to have you, but your stepmother … well you know how she feels. And we may not agree with her beliefs, but we have to respect them.”

“You have to, Dad, not me. At any rate I wasn’t planning on staying with you. I want to open up the Bay and stay there.”

Silence.

“Dad? Did you hear me? I want to open up the Bay. Do you have any objections?”

“I heard you. Gosh, Eddie, I don’t know. It hasn’t been open in years and I’m not sure it’s worth bothering Leo to get it all ready. The old boarding house in town is lovely – really luxurious now that they’ve renovated. Why don’t you just stay there? I know you’ve got some good memories at that house, but Ben’s not going to want to spend his vacation in a musty old mansion.”

“Ben’s not coming.”

“Don’t tell me there are problems between the two of you. Oh, Eddie, I hate to hear that. I really hoped you two would last.”

“It’s not the end of the world, Dad, I just want some time alone. Anyway. The Bay?”

“Why the sudden interest in the Bay?”

“I spent a good chunk of my life there, Dad, and some of my happiest memories are connected to that place. Is it so strange that I would want to go back there?”

“I just think it’s odd, that’s all.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong – it is already technically mine.”

“That it is, son. Yeah, well, OK. Sure. I’ll call Leo today and tell him to get the place ready. Will you want Alice to come in and cook for you?”

“No, that’s alright – I’ll fend for myself. I’ll let you know when I can get a flight out so Leo can know when the house needs to be ready.”

“OK. Eddie?”

“Yeah, Dad?”

“Eddie, they say you can’t go home again and there’s a reason they say it. It never works. People think they can go back, but they can’t. I just don’t want you to be disappointed if you don’t find whatever it is you’re looking for at the Bay.” His voice cracked again.

Edward permitted himself a moment of silent imagination. “Well maybe I’m not going back. Maybe I’m moving forward.”.

“Dad?”

“Yes, son?”

He found he couldn’t bring himself to say the words that he wanted to. “Never mind, Dad.”

“Eddie?”

“Yes, Dad?”

“Never mind too.”

*

Every airline he called had the same story: due to the hurricane and the cancelled flights there would be nothing available for at least five days. The post-hurricane air felt heavy, constricting, and Edward thought he would be able to breathe more easily if he escaped for a while.

Was a classic road trip still classic if one took it alone? It seemed that the fates were pointing him in that direction. Maybe driving halfway across the country would help him put his life in order.

He threw a few things in a duffel bag that he found under the bed in the guest bedroom, and which hadn’t been used in years. (Ben preferred more “dignified” luggage.) Tying the string of the old bag Edward thought how it seemed so much more beautiful than the expensive luggage that was resting in the hall closet waiting to be summoned like an imperious concubine. Before leaving the apartment, he walked to the piano and grabbed the photograph of Grams and Gramps. He wouldn’t be alone; they would be his companions on the journey.

He got his car from the garage. The photograph fit perfectly in a compartment on the dashboard, and, after placing it there with a kind of solemn reverence, he drove out into the wounded streets of Manhattan. Maybe, just maybe, you really could go back. Maybe people said you couldn’t because they were too afraid or weak to actually do it, to make the journey.

“I am neither weak nor afraid,” he said, looking at the photograph front of him.

Grams, through ever-pursed lips, seems to say, “Of course you’re not, dear,” while Gramps is laughing and bellowing, “Give ’em hell, Spark Plug!”

Chapter Two: 1970

I’m blowing spit bubbles. Stretched out in the back of the car which is so big that there’s room for me and Snickers too, curled up at my head purring like a cat even though he’s a dog – a mutt dog Daddy says. Tree leaves are dancing and waving as the car goes by and I’m trying to count the leaves but there are too many because the car just keeps going and there’s not enough time to count. I count to one – sometimes two – and they’re already gone. I’m not too sad about not being able to count the leaves, though, because I’m lying in the back seat and Snickers is purring and smells kind of good and yucky at the same time and it’s a smell that I like.

I like the way the spit feels on my lips, like the little plop plop sound the bubbles make when they break. I wish they would get bigger, wish they would grow and grow until the whole back seat was one giant bubble and me and Snickers could just float up to those treetops and real slow-like count the leaves. But they never get that big.

“Eddie, stop it.”

OK, Mommy has seen me, and she hates it when she sees me blowing spit bubbles. I’m not so sure why she hates it so much. Maybe it’s because she never even chews bubble gum – let alone make spit bubbles. She just smokes, which I think is really cool and I would like to do as well but I can’t even pick up a lighter so how can I light a cigarette if I can’t even touch the lighter? Plop. Plop.

“Eddie! Stop it. It’s gross.”

I don’t know what gross is. I think it’s connected to the market where I go sometimes with Grams but I’m not sure so maybe I got it wrong. I get things wrong sometimes and sometimes they all laugh like when I said to Mr. Jenks that I had done adultery because I was sassing back to Dina my nanny and she said “There’s no need for you to sass back to me, you’re just a little boy and you’re trying to act like an adult!” so I thought I had done adultery. Sometimes I get it wrong and they don’t laugh, or they try not to, like when Reverend Finney asked me at the drug store what I wanted to be when I grew up and I said hell if I know, man. Plop. Plop.

“Edward James Allerton Bradington! Stop that right now!”

When Mommy uses all of my names I know it’s best to either stop doing what I’m doing, or do what she wants me to, because the next thing is ONE TWO THREE and if I haven’t stopped doing something, or haven’t done something that she wants me to at THREE I can get paddled. Sometimes I like to play a game where I keep on, just to test Mommy. But today, since we’re going to see Daddy’s Daddy and we don’t visit him very often I decide not to risk getting in trouble because I almost always cry when I do and I don’t want to show up at Grandfather Bradington’s house with a runny nose because Grandfather Bradington scares me a little bit and I’m always afraid I’m going to do something wrong like tip over a spittoon (which I did do, but on accident) or let Snickers in the house (which I did on purpose).

“Will Grams and Gramps be there?”

“No, son. Grams and Gramps are Mommy’s parents and we’re going to see my father.”

“But if you and Mommy live together why don’t Gramps and Grandfather Bradington live together? And Grams, naturally.” I like saying “naturally” because it always makes Daddy smile.

“It doesn’t work that way, sport.” And I can see Daddy’s eyes in the rearview mirror and they’re twinkling like he’s happy. “Naturally” always makes Daddy happy.

Snickers wakes up and yawns really really big and licks my face and Snickers’ breath kind of stinks when he licks but I sort of like it anyway. Snickers wants to play now but even though there’s like a mile in the back seat of Daddy’s car there really isn’t enough space to play with Snickers. So I give Snickers a little push towards the door just to let him know we’re not going to play and Snickers gives a little squeak which makes Mommy turn around to see what’s going on. But by then Snickers is sitting calmly and so Mommy turns back around and I love Snickers even more and feel a little bad that we can’t play in the back seat. But we can’t.

“How much longer?”

“One and a half General Hospitals,” says Mommy and I understand because both Grams and Dina make me watch their stories with them and it’s a long time to sit still and I hate it but at the same time I love it because all the doctors are handsome like Daddy and all the nurses are pretty like Mommy. I also like when Grams gets so mad at the people on the screen that she shouts at them and when I giggle at her she says “I’m gonna’ tie a knot in your tail, you little imp!” and then I say “Grams you’re a dear without antlers” and sometimes she laughs so hard that she starts coughing so much that I wonder if she’s choking like that time I did on a piece of chicken and Mommy squeezed me until it came out.

But a General Hospital and a half is a really really long time, so I ask Mommy if we can we read.

“OK darlink,” she says. (She always calls me “darlink” or “sweet pea” and Daddy calls me “EJ” or “sport” or “little man” and Grams calls me “my baby” which I don’t like so much and Gramps calls me “Spark Plug” which is my favorite.)

I climb over the front seat, careful not to kick Daddy while he’s driving (it’s happened, but always on accident) and Snickers whines a little but he can’t come up to the front seat so he just has to lie back down and he looks sad and a little mad. I scooch next to Mommy and give a little sniff because Mommy always smells so good. She is wearing a white shirt without sleeves and her arms are tan and thin and I like them a lot better than Grams’ arms which jiggle like Jell-o. Mommy’s wearing shorts and her legs are tan and thin too.

“What do you want to read?” Mommy asks as she puts a tote bag on her lap and looks inside like she’s all excited, like there’s a treasure in there (which there kind of is).

The problem is that I have already been reading almost a year and most of the books that I have are boring now because they’re so easy and even if in other books I don’t know what all the words mean I like sounding out big words like “carpeted” or “murmuring” or – my favorite – “studiously.” So most of the books that Mommy has for me in her magic bag don’t really interest me that much because the biggest word in any of them is “yellow” and “yellow” isn’t even a hard word.

“Let’s read from your green book,” I say to Mommy and she looks at me like she knew I was going to say that. Mommy has a big green book with lots of different poems and stories and things, and I love reading them, sounding out the words and trying to figure out what they mean.

So Mommy pulls out the green book and says, “Hmmm … what can we read, my darlink” and I say “What can I read” and she laughs and says, “Of course, what can you read” and Daddy shakes his head and smiles.

And so Mommy flips through the pages and stops at one and says, “Here’s a good one” and sets the book on my lap and then sets me and the book together on her lap, like she’s reading me and I’m reading the book.

And I look at the book and there’s no trouble reading the title and I understand it all and that’s a sign that it’s going to be a good poem: Casey at the Bat. Daddy smiles because he really likes that poem (and I think that Mommy may have chosen it more for Daddy than for me) and tells me it’s about baseball, which is something Daddy loves, even if the goddamned Cubs always let him down.

And I begin reading and it’s going pretty well until I come across the word “wonderment” and have to stop, even if I’ve probably read it right. I look up at Mommy and she says “You know what wonder means” and I do because I learned it in a song in Sunday school once. And she says “Well it’s pretty much the same thing.”

“If it’s the same thing why don’t they just say ‘wonder’ instead of ‘wonderment’?” I ask and I’m proud of my question because Daddy says, “Excellent question, EJ!”

And Mommy says, “Because there’s a rhythm to this poem like drums with music. Listen.” And Mommy begins to read and taps her finger on the book: “But Flynn let drive a single to the wonderment of all / And the much despiséd Blakey tore the cover off the ball.”

I say, “But I thought the word was ‘despised’ not ‘despiséd’ I mean, that’s the way they say it in Grams’ stories.”

And Daddy says, “Touché, EJ!”

“Well,” says Mommy, looking at Daddy like she does sometimes when Snickers chews on one of her shoes, “you can’t say it without adding the ed because the rhythm would be off. It’s got to be DUH duh DUH duh DUH” and again she taps her finger, “MUCH de-SPIS-ed BLAK-ey. Do you get it? The rhythm?”

“I guess so,” I say but I’m still not sure if it’s a good thing because it sounds funny and also I have never seen a little line over the e before and even if Mommy says it’s an accent mark so that you know how to read it I still think it’s kind of silly.

“Let’s move on,” says Mommy but I’m not ready yet because I’m thinking about something real hard and I can’t think and read at the same time.

“Wait,” I say to Mommy, “why can’t it be ‘very hated’?” And when Mommy doesn’t answer and just crinkles up her nose a bit I go on and say: “And the VE-ry HA-ted BLAK-ey TORE the COV-er OFF the BALL.”

Daddy swerves onto the shoulder of the road he’s laughing so hard and Mommy grabs me and squeezes me tight and says, “Where did I find you, my little darlink?” and I say “In the cabbage patch!” because it’s a little game we play and then she squeezes me a little more and I let out a little fart and Daddy almost drives into the ditch that time and Snickers barks in the back seat and everybody laughs really hard.

And then we move on with the poem and I learn lots and lots of new words like doffed, sneer, sphere, unheeded, tumult, scornful and vengeance, and Mommy explains them to me and takes my notebook out and makes me write them down so I’ll remember them and that takes more time than reading the poem. It always does.

And then before you know it we’re just outside the town where Grandfather Bradington has his house and Daddy is rolling down the window like he always does and says, “Smell that air EJ – it’s the sweetest on earth!” And I breathe in real deep like he always does and even if I don’t smell the difference between that air and any other air I act like I do because I know that it’s important to Daddy. And then Daddy points at the green sign and asks me, “What’s that sign say?” and I answer “Bradington!” and then Daddy says, “What’s your name?” and I answer, “Edward James Allerton Bradington the Fourth!” and Daddy says, “Welcome to your town, my boy!”

I jump into the back seat and roll down the window and hang my head outside like Snickers does and I look in wonderment at the little houses that we pass with green yards and flowers and some with basketball hoops in their driveways. I live in a big city where people have apartments and don’t really have yards just parks which are open to everybody so are less special. But here every family has its own house and I think they must be rich because they don’t have to live on top of or underneath other people and can do what they want with their yards. And they do. There are flowers and fences and gardens and one house even has a car without wheels in the front yard.

And we drive by the post office, the tavern and the United Methodist Church and turn right and drive through a gate and down a long road which just has rocks on it and has big trees on either side with so many leaves that you can’t count them even if the car is going very very slow. And soon I can see the house and the bay and think that if the people in the town are rich with all their space then Grandfather Bradington is super rich because he has this huge house and an entire bay that is attached to a channel that is attached to the Illinois River itself. I’m not sure if Grandfather Bradington owns the whole river or not, but I think he must own part of it because he owns the bay and the channel and they go out into the river so it kind of makes sense that he owns at least some of the river if not all of it.

And Daddy stops the car in the big circular driveway out front (which is really the back since the front sits on the bay) and we all get out of the car and Snickers pees on the flagpole and Daddy yells “Snickers!” but just because he’s always nervous around Grandfather Bradington, not because he thinks Snickers shouldn’t pee on the flagpole. And Grandfather Bradington’s maid Elsie comes out and she tries to smile but doesn’t try very hard. I drag Snickers towards me on the grass because I know that Elsie hates Snickers and I want to keep Snickers kind of close, just in case Elsie tries anything.

“He upstairs,” Elsie says, “he not doin’ so well today. Doctor say it about time.” Elsie talks funny and once I sort of made fun of her and Mommy didn’t even say “Edward James Allerton Bradington” or “ONE TWO THREE” she just paddled me right there on the spot. So now I barely open my mouth in front of Elsie but I still think that she talks funny and she smells funny too – like medicine – and she chews tobacco and spits it into Grandfather Bradington’s spittoons and her teeth are small and black like black Chiclets even though everyone knows that Chiclets don’t come in black.

Daddy carries the suitcases in. Snickers can’t come in, so while Daddy is taking care of the luggage Mommy gets a little Scooby snack from a plastic bag in her purse and gives it to Snickers. Snickers eats it but also looks at Mommy kind of sad, like he knows he can’t come in the house, which he can’t because Grandfather Bradington won’t have it.

And I’m sad like I always am when I have to leave Snickers outside and I’m trying not to cry because I know that crying is another thing that Grandfather Bradington won’t have. And in concentrating so hard on not crying and trying to make Snickers not-so-sad and keeping away from Elsie I kind of forget that I have to pee. And I can’t worry about not crying and Snickers and Elsie and hold in my pee all at the same time and all of a sudden I feel this warm feeling spreading through my underwear and it’s too late to do anything about it at that point.

Elsie spits, points at me and says, “Boy done wet his trousers!” and this time she tries to smile and does and I can see all the black Chiclets teeth in her mouth. Now I have to worry about the fact that I peed my pants, I can’t cry, I have to make Snickers not-so-sad, and try and keep Snickers away from Elsie. But I can’t do all those things at the same time so I start crying, trying to stop myself, but tears are a little like pee and once they start you can’t really stop them until they’re done.

Mommy picks me up and says, “Shhh don’t worry my little darlink, these things happen. I should have got you in the bathroom as soon as we arrived – it’s my fault.” She carries me in the house and runs up the stairs two at a time to the third floor and runs a bath. She strips my wet clothes off of me and I get in the bath but I’m really tired and I don’t want to play or splash or really do anything but get washed and take a nap. I never want to take a nap but right then I really need a nap because I’m afraid if I think about everything that’s happened I’ll start crying again. And Grandfather Bradington won’t have that.

So Mommy washes me up good and puts me in a pair of shorts and my favorite Spiderman t-shirt and puts me down on the bed that smells kind of old but not bad and says “Close your eyes for a little while, my darlink, and later we’ll take the paddleboat out on the bay. OK? Now give me squeezins!” says Mommy and I do and already feel a little bit better, like I’m not going to cry, but I think that I better just stay in bed anyway, better not risk it.

“I love you, my little darlink,” says Mommy and kisses the tip of my nose and I respond “I love you too” and close my eyes and try not to think about Snickers running around outside on his own scared and mean old Elsie and the fact that I peed my pants.

*

I wake up and I want to go outside to check on Snickers but I’m not allowed outside on my own so I go down the stairs, walking like a ghost on the second floor so I don’t bother Grandfather Bradington. I go down to the first floor past the big sitting room with the piano I’m not allowed to touch past the dining room. I tiptoe down the hallway past the kitchen where I can hear Elsie coughing and cooking, past the family room to the screened-in porch where I’m pretty sure I’ll find Mommy and Daddy.

And I hear them talking out there but they don’t hear me so I stand by the door between the family room and the screened-in porch and listen to them, although I think it might be wrong. But I’m feeling good again after my nap and I feel strong in my Spiderman t-shirt, so I just decide to do it, to stand there and listen to Mommy and Daddy talking.

“Elsie’s called Reverend Finney,” Daddy is saying. Daddy’s rubbing his eyes like he has been crying, like he peed his pants or is afraid of mean old Elsie, but I know that Daddy never cries so it must be the light off the water that is making me see things funny. “He thinks the church is too small and that we should have the funeral here.”

I know about funerals because Mr. Fletcher who lives in our building died and we went to the funeral in a big church with lots of smoke and a man in a pointy hat. And I know what death is because Mommy explained it to me, that Mr. Fletcher went to sleep and the spirit inside him went up to heaven and they put his body in the ground until the day when his spirit will come back to his body and Mr. Fletcher will wake up again and fly kites on Oak Street Beach like always.

“It will be huge,” says Mommy, rubbing the back of Daddy’s neck like she sometimes does to me too. “We could set up a big tent on the side lawn, have it overlooking the bay. He’d like that, I bet. Elsie won’t be in a state to do anything, so I’ll take care of it myself.”