“Jesus Christ, man, a heart attack, not a death sentence…. Can you not look at me? I’m cracking a beer here and now I am pouring it — ahhhhhhh, good — down my throat. Cold, familiar beer. Want one? … Okay, I’ll drink it all myself. And when I’m done I’ll have fortified myself enough to give you a proper burial because this, this is not a life, pal. All I gotta do is get rid of this bed, pry away the carpet and the floorboards, not to mention the underlay and linoleum, then lower myself a few feet, jackhammer the concrete basement floor, drop you into the dirt, bed ‘n’ all, and you’re in your bloody grave, man, say a few Hail Marys, remember the laughs, hope it doesn’t happen to me anytime soon, and Uncle Jack bids a fond farewell to Tom McCloud, good-bye, Kid Fun, good-bye, my favourite nephew … good-bye. Jesus Christ.”
“Well,” said Tom’s Uncle Jack, “Lord knows I tried.” He stood by the front door wrapped in what looked like a groundsheet, fumbling with a bottle of extra-strength Tylenol. “Like Cheerios I eat these,” he said to Dory. He turned to Summer Feelin’ and said, “You’re perfect, you are a perfect little girl.”
“She’s a perfect little girl,” he said to Knute.
And then to Summer Feelin’ he said, “I was born the day the Titanic sank.” Summer Feelin’ smiled. “That’s right, two disasters in one day,” said Uncle Jack. “But never mind, have you got a pumpkin?” Summer Feelin’ shook her head. “That’s too bad,” said Uncle Jack. “If you had a pumpkin I could show you my card trick. Do you know that I can throw an ordinary playing card right through a pumpkin and have the damn thing come out the other side with not one, I shit you not, not one shred of pumpkin flesh hanging from it, and the slit from the card entering and exiting barely visible on either side of the pumpkin?”
“Can you do it with a cantaloupe?” asked Summer Feelin’. Or somebody’s head? Knute wondered. “Absolutely not,” said Uncle Jack. “It must be a pumpkin. But listen to me, have you got a ten-story building anywhere around here, anywhere in this town?”
“A tall one, you mean a tall, tall building?” said Summer Feelin’ standing on her tiptoes and holding her arms up over her head.
“That’s right, it’s gotta be ten stories, not nine, not eleven, but ten, ten stories tall.”
“No, we don’t have one of those,” said Summer Feelin’.
“Well, that is too bad, that’s really a shame, because if you had a ten-story building I could show you another card trick. There are only two men in the whole world who can do this trick, me and my brother, your Uncle Skylar.”
Dory cleared her throat. “Jack,” she said gently, “Sky’s been dead for …”
“Never mind,” said Uncle Jack, “that’s what you think.”
Dory shook her head and tried not to laugh, not because she didn’t want to offend Uncle Jack, but because she didn’t want to encourage him.
“Now listen to me, Hooked on a Feelin’ or whatever your—”
“Summer Feelin’!” said Summer Feelin’.
“That’s right,” said Uncle Jack, “and some aren’t. Listen! I can take an ordinary playing card and, on the very first try, with just the right wind conditions, of course, throw that playing card onto the top of a ten-story building. Standing on the ground, me standing on the ground, of course. What do you think of that, Summer-Time Feelin’?”
Summer Feelin’ began to flap and hum. “What are you doing?” said Uncle Jack. “What’s she doing?” he said to Knute.
“She’s excited,” said Knute. “Don’t worry. She likes the idea of that card trick.”
“Really?” said Uncle Jack. “You find me a ten-story building, an ordinary playing card, get me out there, bring the kid, and I’ll do the trick for her, it’ll knock her socks off. I’m serious. Bring a pumpkin, I’ll do that trick, too, no charge. I mean it. Tell Tom to crawl out of his coffin and come along, he’s seen me do it, I’m better at it than Skylar ever was, or is—”
“Good-bye, Uncle Jack,” they all said in unison.
“Find me that building, Knutie!” he yelled just before getting into his car. “I’ll do the trick, I promise! Good-bye! A rived-erci! So long, Knutie! Keep your knees together …” his voice trailed off as he drove away.
eleven
“Areola is a nice name for a girl,” said Hosea. “Don’t you think?”
Lorna started to laugh. “Areola?” she spluttered. “God, you kill me—” Lorna was laughing hard. “Hey, Hose,” she said, “what do you think—?”
“Oops, watch your step, my dear.”
“Stop telling me to be careful, please. If you don’t let me move around normally my body will think I’m dead and reject the baby. I’ll end up aborting, Hosea, if you keep—”
“Well, every name means something, doesn’t it?”
“Areola Garden Funk, lovely. Sure. I love it. Can we walk a little faster, Hosea?”
“I never walk, you know, never, beats me why, I just—”
“Well, you’re fat and lazy, that’s why, I’m only pregnant, I can walk.”
“I prefer Funk Garden … isn’t that a band?”
“No, you’re thinking of Sound Garden.”
“Am I? Hey, wait a second …”
“Look,” said Hosea. “Shit. Shit, shit.”
“What’s wrong?” asked Lorna, looking around, pushing her sunglasses to the top of her head for a better view.
“Over there! Behind the Wagon Wheel. It’s Mrs. Cherniski, oh shit, that means she’s back, she’s okay. She’s already working, for Christ’s sake, some kind of feeble heart attack that must have been—”
“Hosea!” said Lorna, trying to unscramble her sunglasses from her hair. “I promised you I wouldn’t laugh, I promised you I wouldn’t move to Algren until after July first, I promised you I would keep your crazy plan a secret. But you promised me that you wouldn’t act like a nutcase, like some kind of grim reaper rubbing your hands together, sniffing the air for the scent of decaying flesh—”