Chapter 13
Galen awoke to the smell of bacon. Deep and beautiful smell, and he felt his hunger, the hollowness inside him. Bacon. There would be pancakes, also, and scrambled eggs. When he smelled the toast, it would be time. His mother trilling in the kitchen, her happy voice. Chatting with his grandmother, and he heard his aunt’s voice, even. A time of peace. A new day.
Galen snuggled in the warmth of his blankets, even though the air had warmed from the stove. He waited until he could smell toast, and then he pulled the blankets aside and reached in his duffel for shorts and a shirt. He had no other pants, unfortunately. Only the jeans that were wet.
Galen, his mother called. She sang it, rising up on the first syllable, falling on the last. Ga-len. A happy time. And he felt willing to go along with it. He came down the stairs and found them all at the table, squeezed into his place and watched his plate fill with two pancakes, eggs, strips of bacon, and toast. A mug of hot chocolate.
Wow, he said.
Brekkie is served, his mother said. Brekkie the way the Schumachers do it.
Galen leaned over his plate and smelled his bacon, deep inhales and closed his eyes. His first meal in what felt like ages. He ate with his bare hands, didn’t want to distance himself with a fork. Kept his face down close, nuzzled the hot pancakes and warm sticky syrup. Tasted the bacon, the smoke and salt and fat and meat, unbelievably good. He was humming, his insides coming alive.
The eggs moist, not overcooked, black pepper and garlic and onion. He twirled his tongue in his pile of eggs and then sucked them up, pushed the toast into his mouth. The combinations. Toast and eggs. Bacon and maple syrup.
Looks like my little pumpkin is enjoying his breakfast, his mother said.
Mm, he said. I love this. Thanks, Mom.
You need a good breakfast, his grandmother said. You’re going off to school soon. He opened his eyes and looked up at her. She seemed so proud, smiling at him, her eyes glistening.
Yes, he said.
What are your classes?
I’m taking French poetry, he said. Because my year abroad will be in France, in Paris.
Ooh la la, his grandmother said, and elbowed his mother approvingly. She looked happier than she had in years. That sounds wonderful. And you deserve it. You’ve worked so hard.
Thank you, Grandma.
Where will you stay?
Galen had a bite of bacon, the smoky, fatty goodness in his mouth while he imagined where he would stay. The Sorbonne, he said.
Ooh, his grandmother said.
They’re a sister university with my school. And the dorms are all on the top floor, built into those enormous roofs you see in Paris. The windows have wooden shutters from hundreds of years ago, and when you wake up, you can push those shutters open and look out over all of Paris.
I’m so happy for you. My handsome young man. Think of all the people you’ll meet.
The year abroad is a ways off, his mother said.
But there’s no harm in planning now, his aunt said. It really is grand. And you never know what could happen. Galen could become a professor at the Sorbonne if he likes Paris enough. I’m sure they would want him to stay.
Yes, of course, his grandmother said.
Well, his mother said. We have such a beautiful day today, with the sun out. After brekkie, shall we take a walk at Camp Sacramento?
I’d like to hear more about Paris, Jennifer said.
Me too, Helen said.
The year abroad includes a tutorial with a French poet. I have to have my French up to that level by then, so I’ll be working hard over the next two years. Language study is something you have to work on every day.
Well, that will be no problem for you, his aunt said.
Galen took a large bite of pancake and thought he really could do this. He really could study French for two years and then spend a year in Paris and study with a poet. Only his mother was holding him back.
I actually need to send in a check next week, he said. Do you happen to have your checkbook, Grandma?
Oh, his grandmother said, looking startled. Oh yes, I’m sure I have that somewhere. Suzie-Q, where is my checkbook?
Galen’s mother looked punched.
Next week is when Jennifer’s payment for school is due also, Helen said. What a coincidence. You can write both checks at the same time.
Yes, Galen’s grandmother said. Yes, of course. She looked worried. She knew something wasn’t right, and Galen felt terrible for her now. This had gone out of control.
I think we left the checkbook at home, Mom, Galen’s mother said. We’ll have to do that when we get back.
I’m pretty sure you brought it, Helen said. I’ll get your purse and be right back. She got up fast.
Helen, Galen’s mother said, but Helen was gone toward her mother’s bedroom. Galen’s mother got up and went after her.
Galen’s grandmother raised her eyebrows. Oh my, she said. I’m not sure what’s happening.
It’s okay, Grandma, Jennifer said. You’re just writing checks for school, for Galen and me. Fall semester of college is about to start.
Oh. She looked at Jennifer, and Galen realized this was rare that she even looked at Jennifer. You’re in college now? Are you that old?
I’m starting next month, Jennifer said.
You look so young. Where are you going to school?
Stanford.
Stanford. Oh my. How did you get into Stanford? You’re not smart enough to get into Stanford, are you?
I did my homework. You helped me. We spent a lot of hours working together, Grandma. Jennifer reached out and held her grandmother’s hand. Thank you so much for helping me, Grandma.
Oh. And where is Galen going?
Chico State.
Chico State?
Yeah. He doesn’t like doing homework.
Stop it, Galen said. I’ll be right back. He could hear his mother and aunt fighting in the back room, and he knew he needed to help his mother now.
He was almost at the hide-a-bed when they came crashing out of his grandmother’s bedroom. They both had their hands on a tan purse, large and sturdy and old, with big handles. His mother yanked hard, swinging his aunt. He’d never seen his mother like this, her mouth snarling, a strange combination with her happy flowered apron.
Then his aunt yanked and his mother hit the wall, slipped, and went down hard in the narrow gap between wall and bed, arms flailing. His aunt on the hide-a-bed now, and Galen charged, had one foot up on the mattress when she straight-armed and just ran right over him. Her face grim and determined, and he was falling, tilted too far backward, and his head hit and bounced, his skull too heavy, like a bowling ball, and he couldn’t breathe or see. His head revving up inside, a high whine like a jet engine, and he was panicking. Had he heard a crack? Had he cracked his skull?
He didn’t want to move.
Just playing, just having fun, he could hear his aunt saying. Just having a wrestle on the hide-a-bed, like when we were kids. Wonderful fun.
Suzie-Q? his grandmother called.
Galen needed to do something. His mother wasn’t doing anything. Maybe she was hurt too. But his head was so heavy and pulsing. He could hear Jennifer saying something about Stanford, about the cost of Stanford. They were working her together.
Galen could feel his toes, was able to move his feet. And his hands. He wasn’t paralyzed. His breath came back, and he opened his eyes and was still awake and could think. He was afraid to feel his head, afraid he’d find blood or even a crushed bit of skull, but he reached up and felt only a bump, swelling already, but no wetness. Dry hair. He would be okay, maybe.
Mom? he called.
Yeah, she said.
Why aren’t you doing anything?
I hit my tailbone, she said. It hurts. But I also just can’t fight anymore. They’ll take some money, and maybe that’s okay. If they try for more than fifty, it won’t clear. I can’t fight them anymore. I can’t fight you anymore, either.