“Do you think Mom really hurt Daddy when she hit him?” Mark asked. He adopted a nonchalant tone to the loaded question.
“Probably not,” I said, although I figured it was a safe bet that Trey had a split lip and a sore jaw this morning.
Mark munched his cereal, but not for long. I could see him squirming in his chair, screwing up his courage. “Uncle Jordy, you’d do anything for me, wouldn’t you?” His voice wasn’t much more than a hoarse whisper. It was the same tone I used to cajole my sister.
I looked up from the paper. “Within reason, Mark. Why?”
The floodgate opened. “I figured you would, and I don’t ever ask for anything-like, at least I don’t ask for much, but I need you to do something for me and I don’t know how to ask you, but-”
“Mark, what?”
He took a deep breath. “I want you to take me to see Daddy.”
I leaned back in the chair. “(Oh, that’s not a good idea, Mark. Your mother would hit the ceiling.”
“But it’s not fair! I should get to see him if I want to! I’m fourteen, don’t I have rights or something?”
“Look, it’s not a question of rights. It’s just that you need to let your mother calm down. She’s terribly upset right now and you visiting your father isn’t going to help her.”
“Never mind her. What about me?” Spoon clanked in bowl.
“That’s pretty selfish,” I said mildly.
“So? He’s my father. Mom doesn’t have to do diddly with him. Why does she have to decide for me?”
I leaned forward. “Mark, why do you want to see him? He left you, without warning, years ago. He hasn’t called, he hasn’t written. He hasn’t lifted a finger for you in all that time. So what’s the point?”
Mark stared down into his empty bowl. Thunder cracked like a giant’s bones over the house, and the kitchen table trembled. Lightning struck, and close. The hair on the back of my arms felt electrified.
Mark looked up at me, with eyes sadder than a fourteen-year-old should have. “I don’t know. I just want to see him. Isn’t that enough?” He paused. “What about when you found out Bob Don was your daddy? Didn’t you want to know him better?”
“Mark, that’s totally different.”
“Maybe so. You had grown up with a father. I haven’t.” His voice was soft and bitter.
“Then hop to it. You know he’s living at Dwight Kinnard’s-and old Dwight’s in the phone book. You could sneak over there. You just got to be prepared for the consequences.” I didn’t want to encourage him to disobey his mother, but I knew the idea had already entered Mark’s mind.
“But I don’t want to go by myself. What if he doesn’t want to see me?” He looked at me with his father’s dark eyes and thin-lipped frown. “Do you think he wants to see me?”
That was a question I’d sooner not answer. “If I take you to your daddy, your mother will skin my ass and make herself a wallet. And she’ll do the same to you.”
“She doesn’t have to know. If you go with me, she won’t get mad at either of us.” I didn’t quite follow that logic.
Mark explained, “She can’t stay angry. I’m her son and you’re her brother. She’d have to forgive us, right?”
“Pardon my skepticism. I saw last night just how tightly she holds a grudge.”
“Please, Uncle Jordy-you’ve known Daddy forever. Please go with me.”
I closed my eyes. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t get in the middle of this feud. Taking sides was increasingly hard. I couldn’t forgive Trey for what he’d done, but in the two times I’d seen him, I’d sensed-what? Remorse? Or something deeper that made me feel leaving his family hadn’t been a simple jaunt in the rodeo? Maybe his accident opened his eyes to what was important. And Sister, she had every right to be angry-but to forbid Mark to contact his father was as much a punishment of Mark as it was of Trey. If Mark wanted to speak to his father, how could I stand in his way? I would give anything to see my daddy, Lloyd, who had raised and shaped me. I couldn’t; he was long dead. Now Mark’s father had come back from his self-imposed exile. Was I going to be a bystander to Mark’s pain-or a good uncle?
I got up and walked over to the phone before I could get all clever and analytical. I found Dwight Kinnard’s phone number in the book and dialed.
Trey answered. “Hello?”
“Hello, Trey, this is Jordan.” I saw the longing gleam in Mark’s eyes. “How are you feeling today?”
A moment’s pause. “Fine. Your sister’s got a hell of a right cross. But I’ve been hurt worse.”
And you’ve hurt others worse. “Look, I don’t know why I’m doing this, but I’m going to put my balls on the line. Not for you, but for Mark. He would like to visit you.”
I heard a hard, long intake of hopeful breath on the other end. “He does? Arlene won’t approve of that.”
“Arlene doesn’t know, and she doesn’t have to find out until she’s calmed down. Do you want to see your son?” If you say no, you son of a bitch, don’t ever speak to me again. Mark hovered near me and I held my breath.
“Yes, God, yes, Jordy, thank you. Thank you.” The happiness in his voice was nearly physical.
“When would be a good time? I don’t think he’d feel comfortable around Nola and her son and her uncle.”
“How about now? They’re all gone. Scott’s shooting baskets at that covered court over by the junior high. Dwight and Nola are running errands. Arlene’d be at her cafe, right?” Trey’s voice boomed with excitement.
“Let me see if I can get a friend to sit with Mama. We can’t leave her alone, and I’m not taking her out in this weather. Give us a few minutes.”
“Thanks, Jordy, God bless you. I knew you were still my friend.”
I hung up without further comment. Mark watched me, expectation in his whole face.
“Go get your jacket, and I’ll call Clo.”
He dashed for the closet, but found time to give me a quick hug on the way.
I’d been lucky-depending on your viewpoint. Clo Butterfield, Mama’s home nurse, was willing to come over for a short spell. Considering that she’s well paid by Bob Don to help us with Mama and that she’s the best nurse in Bonaparte County, I shouldn’t have been surprised. Of course it left me no final exit, no avenue of escape.
Mark and I ran through the rain, jumping quickly into my car. Dwight Kinnard didn’t live terribly far away (there are no vast distances in Mirabeau), and as I drove I watched Mark out of the corner of my eye. He fidgeted, fixed his hair, straightened his clothes.
“Uncle Jordy, do you think I ought to take him a present-since he’s been sick and all?”
A present. For the father who’d abandoned him.
“No, Mark. Trey ought to get you a present for being such a great kid.”
“Like I’m so great,” Mark snorted.
Yes, you are. I gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze and he stared out at the raindrops sliding down the glass.
We pulled up Moller Street and stopped in front of the Kinnard place. Moller’s one of the older streets in town, the pavement cracked and pitted. Cars on blocks didn’t decorate the front yards, but the grass was either overgrown or sparse from inattention. Backyards tumbled down to the overgrowth that surrounds the eastern bend of the Colorado. Mark stayed close to me as we ran through the downpour to the front door.
I rapped gently. No answer. Again. The rain began a sharper patter on the roof and the thunder cried out against the wind.
“Trey? It’s Jordan. And Mark.” I knocked harder. Mark looked like he was going to wet his britches.
“Maybe it takes him longer to get around in his wheelchair,” Mark ventured. From our phone conversation, I expected Trey in the front yard, rain-drenched and waiting for us.