“Shape up, Jake. You don’t want nobody to suspect nothing back at the house.”
Jacob took one last look at the girl’s window, thought of that miraculous skin against the soft terry cloth of the robe, the black hair, the curves and muscles of her legs. He spat his mouth clear. “Did you...um...?”
Joshua patted him on the back. “A Wells never fails.”
They made it back to the house, and Jacob was able to shower and have breakfast before Old Man Wells made it to the table. Dad drank his coffee and checked the stocks in the newspaper. Joshua sat in silence, wearing a faint smile of amusement. The greasy bacon and eggs sat in Jacob’s stomach like steel shavings and rubber, but the nausea passed and his hands no longer trembled. It was Friday, so he and Joshua would have to walk the half mile to catch the school bus down by the bridge.
“What are you boys doing after school?” Dad asked.
“I thought we’d go down to the workers’ camp,” Joshua said, catching Jacob’s gaze and holding it. “I’m thinking of taking Spanish next semester and figured I could get a few free lessons.”
“You stay away from there. Those beaners are rough. They’re hard workers, but if they didn’t work so cheap, I wouldn’t bother with them. When they’re drunk, they get mean. They’d cut each other’s throat for a nickel.”
“I don’t think our workers drink, Dad,” Joshua said.
Dad actually looked over the newspaper at that. “They all drink. So don’t be hanging around there. If you want to learn Spanish, we can hire a tutor.”
“But I want to learn about the tree industry,” Joshua said, and Jacob was stunned by the glib cunning of his brother. Joshua knew how to trick Jacob, all right, but his recent conquest must have fueled his arrogance, because there he was bullshitting Dad, the king of the bullshitters.
“I can teach you about the trees when the time comes,” Dad said, turning his attention back to the Dow Jones average.
“What if something happened to you? One of us would have to know what to do.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to me.”
“It happened to Mom, didn’t it?”
Dad folded the paper, crossed the kitchen, poured his coffee down the sink, and rinsed his glass. He left the room, and a minute later the front door closed, followed by the sound of his truck engine.
Joshua leaned back in his chair and grinned like a dyspeptic weasel. “What’s really cool is one day one of us is going to have to carry on.”
Jacob put his head on the table, head in his hands. He wondered if he could skip school without Dad finding out. “Are you in love with her?”
“What’s that, pukeface?”
“Is she your girlfriend?”
“Love. You really believe that shit, don’t you?”
Jacob wanted to ask what it was like, her hot, slick skin on his, her lips brushing his face, the secret folds opened. He wanted to know how Joshua could enjoy all those wonders and then remain so callous towards them.
He’d always been afraid that the twins were too much alike, that his and Joshua’s shadow would always be merged and neither would escape the other. That morning, he saw for the first time how little alike they actually were, as if they didn’t even belong to the same species.
“Wish me,” Jacob said.
“I can’t wish you sober, Jake. Only time can do that.”
“No, wish me to be you one time.”
“You like Carlita, huh? Want a taste of taco sauce?”
“Wish me.”
“Well, you’re already going to be me this afternoon, remember? My algebra test. The one I missed and you’re going to make up for. Mrs. Runyon will never know the difference. And don’t forget to write with your left hand.”
“How come you can’t take it?”
“You’re smarter. Besides, me and Carlita are going to hang out under the bridge. Do a little fishing.” He smiled. “One day I might teach you how to use a pole, when you’re big enough.”
“What if I don’t want to take your damned test?”
“Come on, now. The cane, remember?”
Jacob burped and the acid sluiced up his throat. He swore to himself he would never try liquor again. And he was going to quit letting Joshua threaten him, because Joshua was as much to blame for Mother’s death as he was. He was done letting Joshua push him around. But, first, he was going to find a way to finish that test early so he could find himself a good hiding place in the weeds beside the bridge.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Dust.
Which of the tiny specks were Mattie, and which were bits of dead skin, moth wings, dandelion fluff, or lost sea sand?
Jacob looked down into his palm, then at the urn on the faux mantel of Renee’s living room. The urn was cold in its solitude, cast in black porcelain with dark gold piping around the rim. Overwrought solemnity, the best money could buy.
Jacob let the dust sift through his palm to the floor, knowing Renee would twitch with the urge to get out the vacuum cleaner. “I need the rest of it.”
“I gave it to you already.”
“I can make him go away.”
“By buying your father’s place? I thought you hated that house. You always said it brought back bad memories.”
“I’m not buying the place. I’m giving it to my brother.”
“Joshua? The man whose name you could barely stand to say? The one you kept secret from me because you were so ashamed?”
“I owe him. I took everything my father left. I tricked Joshua out of his birthright because I thought I could put it to better use.”
“You said he refused to take any inheritance. ‘I don’t want nothing the old man ever touched.’”
“I got the money and the real estate, Joshua got the home place. But he can’t sell or rent it because of the covenants Dad put on it. Since he doesn’t want to live there, he basically got nothing. While I got to finish building the Wells empire.”
“Since when did you start feeling guilty about that? If you’re going to feel guilty for something, maybe you should show some emotion over the death of your daughter.”
Renee stood with the sleeves of her tan sweater tucked into her fists. Her eyes held enough fire and light to drive the chill out of Jacob’s heart, but the combustible places inside him had long since been walled off. He felt like a trespasser in her apartment, in this new life she was trying to make. One where the kids were nothing but photographs on the wall, pieces of slick paper in polished picture frames. A life where Jacob was nothing more than temporary clutter.
“I’ve dealt with Mattie’s death in my own way,” he said.
“Great. Thanks a lot for leaving me behind while you did it.”
Jacob looked at her, wondering if he’d ever really known her. Or maybe he had never known himself. “You’ve been talking to that damned Rheinsfeldt again, ain’t you?”
“Yes, and I’m starting to figure out some things. She said you had some traumatic experience—or probably several—that caused your adolescent disorder.”
“‘Disorder.’ As if everything has to be in order.”
“And now this brother thing. Like maybe if you make amends with Joshua, pay him off, you can buy his love and maybe get your father back that way. But maybe you can’t fit all the pieces together again.”
“Money makes a good glue.”
“They won’t release the settlement, Jacob. Not until the investigation’s complete. You know that.”
“I didn’t start the fire. Even if you hate me now, you know I’d never do anything that stupid.”
“I’m not so sure anymore. I don’t know which Jacob you are.”
That’s what they always say.
Jacob fought the urge to rush across the room and slap her. He forced his fist open and stretched his fingers. Some of the dust from the urn still clung to his moist palm.
Jacob took his gaze from Renee’s tear-streaked face and looked at the urn. How could such a small jar hold those millions of memories, the hopscotch chalk on the sidewalk, Big Bird’s Firehouse, the sticky trip to Disneyland, the juice boxes of midget league soccer? How could his precious little girl be reduced to such a finite space when she had once contained multitudes of possibilities?