The Practical Navigator (33 page)

I choose this.

“Hey! You okay?” A lifeguard is approaching, paddling fast on his long board. “I said, are you all right!”

“Fine,” Michael says. And he is. He is strong and weightless. He is reborn, a creature of the sea. Something has been washed away and he is newly baptized.

“Dude, you're crazy!” calls the lifeguard.

Michael laughs. “You're right! I am!” Behind him, a wave is cresting, the face rising like a smooth green wall. Michael kicks and swims forward and it takes him.

Onshore, the spectators and the beach walkers watch, pointing, grinning and shaking their heads as out among the surfers in their dark wet suits, the naked man, his body pale and white against the swell, cuts down and across the face of the wave. He careens along the bottom of it and then, angling his arms and arching, he rides up and out of it as it folds and crashes in a cloud of foam and spray.

 

Harbor. A haven or space of deep water so sheltered by the adjacent land as to afford a safe anchorage for ships.

 

55

Penelope is terrible at falling asleep of late, and so to compensate for it, she goes to bed early to give herself lots of time. It's especially difficult when Michael hasn't come home. She worries about him as if he's sixteen again and out past what Thomas Hodge referred to as “his curfew.” She wonders if she should get up and go watch
Jeopardy!
It's reassuring to realize she still knows as much as the contestants. But no, the Daily Double might wake Jamie who needs his sleep.

Her two boys. It was easier living alone. One could be concerned for one's loved ones at a safe distance. But it was so solitary. She hadn't even realized she was lonely until she suddenly wasn't anymore. It would be so difficult now to go back to the old way.

At the sound of the front door, the dog, Abigail, stirs at the foot of the bed, raises a heavy head, regards Penelope for a moment, and then, groaning, puts her head back down between her paws.

“Well, no one is asking you to get up and see who it is.” Without opening her eyes, Abigail grunts.
Good,
she seems to say. Penelope rises and reaches for her robe.

She comes quietly down the hallway, so as not to wake Jamie. They had salmon and boiled new potatoes for dinner. It's lovely that her grandson shares her enthusiasm for fresh fish. And didn't they have a wonderful conversation? Penelope, who comes from a long line of English train spotters and solitary stamp collectors, feels this autism thing is very much overblown.

At Jamie's room, the door is open and the light is on within. Odd. She was sure she turned it out when she tucked him in. She peeks in. Michael is curled up next to a sleeping Jamie. His clothes, Penelope sees, are patched with sand. His hair is mussed and twisted with traces of salt. He immediately opens his eyes and looks at her. Smiling, he puts a finger to his lips. “Shhhh. I'll be out in a minute.”

*   *   *

When Michael comes into the kitchen, Penelope is sitting at the table, looking at the photograph.

“Did you do this?” she says quietly.

“No. Jamie did. I just had it reframed.”

Penelope's fingers lightly brush the glass. Next to the uniformed Thomas Hodge, Jamie, solemn and formal looking, and Michael, smiling proudly, pose shoulder to shoulder. Upon seeing it, Michael was surprised at how much he looked like his father.

“How on earth?”

“He's figured out Photoshop. He scanned some old photos of the two of us and stuck them next to Dad. He said he wanted you to have all three of us in one frame. Pretty cool, huh?”

“No. Not cool. It's wonderful.”

“Mom? Are you crying?”

“Yes.”

“Want to tell me why?”

Putting the framed photo down in front of her, Penelope takes a deep breath. “Your father. Such a dear man, Michael. And I wasn't a good wife to him. I always liked it better when he was gone. When he was home he wanted things his way and I wanted things my way and we'd get very cross with one another. I didn't help him. I didn't know.” His mother's voice drops to a sigh now. “Do you think it was truly an accident, Michael? Do you? He was such an expert swimmer.”

Michael hesitates, wanting to get it right. “It was an accident, Mom. He swam out too far, that's all, and he couldn't make it back. I can tell you that he wanted to. I have no doubt the last thing he was thinking about was us.”

“Oh, Michael.”

She feels very small in his arms when she rises to hug him. Michael squeezes softly so as not to bruise.

“We need to talk about your house.”

She looks at him, her face telling him she's been dreading this conversation.

“Must we?”

“I think we should.”

Penelope sits again, folding her hands in front of her. “There is no house, is there.” A simple statement, telling him she's accepted the truth.

“The lot is worth something.”

“Then we should sell it,” Penelope says, immediately intent on the idea. “It's a good parcel and someone will undoubtedly want to build on it.”

“I was thinking
we
would,” Michael says. And now she's blinking at him, as if confused, as if he's going far too fast for her. “I'm pretty sure I can get an equity loan on this place. Probably on your lot as well. Enough to rebuild what was there. Or make it even better. And after it's built, we'd sell this place and move in there.”

It takes Penelope a moment to speak. “Of course, we'd own it together.”

“If you want,” says Michael.

“Oh, I do, yes, I do. In fact, I think it'd be better if
you
owned all of it outright.” Very serious now. “It'll be yours someday anyway.”

“We can talk about it.”

Not trusting herself to speak further, Penelope reaches out to take Michael's face in her hands. And in doing so, finds it easy to speak again.

“A perfect house.”

“Yeah. Something like that.”

“Oh, Michael, I do love you so.”

“I love you too, Mom. I love you too.”

 

56

Michael's pickup is parked outside the office. Leo's truck comes to a stop behind it. Leo and Luis get out. Something is wrong with Leo today, Luis can tell. He hasn't expressed a stupid opinion, he hasn't ordered anyone around—when you get right down to it, he hasn't said a word. He just stares into space with a hangdog expression. Has for some days now. You'd think this would be a relief but Luis now finds himself concerned. Maybe it's Michael's unhappy wife that has Leo down in the dumps. Luis knows they are friends. Or maybe it's trouble with the ex-wife and her daughters. Leo takes fathering seriously, even if the girls aren't his, and Luis respects him for it. The thought has also occurred that maybe he was too hard on Leo the other day. You don't talk about a man's shoes until you walk in them. Or some
pendejada
thing like that.

“Leo, you feelin' okay?”

“Yeah, why?

“Just askin'.”

“Fine.”

Oh, yeah, something is definitely
muy malo.
When given the slightest opportunity to complain about his gout or his creaky joints or his bowel movements, his friend Leo is usually a loud television show you can't turn off. And though Luis doesn't usually admit it, one of his favorites. In between being annoying and unconscious, Leo is often amusing and makes the workday go well. More than that, he is a friend. Luis would trust Leo with his wife though maybe not his ATM card.

The
afrijole
woman, Rosa, is working at the computer when they enter. Luis has always found this brusque, unsmiling woman and her crazy gold eyes somewhat unsettling but Leo, he knows, likes her.

“Mike here?” grunts Leo.

“His truck's outside,” grunts Rose in return.

“In here, Leo.” Michael calls from the inner office.

“I gotta use the bathroom,” says Luis, feeling he should ask permission of the woman at the desk.

“No necesita mi ayuda.”
You don't need
my
help.

Nice. As Luis turns toward the bathroom, he hears the half grunt again.

“So how's Linda doing, Leo?”

¿Qué
diablos?
What the hell? Luis pretends to fumble with the doorknob, the better to hear what this is about.

“There is no Linda, Rose,” he hears Leo reply. “You know there's not. I'm a fat pig and I embarrass myself every day. So just let it go.”

Luis turns to see Leo disappear into Michael's office. The
afrijole
woman, Luis sees, is no longer working. She is staring down at her desk as if lost.

Eso es todo.
So that's it.

“Hey, Leo,” Luis calls out. “Can I get a minute with you out here?”

Leo comes back into the office doorway. “What is it?”

Luis turns to the sad-faced woman at the desk.
“Rosa. Es Leo un cerdo gordo?
A fat pig? Huh?”

Startled, Rose hesitates. She looks from Luis to Leo and then down at her desktop again. “No.”

Michael appears in the doorway behind Leo. “What's going on?”

“Un momento
,” says Luis, silencing him.

“I'll be in here,” says Michael, getting it and quickly retreating.
Un hombre inteligente.

Luis turns to Rose again. “
Dígale.
Tell him.”

Rose raises her crazy gold eyes to look at Leo again. “You're no pig, Leo. You're big, but you carry it well.”

Leo, whom Luis would like to see carrying
anything,
stands there as if no longer understanding English. “Leo. Say something back to the girl, Leo.”

“You too.”

Ei-yi-yi.
Luis rubs his head. This is like talking to his children, which is like talking to stubborn donkeys. “You can't do better'n that?”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Ask her out, Leo. Go on. Ask her.
Pregúntele
.”

“I do,” protests Leo. “She always says no.”

“So do it again now. With me here.”

“Rose, you want to go out?” says Leo, looking at the floor.

“With
you
?” says Rose.

“No, with the pope,” says Leo, now bristling a little as he looks up. “Yeah, with me.”

It is now the stern woman who doesn't seem to speak such good English, thinks Luis.
“Chica,”
he says gruffly, knowing it's no good to be gentle. “No more bullshitting.
Este es un buen hombre.
He deserve respect. Answer him. Sí or no?”

Rose takes a deep breath. Her back, which till now has seemed bent under a heavy weight, straightens.
“Un momento, Luis?”
Give us a moment?

“I'll be waitin' in the truck,” Luis says to Leo. His broad face expressionless, he exits.

“What is it,” says Leo. He feels something momentous is about to happen, good or bad, he can't tell. Rose regards him. At least she doesn't seem to
actively
dislike what she sees.

“Did you know I was married once, Leo?”

“Yeah? Me too.”

“My husband hurt me,” says Rose. “He'd get angry, curse at me, tell me how dark and fat and ugly I was. Sometimes he'd hit me.”

“You let him get away with that?”

“I was a young girl. I was crazy about him. I thought it was my fault. I thought if I could be different it would all be better. Only I never could be different enough. He left me for another woman, some skinny, light-skinned thing, and I just about died. It took me a long time to get over it. Maybe I'm not over it yet. I wasn't always such a hard-ass, Leo, but I promised myself I'd never go through anything like that again.”

“I understand.”

“No you don't. Let me finish. I tell you you're not my type because I have no type. I'm a wide, fat half-black Mexican woman with a brain and an attitude. Whose type is that? I don't talk to men, I don't go out, I don't make love. I've forgotten all that stuff.”

“I could teach you again,” says Leo, hoping against hope. “Not that I'm in any kind of practice myself,” he adds quickly. “But I'm patient and I try hard.”

The golden eyes spark. “Are you talking about having sex with me, Leo?”

Leo shrugs. He
was
but—

“We'd be like two Mack trucks hooking bumpers.”

“You're not a truck, Rose, you're a beautiful woman.”

“You are
SO
full of it.”

Rose quickly reaches for the box of Kleenex that's on the edge of her desk. The tawny eyes are shimmering. Incapable of casting spells, thinks Leo, at least bad ones.

“Whatsa matter, your nose itchin', Rose?”

“Yeah.”

“Mine does that too on occasion.”

He waits and watches as Rose carefully wipes her eyes, wads the Kleenex, and disposes of it beneath her desk. She turns back to Leo.

“Okay,” Rose says.

“Okay what?”

“Okay, you'll cook, we'll eat, we'll make like Mack trucks, and then I'll read a book.”

“You serious?”

“About eating? Yes.”

“You won't regret it, Rose.”

“I do already.”

Outside the truck horn blares, loud and insistent. Luis can only be so patient.

“I gotta go.”

“So go.”

“I'll call.”

“Please do.”

“This weekend, keep it open.”

“Yes. Now please get outta here, I have work to do.”

Tell Mike to call me.”

Leo turns for the door. It no longer seems big enough to go through.

“Hey, Leo.”

Leo turns back. Rose is standing now. She turns sideways. She arches her back and touches her outthrust butt. “Beep-beep.” She hisses and shakes her hand as if it's hot. And then, her dark skin blushing, she turns into Michael's office and is gone.