Hero-Type Part 26

My car is waiting for me a hundred yards away in a gas station parking lot. I make for it and hop in. I resist the urge to gun the engine and floor the gas and roar off like a getaway man at a bank robbery; that would just make me look suspicious.

Instead, I force myself to wait until I've caught my breath before I crank the engine. Other Fools are spilling out of the park, running like h.e.l.l, heading for Flip's car. Like I haven't got a care in the world, I drive home.

Chapter 35.

Fear

Dad's up for work when I get home. If he's p.i.s.sed that I've been out after midnight on my provisional license, he doesn't show it.

"Who's this?" he asks.

He's pointing to Leah's picture. I left it out on the table. Oops.

"A girl."

"Isn't this the girl you saved?"

"Yeah." Of course, it's more complicated than that. I consider asking Dad for advice, but maybe not. He's not the best guy to ask about women, after all, having turned Mom off to p.e.n.i.ses for the rest of her life. "Hey, Dad?"

"Hmm?"

I almost say to him, "What would you think if I moved to California for the summer? Or forever?" I almost say it. But something stops me. I don't know what. I don't know why.

And now I have to say something, because he's looking at me expectantly and I can tell that "Never mind" just isn't going to cut it.

"Did you ever run away?" I don't even realize I'm going to say it until I actually say it.

"Run away? Like, from home?"

"No. No. I mean, in the war. Did you ever get scared? And run away?"

I feel like I've stepped over an invisible line. Accusing my dad.

"I was scared the whole time. All of us were. That's what war is like. You're afraid. You have to be afraid; otherwise you'll get killed." He shrugs like it's no big deal. "And we ran away, sure. In the army, it's called 'strategic withdrawal.'"

"Really?"

"Sure. The trick isn't not being afraid and not running away. The trick is dealing with your fear and running back."

Fear. G.o.d, that's what it all comes down to. Somehow everyone believed I was a hero when they couldn't understand how terrified I was. Somehow people looked to me as some sort of fearless rabble-rouser when they couldn't see the scared, confused kid inside.

Are we ever truly brave? Or do we just adjust our fear for a little while and mistake it for courage? How can fear on the inside look like bravery from the outside?

"Dad, Mom wants me to come visit her this summer and maybe live there permanently."

Oh. Oh, G.o.d. There it is. It's out. It's out.

I expect him to be angry. To punch the wall again. Or to go into his weird little trip-over-his-tongue phase.

Instead, he just looks at me. Nothing changes in his face at all. He doesn't move his lips or his jaw. He doesn't wrinkle his nose or widen his eyes or arch his brow. I don't even know if he's breathing-that's how still he is.

But his eyes change. Completely. Totally.

He's sad.

"Well, Kevin," he says at long last. "Well, I guess that makes a lot of sense."

And now I wish it didn't make sense. I wish it was the dumbest idea in the world so that I could say, No, Dad-you're wrong. It's a bad idea. It's a bad idea, and I'm not gonna do it.

I've seen my father angry. I've seen him outraged and confused and stern and in shock.

But I've never seen him so sad.

I hate that I'm the reason.

"Dad, I don't have to go-"

"Your mom's made a good life for herself out there," he says with a little sigh. "She's doing really well. She's happy. And I'm happy for her. You would be with your brother. You'd ... You'd be in a better place."

We both look around the apartment.

"Your mom misses you."

"But if I left..." I can't finish my thought. The words just won't come out.

Dad takes a step toward me. He hesitates, and then he hugs me. It's like before, only better because this time it was his idea.

"I would miss you so much," he whispers. "But you have to do what you think is best, Kevin. What you think is right. That's what I've always taught you, right?"

And it is. It is what he's always taught me. Stopping Flip from defiling Susan Ann Marchetti's memory ... That was my dad.

"I don't know what to do, Dad."

He tightens his grip on me. "Welcome to my world."

Chapter 36.

Revelation

I manage to get a few hours' sleep after Dad leaves. I toss and turn a lot. No one answer seems better than any other one.

The phone rings just as I wake up for school. I jerk into a frozen sitting position.

OK. It could be...

1. The cops 2. Flip, p.i.s.sed at me 3. The cops, really I consider not answering at all. But by the fourth ring, I grab it up. Better to know, I guess.

And the answer is ... none of the above. It's Jesse.

"Hey," he says, and I can almost hear the wind and surf and the grains of hot sand in his voice.

"Hey," I say back. We have deep conversations, my brother and I.

Silence on the line.

"So, what's up?" he asks after a while.

"You called me," I remind him.

"Yeah, I know. I woke up extra early to catch you before you went to school. What's up?"

It's weird. It's like we've switched places and I'm the younger brother all of a sudden.

Used to be that me and Jesse talked all the time, about everything. We were like our own little secret society in the house while Mom and Dad yelled and screamed at each other. Then he was gone and there was this long silence of miles between us.

"What's going on, man?" I ask him. "Is this whole deal legit?"

"What whole deal?" Ever since he moved to California and became Total West Coast Guy, my little brother sounds like everything in the world is both too boring for him to deal with and too annoying for him to care. I don't know how he pulls it off. It's like yawning and glaring at the same time.

"Me coming to live with you guys."

"Sure. Why wouldn't it be?"

Because Mom disappeared and barely contacted me. Because she's a different person now. You're a different person now. I don't fit in, so why would she want me there?

Or because if it's not legit, then I don't have to make the decision. No matter what I decide, I'm a hero to someone ... and a villain to someone else.

But I don't say any of that to him. Because he's my little brother, yeah, but he's also a stranger. He's not the kid who used to wors.h.i.+p me, used to follow me around all the time, annoying me but also, I have to admit, sort of flattering me, too.

And now, well, things have changed. He's younger than I am, but he's more confident. He would never understand how I could be afraid that Mom doesn't really want me.

Then again, he's the one she took.

"I guess I just don't get it," I tell him, which is more honest than I'd intended on being. "Why now?"

"I don't know."

"And does she really want me to live out there?"

"She was talking to Rita and they were going on about stuff."

"What kind of stuff?"

"Like fixing your skin. You really need to do something about that, bro." He says it like he's an indulgent parent gently scolding a child.

"Yeah, I know." It just doesn't seem all that important. There's always something else, and besides, even without the zits, I'm still no prize. So why go through all the effort of polis.h.i.+ng c.r.a.p? It's still c.r.a.p at the end of the day.

"Hey, Jesse?"

"Yeah?"

"You remember that time when we were little and we wanted Reese's peanut b.u.t.ter cups at the store, but Mom wouldn't buy them, so when we got home we went into the kitchen and we squirted half a bottle of chocolate syrup into the peanut b.u.t.ter and ate it with spoons?"

There's a pause and I wonder if we're still connected, and then he says, "Mom says peanut b.u.t.ter is loaded with fat. And Rita's allergic to peanuts anyway."

"Oh."

We wait in silence. I try not to think about how much it's costing Mom to have Jesse and me sit on the phone and not say anything.

"Hey, Jesse?"

"What?" Like he'd wait forever for me to talk.

"I'm, uh ... I'm sorry. About that time. At the airport."

Long pause. "What?"

"At the airport. When you moved to California. How I yelled at you." It feels good to finally do it.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Come on."

"No, seriously. What are you talking about?"