California Fire And Life

22

Heartbreakers.

Jack takes one look at them and hears this cracking sound in his chest.

Seven-year-old Natalie and four-year-old Michael.

They stand, one under each paternal hand, picture perfect. The little girl has her father's blue eyes, red and puffy now from crying. Black hair done in a single braid. A little skirt outfit of yellow and plaid. The boy's eyes are brown. And enormous. He's also dressed for company, a little sky-blue polo shirt and white tennis shorts.

Museum pieces, Jack thinks.

"Say hello to Mr. Wade," Mother tells them.

They mumble a hello and Jack feels embarrassed that they even have to say hello to a stranger on the same day their mother dies. All he can think of to say is, "I brought Leo. He's fine."

The kids start to smile and then stop.

Jack adds, "He's outside."

They don't move.

Not a muscle, not an inch.

And it isn't Daddy's hands on their shoulders. Jack sees. It's Grandma's eyes.

They are Doing What's Expected, Jack thinks.

Except it isn't what I'd expect. I'd expect them to go tearing out that door to go hug and kiss and make a big deal over that little dog.

But they're as still as statues.

"We're having tea," Mrs. Valeshin says. "Tea for the adults, lemonade for the children."

She gets up and comes back a minute later with a tray. A pitcher of iced tea, another of lemonade, and five glasses. She sets the tray on the coffee table, pours the glasses, and sits back down.

Natalie and Michael sit next to Jack on the sofa. He notices that they're doing the same thing he's doing, sitting on the very edge of the cushion, their butts barely touching the fabric.

Looking straight ahead.

The tea is sweet, Jack notices. Strong and sugary.

And they all sit in silence. Like it's some sort of weird summer sacrament, Jack thinks. The First Sip, or something.

Until Mrs. Valeshin says, "I'm raising your rent, Daz."

Like it's some wonderful joke.

"Oh, Mother."

"Well," she says, "why should the insurance company get off lightly? Right, Mr. Wade?"

"We pay what we owe, Mrs. Valeshin."

"And what company are you with?"

"California Fire and Life."

"Perhaps I should consider switching to you," she says. "I'm with Chubb now."

"They're a fine company," Jack says.

He imagines trying to adjust a claim in this house and decides he'd rather spoon a can of Drano down his throat.

Then Michael spills his lemonade.

Lifts the glass and just misses his mouth, and the lemonade goes down his shirt, his shorts, and onto the sofa. Nicky yells, "Michael!" and the boy drops his glass on the carpet.

Pandemonium.

Cool Nicky loses it.

Totally.

He screams at Michael, You stupid boy! Michael sits there, paralyzed, in a pool of lemonade, while Natalie laughs hysterically. Shut up! Nicky screeches at her. Raises his hand and the girl stops laughing.

Mother yells, Resolve! and it takes Jack a second to realize she's talking about carpet cleaner, not some moral exhortation, then she and Nicky hustle into the kitchen. Yelling at each other like the house is on fire. Jack thinks, then feels bad because it's a poor choice of words.

Michael gets up, walks to one of the wingback chairs, bends straight over at the waist and starts to sob.

Jack doesn't know what the hell to do, then he sets down his papers and goes to the boy.

Jack picks him and holds him.

Michael sobs against his chest and holds him tight.

"Next time?" Jack says to him. "Ask for grape juice."

Natalie looks up at Jack and says, "Daddy says Mommy is all… burned… up."

In a singsong voice.

All burned up.