Grand & Humble Page 13

  “Dad?” he repeated.

  His dad turned and buried his face in Manny’s chest. “Manny, I’m sorry! I’m really, really sorry!”

  He let his dad hold him, cry on his shoulder. But tears or no tears, his dad had promised him answers, and Manny was determined to get them.

  He gripped his dad by the shoulders and pushed him away; for the first time that Manny could remember, his dad looked old, broken. He could see the angry red welt on his dad’s hand from where he’d spilled the hot water. It looked a little like a heart—or maybe the Batman logo.

  “Dad?” Manny said. “Why are you sorry? For not telling me the truth? It’s okay, all right?”

  His dad shook his head and started to turn away, but stopped himself. “It’s not that. I’m sorry for that too. But I’m more sorry for the accident. You almost died!”

  “But that wasn’t your fault. It’s not like you were driving the truck that hit us.” Manny froze. “Wait. Dad, you weren’t driving that truck, were you?” Could it be? Distraught truck driver adopts the orphaned child of the parents he killed?

  His dad dried his hand on a nearby towel. “No, that’s the one thing I didn’t do.”

  “Then what? Why are you sorry about the accident? You weren’t to blame. You didn’t even know me then. You hadn’t adopted me yet.”

  His dad didn’t answer. Manny was certain his dad was about to start crying again, so he reached out a hand and directed him back to the table. “Sit down, Dad. Tell me what happened.”

  His dad sat. Manny turned off the faucet. After the sound of splashing water, the silence was deafening.

  “I did know you,” his dad said softly, before Manny had even had a chance to sit.

  “What?” Manny said.

  “I knew you,” his dad said. “Before the accident. Of course I did. I was your father.”

  Wordlessly, Manny took the seat opposite his dad.

  “You’re my son, Manny. My biological son. Those parents who were killed in the car accident at Grand and Humble? They adopted you from me. When you were nine months old. After they were killed, I adopted you back.”

  Manny listened, struggling to understand. It was like trying to make sense of a foreign language when he’d only studied it from books in a classroom—the words were coming too fast, too garbled. His dad was both his adoptive and his biological father? But that didn’t make any sense.

  “You had a mother, of course,” his dad said. “My girlfriend—we weren’t married. She did die, but not of skin cancer, and not when I told you. She left when you were two months old, and I never saw her again. She died a few years later, in a drug overdose. She was a drug addict.” His dad wasn’t on the verge of crying now. He was now completely without emotion. It was like Manny was talking to a robot.

  “I decided to raise you myself,” his dad went on. “A single father, that part was true. But I wasn’t a very good father. And when you were nine months old, I lost custody.”

  “What?” Manny said. He had to choke out the word.

  “There was an accident, and you almost died. It was my fault. I should have been watching you more closely.” So Manny had almost died twice—once in the car with his adoptive parents and once even earlier, when he’d had some kind of accident with his dad?

  “The state took you away from me,” his dad was saying. “They gave you to different parents. It almost killed me. I was depressed, so I went out and did a lot of really stupid things. And I destroyed everything that had anything to do with you, every toy, every picture. I couldn’t bear to be reminded.”

  “All except for the jack-in-the-box,” Manny whispered.

  His dad nodded. “A gift from my sister. You loved it so much—it was your favorite toy—I couldn’t bear to throw it away.

  “About two years later,” his dad said, “your new parents were killed in that car accident. A complete fluke. But I saw my opportunity. I petitioned the court. It took a while, but I convinced them I could raise you right this time. And finally they awarded me custody again. At this point, I had no legal rights to you, so I had to adopt my own son.”

  Manny had questions, lots of them. But he couldn’t get them out. He still didn’t speak the language.

  “For a year or so,” his dad said, “we stayed in the town where we’d lived before I lost you. And it was too much. Everyone was watching me, assuming I’d screw up again. I didn’t want you growing up with a loser for a dad. And so we left. We moved here, to the big city, where you’d lived with your adoptive parents. No one knew us here. That was the real reason we left, not what I told you yesterday, about the prejudice from my being a single father. It was because of me, because I was ashamed of what I’d done. But I finally did turn my life around.” He looked down at the burn on his hand. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if I hadn’t gotten you back in my life.”

  There was silence when his dad stopped talking, but Manny imagined he could still hear the rushing of water in the sink.

  “Why didn’t you ever tell me all this?” Manny said at last.

  His dad shifted in his chair, back and forth, like he was struggling to get up but couldn’t, like he was tied there with ropes. “I’d planned to,” he said. “But after a while, I stopped thinking about it. It was a part of my life I wanted to forget. I was a different person then. I didn’t want you to know that old person. I told myself there wasn’t any reason for you to know. Then you started having those nightmares. A few weeks ago, that day at breakfast, I finally realized what they meant. You were starting to remember.” Suddenly Manny’s dad began to sob. It was like someone had flipped a switch and turned the emotion back on. “I’m sorry!” his dad said. “I’m so sorry!”

  Manny reached out a hand. “Dad, it’s okay. I’m okay. It’s over now.”

  “No!” His dad looked up with haunted eyes. “Don’t forgive me! I did something unforgivable—the one thing a parent can’t do! I put the life of my child at risk. Twice! First when I got drunk and left you alone in that bathtub and you almost drowned, then again when you were riding in the car with your adoptive parents. You wouldn’t have been there if it hadn’t been for me. I don’t want to be forgiven for that! I can’t be.”

  A bathtub? Manny thought to himself. That was the accident his dad had caused when Manny was a baby—his dad had gotten drunk and left him unattended in a bathtub? Was that why his dad was so afraid of his ever going swimming, why he’d never let Manny take swimming lessons? Even after all these years, was he still afraid that Manny was going to drown?

  His dad had been living in his own private hell for years, Manny thought. Not because of the things he had done. Because of how much he loved Manny. A truly bad parent would have made the same mistakes, but then wouldn’t have thought twice about them afterward—probably would have somehow even blamed them on the kid. Not so his dad. His dad was in agony.

  “Dad?” Manny said.

  “I mean it!” his dad said. “I don’t want your forgiveness!”

  “Who says I’m forgiving you?” said Manny with mock indignation. “You did a really stupid thing when I was nine months old, and there’s no taking that back.” Manny gave his dad the fisheye. “And, for the record, I’m not forgiving you for lying about all this either!” His dad looked up, unsure. “But as far as I can remember,” Manny went on, “those are the only two bad things you’ve done in the seventeen years you’ve been my father. And when everything is said and done, you still come out ahead. I wouldn’t want anyone else for a father.”

  His dad started to speak again, but stopped himself this time. A smile tickled his lips.

  “What?” Manny said.

  “Do you know why I first started calling you by your nickname?”

  “Manny’? No.”

  “Because I used to call you ‘my little man.’ I told myself that you were like a little man, strong and stoic and unfeeling. I think I wanted it to be true because of all you’d gone through. But it wasn’t true. You were alway
s so sensitive. You were like an emotional Geiger counter, able to pick up the tiniest flicker of emotion in any room. It was stupid of me to think you wouldn’t figure all this out sooner or later.

  “But the thing is,” his dad went on, “it ended up being a good nickname for you anyway. You’re a good man, Manny. The best man I know. You’re someone I’m proud to call my son. So I don’t care that no one ever calls you by your real name. You were named after my father, by the way. But I suppose that’s one more thing I wanted to forget.”

  “Tell me about my adoptive parents,” Manny said.

  “It was my sister and her husband,” his dad said. “She and I never got along. When you almost died in that bathtub, they petitioned the court, probably more out of spite than anything. It was…complicated. The husband was in politics—a real up-and-comer, or so they said. Everyone said he was destined for big things. Who knows? Maybe, if they’d lived, you’d be the son of the president right now.”

  Manny rolled his eyes. “No, thanks.” He didn’t want to dwell on the past, at least not right now. But there was one thing he wanted to know. “What were their names? Your sister and her husband.”

  “Your adoptive parents?” he said. “Victoria and Lawrence Chesterton. So if that accident at Grand and Humble had never happened and your adoptive parents had lived, right now your name would be Harlan Chesterton.”

  HARLAN AND MANNY

  The light turned green, and a red 360 Modena Ferrari peeled out right in front of Harlan. He knew he’d been to this intersection before; he just couldn’t think when. It was the corner of Grand and Humble, and Harlan was standing by the crosswalk waiting for the light to change. He’d come downtown on a Saturday to walk around a bit, and to maybe pick out a new Speedo at the swim shop up the street.

  Then it hit him. This was the exact spot where he’d almost been hit by that bus the night of the Bittle Society dinner. The streets had been so foggy then that he’d stepped right out into its path. Things sure looked different in the daylight.

  A lot had changed since that night. Or maybe just one thing: he’d finally stood up to his mom. It was only one change, but it was a doozy. It meant that he was in control of his life now; he was sitting behind the wheel. So it made sense that there wasn’t any fog on these downtown streets now, that everything was bright and clear and dazzling—the fog had been swept out of his life as well. He didn’t need Marilyn Swan after all, because he knew any dark forces were well and truly gone.

  Well, most of them, anyway. True, he wouldn’t have his mom telling him what to do anymore. But there was still the small matter of figuring out what he wanted to do.

  Oh, that, he thought to himself.

  Yeah, that.

  The light changed to “Walk,” and Harlan moved to cross the street. But as he did, he felt someone tapping on his shoulder.

  It was Elsa, that girl from school. She was the first person he’d told about his premonitions—that afternoon in the school theater after class.

  “Oh!” Harlan said. “Hey!” He stopped right there on the corner, letting the pedestrians headed for the crosswalk pass by them on either side.

  I thought it was you! she signed excitedly. What are you doing downtown?

  He started signing to her. Just wandering. The light changed to “Don’t Walk,” but that was okay.

  How’s it going? she asked. He knew she meant with the premonitions.

  To tell you the truth, he said, it’s going great. You were right, you know. I just needed a little more control. Harlan had signed with lots of deaf people before—the impaired kids he worked with at the YMCA, and elsewhere. But it had never felt this effortless. With Elsa, it was almost like they had their own private language.

  Yeah? Elsa signed. That’s fantastic!

  Harlan smiled. How about you? Did you ever ask that guy out? The one you had a crush on?

  What? Elsa said. Oh, no. Not yet. She didn’t grimace or mug, the way Harlan would have expected her to. She blushed, flustered by the question.

  And in a flash, Harlan knew: it was him. He was the guy Elsa had the crush on. Duh! It was so obvious! How could he have not seen it that day in the theater?

  Out on the street, the light changed, and a car laid on the horn for a slow-moving pedestrian.

  What about you? Elsa signed. Did you ever break up with Amber?

  Actually, she broke up with me, Harlan said. Through e-mail. It was true. She’d sent him a breakup e-mail that was all of four words long: “Let’s break up, k?” And that was fine with Harlan.

  So what are you doing downtown? he asked.

  Actually, I’m scouting locations for this movie I’m working on.

  Really? What’s it about?

  She slouched. Oh, nothing. It’s stupid. It’s just this dumb video.

  Come on! he said.

  Well, it’s called Im-Patient. It’s about a deaf guy who waits so long at his doctor’s office that he finally goes berserk. He destroys the office, then goes running through the streets screaming.

  Harlan laughed. Hey, that sounds great! Let me know if you need any help.

  Seriously? she asked.

  Sure, why not?

  She straightened a bit. As a matter of fact, I do need an actor. And it’s the lead!

  Really? The patient? It took a second for Harlan to imagine himself as an actual actor. But to his surprise, the idea excited him.

  “Hey,” said a voice behind Harlan. “You crossing or not?”

  Harlan turned. It was a guy in a wheelchair trying to cross the street, but Harlan was standing in front of the ramp. Across the street, the signal had changed to “Walk” again.

  “Hey, man, sorry,” Harlan said, stepping out of the way. He looked at Elsa again. Well, he signed, I should probably…

  You busy now? Elsa signed quickly.

  No. Why?

  Maybe we could get a cup of coffee or something. She quickly added, We could talk about the role?

  Harlan smiled. Was she asking him out? Well, why not? Hadn’t he encouraged her to ask out the guy she had a crush on? And why shouldn’t he go? She was smart and funny. Even if it turned out there wasn’t any chemistry there, at least he might make another friend.

  He bowed gallantly. I’m all yours.

  And with that, Elsa blushed and turned away from the crosswalk, leading him on down the sidewalk.

  The red car right in front of Manny screeched as it took off from the intersection. He didn’t know what kind of car it was—a Ferrari?—but he knew it was expensive (and that the driver was almost certainly an asshole). On the far side of the crosswalk, the signal now read “Don’t Walk”—perfectly in focus, Manny noticed; his eyes were never out of focus these days, and his headaches were gone too. But he wasn’t there waiting to cross the street. He’d come here, to the corner of Grand and Humble, to see the place where his adoptive parents had been killed.

  This was where it had happened: where he’d been riding in a car with his onetime parents and they’d been hit by that truck. They’d died, but he’d lived. So it was also the spot where his life had peeled off in a completely different direction.

  What would have happened if they hadn’t died, these parents Manny had never met—who, before a few days ago, he hadn’t even known existed? What would his life be like now if that accident hadn’t occurred—if the truck had managed to slam on its brakes or if, at the last second, his parents had somehow happened to swerve out of the way?

  Across the street, the signal changed back to “Walk,” but Manny didn’t move. He couldn’t, not just yet. He saw pedestrians surge by on either side of him, caught a couple of people glancing back at him standing there, unmoving, on the sidewalk, their faces flickering with glimmers of confusion or annoyance.

  Manny knew his life would be different if his adoptive parents had lived, but how different? He might still live in the same city, but would he go to the same high school? Would Elsa be his best friend? And would he be different? Having b
een shaped by an entirely different set of circumstances from age three until today, would he have any of the same interests, the same sensibilities? Would he even be recognizable as the same person?

  Manny couldn’t help but wonder which life would be “better.” The way things had worked out, it almost seemed that even though his life had been knocked off course by his dad’s screwup with the bathtub, things had eventually righted themselves and he’d ended up back where he was supposed to be all along—with his dad. But what if it was the other way around? What if it was the incident in the bathtub that had put his life on the “right” road with his new parents and the death of those parents had pushed him off-track again?

  On the other side of the crosswalk, the light changed back to “Don’t Walk.” But the words were still flashing, so a couple of straggling pedestrians dashed out into the street in an effort to beat the light. Some ten seconds later, an Asian teenager sauntered into the crosswalk, indifferent to—or maybe taking secret satisfaction in—the fact that he was going to hold up traffic.

  Manny started laughing. The teenager glanced back at him, scowling, thinking Manny was laughing at him. But it was something else that had made him laugh—a moment of absolute focus.

  His life wasn’t about any two directions! Sure, the thing with the bathtub and the accident here at Grand and Humble had changed the course of his life. But something probably happened every day, maybe even every hour, that changed the direction of his life, turning him one way or another. Some of these events Manny might control, but most of them he didn’t; most of them were the result of random chance—or at least forces way beyond his control. As for all those other lives he never lived, well, some really might have been “better” than the one he was experiencing now. But Manny had no way of comparing! Because once he took a step—or was pushed—in any one direction, all those other lives faded into the gloom. All that ever existed was the here and now. The only choice Manny had was making the best of that.