Chapter 6: Houses, continued

Robert Hinckley’s face spread wider than his younger brother Paul’s and was poked through with a denser, stubborn stubble, but they shared the same shape and color of eyes.  Their lips fitted in identical ways around words, and their noses were each similarly round-tipped and speckled.  But Robert’s face was the original and Paul always got the hand-me-down collection of laugh lines, crow’s feet, and lost follicles five years later.  Now, though, as Paul looked up from his horizontal position on the sofa at the deeper crags he would inherit lit by the single yellow lamp in the corner, the face seemed farther off than ever before, as if an extra distance of age and wisdom had been inserted between the two of them.

Paul licked his lips while Robert pursed his.

“You look stern.”

“Paul, what are you doing?”

“I was watching some Carson.”

Robert toed the ice bucket, sloshing the water inside.

“Yeah, I had a few.  It was a long day.  Hey, what’s the time?”

“Eight-thirty.  I just came by to check things out.”

“Jeesum.  Hey, you remember that time George Gobel was on with Dean Martin?  And he asks Johnny, ‘You ever get the feeling the rest of the world is a tuxedo and you’re a pair of brown shoes?’”  Paul chuckled.  “You remember?”

“Yeah, Paul, I remember.  What’s this I hear about Remo?”

Paul put his fists into the cushions and pushed himself up, dipped his fingers into the ice bucket and carefully daubed little circles under his eyes.  “Yeah, talk about a brown pair of shoes, right?”

“What are you doing with him?”

“Jeez, you too?  I thought Mr. Lebreton was gonna throw me out the window downtown today cause of all that.”

“All what?”

“I don’t know, Robby!  I was in the Mayfair last night and this kid comes up with an invitation or something.  A request.  All’s I’m doing is meeting Remo tomorrow at the house.  I don’t know what he wants.”

“Well, keep it short and sweet.”

“Aw, we’ll see.  I don’t think I’ve seen him since the storm.”

Robert humphed.  “My point.  Look, Remo was always eccentric.  But we were fraternity brothers, and he could throw a hell of a party.  I overlooked a lot.  But now—Paulie, look at me—now, he’s dead unbalanced.”

“Maybe, maybe.  But we’re all on our own recovery timeline here, right?  And he stayed.  He was in the thick of it.”

“You heard the stories.”

“What, about him standing on his front porch, nude save a gun holster?”

“And more.”

“Remo MacQuincy shooting at rescue choppers?  Come on, Robby.  There’s a lotta people that don’t like him and what he does.  And a lot of people who like to talk.  But Pop took a shine to him, didn’t he?”

“To a point.  Just don’t get mixed up in anything.”

Paul looked down and nodded.  “No, no.  I won’t.  A couple drinks and some stories.  I’m sure that’s all it is.”

Robert leaned forward and patted Paul on the shoulder then sat down in a studded leather armchair.  “The place looks good.”

“Yeah, it does.  You gonna take it?”

“What?”

“I figured you’d have first choice.”

“What, are you crazy?  Do you know what the insurance and upkeep are costing now?  The assessors hit us for a sixty percent increase in value last year!  Me and Sheila are gonna take all that and move into this place on our own?  No thanks.”

“It might be a nice place for your kids to come home to.  You know, on the holidays.”

“I’ve got retirement plans that don’t include this house or my kids.  But, come on, leave all that out.  There’s plenty of time for us to talk about the estate afterward.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”  Paul looked around.  The estate still hung on the walls and cluttered the corners.  His heart rate rose as he considered for a moment the possibility that none of them would want the house.  Noel was abroad for life, and Joseph would never give up his hand-crafted home or his neighborhood.  What if he had to move in?  It was a bright thought but could be a heavy responsibility.  Maybe Robert was wrong about the upkeep.  Maybe he could swing it.

“Liza must be going crazy.  I got to go back.”

“Listen, tomorrow can you do us a favor?”

“What’s that?”

“Take Rosehannah or Kendra or somebody out to the airport tomorrow and park Noel’s Beamer in short term.  She’s flying in late.”

“Sure, sure.  They don’t make them like ours anymore, huh, Robby?”

“What’s that.”

“Big families.  The kind that kept this city occupied.”

“No, I guess they don’t.”

They walked side by side down the hallway to the foyer, Robert looking forward and Paul scanning the hardwood.  When they passed the wide doorway that led into the front parlor, Paul glanced in.  It was already set up for the visitation.  The air was clean scented but heavy, as if it would have to be forcibly displaced when the coffin and crowd arrived.  Robert set the security code and told Paul to be still while it armed.  He closed his eyes and tried to remember how many more months he had on his lease.

*          *          *          *

Paul found he had slept through a hard thunderstorm.  The air was cooler and less oppressive than it had been all day, and the pavement was slick and slightly steamy.  Liza had opened her windows to let in the rare, cool breeze, and outside on the stoop he could hear her stereo playing the Beatles.  She answered her door in light cotton pants and a solid black top with a boat neck.  Paul expected the blotches of red skin that accompanied her frustration or anger to already be exposed below her collarbone, but instead a solitaire diamond pendant hung against a smooth, tan surface.  She smelled recently showered.

“Let me just get a head start and tell you it’s been a long day,” Paul said.

“Well, I have been waiting and waiting for you to get back, but I’m not upset.”

Inside he picked up the real estate listings off of the couch, placed it in a basket she had reserved for old papers, and sat down.  Liza’s house was low lit throughout.  All the bulbs had been removed from the overhead fixtures in deference to a collection of trendy lamps and candleholders.  The entire living room was done up in white and powder blue to match the coat and eyes of her long-haired cat, Genevieve, who usually, at Paul’s entrance, lifted herself from off the arm of the couch, jumped surface by surface to the floor, and exited the room.  Now, though, Liza picked the cat up and cradled it to her before it could get away.

“Look,” he said.  “I’m sorry for missing brunch.”

“I’m not mad at you.”

“I was braced for another lashing.”

“You’re going through something here, Paul.  I realized today that I’ve got to be supportive.  Let me make you a martini.”

“Sure.  Thanks.  Did you eat?”

“I picked some things up for us from Chez Nous that I just need to heat up.”

She took the cat with her into the kitchen.  Paul sat for a long moment to sigh a few times then followed her.

Two dishes were bubbling up in the microwave, and Liza was rattling a martini in a chrome shaker.

“Hey, come on, don’t shake it so hard!”

Liza turned away from him and filled two glasses.  Into her own glass she spooned three measures of olive juice before handing Paul his.

“You shake it too hard or too long, all the ice melts.  Everything gets watered down.”

“I honestly don’t think you could tell the difference in a blind taste test between mine and a bartender’s,” she said.

Paul sipped.  “Yeah, that’s exactly too much water.”

“Well, you make your next one, then.”

“Look, we’re starting up.”

Liza pulled the dishes from the microwave and set them on the table.  “I’m sorry.”

They ate in silence for awhile before Paul told her about Kendra, his mother, and his ouster at his father’s office.  He didn’t talk about his brothers.  The cat sniffed at the legs of their chairs.

“You know I keep thinking like I’m forgetting something,” Paul said.  “It’s kind of funny: if Pop was here, he would know exactly what to do.  He could handle something like this the best of all of us, guide us through.  That’s kind of funny, right?  I don’t know.  I didn’t feel this apprehensive when Uncle Gerard died.  It’s all up to us, now, the sons and daughters.  And I never paid attention to how it’s done.  What if we don’t do it right?”

“Well, we’re getting to that age.  We’re going to have a lot of practice from here on out.”

“Aw, don’t say it like that.”

“Well, it’s kind of true.  Death is going to become a kind of occasional routine in our lives.  All these older people we know, I’m thinking that’s a lot of deviled egg platters I’m going to have to buy.”

“That’s a nice sentiment.”

“I’m sorry, Paul.”

He waved his hands and shook his head.  “Well, all right, all right.  I guess I’m just a little touchy.  This is a nice meal here, and I appreciate it.  No one else is going out of their way to help me.”

Liza watched the top of Paul’s head as he bent forward to finish off the last of his food.  She felt briefly nervous.  He was one of the most predictable men she’d ever known, but she was about to enter one of those rare territories of an unforeseeable response.

“Paul, would you do something for me?”

“What’s that?”

“You don’t have to right now, but soon, after all this is over with and we’re…at ease again—I’d like you to think about us.”

“Us?”

“I’m seeing, now, with your father’s passing, how important family is to you.  Not just your brothers or your nieces and all that, not the people, but the…what am I trying to say?  All the intangible parts of a family.  The customs, the movements.  The shared ownership.  Not the titles, necessarily, but the duties.  And I feel like I’ve denied you that for too long, now.”

“I know what you’re going to say, Liza.”

“But let me say it.”

“Well, make me another drink first.”  Liza took the plates away.  “Please, I mean.”

She shook the vodka in the canister curtly this time, making a show of it.

“I feel like it’s time for us to think about getting married,” she said as she refilled his glass.

“Sometimes I feel like we missed that window,” Paul said.  “At a time when all our friends are getting divorced or watching their kids move out you really want to get married?”

“There only wrong time to get married, we all know now, is when you’re young.  Now, at least, there won’t be any surprises.”

“Don’t you remember what it was like when we were under the same roof before?”

“Bygones,” she said, and reached out for his hand.  “Besides, it was a small roof.  What we need is a nice big place.”

“I’m exhausted.”

“Think about it.”

“Okay, okay.  Just let me get through this weekend, first, all right?  Don’t bring it up again.”

They slipped off their shoes in Liza’s bedroom and lay on top of the covers.  Paul held his martini on his belly.  They watched an episode of a reality hospital show on her small television.  At some point the lights were turned off.  Paul lost track of the three separate patients being featured and what disease each one had.  He closed his eyes and listened to Liza brush her teeth.  She came back in and turned off the television.  He realized she was standing there, waiting for something or seeking some kind of permission to get into her own bed.  In the dark he unbuttoned his shirt, unlatched his belt, and slid his shorts off.  He rolled down the bedspread and sheets and turned onto his side.  When she got alongside him, Paul realized Liza was naked.  He knew the feel of her body well by now, though he hadn’t seen it in true light for years.  This never struck him as odd, just as a concession.

They grunted, sometimes in unison.

Liza came and twisted under him and then unexpectedly came again ten minutes later.

“It’s not going to happen for me,” he said.  “Stress.  Write me a rain check.”

“Goodnight, Paul.”  She kissed him one more time.  After he started to snore, she got up to draw a nightgown back over her head and turned the television back on.  Sleep was impossible, for now.  Her body always took at least an hour to settle back down and stop vibrating.  She’d been with voracious men before, men who didn’t like to stop not because of their lust but because they liked to show off, pleased with the pleasure they gave.  They were exhausting, needy men, and she never slept then.  She wondered idly for a moment in what kinds of beds those men were sleeping in now and if they’d ever found their matches, too.

[url=”https://www.greatsociety.org/?p=296″]Continue reading Chapter Seven: Enter Remo [/url]