They're Calling You Home

Chapter Six

Chapter Six almost three years had passed since that day at the Calhouns’ house, where Dad had pocketed something private and clean, tucked it in his coat. We’d probably been back to the Calhoun house at least fifty times since he’d stolen from rebecca, and with each visit, I could feel myself incrementally understanding what he’d done. This time, Ike wasn’t with us. now, as we put the trunk down, Mr. Calhoun entered the room and shook Dad’s hand; he was about ten years older than my father, and their handshake was violent and prolonged. They talked quickly and loudly about the weather, reagan, and unemployment. I sat silently at the kitchen table, stiff, not wanting to appear anxious about the whereabouts of rebecca. I imagined the photo in that hallway, the one of rebecca dressed in her baton-twirling uniform, the glittering silver torso and tan stockings reflecting some of the shine, her fine strong legs planted on the green turf. “gabriel,” said Mrs. Calhoun, “why don’t you go visit with Becca. She’s in the basement now. She just had to move her bedroom down there to get away from us.” Mrs. Calhoun rolled her big brown eyes and pointed toward the basement door, soft skin wagging under her arm. I could feel myself tense at her suggestion. I nodded and walked toward the door, turned back toward Mrs. Calhoun, now needing her reassurance, but she’d sat down at the kitchen table and was laughing at a story Dad was telling about a man who wanted to order a still to make moonshine. The basement door opened without a sound, and the carpeted stairs were equally as quiet. I stopped midway down and felt like running back to the Calhouns and Dad, sipping a Dr Pepper from a metal tumbler, the ice cubes freezer-bitten, bitter. “I’m not hungry, Mom,” said rebecca from some spot beneath the stairs. Music played, something I’d never heard, the male voice repeatedly groaning 42 D o u g C r a n D e l l long, strung-out A sounds, followed by the word “mon.” “It’s . . .” I started and swallowed again, used more of my lungs, less of my throat.“It’sgabeBurke.yourmomtoldmetocomedown.”Istoodandlistened to her rustling something, probably a blanket; the basement was finished, lit, and carpeted, like a little apartment at the end of the stairs, but it was colder. “oh, good. Come on down, gabe. gosh.” My feet brushed against the stairs, my limbs casting dark shadows on the wall. I stepped off the last stair into a dimly lit room of wood paneling and too many coffee tables. a mammoth television sat in the center, dried flowers on top, the sound turned down, the picture green. rebecca was draped in a quilt, and I was surprised to see she’d gained weight, not a lot, but her face was round, pretty. “gosh,” she said, smiling. “you’ve grown since last spring.” I stood before her, embarrassed, my face red-hot, glaring at her soft beauty. “you should sit down,” she added, shrugging the quilt tighter around her body. There were two beanbag chairs, and I plopped down in a crackled brown one. rebecca flipped her hair and asked me if I liked the rastafarian music. I looked down. “I don’t know what that is,” I said, sounding sad and unworldly even to myself. “of course you do,” said rebecca, smiling. “It’s this.” She pointed to her towering boom box. “It’s just a fancy way of saying that it’s music from africa and Jamaica. I didn’t know about any of this either, until I started college. The Maroons, you know, escaped slaves, really took it with them from their homeland. We had to listen to snippets in my world music class and then identify them.” I fidgeted, used one foot to fiddle with the loose sole of the other. rebecca stood up and flashed her broad, glossy smile again, walked toward me. She stood there, then slowly knelt and sat right in the beanbag with me, edging me over with a push of her hips, the two of us about to fall off the thing and onto the floor. “It’s cold,” she said, snuggling up against me. My sternum seemed bonier, and I tried to tighten my arms as she clung to me through her thick quilt. For more than fifteen minutes...