They're Calling You Home

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen up in the attic I help Browder knot his necktie. Susana brought up one of Ike’s old suits; why, I’m not sure. getting dressed up for the dinner doesn’t make much sense, but I’ve pressed a shirt, too, and tucked it in, put on some boat shoes. I’ve shaved and splashed on some cologne; it seems Browder and I will be at the dinner table with pieces of Ike on us, and the idea makes me think of the crime reports, the technician who stated, “Pieces of Mrs. riley’s brain matter were found on a grandfather clock, on the family photographs in the hallway, and in a potted plant.” If I’m not careful, I’m going to have a panic attack. “you look great,” I tell Browder, who smiles, his camera around his neck. “Can I play them a song tonight?” he asks, and I look at him, a little confused , already having forgotten the instrument he bought at Cracker Barrel. he pulls his harmonica from his zippered camera bag, and I realize he’s likely been playing it on the car rides with Susana. I miss being with him, him and Pascal, the three of us just watching birds and spotting things both dead and alive in the swamp. georgia seems so foreign now, it might be the country of the same name, the one next to russia. When the armed conflict occurred there, Browder greeted me at the door of the group home, telling me russia had invaded the state of georgia, but then again, he wasn’t the only person in the country to think that. I had to get a map to show him we were safe. “how about we just eat good tonight and try to help each other out,” I tell him. “you remember Wendy. She’s coming tonight with her mother, maybe her stepfather, too. I’m real nervous. I’ve missed her so much, but I’m scared she doesn’t want to really see me at all.” “She’s your family though. Families love each other.” Browder smiles again, his large eyes gleaming with light. They’re Calling You Home 129 “I sure hope so,” I tell him, and my hands are actually shaking. Browder gives me a hug and pats my back. he goes first down the attic stairs—now a pro at it—and I follow. at the top of the staircase that leads to the first floor, I straighten his tie again out of nervousness. The food smells wonderful, and I make a mental note to thank Susana for all she’s done. It’s just about six thirty, and the dinner date is set for seven. Susana is in the kitchen, putting the final touches on what looks like a delicious meal: a spinach salad with tangerine slices, candied pecans, roma tomatoes, red onion, and crunchy croutons; French bread; salmon steaks and tuna teriyaki served with peach chutney; and for dessert a lemon-lime cheesecake. “It’s from a woman near the reservoir, an ex-amish lady. She left the order and now caters wonderful meals,” says Susana. Browder asks if he can have some cheesecake now, and before I can intervene, Susana has told him sure he can, already placing a big slice on a plate. I leave the two of them in the kitchen and walk into the living room where Ike is watching Cnn, both Pascal and ruby asleep near the fireplace. “hey,” I say. Ike shifts in his leather chair; tonight he’s wearing a spring sweater, yellow as a canary, and perfect cream-colored slacks. he’s smoking his cigar and drinking from a tumbler. his cologne is strong, the royal Copenhagen he’s worn since college, the scent woodsy, like toasted moss. “you ready for this, brother?” he asks, not really making eye contact. What started out as a congenial visit with him has taken a sour turn. now, we are cautious with each other, sensing something that’s age old, as ancient as it gets, brothers who don’t trust one another. I can’t stop thinking about him going through my belongings, and I’m certain he’s put out with me for pushing things. Still, I’m so grateful he’s helped me get to see Wendy. “Thank you, Ike.” he waves me off, the ice in his glass clinking. “I saw some more crime-scene photos,” I say...