“Mr. Ray is my daddy,” Michael says as proudly as anyone has ever said anything.
Nicole looks at Ray, who is looking at Michael with eyes so filled with pain and love that Nicole sighs and confirms it. “Yes, honey. He is.”
Ray struggles extremely hard not to cry.
“We got ice cream,” Michael says. “I got two scoops. One fell off.”
She kneels down in front of him and touches the spot on his shirt. She looks inside the car at me, and we offer pressed-lipped grimaces to each other.
“I see that.” Nicole smiles at Michael like she isn’t seething inside. “Tell Daddy bye for now and run on inside. It’s very late.”
I know she’s using that term to please Michael, that it’s not for Ray’s benefit or happiness, and the sound of it makes my stomach ache. It’s everything he wanted, and it’s further away now than ever.
I crane my neck to see what’s happening. I don’t care if I’m spying anymore. Michael hugs Ray’s legs, and I see Ray tousle Michael’s hair, giving him a “See you soon, buddy.”
Michael runs inside, and Nicole rounds on Ray.
“I’m sorry,” Ray says preemptively. “I just wanted for things to feel normal.”
“This is not normal,” she says. “Did you really not know that? There’s a way to do things, and then there’s the way you do things, and if you can’t start doing things the way regular people do them, then I don’t think this is going to work.”
I inhale sharply.
“What’s not going to work?” Ray says, his face out of view, his voice warbling.
“For crying out loud, Ray—you and me and Michael.”
She slams the backseat door closed without acknowledging me again. The driver’s side door is still ajar.
“What if I don’t know how to be normal?” Ray asks.
“You mean, what if you’re too afraid to be,” Nicole says. “This is all a front, and you know it. All of it. I’ve set the bar pretty low, and you’re failing miserably. I’ll tell you what—why don’t you think about it, and when you can come up with something normal, call me. I won’t be holding my breath.”
She goes back into her apartment without another word or glance to either of us. Ray gets back in the car and breaks down into sobs. I put my hand on his shoulder, and he shudders.
◆ ◆ ◆
The next day, Ray calls me from work—which is a relief.
“I need to do something. Will you come with me?”
I don’t answer.
“It’s nothing illegal or even inherently dumb,” he says. “Cut me some slack.”
When we get to the cemetery, Ray idles the engine for a while before he shuts it off. He opens the door to get out but then shuts it again. I get out of the passenger side and go around to open his door. He pulls on the handle from the inside so I can’t open the door. I yank, and he yanks back.
I lean down to the window so I can see his face. “Get out,” I say to him.
“No,” he says. “Mistake—get back in.”
I know he’s still holding the door handle so I deliver a low blow.
“Look at that spider!” I point at some ambiguous spot inside the car.
LOL my scary big brother is afraid of spiders.
“Where?” he shouts, his voice only slightly muffled by the closed door.
He takes his hand off the handle, and I seize the opportunity.
“Get out,” I say.
“That was dirty,” he says. “I’m impressed.”
Ray gets out, and we walk toward Dad’s plot. The sky is overcast today—like it’s been special-ordered to fit the scene. Low thunder rumbles over the far left corner of the dead.
The ground is still raised a bit where Dad’s urn went in. It looks like a mole hole. Too small for the significance of what’s buried there. I don’t know why, but I take a picture of it with my phone. Ray looks at me quizzically. I shrug.
The date of Dad’s death has been carved in the stone. Now that I see it, I wish it had been left the way it was. It seemed then like something macabre, but in hindsight, it was more like ridiculous hope.
I hear footsteps approaching and turn to see Mom walking toward us with another one of her massive flower creations.
“I just can’t catch a break,” Ray says.
Mom nods at me and sets the carnation contraption beside Dad’s stone.
“How’s your father doing?” Mom asks, oblivious.
“Great,” I say. “He was just telling me about a fishing trip he’s planning with Uncle Paul.”
Ray smiles, and Mom purses her lips at me.
“How are things with you, Ray?” she asks like he’s her nephew twice removed.
“I think I’m going to be ok,” he says, in a peaceful tone of voice. “I hope.”
“Did something happen to you?” Mom asks, concerned.
Ray and I look at each other. He wrinkles his brow, and I nod.
“Mom,” Ray says, taking her hand. “I need to tell you something.”
“Sounds grave,” she says and tweaks Ray’s nose.
“I’ve done something stupid,” he says. “Again. But I had a really good reason.”
Ray seems so childlike to me in this moment. Innocent even. As if confessing the thing can take it away. Suddenly I fear that one of these gravesites will open up and suck Ray down in it. I imagine the shock on his face when his feet give way beneath him, his eyes catching mine for a second as he drops out of sight—his hand reaches up, but I can’t grab it in time and he’s gone. The sinister earth closes up over him forever.
“I figured as much,” Mom says to Ray and repositions Dad’s carnations. “Are you staying for dinner tonight?”
“Don’t you want to know what I did? And why?” Ray says.
Mom cocks her head to one side and then the other like she’s mulling something over. “Not really. You’re not in jail, I didn’t see you on the
