“What if he robs you blind on the last day?” Mel asks.
“You seem very upset about this,” says Clarissa. “Do you need a hug?”
“I’m just watching out for Rod.”
“I’m not gonna lie,” I say. “When my mom first told me the news, I was kind of annoyed. But really, what’s the big deal? So my cousin’s staying with us for a while. So what? I barely know anything about him. Of all the bad things that could happen to me, this is pretty low on the list.”
“I suppose it’s not as bad as getting buried alive,” says Mel.
“Nope.”
“And it’s not as bad as, like, getting punched in the stomach when you weren’t expecting it and you’d just had spicy food.”
“Nope.”
“And it’s not as bad as the sun exploding. That would cause problems for everyone.”
“Anyway,” I say before he can come up with a fourth example, “it’s not ideal, but I’ve come to terms with it. So let’s just worry about making the world rock!”
We resume playing. I like to think that we’re rocking so hard that the house is coming apart, but the cracks in the wall were already there.
Nine songs later (our songs are short), Clarissa stops playing. “Is that your doorbell?”
We stop to listen. The doorbell rings again, so I press the button to open the garage door.
There’s a U-Haul truck parked in our driveway and a man standing at our front door. He walks over to the garage and smiles. “Hi,” he says, “I’m looking for Louise Conklin.”
“She’s at work. I’m her son.”
“Okay, I’m the mover. I’ve got stuff here from Blake Montgomery.”
“Excuse me?” I ask.
The man points to the truck. “I’m delivering boxes from California.”
“Oh. Uh, okay.”
I follow him to the back of the truck. The man slides open the door, revealing that it’s completely filled with cardboard boxes.
“How many of those are his?” I ask.
“All of ’em.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“Yeah, I drove all the way from California to Florida to play a little joke. Got nothing better to do with my time. I hope it was funny enough.”
“You’re being sarcastic now, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, well, huh. I guess just put the boxes in the garage for now. We’ll move our stuff out of the way.”
The man shakes his head. “I only drive. I don’t unload.”
Mel, Clarissa, and I unload forty-two boxes from the back of the truck and stack them in the garage. Only three of them are light boxes. For a few, Mel and I have to say, “Um, Clarissa, could you get this one?” Several require teamwork.
When we’re finally done, the man stands there expectantly.
“What?” I ask.
“Tip?”
“Nah.”
He gets back in the U-Haul and drives away.
“What do you think are in these?” asks Mel.
“Bricks,” I say.
“Are you sure he’s not moving in permanently?”
“I’m not sure of anything anymore.”
“Did you know he was sending all this?” asks Clarissa.
“Nope,” I say. “I sure didn’t.”
“Seems like a lot of stuff for three months,” Mel adds.
“It certainly does.”
We all stand there for a moment.
“Well,” says Mel, “I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for all this stuff, besides him planning to completely take over your home. Is it safe to say that practice is over now that there’s no room for us in your garage?”
“Yeah, we’re done for today. Blake must not know that we have a small house. He’ll have to put most of this in a storage unit. He’ll be here tomorrow, so we’ll figure it out then.”
“Good luck to you, dude.”
“Thanks.” And I mean it.
• • •
“Hey, Mom,” I say when she walks in the front door. “Come over here. I want to show you something.”
I take her into the garage.
“Where did all this come from?” she asks.
“Blake sent them across the country in a U-Haul.”
“All of them?” She looks a bit bewildered.
“Yep. Especially the really heavy ones.”
Mom frowns. “That seems like something we should have discussed beforehand.”
“You’d think so.”
“Is this everything he owns?”
“I don’t know what he owns.”
“I’ll talk to Aunt Mary.”
“Kinda late,” I say. “Blake’s stuff is already here.”
“You’re right. You’re right. Sorry about this, Rod.”
“Is my cousin a weirdo?”
“No, he’s not a weirdo.”
“Don’t get me wrong. I love weirdos. I’m a proud weirdo. Normal people are boring. But there’s good weird, and there’s bad weird. And sending forty-two heavy boxes of stuff without telling us first feels like Blake might be the bad kind.”
“We’ll get this sorted out,” Mom assures me. “The next three months are going to be fun, I promise.”
I’m not sure I believe her.
3.
Mom has to work, so I volunteered to pick Blake up at the airport. If I hadn’t volunteered, she would have asked me to do it, but by preemptively making the offer, I get credit for volunteering to do something I would’ve had to do anyway. It’s all about the timing.
I drive into the Arrivals area, which is filled with airport employees blowing whistles (Whistles are fun!) but doing little to actually direct traffic. I see Blake sitting on a bench at the end of the row. He doesn’t look much different than when he was a little kid. He’s still short, a bit chubby, and he has perfectly combed blond hair. His face is extremely red.
Blake isn’t carrying any luggage, which is a relief.
However, there’s a porter standing next to him with a baggage cart that has, I’d estimate, a dozen suitcases. Good thing those don’t belong to Blake. That would be ridiculous. Absurd and ridiculous. Just plain wacky.
I pull up to the curb beside him, put the car in park, and get out. “Hi, Blake!” I say, waving.
Blake regards me the way you’d look at somebody who has long, wet boogers dangling from each nostril that are flapping in the wind. I do a quick nose check to make sure that’s not the case. My nostrils are clear.
“Hello, Rodney,” he says. “Is that your car?”
It seems like an odd question, since he literally just saw me drive up in this particular automobile. It’s like he’s offering me the opportunity to
