He stalked across the kitchen and into the living room and then back into the kitchen. His face was puffy and red and I realized he was near tears.
I don’t do well with tears. Especially not on men. Or boys. Or women. Crying animals aren’t my area of expertise, either.
“Uh, Ma,” I said, as quietly as possible, since I figured she might have more experience with this than I did.
“He’s right, Michael,” she said. “Nineteen is a full-grown man. I’ve heard that before.”
“Not helping,” I said.
Brent did another tour of the house, mumbling under his breath and stomping the entire time, before basically throwing himself down onto the sofa in the living room. “I need to go to school,” he said finally, as if we’d not spent the better part of an hour talking about the rest of his life. “I’ll be late if we don’t leave in, like, fifteen minutes.”
“Sam will take you as soon as he gets here,” I said.
“What about Fiona?” he said.
“That’s my boy,” Sugar said.
“Shut up, Sugar,” I said… at precisely the same moment my mother said it, too. There are things we agree on without condition.
“I’m just saying,” Sugar said, “Sam’s gonna stick out on campus like a narc. But Fiona, she can rock that grad student game. Put some horn-rimmed glasses on her, she’d make that shit work like 24-7.”
For once in Sugar’s life, he made a convincing argument. I didn’t think Fiona would go for the horn-rimmed glasses if she didn’t have to, but I suspected she would like the idea of being mistaken for being twenty-two. Fortunately, I didn’t have to wait long to find out, as she and Sam rang my mother’s doorbell just a few minutes later.
Sam looked like he hadn’t yet slept, his hair freshly slicked down with water and yesterday’s hair gel, his Tommy Bahama shirt open too far down his chest, not because of any fashion sense but because he’d just put it on in the car. Fiona, however, was radiant as ever in a white sundress accented by black sunglasses and a turquoise handbag. She looked like Jackie O, if Jackie O were still alive and packing a nine in her purse. Not exactly dressed for school, but I’m sure she’d make do.
“How’s your head?” I asked.
“Better,” Fiona said. “Nothing a hot stone massage and an evening spent reading US Magazine and cleaning my knife collection couldn’t soothe.”
“My head is killing me,” Sam said. “What’s that bright orb in the eastern sky?”
“They call that the sun,” I said.
“What’s it doing over there on that side of the heavenly firmament?”
“That’s where it starts every day,” I said.
“So every morning at eight thirty, I can expect to see this same phenomenon?”
“Pretty much,” I said.
“Reason enough to sleep in or drink early,” Sam said.
Brent popped up from the couch, grabbed his satchel and announced, “I’m going to be late. Can we go?”
“Fiona,” I said, “I need you to take Brent to school.”
“I already refused to do that yesterday,” she said.
“Besides, Sam was looking forward to meeting some coeds.”
“I need Sam with me today,” I said. “We’re going to have some Yuri business and he can’t see you again, at least not until his wrist heals. What we don’t need is another combustible situation before we have Brent safely taken care of.”
Fiona pursed her lips and exhaled hard through her nose. It was actually sort of cute when it didn’t portend violence. “What classes do you have today, Brent?”
“Um, history, which is totally lame. And then I’ve got a game design class, which is badass, you know. And then I’ve got a three-hour seminar on women’s studies.”
“Lovely,” Fiona said.
“I assume Western civ and women’s studies are held in big lecture halls?” I said.
“Yeah. Like two hundred people are in those classes. But game design is just twelve of us, so it would be weird if Fiona was with me, but also sort of cool.”
“Tell it,” Sugar said. He was still in the kitchen, wisely keeping his distance from Sam, but he couldn’t stop being Sugar, no matter where he was.
“Oh,” Fiona said, “you’re still alive?”
“I’m cold-kicking it live, doll,” Sugar said and then he began reciting lyrics to some rap song.
“Don’t speak to me,” Fiona said to Sugar, which got him to stop speaking/rapping immediately. “So I’m to wait outside this other classroom? Is that the idea?”
“Yes,” I said. “If someone is coming for him, I suspect they’d come for him there.”
“Then why are we even going to school?” Fiona asked.
“Because I’ll fail if I miss any more classes,” Brent said.
“This is ludicrous, Michael. You realize that?” Fiona said.
Sometimes the most important thing in the world is to let a person think that what they care about most is, in fact, extremely vital to their long-term well-being. Having something he could control, like when and if he attended class, was giving Brent a locus of normalcy. And if that was what he needed, that was what we’d have to give him, dangerous or not.
“We’re living in odd times,” I said. “You have a gun with you?”
“One in my purse, a dozen in my car. I’m supposed to sell a few this afternoon. I guess I’ll cancel that.”
“Please,” I said. “And keep in touch during the day. Let me know if there are any problems.”
“Yes, sir,” Fiona said. “Come on, Brent. Let’s go get you some book learning. And maybe, if you’re nice, I’ll let you pretend to be my boyfriend so that we can help you pick out a suitably slutty young woman for you to make mistakes with once you’re incredibly wealthy in a few days.”
“That sounds cool,” Brent said.
I walked Fi and Brent outside to Fi’s car, made sure he was buckled in safely and then pulled Fi aside ever so briefly. “Try not kill anyone today,” I said to her.
“What if I have to?”
“Try to just injure them,” I said. “Guns on college campuses are sort of frowned upon.”
“Hmm, yes, I seem to remember your government killing a bunch of kids on a college campus.”
“I’m thinking more of crazed gunmen in towers and in crowded classrooms, really,” I said.
“Ah, yes, your Second Amendment’s downside,” she said.
“Just be careful,” I said.
“I will be,” she said and then got in her car and was gone. When I turned around, Sam was standing on the front porch watching me. He had my cell phone in his hand.
“It’s always sad when they leave the nest,” he said.
“You’ve got a call.”
“Who is it?”
“He called himself Big Lumpy’s Manservant Monty.”
I took the phone from Sam. “This is Michael.”
“I am sorry to bother you,” Big Lumpy’s Manservant Monty said. “But Mr. McGregor asked me to phone in the event of any problems and address myself as Manservant Monty.”
“Mr. McGregor? That’s…”
“Big Lumpy, yes,” he said.
“Okay,” I said.
“Yes, sorry to say, he’s expired.”
“Pardon me?”
“He’s expired. In bed.”
“You’re telling me he’s dead?”
“He met his transition, yes.”
