Jerk, California

  I jerk my neck, and my gaze leaves the uneven pavement. Concrete snags me and I stumble.

  “Have you had that all your life?” Naomi asks.

  “No.” I pull ahead. “Mom says I was normal until six. Woke up one day and, well, this. It’s a gift from my dad.” A glance at her. “How about you? Been perfect all your life?”

  She stops and her hands rise to her hips. “Okay, like that.” Naomi stares at me, “Why did you say that?”

  I think hard. “Guess I’m making a joke—no, that’s not true. I think you’re—you seem pretty perfect. Nice and all.”

  I exhale hard and blink three times.

  Naomi grabs my hands, spins, and faces me. She lifts her arms and rests them on my shoulders.

  “But you’re not trying—when you say that, you just mean—” She lets her head fall to the side.

  I stare at my shoes, kick a rock, and my shoulders tense and fall limp. “I don’t know what I’m trying to do. Probably everything I say sounds dumb compared to whoever.” I peek at her. “It’s hard to look at you and say anything that makes sense.”

  She lifts my chin and gently bites her lip.

  “Then look at me some more.”

  “Jack? Jack Keegan, is that you?” I spin toward the street and nod. A pleasant-looking lady peers out of a white mini-van. “I’m Trish! You look just as I’d imagined. And hello to you, young lady.” Trish smiles back at me. “How’d you end up with a beautiful girl like this?”

  “My name’s Naomi.” She raises her eyebrows and grins. “It happened really fast. Just last October we ran a race together for the first time.” Naomi squeezes my hand. “And then a few weeks ago there he is, standing in the aisle at the ceremony.”

  Trish gasps and covers her mouth. I cough and do the same.

  “We had no idea. Was there no announcement?” Trish sighs. “Of course, it has been years since we’ve seen Lydia. Friends do move on.”

  I stand gape-mouthed and stare at Naomi. She winks. “I’m heading over to the hospital, Jack. Turk called and Mother’s taken a bad turn.” Trish forces a smile. “This may be awkward, but I know she would love to see you. She loved your father and your mother so much.” Trish looks at Naomi. “Not sure how alert Mother is, but she’d love to meet your wife. It was Nadine, wasn’t it?”

  I raise my hand. “Wait a min—”

  “It’s Naomi,” she says.

  “Such a pretty name. Hop in,” Trish says.

  Naomi grabs my hand and pulls me toward the van. I follow her around to the passenger side. Naomi stops, stares at the handle.

  “What are you doing?” I hiss.

  “Aren’t you going to get my door, honey?”

  “I—we can’t not tell them.”

  “Grandma’s waiting.”

  I reach for the handle and open up to a smile from Trish.

  “I remember when Turk used to do that. Young love, so beautiful.”

  I slam the door on beautiful.

  The hospital sets clear across town. A good five-minute drive. Plenty of time for my muscles to work into a frenzy.

  Trish hops out, but Naomi sits in the car and waits.

  “Get her door, and let’s go.” Trish smiles at me and heads for the entrance.

  I hop out and play the gentleman. “You can’t keep this up.”

  “Me?” Naomi pats my cheek. “It was just a joke. And you could have said something, too.”

  “I could?” I point at my chest. “I wasn’t the one who said it in the first place.”

  Naomi steps nearer. “Said what?” She strokes behind my neck, and my brain blanks.

  “Whatever we were talking about!” My arm flings to the side, and I clasp hands behind me to keep from whacking her. “Just ’cause I’ve thought about it don’t mean I’d say it.”

  She pulls her hand from my neck and covers her mouth.

  “You think about us being married?” Naomi steps back.

  Lie, Sam, lie!

  “I think—I think we should get in there!” I pull free and double-time it into the hospital.

  It’s easy to find the right room. Outside her door, twenty people circle in the hall.

  “Come over, Jack, meet some friends of your parents,” Trish calls.

  “Hey,” I say.

  Every person in that hall knows Dad and George, and I’m surrounded by stories of those two restoring an old mill in town.

  “They made a bunch of trips down here, maybe ten? All before you were born.” A bug-eyed man steps way too close. “Probably most of us put them up for a night or two, isn’t that right?”

  That starts more smiles and nods and stories. Minutes later, it quiets, and Bug Eyes grabs my forearm.

  “Lydia ever tell you stories about crazy Larry Epp?” I figure he’s asking about himself.

  “No. She didn’t.”

  “How about the Wiebes?”

  I turn around to eager faces. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” Larry says, “Rumor has it that her second marriage did strange things to Lydia.” He pats my shoulder and it jumps. People smile. “I think I speak for all of us when I say it’s a pleasure to meet the next Keegan in line.”

  I breathe deep. “I would like to know where that mill is—”

  “Larry spoke of marriage.” Trish’s cheery voice rings out. “I’m sorry, Jack, I completely forgot. Where’s that beautiful wife of yours?”

  “About that—” I say.

  “James’s son? Married?” The circle closes in on me.

  Oh, crap!

  “How quick they grow!”

  Everyone stares and this is my chance. I can end this joke once and for all.

  “Naomi’s just—she was right behind me. Hang on.” I walk out to the van. No sign of her.

  I spend an hour walking the hospital grounds. I try to think of one decent reason Naomi would pull this marriage gag, but I can’t and reenter the building.

  The hallway is empty, and I reach the room and find a sleeping grandma. Ninety-eight and full of cancer means a lot of morphine. A man is with her, but he doesn’t turn, and I quietly retreat into the hallway.

  “Are you all moved in?” he asks.

  “You’re Mr. Penner?”

  “Turk is fine. Please come in.”

  Turk sits on the foot of the bed and stares at the motionless old woman. “Mother will be so pleased you came.” He yawns. “I’m sorry you won’t get to say hello today, maybe tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, tomorrow.” I plop into the uncomfortable hospital chair. “I met so many people tonight. People acted like they knew Dad pretty well.” I squirm. “I should know this, but are you and me related?”

  “No.” Turk sighs.“You don’t have relatives here. But everyone you meet in this town, at least the older ones, likely remember your father and that Old Coot. Mom would best of all.” He massages his mother’s toes and bows his head. “Your father spent so much time here before you came along.” He looks at me, into me, and nods. “It’s probably been twenty years, but Keegans aren’t forgettable men.”

  chapter thirty

  AN EVENING JOG CLEARS MY MIND. I COULD RUN forever, but I need to get settled. I slip inside the Penners’ door and head downstairs to the basement family room. I’m surrounded by a thick kind of quiet.

  “Naomi called me a monster.” I whip off my shirt and fling it across the room. It flutters onto an oversize cat pillow. “In the car she said it to my face.”

  I pace the basement.

  “So it was clear, right? Her and me was clear. But now—” I rip off my shoes and hurl them against a wall. “It’s all messed up again, and she goes right on pretending.”

  Now the whole town thinks we’re together.

  A grandfather clock ticks loudly in the corner. In the quiet, the beats are hypnotic. “Who’d be with a monster?” I whisper.

  I stretch and make it as far as the couch before I collapse. The clock beats on.

  Fifteen, sixteen. I rub my fa
ce hard. I’m as bad as Old Bill.

  In five minutes, all muscles are at rest.

  “Sam.”

  Against the moonlight that streams in the basement’s one window, Naomi’s silhouette shifts. One large T-shirt. All that stands between me and her smooth body.

  I blink hard and reach for a sheet to cover myself, but it’s only me on the couch—me in sweat-drenched running clothes. She says nothing, and I swallow hard.

  “Sam,” she whispers, “did you tell them?”

  She steps closer. Her eyes sparkle.

  “Tell them what?” I ask.

  She eases onto the edge of couch and kneels over me. I shift my legs to make room. I feel bare legs against the back of my hand, and she tosses back her hair. “Did you tell them?”

  “No.”

  Naomi straddles my active body, and bends down. Her hair brushes my face.

  “Why not?” she whispers. Her chest presses into mine.

  “I—I don’t know.” Fire scorches my body, and my movements change and soften. “Maybe I—”

  Naomi lays her finger across my lips.

  “Where’s your hand?” she asks.

  “I think at the end of my arm?”

  Naomi sits upright. She grasps my hand and draws it toward herself. I feel her body tense and relax, and she bends down for a kiss.

  A giant fur ball screeches and lands near my head.

  “Sam!” Naomi screams, and a mouse squeaks and scurries by my neck. Naomi falls off the couch, jumps to her feet, and trips over the coffee table. I hear her pant.

  Room lights flick on and blind me. Footsteps pound down the stairs.

  “What’s going on? Jack, Naomi?”

  Turk dashes into the room. He squints at Naomi, clears his throat, and whips around. He speaks with his back to us.

  “I heard screams. Are you two okay?”

  Naomi slaps my leg, and I sit up.

  “What happened, Turk?” Trish runs down the stairs, the whole time gathering her robe about her. Her gaze darts from me to Naomi and back to me. She spins, too, and stands shoulder to shoulder with her husband.

  “We got startled,” I say.

  Even from the back, I know they’re confused. “Come with me, Naomi,” Trish says, and reaches her hand back toward us. Naomi looks at me.

  “We’ll put on some tea. That first year together can be a confusing one, can’t it, Turk?”

  “I remember well.”

  “But we’re okay now. Sam and I will be fine,” Naomi says.

  “Nonsense.” Trish turns and grabs Naomi. She gives her arm a tug. “I have sense about these things, don’t I, Turk?”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “And a talk is in order.” Trish pulls Naomi up the stairs.

  “First off, it’s no business of mine what you’ve done and with whom before you’re hitched. But now you must leave others behind. Imagine how Jack feels, you calling him Sam during an intimate situation.”

  Turk turns. “Trish will straighten her out.” He frowns, and offers a sympathetic sigh. “Best you can do tonight”—he smiles—“is try and get some rest.”

  He starts to leave, pauses.“Last time I saw James, Lydia was three months pregnant. James talked a lot about his hopes for you.” Turk nods. “With all the pressure on young kids these days, well, he’d be proud that you waited until marriage to work through all this. I know he’s smiling down on you right now. Good night, Jack.”

  Turk plods up the stairs. It’s just me and the clock.

  I crawl into bed. Muffled voices float down from above.

  She won’t be coming back down. I swat the mattress. Voices stop, and my thoughts clear.

  I exhale hard.

  “Are you really looking down on me?”

  “Good morning, Jack.”

  Naomi sits at the kitchen table. I can’t look at her. I’m embarrassed and don’t know why.

  “I suppose Turk gave you a talk, too,” Naomi says, and gestures toward a chair.

  “Kind of.” I plop down.

  Naomi lowers her head, tries to catch my gaze. “What’s wrong, Sam—I mean Jack.” She sighs. “This name change is going to be tough.”

  My embarrassment leaves. I know why I feel like such a loser.

  “I have to tell them.”

  “Oh no, you don’t. Not after last night. Now they’d just think I was trampy. That’s why I wanted to see you early, to get stories straight. Believe me, our lack of rings took creativity. I played up the Christmas Eve story, the run wasn’t as romantic.”

  I puff out a blast of air. It’s nice hearing her talk about us, even if it’s a fake us. Before the trip, I’d have nodded and smiled and gone along with anything. But not now—now I have to look into her smile and doom myself.

  “Turk and my dad talked about me. Before I was born, they were talking, and, well, this whole story is crazy, but they believe it, believe me, because of Dad.” I run my hand through my hair. “They trust us totally. Doesn’t that eat at you a little?”

  Naomi’s face is blank.

  “I need to straighten this out,” I say quietly.

  “But last night. Didn’t you want—”

  “It’s got nothing to do with wanting.”

  Her look jumps from hurt to angry. Naomi rises and shoves in her chair. “You jerk.” She storms out the door.

  I stare at twitchy fingers. It’s hard to argue.

  chapter thirty-one

  ALL FOUR PENNERS LEAVE SHORTLY AFTER NAOMI. Turk to the hospital, Trish to the family bookstore, Aaron to baseball practice, and Nate to a round of golf.

  It’s my first glimpse of the boys. They have sixteen-year-old faces, but they stand six and a half feet tall.

  “Hey,” Aaron says, catching me still plunked at the table. “You want to come with me tonight? You showed up at a good time, Frontier Days. All sorts of stuff going on. Rodeo, fireworks, it’s awesome.”

  I grunt yes and watch the kids jostle out the door.

  I sigh.“This’ll be a long day.” I wander the house, stare in the fridge, and peer outside.

  Too hot for a jog. Probably fine for a walk.

  I open the door and all air sucks from my lungs. I grimace and step forward. Streets are near empty. Ahead, one car crawls by.

  Main Street.

  I wander the row of shops. They’re open, but no one is out. I find shade beneath a large awning and scan the street. Opposite me stands Penner’s Book Store.

  “Why not?”

  I enter the store to the tinkling of bells. Trish looks up from behind the counter.

  “Jack! Hoped you’d come. Turk just called. Grandma’s better. Your wife’s with her now.”

  My wife. I run my hands through my hair in rapid succession and twitch mightily.

  Trish smiles and nods. “So much like your father.”

  “That’s what I hear.” I breathe deep and shuffle toward the counter. The store is empty except for Trish, me, and a lie so heavy I can barely move. But I have to. I have to drag it and lift it and show Trish even though she’ll probably boot me out of her house when she sees it.

  I reach Trish and take a deep breath. “I have to be honest.” A book display catches my eye. “I’ve never read any of these.” I jerk a paperback off the shelf, crease the cover, and wince. I’m such a wimp.

  Trish shrugs and comes from behind the counter. “Had a good talk with Naomi last night. I know you two didn’t ask for counsel, but I can’t help but lend a hand when I see a way.”

  “About what you saw—”

  “That lovely lady is bright. You keep treating her right.”

  I gulp. “I’ll try. It’s just—”

  “She told me how you met. I see why she wants to spend her life with you.”

  “Will you please let me say—she said that?”

  “Oh, and so much more.” Trish gives me a big hug. “Have I told you how much you’re like your father?”

  I wriggle free and step back. “Like, exactly, w
hat was the so-much-more she said?”

  “Things need to pass from Naomi to you without me in between. I shouldn’t say anything else.”

  I’m tired of being the only one who has no idea what’s going on. I gently kick a CD display with my foot.

  “She did tell me how safe she feels in your arms.” Trish walks back behind the counter and moves the pot of flower pens to the other side of the desk. “A girl without a father needs that kind of security.”

  “Go on.”

  “Like I said, not another word.” Trish flips through some papers, pauses, her face all moony. “But your wedding? So beautiful, so romantic.” She sighs. “So like—” She shakes her head. “My Turk is one smart man, but he took me to Sears on the way to our honeymoon.” Trish raises an eyebrow. “Feel free to share ideas with my oaf.”

  I can’t take it and I won’t give wedding advice. Bells tinkle behind me. A lady enters with five small children. Kids fan out and race around, and I don’t have much time. I jump toward Trish at the counter, the book in my hands now a pulpy mess.

  I check the family once more. Like my limbs, they’re everywhere.

  I lean over the counter and whisper, “Listen. Oh, crap, how do I say this?”

  Trish’s eyes widen.

  “Sorry, but my damn Tourette’s—I mean, well, my—”

  I lose arm control and left-hook a tray of pennies. Old Abe clanks off book racks, rolls around the floor. Kids scream for joy and race after rolling coins.

  I spin, and my shoulder leaps. The pulpy book flies from my hand and cuffs a boy across the jaw. He shouts and drops onto the floor tiles—his family swarms around him.

  “No! Sorry! I didn’t mean to throw it.” I launch my body in the direction of the poor kid to help him up, to tell him I meant no harm, but my left foot jerks and catches a book display. It teeters. I fling arms around it and knock it to the ground.

  “Crap!”

  “Children, come quickly!” their mother says.

  “Jack, what on earth—” Trish crouches behind the counter.

  But there’s no stopping me. I reach down and scoop an armful of books. I try to lift the display stand but stumble over it, and stagger forward after the fleeing family.