Twice a Child Page 8

  He’d have to write that down; it could be a great springboard for another film. As he rummaged through his catch-all drawer for his Dictaphone, a pink envelope with his mother’s unmistakable handwriting slid from way in the back, his finger having caught the edge. He lifted it out along with the recorder. It had never been opened. He rubbed it between his fingers and thumb. It contained a photograph, the edges slightly smaller than the envelope.

  He chucked it on the kitchen table, atop a neat pile of Variety magazines, and went outside to pee in the ocean, a morning ritual he adopted when he took possession of the bungalow. From the day he had moved in he never missed a morning. As long as he lived here, even if he’d have to wheel himself out on the sand, he’d christen his ocean with the first piss of the morning. He owned this beach—just the way he liked it. Long ago he stopped trying to get his parents to come out here. At first his attempts were too desperate, he could see that now. “Don’t you care about what I’m doing? This is it! The big time! You got to see this place—it’s dripping money!” After awhile he softened his approach with his desire to give them a great vacation, hell, even retirement if they wanted.

  He sent them plane tickets, exact directions on how to rent a car and get to the bungalow. Mom sent them back with a lovely thank you and the inevitable photo of Tina in some stage of growing up. Sometimes she’d send one of Tina and her mother. Mom never did get over the divorce. To her marriage was a lifelong commitment, a goddamn chain around your neck that eventually pulls you under.

  Eddie stepped back inside and started the recorder. “Seagulls, whole day in search of food. Perpetual hunger, perpetual search.” The pink envelope rested on the table beside him. He turned it over, pushed it further out of his peripheral vision, finally flicked it off the table like an insect.

  A young woman walked across his sand and perched at the water’s edge. She wore a turban and a flowing caftan and began swinging her arms in one direction, then another, making giant circle eights, raising her arms to the sky. A muffled chant made its way into his sanctuary, some nonsense he deemed as trespassing. On his way over to the door, that damned pink envelope caught his eye. Somehow, it had righted itself so that his mother’s distinct flow of the pen dared him to come pick it up. Open it.

  He turned his back on it, opened the patio door and shouted, “Hey you! Wicca Woman or whoever you—”

  The ocean cancelled his voice. She continued her chant, now in rhythm with each breaking wave, sometimes allowing the water to rush over her feet, other times tiptoeing away, and always the swooping arms.

  This was trespassing. The sand massaged his bare feet as he marched toward her. He tapped her shoulder.

  Startled, she turned, her large brown eyes narrowing to slits.

  “Go chant somewhere else. This is my beach.”

  She hissed when he turned his back, and ran down the stretch of flattened sand, shaking her hands, balled into fists, above her head.

  “Crazy bitch!” he shouted.

  Eddie picked up the letter off the floor when he got back inside and took it to his bedroom, depositing it on his night table. What he needed right now was a shower, another cup of coffee and a look-see at yesterday’s dailies. He’d call Rog after lunch.

  Tina, maybe tonight.

  sixteen

  “He’s exhibiting all the classic signs of early stage dementia.”

  The conclusion could have been delivered with the same tone as “He’s got a cold. Pump fluids, get rest, if it gets worse, come back.”

  Grandpa sat through the proclamation, smiling in deference to the doctor, a youngish man with unnaturally green eyes and slicked back, chin-length blond hair. Tina wondered if he might be a surfer getting his jollies impersonating a doctor, like that movie with DiCaprio, a true story if she wasn’t mistaken. One thing she learned quickly: everyone in L.A. is an aspiring actor.

  “Is there someone else we could talk to here, get a second opinion?” She bounced Joshua on her lap, his legs springing off her, strong and sturdy.

  “Sure, let me see if I can get someone from neurology.” The doctor placed his hand on Grandpa’s knee. “Sir, do you know where you are?”

  Grandpa’s gaze focused behind the doctor, but he spoke as if speaking directly to him, as if the doctor had moved to the spot behind himself.

  “Oh, sure.” He smiled.

  “And where is that?” The doctor glanced at Tina.

  “Ahhhhh. Where Eddie lives.”

  “Who’s Eddie?”

  “My son.”

  “And where does he live?”

  The silence between answers was hard to bear, Tina wanting to blurt out the answer for him. Instead, she bounced the baby on her knee and intentionally played with and cooed to Joshua.

  “He’s a big deal in the movies . . . he made this film, some vampire deal, I didn’t much like it, but a lot of people did, I guess. I told him if he had that much talent, he should do a war story or maybe a mystery, something with a little more class. Know what I mean?”

  The doctor chuckled. “So where are you, Frank, what state are you in?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  Tina avoided Grandpa’s eyes, which she felt latch onto her for help. She bit her lip.

  “Where they make movies.”

  “And where’s that?”

  “Ahhhhhh . . . Las . . . Las . . . Vegas!”

  Grandpa tapped Tina’s knee and wiggled a two-fingered wave at the baby. “C’mon, let’s go.”

  “Frank? Can you hang in here a few more minutes? I want to bring another doctor in to talk with you.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with me, for God’s sake. I’m just trying to see my kid. He’s out here in California—”

  The doctor exchanged another glance with Tina.

  “Grandpa, we’ll get to Eddie’s this afternoon, okay? I think it’s a good idea to have another doctor look at you.”

  The big question was what to do with Grandpa when his brain started short circuiting everything, when he could no longer function safely? The neurologist confirmed surfer-boy’s diagnosis—Grandpa was in the throes of early dementia, most likely Lewy Body because of his bizarre behavior of reaching for, or picking at something only he could see. Visual hallucinations, the doctor called them. And, at times, rigidity and tremors. “It’s a double whammy: Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s symptoms.” Eventually, he said, Grandpa would need full-time care and more than likely that translated into a nursing home.

  Tina’s vision blurred with tears as she recalled the conversation. Now that they were here in California, she leaned more toward making a life for her and Joshua. She liked the freedom she saw, happy people, the sunshine. But, what would she do with Grandpa? The thought that his behavior was a reflection of mourning Grandma, as well as the stress of the trip out here, eased her anxiety. She preferred that story; most of the time, Grandpa seemed perfectly fine. Doctors were known to be wrong.

  They went to the beach for the afternoon. As she watched Grandpa play in the sand with Joshua, his jeans rolled up to his calves, his wool cap shading his face, she told herself the doctor made a mistake. Grandpa was getting old, but he wasn’t nuts. Old people tend to forget names and places; they lose their balance.

  The baby squealed with delight, arching his back so that his carrier rocked and wedged into the wet sand. Grandpa was building a little fort, his back to the water. He didn’t see the rogue wave building up, and before Tina could reach water’s edge it had already knocked him down and carried Joshua in his baby carrier out past the shallows like Moses in a basket.

  “My baby!” she screamed, running into the water after Grandpa who, by now, realized what was happening and dove under a wave to swim toward the carrier, Joshua’s wails a high pitch over the rumble of the water. He had reached the baby first, throwing his arms around the basket, which bobbed up and down on the now calm water. Two lifeguards circled them, offering Grandpa a kickboard as they secured the baby carrier. Tina realized th
e fright in his eyes had crossed over into sheer terror, and he began fighting the lifeguard who had been trying to steer him safely to shore. The other reached the shoreline with the basket, Joshua screaming at the top of his lungs. She waded out to Grandpa and the lifeguard, who had him in a choke hold. The cold water took her by surprise.

  The old man sputtered and coughed as the lifeguard deposited him next to the baby carrier. One of the guards had taken Joshua out of his basket and wrapped him in a towel. He was laughing now, a relief to Tina, who tried to console Grandpa, wrapping him in a towel as well.

  “It wasn’t your fault. That wave came out of nowhere.”

  “Did he die? Oh God—”

  “No, no! Look—” Tina took Joshua from the lifeguard and held his bundled little body in front of the frightened old man. He shuddered as if from shame and cold.

  “Grandpa, everyone’s fine, c’mon, let’s go back to the apartment and get changed.”

  As she gathered their things she knew she could no longer leave Grandpa alone with the baby even to run out for milk. And yet he looked so fit, seemed so alive. He needed no other care than for someone to point him in the right direction occasionally or remind him what day it was.

  “He’s going to eventually need a nursing home.” The words stuck in her mind like a piece of coral wedged under her skin. That was up to Eddie now, wasn’t it? She looked at Grandpa, the ordeal behind him, but leaving both him and the baby utterly exhausted. It was only around one, but Tina felt as if she had put an entire lifetime into one morning.

  seventeen

  These alleys have changed, but I know if I keep heading toward the south side, I’ll see the plant. Can’t be late for work. These damn legs of mine don’t go too fast. Feels like I’m walking through wet cement.

  Did I hear it’s supposed to snow today? Sure feels like summer. Don’t know why I’m wearing this jacket, makes my armpits sweat. Now I’ll have stains under my arms, won’t look good.

  Man, look at her. She must not have heard the forecast, why, she’s not dressed! That top barely covers her.

  “Hey, Pops!”

  I can wave back at her, it’s just a wave. Here’s another one on skates, too.

  “Where are your clothes?”

  My God, she’s stopping. If Mamie gets wind of this—

  “What’s that?”

  What a beauty. Can’t be much older than Eddie, just a teenager.

  I’ll just keep going. I’ll be too late for work.

  “Pops—did you need something?”

  “No, I’m going to be late for work, though.”

  “Okay, whatever you say. Where do you work around here?”

  She’s right about that. There’s a bunch of empty lots, but I know the plant’s up ahead. It all looks so familiar.

  “The plant. Up there a ways.”

  That kid on the bike better watch where he’s going, he almost knocked me down.

  “The Plant. That some kind of new art place?”

  Her hands are on her hips. On her skin. She sure isn’t wearing much.

  “You should go home and put more clothes on, girlie. It’s not safe for a young girl to be walking around like . . . that.”

  Why is she laughing? If she thinks I’m going to protect her she’s got another thing coming.

  “What planet are you from? I’m blading. And I am dressed. See? Shorts. And a bikini. Great way to get a tan!”

  A tan! That’s a first. Never knew anyone around here walking half-naked to get a tan. She’s just asking for it. “Be careful.”

  “You too, Pops.”

  I could have sworn the plant was just ahead. I’ll sit here a minute, get my bearings. Sure could use a glass of cold water. Looks like no one lives here or maybe they’re all at work, like where I’m supposed to be. Hope I have a job left.

  What the hell?

  What’s he doing here?

  Leave it to Charlie to come around right when I need him. Nice suit.

  “Hey Charlie! Your timing’s still on point.”

  He’s better than a cool drink. He can get me out of here.

  My tongue feels thick, like it’s twice its size. So damn dry. “Which way is the plant?”

  He’s laughing. Sure, he’s a big shot reporter, but he doesn’t have to laugh at me.

  “Hey, got a cigarette?”

  He doesn’t want to talk, I get it. That’s the kind of brothers we are; we can sit and not exchange a word. But we always know we got each other’s back. No matter what.

  “Much as I’d like to stay here all day visiting, I got to go. I’m already late and I have a son to support now. You doing okay, Charlie?”

  Not answering. He gets like that.

  What’s that bell for? Jesus, I bet the ol’ man’s giving me a chance, calling me in so he doesn’t have to dock my time. Sounds like it’s right behind us.

  There’s another bell.

  “Gotta go, Char—” Where the hell did he go?

  Well, I’ll be. The plant’s been behind me the whole time. Someone painted it white but didn’t replace those broken windows. Looks pretty much the same except for the kids. If they don’t slow down they’ll knock me over. What is it with kids these days? First the kid on the bike and now this group rushing right into me.

  Now this is more like it, much cooler inside. All I have to do is find my office, but it’s like a maze. So many hallways.

  Who are these people? Oh, I get it. They’re all wearing a card around their necks. Probably want to give me one, too.

  “Excuse me, sir? May I help you?”

  So he hired a woman, did he? She must be pretty smart.

  “Can you please tell me where I can find my office?”

  “Your office?”

  Fine, I’ll go along.

  “I know I’ve been away for a while, had a few family matters to attend to, but I’m back and ready to dig in.” I hope she heard me. “Could I have a glass of water, miss?”

  Now who’s this guy? I couldn’t take him, too big.

  “Sir? Do you know where you are?”

  If I only had some water I could talk better. My tongue’s so thick. And my head’s pounding like someone stuck a hot poker through my temple.

  I don’t know any of them. Be pleasant. “Looks like we had a lot of business lately, while I was gone. All these hallways—”

  Shit, my legs. They won’t hold me. I can’t—oh God, they’re closing in on me, the mob.

  And what’s Charlie doing here? How did he get here before me? He’s pointing to something down the hall. My office, he found it. Good, Charlie, I’ll follow you.

  But, these legs. They won’t move.

  Open your eyes. Look around.

  C’mon, you can open one.

  I’m in a bed.

  I’m tied to something.

  Oh Jesus, they’re going to sacrifice me. I have to get out of here, have to warn Mamie. They put me in jail.

  “Mr. Lillo, please settle down. Mr. Lillo!”

  She’s come to kill me. I have to get away from here before she sticks that needle—“Hey!”

  “Mr. Lillo, we need to clean you up, you’ve had an accident.”

  They’re raping me, who the hell is touching me? “Son of a bitch!”

  “Mr. Lillo, please calm down. We’re cleaning you. You are in the hospital. You fainted.”

  They stuck a needle in my arm. And a tube. They’re poisoning me!

  “You’re dehydrated, Mr. Lillo. That’s an IV you see. We’re replacing fluids.”

  “Blood pressure falling. Heart rate stabilizing.”

  Is that Eddie?

  “Ed-Eddie?”

  She’s looking at me funny.

  “Come here, quickly, James. Maybe you can make out what Mr. Lillo’s saying.”

  Stop sticking your ear in my face.

  “He’s saying ‘Eddie,’ I think.”

  At least someone hears me.

  “He’s saying ‘Eddie will know what t
o do.’”

  eighteen

  Where was Grandpa?

  Tina called the police, the hospitals, but no one had any record of a Frank Lillo, nor had anyone called anything in about a person matching his description.

  He could not possibly have gone too far.

  Joshua batted at the rattle left dangling over his basket, his soft cooing giving her the only comfort of the day. Tina picked him up and nuzzled his neck and ears. The baby laughed, a deep-throated gurgle filled with innocence and joy. When she looked into his brown eyes—as brown as melted caramel with flecks of gold and green—she saw generations of cells gathering on this one perfect form: her son, a new life, to make up for the pain and the rip in the fabric of her family, to breathe life into the stale air of regret and grief.

  “Let’s go find Grandpa, honey boy.” She swallowed back her tears so she wouldn’t alarm him.

  Tina hoisted the baby into his backpack and onto her back and headed south this time, toward an area she knew to be questionable, but she had covered all the other points and had come up with nothing. There’s an elementary school in the neighborhood. Populated at least. Maybe the sound of the children would have drawn him in.

  Her cell phone vibrated.

  “Tina, I couldn’t get back to you until now, had to set up a whole new scene—”

  “Grandpa’s missing.”

  The silence on the other end rattled her. Joshua began to fuss.

  Finally: “You have the baby?”

  “What the hell am I supposed to do with him? Look, Grandpa’s missing, I’ve been trying to find him. I combed every street, called the police, the hospitals—”

  “Jesus Christ, you’re doing this to pay me back, aren’t you? You’re both doing this to fuck up my life.”

  She came upon what appeared to be an abandoned street with boarded-up warehouses and graffiti spray painted on metal accordion-style doors, the entire street anchored by a large white building, four stories, gated yard.