“I’m not your ‘buddy.’ And don’t—do not, whatever you do—tell me to relax.” Still, my father kept from looking up. He cut a carrot, put it in his mouth. I thought he was done talking, but after chewing and swallowing, he continued, his gaze never leaving his plate, “Maybe I tolerated the way you and our parents treated me years ago. But I won’t tolerate it here in my own home. My wife worked hard to prepare this meal for my family to enjoy. So shut up and enjoy it too. Or, like I said, leave.”
My uncle waited a moment before balling up his napkin and tossing it on the table. He stood and walked to the living room, where he gathered his clothes quick as a burglar. The front door opened and closed. Outside, his motorcycle roared, the sound rising then fading as he sped away.
Only after Howie had left did my father stop eating. He, too, stood, then walked to the living room and locked the door before starting the clock. The house filled with that familiar ticking sound once more as he returned. Our cutlery clanked against our plates while we finished the meal without another mention of Howie or any conversation at all.
Despite how many years it had been, I felt foolish for not realizing it was my uncle that night at the conference center. I whispered to Rose, “What’s he doing here?”
“What does it look like? Busting Dad’s stones.”
“The difficult thing about the business my wife and I are in is that many people don’t believe us. We accept that fact. Sometimes, however, those skeptics are family. That’s the case with my brother,” my father told the crowd before directly addressing my uncle. “But, Howie, these people paid to be here tonight. They came with open minds and a desire to hear what we have to say. So I’d appreciate it if you would take a seat and listen too. If not, I’d appreciate it if you would please exit the auditorium.”
In the silence that followed, my uncle swayed slightly, as though blown back and forth by a breeze. When he did not sit but did not leave, either, a man in a security uniform approached him, taking him by the arm. My uncle jerked it away, nearly falling, before shoving past. Rather than walk down the steps to the main doors, he headed to the back of the auditorium, the guard trailing him. When he reached the wall behind the final row of seats, my uncle came to a halt. Up close, I saw that he looked different from the way I remembered. He had a belly and a beard now. His once close-cropped hair had grown bushy. His eyes were mapped with tiny red veins. Rose whispered hello, though I felt overcome by an unexpected shyness and managed only a slight smile. Howie reached out and patted our heads before winking and hustling away down the back aisle. When he arrived at the exit, the guard snatched his arm again, keeping a tight grip as he escorted my uncle out of the auditorium.
After the door clanged shut, my father began the slow process of winning back the audience. “Forgive the interruption. Where were we? Oh, yes, Caleb Lundrum . . .”
Rose hissed in my ear, “Let’s go find Uncle Howie.” She kept her back low and headed toward the door. I lingered, staring at that image on the screen. A trick of light or a howling demon? I couldn’t be sure. Finally, I gave up thinking about it and headed toward the door too.
Outside, the rain had paused, though wind still gusted. The air felt hot and moist against my cheeks as I caught up with my sister in the half-empty parking lot, where the lamplights reflected in the deep puddles all around. “He’s gone,” Rose said. “It’s your fault.”
“My fault?”
“Yeah, you were so slow we missed him.”
What good did it ever do me to argue? I kept my mouth shut and followed her back toward the building. That’s when we noticed the man with scratches on his face, on his arms and hands too. He glanced at us before turning to a row of bushes, wet leaves shimmering in the lamplight too. The man made a kitten call into the branches. “It’s okay. Come on out.”
My sister must have found him as peculiar as I did, because both our paces slowed to watch. He kept calling, getting on his knees and reaching carefully into the dark of those bushes. When his hand was met by a sudden rustle and high-pitched snarl, he snapped it back. With his fingers in front of his face, we could see fresh blood glistening just like those puddles in the pavement. Rose and I might have stood there longer, waiting to see if he coaxed out what he wanted, but a horn honked behind us. We turned and saw my uncle at the wheel of a battered pickup, one side so buckled it didn’t look like the vehicle should be allowed on the road. Over the chugging engine, Howie called out, “By any chance, are you lovely ladies looking for me?”
Rose jogged to the truck, rainwater splashing beneath her sneakers. By the time I caught up with her, she was leaning into the passenger window and they had launched into a conversation.
“The ghostbusters won’t be done for a while,” Howie said to both of us. “What do you say we go have some fun?”
I stepped up, poked my head inside the window. The air inside smelled of beer and smoke. The dashboard lights glowed orange and made the scruff of my uncle’s beard glow too. An unlit cigarette dangled from his lips, bouncing when he spoke. “Hey there, kiddo. You’ve grown some, haven’t you?”