After the cerebral hemorrhage took our mother, it was just Tommy, our father, and me. The first two weeks after the funeral were a whirlwind as Dad tried to keep the three of us out of the house and away from the bottomless hole created by our mother’s absence. He whisked the three of us to Hershey Park, Gettysburg, a Phillies game, tractor pulls, even the firing range.
After two weeks, Dad had to go back to work at the asbestos plant, and I was charged with overseeing Tommy. Dad’s rules for Tommy and me that summer were simple: we were to check in with Ms. McBreen, a neighbor who agreed to keep an eye on us, every day for lunch; I was to keep Tommy near me at all times; we were not to ride our bikes on busy streets. Finally, the nearby quarry was off limits—no swimming, no climbing. Hunger motivated us to comply with the first directive. As for the second, it wasn’t totally unbearable for me to have Tommy tag along, because both of us hung with a larger group of kids from the neighborhood. So I could ignore my pesky younger brother while still keeping him within eyesight. The rules about riding our bikes on high-trafficked roads and not playing in the quarry were, of course, absurd, and Tommy and I and all our friends—whose parents had imposed the same proscriptions—broke them at will. I can remember a dozen times when my friend Mike and I, riding our Schwinn ten-speeds, led others down the highway in the baking heat of summer afternoons, cars and flatbeds and semis whizzing past us as Tommy and all the other younger brothers struggled to bring up the rear. We’d race for the quarry and the relief its cool, dangerously dark waters would bring to our scorched, shirtless backs.
Only once did Tommy and I get into real trouble with Dad that summer. It was a weekend day in late August, just before the new school year, and our whole group was taking turns swimming in the quarry and scaling its jagged rock walls. Tommy and another kid his age, Danny, were the best climbers. “Spiders,” Danny’s brother called them every time Tommy and Danny climbed the quarry wall, their arms and legs extended wide as they inched their way up, down, and sideways. Normally, we would all ride to the quarry together and leave together. That day, though, Mike and I had decided to go off by ourselves. Mike had heard of a place farther down in the county where some teenagers supposedly drag-raced their cars. Mike said if we rode hard, we could get there in an hour, watch some action, and still get home before dinner. I figured Tommy would be all right at the quarry without me because the other older kids were still there. But Mike and I got lost. By the time we got back, it was almost dark. I was late for dinner and was envisioning Dad scolding me while Tommy smirked. But when I entered the front door of our house, I could see instantly that Dad wasn’t in a mere scolding mood. He was furious. Not because I was hours late, but because Tommy had not yet come home.
“Where is he?” our father demanded. “Where the hell is Tommy?”
Pride required that I not burst into tears, but the effort took all my strength. My mind raced for something to say that wouldn’t get me into even bigger trouble than I was in already. But there was nothing to grab hold of. Finally, I blurted it out. “We were at the quarry. Mike and I left. But everyone else stayed. All the older kids. And Tommy.”
“Jesus Christ!” It was hardly the only time I’d heard my father take the Lord’s name in vain. But this time was different. Even at twelve, I could tell that Dad wasn’t cursing out of anger but fear. “Come on!” he ordered, and the two of us hopped into his F-150 and tore for the quarry.
We found Tommy in the gathering darkness halfway up the quarry wall, sitting on a small ledge. I didn’t understand why he was there. The ledge was only twenty feet above the water and an easy climb down. Then my eyes scaled the wall upward until, another twenty feet up, I saw Danny, hanging on for dear life. I knew instantly what had happened: Danny had lost his nerve. He was too terrified to move. Tommy stood guard below him, having refused to abandon his friend.
My father cursed under his breath. Then he looked down at me. “Wait here,” he ordered. “Do not move.” Then he made his way along the narrow dirt-and-gravel path that rimmed the quarry on one side. The path was just a foot wide, and Dad had to navigate it facing the quarry wall, holding on in places to reach the part of the wall where Tommy and Danny were perched. In the light of the rising moon, I could see that our dad’s back was soaked with sweat by the time he reached Tommy. I heard the two of them talking, and I figured Tommy was giving Dad directions on how to get up to Danny, whose whimpering I could now hear clearly. Then Dad started up the wall. His climb to Danny seemed to take forever. I could see that every movement required intense effort and concentration. He paused often and wouldn’t move a limb off a hold until he tested all three other limbs for solid purchase. He was sucking wind by the time he was halfway up. But he continued, talking to Danny, reassuring him the whole way. Finally, he managed to reach Danny, got him to hang on his back, and began the long, torturous climb back down, Danny’s choking arms wrapped around his throat the entire time.
Only when Dad and Danny reached the ground did Tommy begin his own descent. It was effortless and took him less than a minute.
I stood at the entrance to the quarry as Dad, my brother, and Danny made their way toward me. The four of us stood for a minute. Danny continued to whimper while Dad huffed and puffed. Tommy stood still with his feet apart, glaring at me.
“Everyone left us. And you left us first. You fucker.”
I looked over at our father. Instead of scolding Tommy, he merely looked back at me. I could see in his eyes exactly the same thought Tommy had just uttered: You fucker.
It’s Friday and I’m home early, just before six o’clock. Gabby runs out to meet me in the garage. I bend down and grab her, then swing her in the air and cradle her in my right arm. I use my left to bend down and pet Franklin, who has ambled up behind his human sister. Gabby immediately starts in on a story about the dog chasing a rabbit in the yard. Her enthusiasm and energy make me smile, and I stand for a few minutes as Gabby recounts her tale. Then I carry her through the hallway and into the kitchen where, having finished her story, she impatiently wiggles out of my arms and runs off to another adventure.
Piper is in the kitchen, blending herself a smoothie. She doesn’t turn to face me as she begins anew our now-ongoing fight about the roof. I reiterate to Piper’s back that we cannot afford a new $30,000 cedar-shake roof right now. “The only money we have coming in is David’s retainer,” I say. “And that isn’t going to go far. Especially since he cheaped me down on the amount.”