“I don’t think you can bungee jump.”
“It’s just a sunburn!” I said. But I saw the looks on people’s faces as they walked past our table. This was not just a sunburn. “And it’s not a real bungee jump. It’s like a mini-really-safe bungee jump for kids. It’ll be fun. I can totally do it. The sunburn doesn’t really hurt that much. I promise.”
“We’ll see,” she said. Nurse translation: You will not be bungee jumping.
When we got back to the room, Dad was freaking out and yelling into the phone. “Well, somebody had to steal them! I didn’t steal them myself.”
Mom went into the room where Dad was and I looked in our adjoining room to see if Bruce was back, but he wasn’t there.
I went out to the shady balcony and sat on the chair. I left the sliding door a little bit open so I could hear what Dad was yelling about. But he just said, “If you won’t call the police, I will!” and hung up.
I sat on the balcony and pieced together the story. Someone came into our room and robbed our safe. They took Mom’s and Dad’s wedding rings. They didn’t take anything else. I decided this was the reason they didn’t wear their wedding rings on the beach. Maybe in Mexico, gold is really valuable or something.
Mom came to the door of the balcony. “How you feeling?”
“Good.”
“Do you see Bruce out there?”
“No.”
“Keep an eye out for him.”
“Okay. Are the police coming?”
“No. It’s not a big deal.”
“Dad thinks it’s a big deal.”
“He’s never been robbed before,” Mom said. “It always makes a person very angry when someone takes their things.”
“Okay.”
“I’m going to close this door now so the air-conditioning doesn’t leak out.”
I stayed on the balcony and looked for Bruce. His swimming trunks were drying in our little bathroom so I didn’t worry that he’d drowned. He was probably at the restaurant or something. That’s what I thought.
The manager came to the room. I heard all the adults talking. Dad was talking louder than anyone so I could hear things he said. He said thief. He said housekeeping. He said police. He said I’ll sue you! I kept looking out to sea. My shoulders were on fire again. The heat out there wasn’t helping but I couldn’t go back into the room.
By the time the manager left our room it was four o’clock and I could hear the kids bungee jumping over at the kids’ club and I didn’t get to see the movie with Mom and Bruce wasn’t back yet because I saw him walking on the beach.
I saw him stand at the water’s edge in the no-swimming coral reef area, and I saw him throwing rocks into the water as far as he could throw them. One after the other, he just stood there and threw little rocks.
Except they weren’t all rocks.
Voice Mail
Bruce hugs just like he always did except now he doesn’t have to pick me up anymore. I can barely look at him without getting tears in my eyes.
I remember the Christmas when he pulled out his old car-racing track and set it up for me and we played for days even though he was seventeen and I was eight.
We just look at each other and hug and then look at each other again.
I remember him babysitting me one time when Mom and Dad went out and he fed me four milk shakes. Four. Two chocolate and two vanilla. He made popcorn. He let me stay up until eleven.
The B&B has a small foyer and we move to the small living room lobby and sit on the couch. We talk about where to go for dinner and Bruce makes a reservation at his favorite Italian place. We sit there awkwardly for a minute. I have this mix of sheer happy and a little bit of fear that I’m doing something wrong by seeing him. I don’t know why I’m so emotional. It’s just—he’s my brother.
“I have no idea how to start this conversation,” Bruce says.
“Me neither.”
“Shit,” he says. “I want to just tell you everything now and then you’ll know and I won’t have to carry around secrets anymore.”
I look around. “Shouldn’t we go somewhere more private?”
“The owners are out. It’s just us.”
The couch is bright colonial blue. The wallpaper is insane. The room looks like the Victorian era threw up.
“How are you?” Bruce asks.
“Fine.”
“How was school?”
“I didn’t go. I went shopping with Mom.” I don’t want to talk about Tiffany so I don’t mention her.
The gaudy clock on the wall chimes gaudily. It’s four thirty.
“Could this be any more awkward?” Bruce says.
“I want to know about Mom and Dad. I want to know about everything,” I say. “I just don’t know anything so I don’t know what to ask.”
“And I don’t know where to start.”
“It would have been easier to have this conversation through voice mail.”
Bruce laughs.
“I’m serious,” I say.