“Allow me to apologize in advance,” Allison said, “for making Deacon do whatever it is he’s about to do.”
“Apologies accepted,” Deacon said. “And now...drumroll, please.”
No one gave him a drumroll.
Deacon lifted his shirt, stuck his stomach out and wiggled it as best as a guy who was five-ten and one-hundred-and-seventy-mumble pounds could.
Then he lowered his shirt and bowed.
“What the hell was that?” Allison demanded.
“The Truffle Shuffle!” he said.
“The what?”
“Oh, no, you didn’t just say ‘the what?’ to the Truffle Shuffle,” Deacon said with a sigh. “That’s it. I’m getting the Oreos. I’m getting the Pringles. I’m getting the grape soda. We are going stay up and watch The Goonies until dawn.” Then he picked up the roach he’d left in the ashtray.
Of course, that was precisely the moment when Dr. Capello appeared at the top of the stairs.
Deacon stood up straight immediately and put his hands behind his back. In unison, all four of them attempted to play it cool. Even Brien, who did a much better job than the rest of them.
“Dad,” Deacon said. “You’re...you’re awake.”
Dr. Capello stood in the doorway in his robe and pajamas.
“You okay, Dad. Daddy?” Thora said, her eyes too wide. Allison wanted to tell her to make her eyes normal, but she didn’t seem to get the telepathic message Allison tried to send her through a series of intense blinks.
“I heard something,” Dr. Capello said. “I smelled something.”
“We’re just, um, hanging out,” Deacon said.
“Hanging in,” Roland said. “Since we’re in. In the house, I mean.”
Allison pinched him. Nonstoned people did not say “hanging in.”
“Allison?” Dr. Capello said.
“Ah, yes?” she said, her voice hitting a high note it had never hit before.
“What are you all up to in here?” Dr. Capello asked her.
“Oh, you know,” Allison said. “We were doing a talent show.”
“What’s the talent?” Dr. Capello asked. “Who can stink up the house the fastest?”
“Dad,” Deacon said. “Sorry. We were just—”
“Grounded,” Dr. Capello said. “You.” He pointed at Deacon. “You.” He pointed at Thora. “You.” He pointed at Roland. “And you.” He pointed at Allison.
“I don’t even live here anymore,” Allison said.
“I’m thirty,” Roland said.
“I don’t want to hear it,” Dr. Capello said. “Grounded. All of you. No television. No movies. No dessert for a week.”
“A week?” Deacon said, horrified.
“You heard me. Now clean this mess up and go to bed.”
“Yes, Daddy,” Thora said. “Sorry, Daddy.”
“Sorry, Dad,” Deacon said, and Roland mumbled a “Yeah, sorry” of his own.
“Allison?” Dr. Capello prompted.
“Sorry, Dad,” Allison said. He nodded his stern acceptance of their apologies.
Dr. Capello turned to leave and as he left Allison caught a glimpse of something on his face. The tiniest little hint of a smile.
A soon as he was gone, they all looked at each other and burst into laughter.
“Kids!” came Dr. Capello’s voice through the door.
They went silent. Instantly.
Those approximately ten seconds after they stopped laughing and before they started laughing again—more quietly, of course—might have been the happiest ten seconds of Allison’s life. In those ten seconds, Dr. Capello was still the patriarch of the house. In those ten seconds, he wasn’t dying anymore. In those ten seconds, they were kids again. In those ten seconds, Allison feared nothing but getting grounded yet another week. And in those ten seconds, Allison felt completely and utterly and unconditionally loved and accepted and home. Her home. Her family. And she knew she was home, and she knew she was family, because at age twenty-five, her dad had grounded her for smoking weed in the house with her boyfriend.
Her boyfriend? No, but in that instant it felt like Roland was her boyfriend. Allison loved him. She loved him and Dr. Capello. She loved Thora and Deacon and even silly old Potatoes O’Brien sleeping soundly on the cot. Even the house Allison loved and the quiet tide and the friendly ocean and the kissing breeze and the comforting clouds and the bright and laughing stars hidden behind them. If one could marry a moment in time, she would have married that one. That moment when the stars were laughing with her and not at her. That moment when the sand in the hourglass was on her side and the house was once again her home.
She and Roland crept down the stairs to her bedroom and crawled under the covers and all over each other, and they didn’t part ways until dawn.
Chapter 19
One almost-perfect week came and went. If Dr. Capello had been well it might have been perfect. It took almost no time for Allison to settle back into the old family patterns, the old groove. In the morning she had breakfast with Thora and Deacon while Roland helped his father shower and dress. Thora and Deacon went to work, and Dr. Capello sat at his desk in his office and played at working while Roland slept. During Dr. Capello’s nap time, Roland would take her to her room. As kids they’d blissfully wasted summer afternoons watching movies or drowsing on the beach. As adults they found better ways to spend their lazy afternoons together. She was woven so easily and so quickly back into the fabric of life at The Dragon that she hadn’t noticed it happening. No one remarked on it. No one treated her like a houseguest. Perhaps the cord had never been broken between her and them. Perhaps all it took was one quick tug, one little stitch to weave her back into the fold. Allison even took up her old chores. Washing the breakfast dishes had been her job, which she did without complaint or even second thought. Her other chore had been straightening the toy room. As there was no toy room anymore, she replaced it with doing laundry.
She was halfway through folding a basket of towels on her eighth morning at The Dragon when her phone rang. The vibration rattled the whole couch and woke up Brien, who’d worn himself out battling with a pair of her underwear she’d let him play with and had fallen asleep against her hip. Allison, too, was startled by the call. She’d forgotten she was expecting one until she saw who was calling.
“McQueen,” she said. “Did you forget about me?”
“No,” he said. “Just took a little longer than I expected.”
No jokes. No flirting. No drunken rambling. Something wasn’t right.
“But you found Oliver’s number, didn’t you?” she asked, suddenly concerned by his serious tone.
“I found some contact information. I’ll email it over to you.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s for his parents,” he said. “His mother is Kathy Collins. The guy she’s married to now is her second husband, not Oliver’s father. She kept her last name.”
“No number for Oliver? He’s around my age. I’d think he’d be on his own by now.”
“Allison...” McQueen said, and from the tone of his voice Allison knew immediately the news was bad, very bad. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but...honey, Oliver’s dead.”
Allison nearly dropped the phone.
“What? How?”
“Just after his fourteenth birthday,” McQueen said, “he shot himself in the head.”
“Fourteen? No way. That would have been right after he left here.”
“I am so sorry.” McQueen sounded like a father now, not her irritating ex-lover. “When Sue told me what she’d found, I made her double-and triple-check before I called you with the news. But it’s all true. I can give you his mother’s phone number like I said and her address if you want to visit and pay your respects.”
“Sure,” she said. “That’s... Yeah, send me that.” She paused. “You don’t know if there was a note or anything? Or a reason he gave?”
“That’s not really Sue’s area,” McQueen said. “We didn’t want to bother his parents by calling. Looks like the father cut out when Oliver was eight or nine, so I don’t know if he could tell you anything. Mother’s the best bet.”