A Hole in the Universe - Mary McGarry Morris [23]
The front door flew open and the damp-haired children raced through the kitchen, calling for their mother. Gordon stood up as they burst onto the deck. “Come here, Jimmy, Annie,” Lisa said, gathering them close as if suddenly for comfort.
With all three facing him, Gordon’s self-consciousness boiled to a rising panic as Lisa told them how lucky they were to have their wonderful uncle Gordon back home again and with them forever and ever.
“Now you both go give him a great big hug and a kiss,” she said, nudging them along. Jimmy forced a smile. His younger sister glanced back at her mother. “You’ll have to bend down, Gordon,” Lisa said. “Otherwise they can’t reach you.”
He bent forward, but sharing his discomfort, the children tilted their heads away from his clumsy embrace. He felt bad. He had positioned their pictures so that their beautiful faces were his first vision with the morning light into his cell and his last with sleep. Yet he was as much a stranger to them as they were to him.
“Now you go sit in the corner and tell Uncle Gordon all about yourselves,” Lisa said on her way into the kitchen.
Gordon and the children had the same pleading expressions as they watched her go. Though he already knew the answers from Lisa’s letters and visits, he asked Jimmy what grade he was in: Fourth. His teacher’s name: Mr. Kelly. Did he like school? Well, sometimes.
“Sometimes he hates it,” Annie confided, careful to look at her brother and not her uncle.
“No, I don’t!” Jimmy fixed her in his indignant stare. “I never hate school. I just don’t always like it the same, that’s all.”
“Yes, you did! You said you hated it, and Mommy got really mad because we’re not supposed to say ‘hate.’ We’re not supposed to hate anything.”
“You’re not?” Gordon said.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because.” The little girl wet her lips and brushed the long dark hair from her face, conviction growing as she explained that hating was ugly and if you hated something, then you’d be ugly, too, like a creature or some kind of monster everybody was afraid of.
Like your uncle, Gordon thought. His first night here, Dennis had leaped out of his chair when Jimmy pushed his sister out of his way.
“She’s only six, that’s why she still believes in monsters,” Jimmy said, laughing.
“Mom!” Annie called, running inside, leaving Gordon alone with the boy. He couldn’t think of a thing to say.
“What was the jail like?” Jimmy asked.
“Uh, big. It was big. There were a lot of . . . different parts to it.”
“Did you ever try and break out? Like, saw through the bars or something?”
“No. No, I never did anything like that.”
“How come? Didn’t you want to get out?”
“Well, I knew I had to wait. Until it was time. Until—”
“I woulda climbed right over the wall, at night, with black stuff all over my face and these special things on my shoes, like suction cups that’re so strong they—”
“Jimmy,” Lisa said from the doorway. She sent him downstairs to apologize to his sister.
Gordon went inside and watched Lisa cover the zucchini and summer squash with foil wrap. “It’s getting so late. Seven-twenty.” She put the casserole back in the oven. “Maybe we should just start without him.”
“I don’t mind waiting,” he said.
“I do. He’s missed dinner just about every night this week.”
Just then the floor vibrated as the garage door rumbled and then closed again. Dennis hurried into the kitchen, red-faced and breathless with apologies. He had taken a potential investor out to see one of the properties, but then the guy insisted on seeing the other one, which was clear across town, so the time just—
“The grill’s already lit.” Lisa handed him the platter of swordfish.
“I said I was sorry,” Dennis said as she turned abruptly away. He looked at Gordon and rolled his eyes, then touched his shoulder. “Your shirt’s wet. And so are your pants. What happened?”
“I got caught in the sprinkler.