The Family Fang - Kevin Wilson [125]
“That’s fine, Annie,” Caleb said. “I can tell you the basics and I think you’ll be satisfied. I think you and Buster, of all people, will understand.”
“You’re going to tell us everything,” Annie said. “You and Camille are going to tell us everything, every detail, and we’ll decide whether we’re satisfied or not.”
“It would take a long time to explain everything,” Caleb replied.
“That’s fine,” Annie said.
“Annie?” Buster said, and Annie turned to see that Buster had wandered into the living room, was holding a framed picture. Annie walked over to her brother and stared at the photo: their father, younger; that woman who had once helped create a Fang event; and the twins, maybe seven or eight years old—a family portrait.
“What is this?” Annie said.
“That’s my family,” Caleb said.
“When was this taken?” Buster asked.
“Six years ago, something like that,” Caleb replied.
“Who is this?” Annie asked, pointing to the woman.
“My wife,” Caleb said.
“Dad?” Buster said.
“It’s complicated,” Caleb said.
“Stop talking,” Annie said, tossing the picture to the floor. “Don’t say another word until Camille is here, until all of us are together, and then we’ll talk.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” he said.
Caleb went to the telephone, dialed a number, and then whispered, “It’s me.”
“Is that Mom?” Buster said, but Caleb held his hand up to silence him.
“There’s a problem. We need to talk.” There was a long pause, Caleb listening intently, staring directly at Annie and Buster. “A and B,” Caleb finally said, and then he hung up the phone.
“Was that Mom?” Buster asked, and Caleb nodded.
“We need to drive to the meeting place,” Caleb said. “You two follow me; it’s about forty-five minutes away.”
“We’ll ride together,” Annie said.
“Fine,” Caleb said, taking a baseball cap from the coatrack, stepping outside, waiting for his children to follow him so he could lead them to the place they needed to go.
Annie drove, her father in the passenger seat, and Buster sat in the back, his body leaning forward into the space that separated his sister and his father. “We really started to think that you might be dead,” Buster said to his father. Caleb laughed softly, a hiccup of breath. “That was the idea,” he said. Annie placed The Vengeful Virgins album in the CD player and her father winced. “Can we not listen to this?” he said. “We like it,” Annie said, turning up the volume.
Their father directed them to a mall three towns over, only one level, the anchor stores long out of business. “This is it,” he said, “but when we talk, you need to call me Jim. None of this Caleb bullshit.”
“We’ll try to remember,” Annie said.
“What’s Mom’s name?” Buster asked.
“Patricia,” Caleb said.
“Jim and Patricia Fang,” Buster said.
The three of them walked into the mall, three distinct shapes fitting themselves into a new space.
They found their mother in the food court, sitting alone at a table near a restaurant that sold corn dogs and lemonade. When she saw Buster and Annie, she frowned, then quickly reconfigured the structure of her face into a grimace of sorts. She waved them over. “Hello, Buster,” Camille said. “Hello, Patricia,” Buster said, and Camille immediately looked over at Caleb. “How much do they know?” she asked her husband. “Not a fucking thing,” Annie interjected. “But that’s what you’re going to tell us.” Camille nodded, held up her hands, palms out, in supplication. “Fine, fine,” she said. “Just sit down.”
Camille looked around the table. “How do you want to do this?” she asked. “Should we just start talking, or do you want to ask us questions?” Caleb stated that it would be best if he spoke and then, once he was finished, they could ask questions. Annie shook her head. “We’ll ask questions right now,” she said. “Fine,” Caleb said, seeming to understand finally that his children had the upper hand.
“Why did you disappear?” Annie asked.
Caleb and Camille looked at