Sawdust and Berries

Chapter 2-2

In the car, Rye and Liam both sat still for a while, their eyes on their parents’ white stucco duplex.

Rye turned the engine off. “Do you think he’ll remember us today?”

Liam drew in a long breath, shaking his head. “Dunno.”

On the way up the stairs, Liam clutched the ramp tightly, letting out another involuntary groan.

Rye knit his eyebrows. “Bro, you really need to do something about that.”

“Yeah, I know. I already am. I got a massage this morning.”

“Oh yeah? Really? You got a massage? Like from a professional?”

“That’s right. Netty goes there. She got me an appointment.”

“That’s nice of her, isn’t it?” Rye’s tone was charged with insinuations.

Before Liam had a chance to ring the bell, their mother opened the door and stood before them, squinting behind her spectacles. “Hi boys.” She let them in. “Your dad fell asleep in his armchair. It’s the medication. I told him you were coming but—”

“It’s okay, Mom.” Rye hugged her frail body.

But Liam’s eyes were on the husky man slumbering in his chair. The drool on his father’s scrubby chin instantly reminded him of the cruelty of this disease.

They came here to visit their dad, but that wasn’t going to happen.

“Where’s Will?” Rye asked, taking a seat in the living room.

At the mention of his name, their baby brother’s face appeared in the kitchen door frame. “Hey guys. Do you want a bloody Caesar?”

Will was by far the prettiest of the Stokes lot. His huge brown eyes changed with his every expression. While Rye and Liam had inherited their father’s solid frame, Will had the more delicate built of their mother. He was long and thin, and in dire need of an afternoon in the sun.

Liam sat on the edge of the couch, half perched, trying to conceal his pain, while Ingrid, their elegant mother, sat in the corner chair, legs crossed. “How’s work?” she asked Liam, leafing through an issue of a Châtelaine magazine.

Their mother had been married to a foreman for forty-four years, and every day of those years, she’d asked her tireless husband that same question, in the same disinterested tone, with the same vagueness in her eyes. Ingrid had fallen in love with Patrick Stokes when he’d been studying architecture and wearing ties. But their eagerness had precipitated everything, and soon, they’d been the proud parents of three boys. Consequently, Pat’s silk ties and school books had been replaced by hardhats and smelly socks. For a decade, Pat had promised Ingrid he’d go back to finish his studies, but of course, he never had.

Now two of her sons were captives of that dreadful business, as she referred to construction work, and Liam suspected she resented them both for it. She’d been a martyr from the day he’d been born.

“Just another parking lot being turned into high rise condos.” Liam tossed his chin up at his father. “Has Dad been lucid?”

His mom pursed her thin lips. “No.”

His father stirred in his seat. Maybe he’d heard Liam’s voice. Liam leaned in, hoping. But no, the old man was still sleeping under his fishing cap. He missed him so much. They’d been so close. All that was fading away like an old picture.

Will set the much appreciated drinks down on the glass table, being careful not to scratch it. The brothers were lined up on the couch in order of birth.

“Look at you three,” Ingrid said, her smile disappearing. Her eyes then shifted to the window and Liam followed her mysterious gaze. His parents lived in a dead end street, in a quiet Point-aux-Trembles neighborhood. There was never anything to look at. But she always seemed to hope.

Rye, who had the attention span of a three year old after a night of Trick or Treating, was already tapping his foot and fidgeting with the TV guide.

Liam couldn’t find anything to say. His mind was full of a million things he couldn’t share.

Finally, Will cleared his throat, and broke the silence. “So, what are you doing for Austin’s birthday?”

If the Stokes brothers didn’t know what to talk about, they talked about Rye’s kids. That was the rule. All of them agreed those boys were the best the Stokes genes could have produced.

“We’re thinking of doing a barbecue,’’ Rye said. ‘‘Like last year. Maybe a pool party.”

“It’s a lot of work for Angie, no?” their mother said reproachfully.

Liam caught a shadow moving across his brother’s face. Ingrid was always on Rye’s case about something or another. He was so much like their father; that was the problem.

“Well,” Rye replied, avoiding his mother’s pressing stare. “You know Angie. She can’t sit still. She gets like that in the last month. Besides, it’s all gonna be outside and I’ll do the cooking. It’s no big deal.” He turned to Liam. “You guys are coming, right?”

Of course they were. They’d never missed their nephews’ birthdays.

Rye poked Liam in the ribs. “Hey, why don’t you invite Netty? Angie would love that.”

Ingrid c****d her head. “Who’s Netty?”

“Yeah Liam?” Will chimed in, his eyes narrowing. ‘‘Who’s Netty?”

They were going to make a big deal out of it, and rightfully so. Liam hadn’t introduced them to a woman since Melissa, and that had been seventeen years ago. “She’s a girl I work with.”

“And you should see this girl,” Rye had to add, “Will, I’m telling you, she’s hotter than a jalapeño.”

Liam shot Rye a mean look. “You can leave the racial slurs at home.”

“Oh come on. Lighten up Liam. It was a joke.”

Liam noticed his mother was definitely interested now. “She’s Mexican?” she asked in earnest.

“She’s from El Salvador.”

“Oh.” His mother was the biggest bigot he’d ever known. The worst kind, too. The kind who never said a prejudiced thing about anybody out loud, so he’d never been able to call her on it.

Rye tried to stir the conversation back to his sons. “Anyways, I was thinking of building the boys a tree house, like the one we had. It would be cool if we could do it together, huh?”

Will was nibbling on his thumb and staring at the floor. “I have a lot of reading to do before the semester starts up.”

“It would be an afternoon here and there. I thought we could…I don’t know.”

They hadn’t done anything together in years, aside from watching their father slip away into an oblivion.

Liam nodded. “Count me in.”

They turned to Will, who shrugged. “Whatever. But don’t expect too much out of me.”

“Right.” Rye slapped Will’s slender thigh. “As if we ever do.”