A Song for Julia

six o’clock in the morning, and with the delightful calls from my mother, the show, and the accident—I was exhausted.
    Knowing that, I don’t know why I accepted his invitation. Except maybe I was intrigued a little. I followed him up the cinderblock steps to the back door, which he carefully unlocked and opened. The door gave off a high-pitched squeak as it opened.
    Inside was a tiny, cramped and cluttered mudroom, which led into a kitchen. The kitchen and everything in it was old but immaculate. A red and white checked tablecloth covered the table, and one wall held a rack of hanging, well used pots and pans.
    A woman, maybe fifty years of age, sat at the kitchen table engrossed in a book. She waved as we entered, then after a moment closed the book and looked up. When she saw me, she stood up, looking a little startled. “Hello.”
    Crank gave her a wide smile. “Mrs. Doyle, this is my … friend, Julia. Julia, Mrs. Doyle.”
    “It’s nice to meet you, ma’am,” I said.
    “Nice to meet you, Julia.” She turned to Crank and spoke in a disapproving tone. “Isn’t it a bit late to be having visitors?”
    He nodded sheepishly. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Unfortunately, my car is a bit wrecked, and Julia offered me a ride.”
    I tried not to snort. He’d artfully avoided the fact that I was the one who wrecked his car.
    “Oh dear!” Mrs. Doyle said. “I hope no one was hurt.”
    “No, it’s all fine.”
    “And you weren’t drinking, were you?”
    “No drinking, Mrs. Doyle. You know me better than that.”
    She gave him a wry look, but her eyes reflected merriment. “Young man, you’ve been trouble since you were a toddler. You can’t charm your way into my graces.”
    He grinned, and it was the kind of broad, friendly grin that made my heart beat a little faster. “Only because you’re the loveliest and smartest woman in Southie.”
    The woman blushed a bright red! No question: Crank could be very charming when he wanted to be.
    “You rascal,” she said. “I’ll be going now. Sean’s in the living room playing one of his games.”
    “Thanks so much, Mrs. Doyle. You have no idea how big a help it is when you come watch him.”
    She smiled and stood up and Crank … that rascal … took her arms and kissed her on the cheek. She blushed again, then fussed a little as she got her things together and made it out the front door.
    Once she was gone, I followed Crank into the living room.
    Sean wasn’t what I expected. Based on the tone Crank had used when speaking about him, as well as the fact that they juggled babysitting whenever Crank’s father was gone, I was expecting a much younger kid. In fact, Sean looked to be sixteen or seventeen, almost my sister Carrie’s age. When we walked into the room, he was folded up on the couch, knees drawn up to his chest, and his eyes were fixed on the television. His hands held a video game controller, and the screen was a jerky display of mayhem: soldiers shooting, blood splashing, body parts flying everywhere.
    “Hey buddy,” Crank said.
    Sean didn’t respond at first, not until he’d killed his current opponent in the game. Then he paused it and responded in a loud, toneless voice, without looking away from the television, “Are you my brother’s girlfriend?”
    I felt my cheeks go red, and I stammered, “Um, uh …”
    Crank stepped in. “Sean, this is my friend, Julia. I don’t have a girlfriend, you know that.”
    Sean responded, his voice still loud, running his words together quickly. He’d turned his head toward us, but his eyes pointed off to the side, away from me and Crank. “What about the girl you met in Washington? Dad said she might be your girlfriend, and that’s why I shouldn’t talk about her. So I found you on Google, and it said you might get married and that you took her back to your hotel with you.”
    Crank winced, and then he muttered, “Well, that’s awkward, isn’t it?”
    I looked at Crank out of the corner of my eye. He was red-faced. He also had a slight grin.
    “Sean,” I said, and Crank looked over at me, alarmed. “Crank and I are friends, but sometimes, because of who my family is, people write mean things about me. You know what I mean?”
    Sean shifted his head and spoke again, not meeting my eyes. Instead, he looked off somewhere over my right shoulder. I’d never realized how important occasional eye contact was. It was disconcerting to talk with someone who constantly averted their eyes. “Yes,