Everything Changes

Norm, and self-flagellation for our having put ourselves in the position, once again, to be abandoned. But Matt sits quietly, I would almost say serenely, were it not for the constant, nervous fidgeting of his hands. “You saw him?” Matt says.
    “Last night,” I say. “I was somewhat hard on him.”
    “Not Norm,” Matt says, shaking his head. “The kid. Henry.” I realize that Matt’s not at all interested in Norm, that he’s, in fact, written him off. Or maybe, unlike me, he’d never actually written him back in to begin with.
    “Yeah,” I say. “I saw him yesterday.”
    “How’d he look?”
    “Yeah, how’d he look?” Pete says. There’s an age-old familiar rhythm to this conversation, Matt asking the questions and processing the information for him and Pete, Pete participating by echoing Matt, while I try to play the role of the answer man for both of them.
    “I don’t know,” I say. I think about it for a moment. “He looked serious. A little lonely.”
    Matt’s nodding has become quick and exaggerated, out of proportion to the conversation, his lips quivering with unbridled emotion. “So,” he says. “When do we go get him?”
    “Yeah, when do we get him?” Pete repeats.
    We haven’t discussed this part yet, the thorny issues of responsibility and guardianship, of lifestyles and lives interrupted. But looking at Matt, I can see that at least for now, such talk is unwarranted, and I feel a rush of affection toward him and Pete, the love of a brother, and some measure of paternal pride as well. “I figured we’d leave first thing in the morning,” I say.
    “Yeah,” Matt says with a nod, getting to his feet and wiping at his eyes with his cuff. “Let’s go now.”

    We’ll take Pete’s Mustang and there’s a poetry to this, the car one brother never should have had being used to fetch the brother we never knew we had. As we’re climbing in, Lela comes running down the stairs, carrying an old child safety seat in her arms, and a large shopping bag clutched in her fingers. “If he’s under forty pounds, he has to sit in a booster seat,” she says. “You just put it on the backseat, not in the middle, and use the regular seat belt.”
    We look at her. “Okay, Mom,” I say. “Thanks.”
    She extends the bag. “Some sandwiches and snacks,” she says. “It’s a long drive. He’ll probably get hungry.”
    Matt takes the bag. “Thanks, Mom.”
    She looks us over critically, slightly out of breath from her last-minute preparations, face flushed, eyes moist, wisps of her frizzed hair floating animatedly around her face. Then she steps forward and pulls off Matt’s Elton John wig. “You’ll freak him out,” she says, rolling up the wig in her hands.
    “Okay,” Matt says, offering her a small, boyish grin.
    We’re all staring at her, surprised, expectant, depending on her. “What?” she says. “Norm might be an ass, but I’ve spent my life loving his children.” She steps forward and gives us each a quick kiss on the cheek. “Now go get him.”

    Pete wants to drive, so after we get across the George Washington Bridge, I switch seats with him. Matt coaches him softly while I dial Delia’s cell phone number in the backseat. “Hello,” I say. “It’s Zachary King.”
    “Who?”
    “Henry’s brother.”
    “Oh, yeah. Did you find Norm?”
    “I did,” I say.
    “And?”
    “Norm’s gone AWOL.”
    “That bastard. I don’t believe it.”
    “We’re kind of used to it.”
    “Well, what the hell am I supposed to do now?”
    “We’re on our way to pick up Henry,” I say, hoping I sound authoritative enough.
    “Who’s we?” she says, instantly suspicious.
    “I’ve got two brothers.”
    There’s a pause on the other end of the phone. “I don’t know you any better than I did yesterday.”
    “Listen,” I say. “He’s our brother and we’re coming to get him. When you meet my brothers, you’ll see that we’re the real deal. We all look alike. My brother Matt looks just like Norm.”
    “Fuck you,” Matt says from the front seat. “I do not.”
    “I have to be at work in an hour,” she says uncertainly.
    “Perfect,” I say. “Where’s work?”

    We pull into the parking lot of Tommyknockers, a self-proclaimed “upscale gentlemen’s club,” as the last light of day is fading over the forlorn Jersey shore. Nothing in Pete’s experience has prepared him for the topless women cavorting on the runway, sliding on poles, and lying on