I’ll Give You the Sun(88)
Author: Jandy Nelson

Noah and I must register the name of the floating paradise at the exact same moment, because we both blurt out, imitating Mom, “Embrace the mystery, Professor.”

The name of this houseboat is The Mystery.

“I know. Was hoping you wouldn’t catch that. And yes, if I weren’t me, if I were you, for instance, Jude, I’d be certain it was a sign.”

“It is a sign,” I say. “I’m in and I’m not even going to mention one of the thousand potential hazards of houseboat living that have flown into my head.”

“What kind of Noah would I be?” Noah says to Dad.

“It’s time,” Dad says, nodding at us.

Then, unbelievably, he puts on some jazz. The excitement in the room is palpable as Noah and Dad continue chopping and dicing. I can tell Noah’s painting in his head while Dad rhapsodizes about what it will be like to dive off the deck for a swim and what an inspiring place it would be to live if only anyone in the family had artistic inclinations.

Somehow it’s us again, with a few motley additions to our wobbly people poles, but us. The imposters have left the premises.

When we returned from the woods, I found Dad in his office and told him about Noah’s CSA application. Let’s just say, I’d rather spend the remainder of my life in a medieval torture chamber rotating from Head Crusher to Knee Splitter to The Rack than see that look on Dad’s face again. I didn’t think he was ever going to forgive me, but an hour or so later, after he talked to Noah, he asked me to go for a swim with him, our first in years. At one point when we were stroke for stroke in the setting sun’s glinting path, I felt his hand squeeze my shoulder, and as soon as I concluded he wasn’t trying to drown me, I realized he wanted me to stop.

Treading there in the middle of the ocean, he said, “I haven’t exactly been there for—”

“No, Dad,” I said, not wanting him to apologize for anything.

“Please let me say this, honey. I’m sorry I haven’t been better. I think I got a little lost. Like for a decade.” He laughed and took a mouthful of salt water in the process, then continued. “I think you can sort of slip out of your life and it can be hard to find a way back in. But you kids are my way back in.” His smile was full of sadness. “I know how crushed you’ve been. And what happened with Noah and CSA . . . well, sometimes a good person makes a bad decision.”

It felt like grace.

It felt like a way back in.

Because, as corny as it may be: I want to be a wobbly people pole that tries to bring joy into the world, not one that takes joy from it.

Bobbing there like buoys, Dad and I talked and talked about so many things, hard things, and after, we swam even farther toward the horizon.

“I’d like to help cook,” I tell the chefs. “I promise I’ll add nothing bible-y.”

Dad looks at Noah. “What do you think?”

Noah throws me a pepper.

But that’s the beginning and end of my culinary contribution, because Oscar has walked into the kitchen in his black leather jacket, hair more unruly than usual, face full of weather. “Sorry to interrupt,” he says. “I knocked, no one answered. The door was open . . .” I’m having déjà vu to the time Brian walked into the kitchen when Mom was baking. I look at Noah and know he’s having it too. Brian still hasn’t responded. Noah spent all afternoon with The Oracle, though. He knows Brian’s at Stanford. I can feel all the news roiling inside him, the possibilities.

“It’s okay. We never hear the door,” I say to Oscar, walking over to him and taking his arm. He stiffens at my touch. Or maybe I imagined it? “Dad, this is Oscar.”

Dad’s once-over is not subtle or generous.

“Hello, Dr. Sweetwine,” Oscar says, back to being the English butler. “Oscar Ralph.” He’s holding out his hand, which Dad shakes, tapping him on the back with the other.

“Hello, young man,” my father says like it’s the 1950s. “And I’m emphasizing the man part intentionally.” Noah laughs into his hand and then tries to pass it off as a cough. Oh boy. Dad’s back. Present and accounted for.

“About that.” Oscar looks at me. “Can we talk for a moment?”

I did not imagine it.

When I reach the doorway, I turn around because I’m hearing odd strangled noises. Dad and Noah are both doubled over behind the counter in hysterics. “What?” I ask.

“You found Ralph!” Noah croaks out and then doubles over again. Dad’s wheezing-laughing so hard he’s succumbed to the floor.

How I’d rather join my ark-mates than hear what I’m about to hear.

• • •

I follow an uncharacteristically grim Oscar out onto the front stoop.

I want to put my arms around him but don’t dare. This is a good-bye visit. It’s engraved all over his face. He sits down on the step and puts his hand on the space beside him so I’ll join him. I don’t want to join him, don’t want to hear what he’s going to say. “Let’s sit on the bluff,” I say, also not wanting Dad and Noah spying on us.

He follows me around to the back of the house. We sit, but so our legs don’t touch.

The sea is calm, the breakers shuffling into shore without conviction.

“So,” he says, smiling a cautious smile, which doesn’t suit him. “I don’t know if it’s okay to talk about this, so stop me if it’s not.” I nod slowly, unsure of what’s coming. “I knew your mother well. I felt like she and Guillermo . . .” He trails off, regards me.

“It’s all right, Oscar,” I say. “I want to know.”

“Your mum was around when I was at my worst, jonesing all the time, bouncing off the walls, afraid to leave the studio because I’d use if I did, afraid of the grief that was leveling me without the booze and drugs to mask it. The studio was different then. G. had tons of students. She used to paint there and I’d model for her just so she’d talk with me.” So Noah was right. Mom was a secret painter.

“Was she Guillermo’s student?”

He exhales slowly. “No, she was never his student.”

“They met when she interviewed him?” I ask. He nods and then is quiet. “Go on.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, please.”

He smiles a truly madhouse smile. “I loved her. It was she more than G. who got me into photography. The strange thing is we used to sit and talk in that church where you and I first met. That’s why I go there so much, it reminds me of her.” This makes the hair on my arms rise up. “We’d sit in the pew and she’d go on and on about her twins.” He laughs. “I mean on and on and on. Especially about you.”