One More Step Page 2

  “OW!” I yelled.

  “What’s going on?” demanded my mother.

  “Nothing” said Nana.

  “Nothing,” I said.

  “You wouldn’t want him to think you’re rude,” Nana whispered when Jean-Paul got up to get another glass of water from the kitchen.

  “No, I wouldn’t,” I said. Then I burped at precisely the moment Jean-Paul sat back down at the table. I thought Nana was going to die.

  “Excuse me,” I said. She kicked me again. Harder this time.

  “Quit kicking me, Nan!”

  “Mom?” said Mom.

  Nana’s face turned the color of cranberry sauce. She gave my mother a what are you going to do about this kid kind of look. I smiled like an angel. Then Chris jabbed me underneath the table with his fork. He gave me the look.

  “Frig off,” I said.

  “Bite me,” he whispered. But everyone heard.

  Mom looked ready to burst into tears.

  “Chérie,” said Jean-Paul, “this meal is délicieux.”

  “Don’t you just love the way he talks?” asked Nana.

  My mother nodded. They were chatting about him as if he wasn’t even there. Talk about being rude.

  Poppie cleared his throat. “After supper, Julian, how about a walk around the block with yer old Poppie? I need to walk off supper before I can try some of that pie.”

  “Sure, Poppie.”

  I’d do just about anything Poppie asked. Then again, he never uses that voice with me. Or gives me the look. He treats me with respect.

  Chapter Four

  Poppie’s in pretty good shape for an old geezer. Still, his knees are bad and we had to walk slowly.

  “Hear it?” he asked.

  “I do.” I said. It was that far away lonesome whistle of a train in the night. Poppie had been a train conductor for over forty years. It’s a job I wouldn’t mind doing, I think. Anyhow, he still hears every train for miles around even though he’s retired.

  His retirement party was really something.

  “These here are my sons, Chris and Julian,” he said to his buds.

  “You mean your grandsons,” someone corrected him. They’d all had a bit to drink.

  “Well, I guess they are at that,” he said. “But I only had girls so these are the sons I never had.” Then he squeezed us tight and kissed us on the forehead. In front of everyone.

  The thing I like most about Poppie is he seems to understand how I feel without me saying everything. And he says a lot without talking things to death.

  “Good day?” he asked.

  “I suppose,” I said.

  “Not used to having another man around, huh?”

  “No.”

  “You’ve had your mother all to yourself since you were a baby.”

  “You think I’m jealous, Poppie?”

  He shrugged. “Would you look at that place? Lord, what a lighting bill they’re gonna have.” He pointed to a house up ahead. Even the top of the outdoor gazebo and their birdbath was strung with white lights.

  “That’s Anna Jenkins’s house.”

  “Girlfriend?”

  “I wish.”

  “Looking forward to the ski trip with your Dad?”

  “Totally. It’s gonna be awesome. Just Chris, Dad and me. That’s a first. I’m taking snowboarding lessons and everything.”

  “That where they look like they’re all on surfboards on the snow? Then they turn ass over kettle in the air?”

  “Yep. That’s’ it.”

  “Cool, cool,” he said.

  I laughed until he pushed me into a snow bank and rubbed my face with snow. Then he put me in a headlock. “Listen pecker-head,—you be fair with your mother, hear me good. She’s happier than I’ve seen her for a long time. He seems like an okay guy. Don’t forget, she’s still my baby girl! Now say uncle.”

  “Uncle!”

  “Louder!”

  “Uncle!”

  For an old guy, he’s pretty darn strong. Even though he joked the whole time, I knew he meant every word he said. I heard every word too.

  “I suppose he can’t be much worse than Smokey,” I mumbled.

  “Who the hell was Smokey?” asked Poppie.

  “Numero Two,” I replied.

  “Refresh my memory,” said Poppie. “You mean Kirk something or other?”

  “Yeah. The guy reminded me of an ape. Nice enough. But when he walked he sort of dipped in the middle. His arms were so long that his knuckles almost scraped the ground.”

  I did a great imitation. Poppie was wheezing, he was laughing so hard.

  “Smokey had chest hair that looked more like fur. It grew all the way up to his neck and out his shirt collar. It grew on his ear-lobes. Out of his nose. Once, when we went swimming at the Y, I saw this fur also grew on his back.

  “I called him Cave Man first time I met him. Chris called him Tarzan. When we learned he was a forest ranger we started calling him Smokey. As in Bear.

  “Compared to the bug professor, Smokey was a cheery sort of dude. Almost too cheery. He laughed at everything. All the time. The way chimpanzees do that e-e-e-e o-o-o thing.”

  “Come on, he wasn’t that bad, was he?” asked Poppie.

  “Honest, Poppie, he was. And, he smelled. I guess because he was in the woods all the time for his job, he smelled like the outdoors.”

  “That’s a good smell.” He took a deep breath to make his point.

  “Not a fresh air smell. More… muddy. Like potatoes when you dig them out of the ground. Like rotten leaves. When I asked Chris how Mom could stand the smell, he came right to Smokey’s defense and told me Mom was going through a nature phase. You know Chris, Poppie, always the good guy.”

  “You mother’s always loved the outdoors,” Poppie said protectively.

  “Yeah, but she was going overboard. She even bought hiking boots. Then she got it in her head that we should all go on a camping trip.

  “We begged and borrowed camping gear. We planned for two weeks. Mom said it was going to be a bonding time for us all. We even had our bicycles on a rack. Smokey had rigged it up. ‘Special for the trip,’ he giggled. A whole weekend of his laughing was going to drive me bananas. And that smell? In a tent?

  “It was pouring rain the day we set off. Mom was convinced that the sun would be shining by the time we arrived. It was as if she thought she could control the weather.”

  “I can,” interrupted Poppie, “can’t you?”

  “Poppie!”

  “Go on. Go on.”

  “Well, sure enough, the rain stopped long enough for us to set up. Smokey, for all his years in the forest, didn’t even know how to put up the tent. He was only interested in drinking beer while Mom and Chris struggled with the tent. After three beers Smokey was ready to hibernate, but Mom insisted we go for a bike ride. The ride was fun until about halfway through. Then the sky seemed to bloom. Huge flowers of clouds surrounded us. They were the same color as pencil lead when you press tight.

  “It didn’t rain. It hailed. And the lightening began. The hail hit us like bullets. We looked like we had the measles. Each pellet left teeny red welts all over our bodies. We were wearing our bathing suits.

  “Smokey tried to get us to take cover under a tree. During a lightning storm! Mom was not impressed! We rode as if our lives depended on it. The hail had changed to rain before we made it back to camp. Smokey, the last one out of the tent, had forgotten to put down the front flap.

  “The tent? Flooded. Our sleeping bags? Soaking, soggy, sopping.

  “We spent the night in a cheap hotel room down the road. We ate fried clams and French fries for supper. That meal was the only good thing that came out of the weekend.

  “When we asked Mom where Smokey was a week later, she started to cry. Then she laughed. Bizarre. To this day Chris refers to Smokey as the boyfriend who tried to electrocute us all. A forest ranger who instructs you to take shelter under a tree during a lightening storm? Makes you
think his brother the chimp had more brains than him. Who could blame Mom for saying good-bye to Smokey? Not me. No way.”

  “Always wondered what happened to that one,” said Poppie, wiping the tears of laughter away. I love making him laugh.

  Chapter Five

  After dessert, Chris and I packed our bags for Dad’s. Mom stood in the doorway like she always does.

  “Got clean underwear? Toothbrushes? Gloves? Hats?”

  You’d think after thirteen years she’d get used to us leaving every other weekend and Christmas Day. But no.

  She has this way of looking all pathetic and orphaned. Except this time Jean-Paul put his arm around her.

  Dad came to the door. That was unusual for him.

  “Merry Christmas, Molly,” he said to my mother. He wasn’t looking at her though. He was giving Jean-Paul the once-over.

  “Merry Christmas, Dan,” she replied. “Dan, Jean-Paul; Jean-Paul, Dan.”

  They shook hands. My father’s a big guy. I saw Jean-Paul wince from his grip.

  “Pleased to meet you,” said my father. But he was looking at my mother then.

  “The playzhur, it’s all mine.” said Jean-Paul.

  Chris and I high-tailed it to the jeep. I thought we’d die laughing.

  “Next they’ll start to butt heads,” gasped Chris.

  “Bye, Ma! Love ya,” we shouted.

  “Call me!”

  “So what do you think of the frog?” I asked Dad the minute he got back inside the jeep.

  “You’re racist,” snapped Chris.

  “Am not! He’s a scuba diver, isn’t he? So, he’s a Frogman? Get it?”

  “He’s a nice guy, Dad,” said Chris. He batted the back of my head.

  “Actually, he beat me three times, and I think he’s a child molester, too.”

  Dad roared. If Mom were here she’d be giving me a lecture. But she wasn’t here so we laughed. Even Chris.

  “So, Jules, how’s it going?”

  I cringed. I knew what would come next. Sure enough. Dad slapped his hand down on my thigh and squeezed. It’s his way of showing affection. I know that. But jeez, does he have to pinch so hard?

  “Good.” I pounded his leg. There, I thought, we have just hugged hello.

  “Male bonding is beyond me,” my mother would say with sarcasm. “Men still need to learn how to express their more feminine sides.”

  Just as I was hearing her voice, Chris farted. “Ahhh, that felt good,” he said. My father burped with his mouth open wide as the Grand Canyon. I sat there and scratched my balls in comfort.

  Good thing Mom wasn’t in the jeep.

  At Dad’s place, the kids had already overdosed on candy canes.

  “They’re even more hyper than usual,” Erika said as we hung up our coats.

  “That’s a scary thought,” said Chris.

  “Sure it’s safe to come in?” I added.

  “Ohh, you two! Merry Christmas,” she laughed. She had to stand on tiptoes to kiss our cheeks.

  “I’ll need a stepladder soon if you two keep growing so fast!”

  I know I’m supposed to rag on about my stepmother. As in the wicked stepmother. Erika’s wicked all right. As in she rocks! Not that I’d ever want to mess with her. She’s Irish. She makes good stew beef and the best pumpkin pie I ever tasted. She makes cute kids, too. Even if they are all “yanging orangutans” as Dad calls them.

  Here’s the photo album of my stepfamily. These are my favorite pictures. I keep them in my head.

  Snapshot Number One:

  Hanna Melanie Hall. Born April 3, five years ago. She has white blonde hair that looks like cotton candy. Her eyes remind me of wet blueberries. She reads better than I can. Her favorite book of all time is Go Dog Go. I’ve read that to her a bazillion times. When she gets tired she rubs the tip of her nose with her ratty flannel blanket and twirls a piece of her hair. When she’s cranky, you do not, I repeat, do not, want to go near her. In this picture she is blowing out candles on her third birthday cake. I’m the guy holding the balloons. Mom gave me that bunch for free.

  Snapshot Number Two:

  Luke Ferguson Hall. Born September 12, three years ago. Luke would be the runt of the litter if he were a puppy. If he were a puppy, he’d be a miniature poodle. He’s got thick, black curls all over this teeny little head. His head still looks too big for his body. His eyes are as enormous as those cartoon characters he’s always watching. He drools when he sleeps and he drools when he’s awake.

  “Shut your mouth Lukie,” they’re always telling him. So the spit won’t run down his chin. Poor kid. No wonder he doesn’t talk much.

  “We’re taking him to a speech therapist,” said Erika last month. “We’re getting worried.”

  In this picture Lukie’s riding piggyback. I’m the horse.

  Snapshot Number Three:

  Maddie (Madison) Marie Hall. Born on my birthday, July 26th, this year. Hair sticking up like porcupine quills. Peeling skin with a scrunchy face from all that crying.

  “She’s colicky,” says Dad. “Hasn’t slept a night through since she was born. Should have stopped while we were ahead, I guess.” Poor Maddie, I suppose she’ll grow up hearing that over and over and over again. His line for me goes something like, “I think we had Julian to try and save our marriage. Our last hope.” More like hopeless, I guess.

  In this picture Maddie’s looking into the camera and smiling like a little pumpkin. I’m the one taking her picture. I’m the one who can always make her laugh.

  Snapshot Number Four:

  Dad. The man I learned to call Dad. He’s not my father. I mean, he’s my blood father, but it’s complicated. I see him with Lukie and the other kids. I watch him with Chris. It’s different with me and we both know it. Does he love me? Sure. Do I love him? I guess. Love’s not the issue here. But do we like each other?

  I think he’s a goof. Always spouting off without thinking. He drinks. This pisses me off. “He’s a harmless drunk who holds down a good paying job,” says Chris. This is true. He’s a foreman at the lumberyard. And he doesn’t smash the furniture or push Erika around. Still. When I see him drooling like Lukie at the end of the kitchen table, his eyes little slits in his head as he staggers up to bed, I hate him. I hate him for being that… weak. Big Strong Dan Hall. Not.

  Anyhow, in this picture he is wearing a brown checkered shirt. He’s asleep on a striped blue sofa. He has sideburns. There’s a baby tucked in his arms, fast asleep. The baby is me. This picture is the only proof I have that once upon a time we lived under the same roof. So much for happily ever after.

  Chapter Six

  The house is a zoo at the best of times. Smells like it too with all those diapers soaking in the bathroom. We bought the baby a box of disposable diapers for Christmas. It’s a hint. Yep, there’s racket and whining all the time; toys in the middle of every room. Christmas only means more chaos. Even sitting can be dangerous.

  “Lego Man just bit me in the butt,” Chris said as we settled onto the sofa.

  “DID YOU SAY EGGS IN A BOAT WITH A HORSE?”

  We both jumped.

  “Grammy Hall, sorry! Didn’t see you there.” She was sitting in a chair in the corner. Hanna had piled a bunch of stuffed toys on top of her. Chris got up and gave her a peck on the cheek.

  “Merry Christmas, Grammy.”

  “SPEAK UP YOUNG MAN! I’M HARD OF HEARING.” Actually, she’s almost deaf. Also, loopy.

  “MERRY CHRISTMAS, GRAMMY!”

  “MERRY CHRISTMAS YOURSELF, ALBERT. ARE YOU GOING TO GO TO BINGO TONIGHT?”

  “Who’s Albert?” I asked Dad as he brought in some potato chips and Coke. I knew his was spiked with rum.

  “Who knows?” he shrugged. “Time to open your presents, guys.”

  Who says having two families is so bad?

  “Holy Cow!” said Chris. He had just opened his “big” present. We always got tons of little ones from “Santa” and one big one.

  “Loo
k at this, would ya?” It was a 35-millimeter camera. “Cool, cool.”

  “Julian, open yours now!” Hanna wiggled in beside me. “I helped wrap it!”

  “Awesome,” I said. It was a camcorder.

  “Figured we’d take lots of pictures this week. And we need some of us in action, too.” Dad was grinning from ear to ear.

  “They costed the very same, too,” piped in Hanna. “Mommy told Daddy.”

  After another turkey dinner and another helping of squash which I ate just to be polite, we settled in to watch the basketball game. Dad had taped it for us earlier.

  After the game everything came unglued.

  “Dan!” shouted Erika from the kitchen. “Could you keep Lukie in there with you? I need an extra set of hands in here!”

  “Jules, get Lukie!” ordered Dad. That voice. The one that makes me want to say, no frickin’ way. But it was Christmas. I had a camcorder. I went into the kitchen just as Erika popped her breast out of her shirt to feed Maddie.

  “Oh, Jesus!” I covered my eyes. “Sorry, Erika. Lukie, come on.”

  When I went back to the living room, Grammy Hall was pointing out the window.

  “LIGHTS ARE OUT! LIGHTS ARE OUT! CAN’T PLAY BINGO WITH NO LIGHTS!”

  “Relax, Mom,” said Dad. But it was true. Half the Christmas tree lights on the tree outside had blown. He couldn’t have cared less. It was all he could do to keep his eyes open by that point.

  Well, Grammy Hall was not a happy camper. She sprang out of her chair like some sort of jack-in-the-box. With her mouth puckered up like an elastic waistband, she shuffled on over to him. Then she biffed him on the ear with a rolled up newspaper. Chris and I almost lost it.

  “FIX THE LIGHTS, ALBERT!”

  Okay, okay, Ma,” he said and stood up. Well, wobbled up is more like it.

  “Jules, you stay here with Lukie. Chris, come help me with the damn lights, okay?”

  Right. Leave me inside with the crazy woman and the kids.

  We watched from the window. I got out the camcorder. It was quite a show.

  Dad stumbled around in the snow and almost banged Chris on the head with the ladder. I could see they were arguing about who would go up the ladder and figure out which bulb was burnt out. Dad won.