Mean Season

“Looks like two hundred and eight pickup,” I said, doing the math.

“Two hundred eight pickup,” Beau Ray said. He threw his solitaire pile into the air. On the outside, it looked celebratory, the cards fluttering around him like petals and whirligigs. But he didn’t look happy.

“Momma says we’ve got to clean this up. Help me get the cards into a big pile, okay?”

Beau Ray nodded but didn’t move. I started gathering the cards into one pile and finally he shrugged, then helped a little. I told him that I wanted him to ask before he took the deck of rose cards, and even though I was trying not to sound mad about it, Beau Ray started to rock back and forth as he did when he sought to comfort himself.

“Beau Ray, it’s okay,” I said. “I’m not yelling at you. It’s just that they belong in my room—like this is your room and your cards live here, right?”

He nodded, but I knew that we’d be having the same conversation again about something else, some other thing he found and would take or break or both. I’d learned not to become too attached to things since Beau Ray’s fall. Nothing lasted.

Beau Ray was a good guy—at least, he meant to be. That he’d always been mellow, even back when he was functioning at normal levels, was a saving grace. I’d heard stories of people, brain-injured like him, full of adult-sized rage but without the ability to put it anywhere. So my brother marked Raoul’s departure by throwing four packs of playing cards in the air. That wasn’t so bad.

Maybe an hour later, I was in my room replacing the rose-backed cards in my desk drawer when Joshua opened Vince’s door. He stood in the doorway, stock-still for a moment, staring across the hall into my room. He looked both sleepy and mad, like a toddler roused too early from a nap. His dark hair curled out in different directions. Then he shuffled across the hall and stood at my bedroom door, frowning out my window toward the yard below and the street beyond. He looked down at his left ankle, where the gray plastic sensor with a locked band hung. He shook his left foot, and I could hear the plastic rattle and thud against his skin.

“So it’s not a bad dream,” he said. “Fuck.”

“You awake?” I asked him and then cringed to myself. It was a stupid question, given that he was standing before me, his eyes open. “You want to see the rest of the house now?”

Joshua shrugged. “I guess. Whatever. Why the fuck not?”

He hated us, I thought, if he could be goaded to feel anything at all. At least, he acted like he hated us, and as Judy had pointed out, Joshua Reed was a fine actor.

“Great. I’ll give you the grand tour,” I told him.

I thought about what Judy had told me to do—or rather, how she’d told me to act. But still I heard myself being nice to him before I knew if I wanted to be, before I’d even thought about what I wanted. No one ever noticed, I don’t think—that I tended to be nice as pie even when I didn’t mean it. But it was a quirk that bugged me, and I realized that if I were going to be aloof to Joshua, I’d have to become a better actress. I’d have to practice.

He’d already seen most of the upstairs, what there was to it. He’d seen his room, and mine, and the hall bathroom. Besides that, there was Momma’s bedroom and Susan’s old bedroom, which had years back been converted into the sewing room where Momma did all her machine piecing. I pointed out both rooms on the way downstairs, but Joshua didn’t seem to care. There was a lot of shrugging.

Downstairs, Beau Ray sat on the couch watching This Old House on television. He had quieted down and for that, Momma had given him a slice of cake. Momma sat beside him, stacking fabric squares. She nodded up at us.

“Joshua, this is my brother Beau Ray. Beau Ray, say hello,” I said.

Beau Ray didn’t look up.

“Beau Ray, it’s polite to say hello,” I said.

“Hello,” he said but still didn’t look up.

A streak of chocolate icing colored his face, across his mouth and cheek. I usually wouldn’t have cared about something like that, but I remember being a little embarrassed just then.

“Joshua’s going to be our house guest for the summer,” Momma said. “Isn’t that nice?”

Joshua looked a little uncomfortable. Beau Ray finally tore his eyes from the television set and glanced up at Joshua.

“Hey, man,” Joshua said.

Beau Ray’s eyes went wide. “That’s!” Beau Ray said. He pointed at Joshua Reed, then turned to me with an incredulous smile, mouth open, icing everywhere. “That’s!” he said again.

I had to smile back. Anyone would have.

“Yes. It is,” I said. “Remember how I was telling you? And you didn’t believe me.”

Beau Ray scrambled to his feet, his eyes locked on Joshua the whole time. Chocolate crumbs fell to the floor and got mashed into the carpet as Beau Ray rushed over and enveloped Joshua in a huge hug. Joshua looked at me like he could use some guidance.

“It’s!” Beau Ray said, hugging him close.

“Now, now, dear,” Momma told my brother. “Of course you’re excited but let the man alone!”

But Beau Ray was a lot beefier than Joshua, and he was holding on tight.

“It’s!” Beau Ray said again, laughing a little. His laughter shook Joshua up and down.

“It’s cool, man,” Joshua said, but I thought he looked sort of scared. His arms flapped a little—as much as they could pinned beneath the hug.

“Beau Ray, please let go of him. You’ve got the whole summer to hug him,” I said. I must have sounded serious because Beau Ray released Joshua, then came to my side. He poked me in the shoulder, like I hadn’t seen Joshua yet or if I had, didn’t realize the magnitude of amazement he warranted.

“Cool man,” Beau Ray said to me, poking me hard.

“Ouch. I know,” I said.

Joshua was catching his breath. He’d taken a couple steps away from Beau Ray and was wiping chocolate icing from his cheek.

“I’ll get you a towel for that,” Momma said. “You got some on your shirt, too. I’ll get the soap.”

“Really, don’t bother,” Joshua said, but she was already halfway to the kitchen.

“Beau Ray,” I said. “Have you cleaned your room? Because I want to show Joshua your room, but I want to make sure it’s clean first.”

“It’s clean,” Beau Ray said, still staring, as if Joshua might disappear if he looked away.

“Really?” I asked.

Beau Ray cast his eyes to the floor. The playing cards had been only the top layer of disorganization. I’d taught Beau Ray to throw all his things into the closet and shut the door if he couldn’t actually get them put away in time for company to see. I figured that’s what still needed doing.

“I’m gonna go clean my room,” Beau Ray said. “Cool man.” He smiled at Joshua and hustled off. Joshua stared after him.

“He was just excited to meet you. He’ll calm down,” I told him. “He’s the one I was telling you is disabled.”

“I see it didn’t stunt his size,” Joshua said.

“He used to play a lot of football,” I said.

“When did, you know, his head happen? You said it was a fall?” Joshua asked.

“I was thirteen,” I said, trying to remember. “It was January, so he was seventeen. So twelve years ago. He’s turning thirty this summer. You’ll be here.”

Downstairs, in addition to the living room with the TV and the two couches and Dad’s old reading chair, there was Beau Ray’s room and his bathroom, the dining room and the kitchen. Another set of stairs, near the door of the kitchen, led farther down, to the washing machine and the swampy basement with the Ping-Pong table that no one ever used, the computer Judy bought me, and my fan club filing cabinet. Joshua didn’t say anything as I showed him around. He sniffed a bit and frowned a lot, but he didn’t say a word.