Day Forty-Six
Jesse sat bolt upright in bed, awakened by the strangest sense of déjà vu.
He glanced over to see Norman sound asleep, having taken a sedative after their company left, leaving Jesse with a huge mess to clean in the kitchen after their disastrous night, not to mention an emotional quagmire to contend with, too.
At least the cleaning had proved cathartic; he packed leftovers in perfect glass containers and stacked them in the fridge, the dishes fit almost mathematically in the dishwasher, and the largest pots he washed by hand.
He thought sleep might come from pure exhaustion, and maybe it did for a time.
Jesse’s head still pounded and he wondered how many Excedrin was too many to take in one twenty-four-hour period.
He removed the novel splayed open across Norman’s chest; it went from the mundane to an apt metaphor, the Norman of late an open book.
Mafalda was at the foot of the bed, between their feet, eyes open, and she raised a single brow with curiosity.
Harlan had fortuitously rented a hotel room for himself and Lally in Palm Springs so they could spend some needed time alone, and after dinner and more awkward chitchat they had left with his mother after calling to confirm that the hotel had an available room.
Luisa confessed she was having second thoughts about retirement, and with the school’s accreditation up for renewal maybe now was not the best time for a new chair.
Brian gave Jesse clear marching orders to write exactly what had transpired that night—he’d never experienced a better family saga, on the page or off, and he didn’t want to see Jesse wait another decade between books.
No one said it, but it was agreed what Jesse and Norman needed most was space, and they all said rushed goodbyes before the dessert course.
Jesse sent Randall home with six of the Bundt cakes and he seemed delighted to have them, asking if they would freeze. Now the house was eerily still.
Jesse reached for the water glass he usually kept bedside only to discover it wasn’t there.
Annoyed, he pulled back the covers and placed his feet on the floor, toying with the rolling pin before standing.
Quietly, so as not to wake Norman, he made his way to the kitchen guided by moonlight, wearing nothing but Norman’s old It-alien T-shirt—while it was still short, it fit him much better now; Mafalda followed behind him, her feet making a gentle pat pat pat on the concrete floors.
Instead of water, he opened the freezer and went straight for the lemon gelato they never got the chance to serve.
The first bite melted on his tongue, earthy and sweet.
All those tubs of frosting, and he should have been eating this.
Since he was awake and the sugar was hitting, Jesse thought he should at least make use of the quiet by preparing a lesson; no doubt after tonight’s performance, Luisa would certainly be auditing his next class.
He was once again teaching humor writing alongside a full course load, which required careful juggling.
Maybe if he finished the semester strong, he would still have a chance at department head; second thoughts or not, she could only warm the seat for so long.
He went to the closet, where he’d stashed a messy pile of his work papers to clear the table for company, and was surprised to find a book wedged between a box and the wall.
Even with his long arms, he could just graze it with his fingertips, and when he leaned farther his head pressed against the door and he heard a disconcerting pop in his neck and felt heat run down his side.
But he was still able to wrestle the book free and was shocked to see what it was: How to Be Funny in Eight Steps by Peter Killjoy, the book Luisa had tried to assign his first class.
How did that get in here? Jesse wondered. He thought he’d thrown it away. Still, he picked it up, amused, both by how ugly the cover was and that it, like Norman, had made its return. He took it to the kitchen to read as he ate the rest of the gelato.
Jesse flipped open the book to chapter seven, which was enthusiastically titled Use a Character Switch!
The man loved an unnecessary exclamation mark.
Peter Killjoy began by saying in almost any given story there were multiple characters, usually with distinct points of view.
The three little pigs are the vulnerable ones as they try to protect their houses.
The Big Bad Wolf, however, is the aggressor, the menace.
No shit. Jesse looked for a logo on the spine to see who published such drivel.
He felt inspired to write a strongly worded letter of complaint, even if he knew Brian would advise him against it.
Why antagonize publishers when you’re so close to publishing again?
Still, Killjoy was living up to his name.
Jesse read on. Killjoy posited, what if in telling the story, the pigs were the assholes and the wolf the poor victim?
Wouldn’t there be humor to be found in that?
Jesse rage-ate more gelato and massaged his sore neck.
He closed the book, looking around for a place to put it.
The junk drawer seemed apt, but he didn’t want to see it every time he needed a Post-it or battery.
As much contempt as he held for the book, he just couldn’t see throwing it away.
It was still, after all, a book. He tucked it aside to deal with later and opened his phone to make a note on his calendar app to bring some books to Goodwill.
The logo next to the notes app was for the app Norman had used now more than a year ago to send signals into the sky.
Looking back, he had a vague recollection of downloading it in the early days of Norman’s disappearance and logging in on his phone—Norman had used their joint credit card and his password was not hard to guess.
In his desperation, he thought maybe it would be a way to reach Norman, to send a few signals of his own; nothing much happened at the time.
Tonight he opened it with great hesitation, even though he was far from a believer.
He felt a slight tingle in his index finger as soon as he touched the widget, a sensation decidedly not radiating from his neck.
Mafalda growled, low and guttural; Jesse shushed her so that she wouldn’t wake Norman.
Then, after a moment of halting silence, he felt it, too, a violent jolt, and the whole house shook.
Jesse grabbed the counter to keep from falling, the plastic lid to the gelato clattering onto the floor.
Outside, sudden winds whipped through the remaining tamarisk trees, the branches of one hitting the side of the house with a steady and growing drumbeat, and water from the pool sloshed over the side.
Earthquake, Jesse thought, and mentally scouted the nearest doorframes.
But the house didn’t have many doorframes.
He reached for Mafalda, who darted under the table, and as he pursued her, he saw the light.
The light was soft and flattering, not blinding as he’d remembered, but there was no mistaking what it was.
Almost as confirmation, it grew brighter, at first imperceptibly, as if someone were raising a dimmer switch with the gentlest touch.
Jesse was at the sliding door to the yard, unaware of how he had arrived from the kitchen; the gelato spoon still dangling from his mouth was pushed sideways as he pressed his face against the glass.
A Character Switch. Peter Killjoy, you son of a bitch. Perhaps you know whereof you speak. Jesse thought he might have to revise his entire curriculum because there was something funny about this. Poetic even. Jesse pulled the spoon from between his gritted teeth and slid open the doors.
He was instantly bathed in the most perfect warmth.
The comfort a lizard feels sunning himself on a rock.
The tingling sizzle of a tanning bed. The heat he used to feel as the object of Norman’s desire.
The safety he once upon a time got from his mother.
The feeling he used to get when he would imagine playing catch with his dad.
Pool water evaporated into a fine mist, creating a fog that equaled the one in his head, but at long last his headache was gone.
He felt total, embracing peace. Somehow he heard Richard Attenborough narrating the scene.
The specimen of Homo sapiens, remarkable only for its unusual height, walks slowly into the light, unaware that its fate has already been sealed.
The tousled bedhead and worn fabric covering his upper torso might to some feel part of a mating display, but in this mammal’s case broadcasts a deep laziness.
The watering hole would seem like a natural place for mammals to gather, but this representative of his species seems almost embarrassed by it, taking great steps to walk around it.
He freezes in his tracks, sensing something watching him.
The narration stopped abruptly as Jesse turned back to the house to see Norman standing just inside the door with an expression only he could recognize; it was the same expression that must have been plastered across his own face the night that Norman left.
Pained. Shocked. He knew how this played out.
Norman shook his head and mouthed, Don’t.
Mafalda, standing next to him, barked her own warning.
Jesse didn’t know how to explain it, it was a just a feeling deep in his soul.
Fix things with Norman, he heard his mother say.
And it was true, Norman had found his way home.
But now it was his turn. He felt the draw Norman had that first night.
“I WANT WHAT YOU HAVE!” he shouted. He wanted trust. He wanted passion.
He wanted to want profoundly everything he already had.
He wanted to say yes to Norman’s proposal.
He wanted what used to be. He wanted to feel love again.
He wanted certainty. And if it was meant to be, he would find his way back.
Norman understood. He had to. But great sadness fell across his face, like this was an unnecessary exercise, one they might both regret.
And there was a sadness to it, like cheating on someone as revenge for being cheated on yourself.
No good could come from that. But how could it be a mistake?
Norman himself said that it was the light that led him back to Jesse.
And now it would lead Jesse back to him.
He hoped.
Jesse’s eyes welled with tears as he stood at the very edge of the light, which kissed and tickled his skin. Every hair on his body stood on end. “I love you,” Jesse whispered.
Not hearing him, Norman cupped his ear.
“I LOVE YOU!” Jesse cried. They were the last words he spoke before he felt his toes leave the ground.
Norman darted from the house, Mafalda on his heels, but they were no match for the light, which pulled Jesse higher and held him tighter.
I should have brought pants, he thought, bracing himself for certain embarrassment.
No matter. We begin our time here naked, we can finish it that way, too.
He looked down quickly one last time. Their house was a thing of beauty, a real oasis in the desert—the pool only added to its majesty; together they had built something remarkable.
Why could he never have seen it like this before?
Then where his headache had been he heard an echo.
The faintest whisper.
Dad.
And then just as quickly as the light appeared, everything went dark.