he said, and bent down to pick a twig that stuck out of his sandal like a flag.
Peter sensed uneasiness in his mother. She waved Peter over and he obeyed, wondering if she had a problem at work. When he reached her, he whispered, “How did it go today?”
“Good. I think I have my first client.” She looked at Josh. “I recently started working again. As a realtor.”
Josh nodded. “Congratulations.” He twisted the cap off a water bottle. “I asked Peter if he could help me for a minute. I hope you don’t mind.”
Peter noticed the pause before his mother answered.
“Of course not. What are you building? A third floor or a ladder to poke the clouds for rain?” she said and laughed. The laugh didn’t sound right to Peter. It was the same fake laugh she used with Josh’s mother.
“Just a project,” Josh said with a shrug.
Abby nodded, though visibly not satisfied with the answer. “I’m really sorry to hear about your parents. Is there anything we could do to help?”
Josh shrugged again.
Abby shifted her weight from one leg to the other. “Yeah, well . . . if you can think of anything. What do you say we go check on Uncle Herb, guys?”
CJ took off. Peter half-waved to Josh as he left, avoiding eye contact mainly because he felt Josh’s eyes on him. Inside, Peter ran to the kitchen window facing Josh’s house and watched as Josh pointed at the bundles of wood, counting.
From behind, Peter heard Uncle Herb’s wheelchair buzz into the house from the backyard and his mother saying, “I’m so sorry, Herb.”
“Me too, Uncle Herb,” CJ added.
Peter turned to the French doors in the kitchen that led to the back patio. Uncle Herb was there smiling, half of his face and hairless head completely sunburned, while the other half, his normal shade. He fell asleep on the back porch only partly protected from the sun. He looked like a fishing bob.
Abby left the kitchen and returned with a jar of moisturizer and dropped the container in CJ’s lap. She held a small mirror in front of Uncle Herb’s face. He laughed at his reflection.
She patted Herb’s arm, then asked, “Did anyone call?”
The answer came in chorus: No, nope, and no-o-o.
By the way she paused before grabbing the cordless phone and marching out of the kitchen, Peter knew anyone meant his father.
CJ dragged a stool over to Uncle Herb and climbed to the top. Standing on the circular seat, she opened the moisturizer jar and starting rubbing cream on her uncle’s head.
“The burn might not have been so bad if you had more hair, Uncle Herb,” Peter said. Uncle Herb had only a few strands, each combed over to the side.
“Anks, Pita.”
For every glob of moisturizer that managed to reach Uncle Herb’s head, twice as much fell on the floor or on some part of CJ. With the back of one hand, she wiped at a smudge on her cheek, only to smear it down to her earlobe. She asked, “What is Josh building?”
“I don’t know,” Peter said.
“Did you ask him?”
“No,” Peter said, defensively. “You should have seen what happened when the truck driver asked.”
CJ wiped her hands on her shirt. “Josh is weird,” she said. She jumped down from the top of the stool, landing on her feet, then fell on her knees. She placed her hand on Uncle Herb’s leg. “All done, Uncle Herb.”
Uncle Herb pushed the joystick of his wheelchair and it jerked forward, almost hitting CJ.
They all found this to be the funniest thing in the world.
Bath Time
After dinner Peter helped his mother bathe Uncle Herb. The setting sun immersed the bathroom in golden hues as they lowered Herb slowly, propping his back against the back of the acrylic tub. Peter held him steady. They worked fast and in unison like a pit crew.
Uncle Herb watched the bathwater engulf him. “Tie-umin-in,” he said. Tide coming in.
Peter remembered the first time he’d helped bathe Uncle Herb, so nervous he could’ve puked on the spot. It felt so unnatural seeing a naked adult so close. His mother, annoyed at his transparent awkwardness, yelled at him. “There’s nothing that he has that you don’t,” she said, which embarrassed Peter because she’d said it right in front of Uncle Herb. It wasn’t even a true statement. Peter’s chest was as hairless as a baby chicken, and before the water and bubble hid half his body, Peter noticed another patch of hair on Uncle Herb where he had none.
Peter held his uncle by his thin arms as his mother ran a soapy sponge along Herb’s chest and shoulders. Peter watched in silence as she cleaned Herb’s stomach, and then sank her arm into the bubbles to clean his legs and privates. He wondered how many times she’d bathed him. Did she start after their parents died, or was she always helping out like Peter was now? Peter barely remembered his grandparents now; they both died before he turned five. The strongest memory was the color of the orange juice in their house: a murky brown. That was right before they moved into a nursing home.
His mother handed Peter a dry washcloth. “Can you get Uncle Herb’s back, honey?”
Peter sank the cloth into the bubbles. “What time is Dad coming home tomorrow?”
His mother sat back on her heels and stretched her back. “No idea.”
CJ appeared in the doorway. Right before dinner she’d jumped off the couch, tripped and hit her head against the wall, causing no harm to her but leaving a hotdog-shaped dent in the side of her Wonder Woman tiara. “He’s never home,” she said, as she tried to push out the dent with her palm.
“CJ, please. I’m tired,” Abby said.
CJ turned and headed back to the living room. She casually said, “You’re always tired.”
Abby sank to her elbows, and her hands enveloped her face. She stared at the empty doorway, rubbing her forehead. “I swear, you guys are putting me over the edge.”
Peter squeezed the lukewarm water from the washcloth. A hot bath these days would be considered a form of torture.
“I got your back, Uncle Herb,” Peter said.
