“Nothing I’d like to repeat. And I wouldn’t worry about what every weirdo online thinks about you. But this would be an excellent chance to tell your story. C’mon, let us know the real Deacon. And the real Jean.”
“I dunno.”
“Just let me give you a call tomorrow around, say, five? I promise, it’ll be fun.”
I can hear the front door open. It must be Jean. I have to go.
Well . . . if people are insulting Jean, I need to stand up for her. “Okay. Sure.”
“Great. This is a landline, right?”
“Yeah.”
“And you are eighteen years old, right? Wink, wink?”
He actually says “wink, wink.”
“Yes.”
“And you—”
I hear voices in the front hall. I suddenly realize Jean is not alone. She sounds upset.
“I have to go.” I hang up and rush to see what the commotion is about.
My grandmother is there, which is kind of a relief. But in the doorway stands a middle-aged man in checked pants and a polo shirt.
“I told you, I’m perfectly fine,” Jean snaps at the stranger. “I was just a little overcome by the heat. I would thank you to leave me alone.”
“Ma’am, I just wanted to make sure—”
Jean turns and notices me. “Deacon, I am going to go lie down. Please escort this gentleman off our property.”
“With pleasure.”
I wait until Jean is out of the room, then stomp toward the guy. I expect him to back off. To my surprise, he stands his ground.
“Are you her grandson?” he asks.
“Leave.” I make my voice all low and scary. He ignores me.
“I’m Vincent Durmont. I’m the manager over at the Pines golf course.”
Why is he telling me this? “Please get off my porch.” I need to go look in on Jean. Make sure she’s okay.
The guy still doesn’t budge. “Young man, your grandmother was wandering across the eighth fairway earlier.”
“It’s a public course.” But mentally, I start to worry. The golf course is at least a mile away. And what was she doing out there? Jean never goes for walks.
“She was very nearly struck by a golf ball,” Durmont continues. “I don’t have to tell you how dangerous that can be, especially to a woman of her age.” He smiles the sad little smile people give you when complaining about your behavior. Or your grandmother’s.
“I . . . I’ll ask her to be more careful, Mr. Durmont.”
He nods. “I only bring this up because I’m worried about her safety. I’d hate for her to accidentally be injured.”
“Thank you for your concern.” I place a hand on his shoulder and gently guide him out of the doorway and down off the porch. “I’ll make sure she’s more cautious in the future.”
I wait until he’s gone.
Why the hell was she wandering out at the golf course? That’s very strange. And worrying.
Kind of like how Jean sometimes doesn’t notice traffic signals or other drivers. Or how she didn’t remember who Elijah was. Or left the sink running.
She’s just getting old.
Except she’s not that old. Not really. Not nearly as old as some of the women from dance class.
Maybe something’s wrong.
Should I . . . talk to her doctor? What would I say? And what if he wanted to run tests on her or something?
What if they wanted to keep her?
This is stupid. What do I care what some golf pro thinks?
Distracted and maybe a little afraid, I kick the downspout.
With a loud, rotten, creaking noise, it falls to the ground, followed by half the gutter.
And from inside the house I hear Jean yelling.
“Deacon Locke! Did you make this mess in the kitchen?”
I need to talk to someone.
“No, operator, I’m trying to call Amsterdam. Yes, the Netherlands. I’ll hold . . .
“Yes, hello . . . sorry, do you speak English?
“I’ll hold.
“Yes, I’m trying to call the Trocadero Hotel in Amsterdam . . .
“Yes.
“Hi, yes, do you speak English? Um . . . Ik ben op, uh, zoek naar het Trocadero Hotel te bellen . . .
“Ja.
“Yes, hello, do you speak English? I’m trying to reach Mr. Deacon Locke Senior. No, I don’t know which room number.
“I’ll hold.
“Oh. When did he check out? I see. Did he leave a forwarding . . .
“I see. Thank you anyway.”
It’s Friday evening, and I’m helping Jean with the dishes (in Jean’s world, a dishwasher is something lazy people own).
“I had the car washed today,” twitters Jean, as she passes me a stack of dirty plates. “I know you’re taking Soraya out tomorrow. Never hurts to make a good impression.”
“Mmm.” Funny, my date tomorrow is not the biggest worry on my mind. Right now, I have to do something unpleasant, and I’m kind of dreading it.
I have to tell Jean that I’m worried about her.
“So do you have enough money, Deacon? I know you never want to take anything from me, but I know the cost of things has gone up. You want to impress this girl. Take her somewhere nice.”
I stand there with my arms elbow-deep in dishwater, wishing there was some way I could fast-forward what I’m about to do.
“Jean, graduation is in a couple of weeks.”
She beams at me. “I’m so proud of you. You’ll forgive me if I start bawling, right?”
I dry my hands and attempt to smile. “And I guess I’ll be moving out in August. So I was wondering . . . are you going to be okay here alone?”
Her smile instantly vanishes. For a long time she just stares.
“It was that golfer, wasn’t it? He made you think I can’t take care of myself, didn’t he?”
Yes, I feel like an ass. “It’s not that. . . .”
“Never trust a man who wears plaid.”
“It’s not about the golfer.” Not just about that, anyway. “I’m just wondering if you’ve ever thought about selling this place. It’s not in the greatest shape, I mean, the gutter fell down all by itself yesterday. And maybe things would be easier if you moved into a condo or something.” A place where you wouldn’t have to drive as much and maybe people could keep an eye on you.
“Deacon Locke, your grandfather built this house with his own two hands.”
“You told me he bought it at an auction when some guy defaulted on his mortgage.”
She looks at me sternly. “And he signed the papers with his own two hands. Listen, would you? Look, I know I haven’t been as swift as in the past. But Deacon, I’m not ready for the body farm just yet. You let me do things at my own pace. You’ve got bigger things to worry about. When’s your freshman orientation again?”
She’s trying to change the subject. And it’s tempting to let her. “Jean . . .”
The phone rings. She answers it. I hope she’ll finish the call quickly, so we can finish this discussion.
That’s a lie. I hope she talks forever so we won’t have to.
“Locke residence . . . yes, he is . . . whom may I say is calling? I see.”
She holds the phone to her shoulder and looks at me questioningly. “It’s some gentleman who says he’s supposed to interview you for the radio?”
Shit, not now. “It’s about that stupid clip on the internet. I’d forgotten about this.”
“Aha! So I’m not the only one who’s not as sharp as they should be, hmm?” She hands the phone to me before I can object. “No bad words.”
“But . . .”
She’s left the room.
EIGHTEEN
SORAYA SITS ACROSS FROM ME IN ONE OF THE nicest seafood restaurants in Fayetteville. The fish is always fresh. Even in Arkansas.
She hasn’t said much since we left the theater, and her normally dark face is kind of pale. I think this date is getting off to a very bad st
art.
“Soraya, I want to apologize again for that movie.”
She folds her napkin. “No, really, it’s okay.”
“The name threw me. Missing My Lady. I thought it was a romantic comedy.”
She smiles thinly. “Not exactly.”
No, not at all. Especially that scene with the straight razor. I’m going to have nightmares.
“Soraya . . .”
“It’s okay, Deacon. I haven’t seen a horror movie in years. Sometimes it’s good to let out a scream.”
“Yeah. Sorry about that, too.”
We sit there silently. I obsessively take sips of my water.
She’s bored. I’m boring her. I actually have a date with Soraya and I’m not being entertaining.
Jason would be a lot better at this. So would Elijah. Hell, so would a lump of pine tar.
The waiter, thankfully, arrives with a plate of bread. He takes out his order pad, then stops. He looks at me, then smiles.
“You’re that guy. The guy with the grandma.” He grins as if he’s just made an amazing deduction.
“Uh . . .”
“Dude, I love that clip.”
I have no idea how to respond to that. “May we move to another table?” springs to mind.
“I’m getting you guys some appetizers, on me!” He vanishes before I can ask for another glass of water.
For the first time since the movie, Soraya is smiling. “I forgot I was out with a famous guy.”
Across the restaurant, I see our waiter at the kitchen door. A cook has joined him. Our server excitedly points to our table.
“It’s weird, Soraya. Why are people so interested in those stupid clips?”
She shrugs. “The world is an ugly and hateful place a lot of times. Maybe the sight of a guy dancing with his grandmother shows that there’s some good left in society.”
I ponder this. “I don’t think that’s it.”
“Well, maybe it’s because you two made such a cute couple.”
I’m not sure that’s it either, but I do take note that she described me as cute. Sort of.
“Whatever it is, I hope it ends soon. Some radio station actually interviewed me yesterday. How desperate are they?”
“You’re kidding! When does it air?”
“Monday, I think.” I suddenly realize that Soraya is impressed by this. “I’ll, um, find out. Let you know.” ’Cause, well, I’m going to be on the radio. Unlike Jason.
Her smile is wider now. “You know, they were talking about you at my school too. My friends were impressed when I told them I knew you.”
“And taught me everything I know about dancing.”
She laughs. The waiter arrives with some shrimpy snacks and takes our order. He’s not very subtle when he snaps a picture of me with his phone. I think it’s time to take the focus off Deacon for a bit.
“So I guess we’re both graduating in a couple of weeks.”
“Yes, and let me tell you, it can’t get over soon enough. My parents are driving me nuts, wanting to invite every one of my relatives out. Hell, there was even talk about flying my grandma in from Lebanon. I mean, that’s all I need, thirty family members in town so they can watch me cross the stage for ten seconds.”
“It might be fun.” You know. Having more than one person at your graduation.
“Meh. So how about you? Are you and Jean doing anything crazy for graduation night?”
I’m just starting to kind of not enjoy being thought of as a grandma’s boy. “I dunno. I don’t have much of an extended family. I did hear from my aunt Karen for the first time in forever. She sent me a card and said she’d take me out for my first tattoo whenever I wanted.”
Soraya bursts into laughter, so I pretend I was joking.
But then she stops smiling.
“Hey, Deacon? Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.” Of course, that would be my answer to any request from her.
She glances around, as if to make sure our waiter isn’t secretly filming us. “I know you moved a lot. But I haven’t. I’ve lived in Fayetteville my whole life and, and I haven’t really enjoyed it, but . . . God, I’m going to sound dumb.”
“No you’re not.” I’m a little surprised at how kind and soothing my voice sounds.
“It’s just that . . . my parents have always been kind of strict, with the curfew and the religious school and stuff. But they’ve always been there for me. And they’re really not that bad, they encouraged me with dancing and music and everything. But now, suddenly, I’m going to be living on campus. Five whole miles from home, but it seems like a thousand. I won’t know anyone and sometimes I just feel like I’m going to get to college and freak out. And I know that’s stupid because I’m an adult, but the idea of moving out really scares the hell out of me.”
I’m stunned. “Wow.”
She hangs her head. “Lame, huh?”
“What? No! I mean, it’s just I thought you were one of those people who could handle anything. Hell, I was about to ask you for advice about starting college.”
I totally wasn’t, but I had to say something.
“Look, Soraya, I’ve moved a lot. Most of the time with less than a day’s notice. But there’s good things about starting over. New people, new stuff to do, clean record with the local cops . . . well, you get the picture. I think when we start school, we’re both going to find great things. And not just because Big Eddie needs an enforcer in the warehouse district.”
She breaks down giggling. “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t laugh.”
But I’m laughing too. “You should. I never realize how ridiculous my life sounds until I try to tell someone about it.”
“Maybe a change will be good for you too. Are you going to summer orientation?”
“Um . . . yes.” I’m not sure, actually. I know I have a letter somewhere telling me where to report and when. Kind of like the one my grandfather got at one time. I have a feeling his orientation was a lot harder.
“You know, I guess that means we only have three months until we have to start acting like adults.”
“We have to be adults in college? Has Hollywood been lying to me this whole time?”
She starts laughing again. “I never knew you were so funny.”
“Neither did I, actually.”
“Well, Deacon, looks like we have the summer to try to have some fun. You with me?”
“Yes!” That sounds way too enthusiastic, so I try to play it off as a joke by holding out my hand for a shake.
But she just takes my hand. And holds it, with a half smile on her face.
Then our waiter shows up to refill our drinks and the moment ends.
Still . . .
It’s nearly midnight. After eating our fish and posing for a group shot with our server and some guys from the kitchen, Soraya asked if I’d like to go for a walk. My answer was predictable. We ended up wandering all over downtown Fayetteville. We stopped for ice cream, watched a little concert in the park, and talked.
We both did. In fact, I think I talked more than Soraya. Maybe it’s because she’s a polite listener. But it could be because I’m more at ease with her.
“And then Jean totally clobbered the guy with her purse. Went down like a sack of hammers. For a minute I thought I was going to have to bail a second family member out of jail.”
Soraya rolls her eyes, but I can tell she thinks the story is amusing. Regrettably, we come upon a familiar car parked on the street near the movie theater. It’s hers.
“I guess this is good night, Deacon. Let me know when your radio interview will be on.”
“I will.”
We stand there looking at each other for a moment. The light from a nearby streetlight makes her dark eyes sparkle.
And it suddenly occurs to me that maybe she’s waiting for me to kiss her.
It’s the end of a date, aren’t you supposed to? But was this a date? I mean, it was, but was it really? And what if I start to bend
down and she backs away? Damn this height!
Soraya solves my problem by reaching up and gently pressing the back of my neck. I lean forward and she pecks my cheek. “I had fun.”
“Me too.”
As I watch her drive off, I finally admit to myself that just maybe my interest in Soraya may not be totally and completely one-sided.
Maybe. I could be misreading things. But I choose to believe I’m not. And I choose to believe that starting college with Soraya is going to be a wonderful, wonderful thing.
Checking to make sure that girl from the movie isn’t following me, I skip back to the lot where I parked Jean’s car.
NINETEEN
JEAN AND I SIT AT THE BREAKFAST TABLE BEFORE school on Monday, listening to our satellite radio. It was a gift from Dad shortly before he left for Europe, and we’ve turned it on for the first time so we can hear the Oklahoma station.
Mike: This is Madcap Mike Myron in the morning. Hello, rockers! It’s 7:01 in the a.m., and I hope you remember to call in sick next week, because Lady Gaga will be playing at the BOK Center this Saturday! Stay tuned for how you can win tickets.
(Brief musical interlude, presumably one of Ms. Gaga’s songs)
Mike: Now we have a special treat this morning. For those of you following us on Twitter and Facebook, you’ve probably seen the footage of Mr. Deacon Locke, a high school senior from Fayetteville, Arkansas. Welcome, Deacon.
(Silence)
Mike: Deacon? Are you there?
Me: Yes.
Mike: Well, say hi to the folks, Deacon!
Me: Hello.
Mike: (clears throat) Now, Deacon recently achieved notoriety when—get this—he invited his grandmother, Jean, to his senior prom. Deacon, I have to say, this is a bit of an unusual arrangement. You’d think someone that good-looking could find a date their own age.
Me: Thanks, but—
Mike: I’m talking about your grandma! Yowza! (inappropriate sound effects). I tell you, my granny Myron was never that good-looking. Course, I only got to see her on visiting days, and that orange jumpsuit wasn’t flattering. Now Deacon, is it true that Grandma Jean was the one who taught Elvis to move his hips like that?
(Clip of Elvis singing “That’s All Right Mama”)
Me: I’m hanging up now.