Линвуд Баркли - Find You First

Miles reached into his pocket for the car-shaped key fob, but for a moment had some difficulty getting his fingers to close around it. But once it was out, and in his palm, he held it out to Gilbert.

“Here,” he said.

“Seriously?” Gilbert said. “You’re actually going to let me drive your precious baby?”

“Why not. Let’s take a spin.”

Gilbert, agog, was not convinced. “I don’t believe it.”

“For Christ’s sake, get in the car.”

Gilbert’s face broke into a smile. A kid getting his first ride on a pony. Miles dropped the key into his hand.

“Not that you need it,” Miles said. “It’s keyless. As long as one of us has it, the car will start. But, you know, symbolically, you should have it in your possession if you’re behind the wheel.”

Gilbert closed his fist around the key, walked around to the driver’s door, and got in. Miles got into the passenger side.

Gilbert was searching the dash for a start button.

“Switch is to the left of the wheel,” Miles said.

Gilbert found it, put his foot on the brake, and turned it. The car rumbled to life.

“Wow,” he said, looking more than a little intimidated. He ran his hands around the wheel, getting used to the feel of it. “Where are we going?”

“Anywhere you want,” Miles said. “Maybe take it out onto the highway.”

Gilbert put his hand on the shifter. “I was expecting a stick.”

Miles shook his head. “Pretty much all the Porsches are coming with the PDK.”

“The what?”

“Never mind. Let’s just go.”

Gilbert put the car in Drive and pulled out into the street. “It feels so tight,” he said. He feathered the gas and the car leapt forward. “Christ, it doesn’t take much.”

Miles nodded. “Yeah, a light touch is recommended until you get the hang of it.”

“Yeah, well, a spin may not make me an expert.” He glanced over at his brother. “So how’d I manage this privilege? Getting behind the wheel of your baby?”

“Think of it as a test drive.”

“What?”

“Nobody gets a new car without taking it out for a test drive.”

Gilbert shot him another look. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s yours.”

Gilbert looked dumbfounded. “What do you mean, ‘it’s yours’? What are you talking about?”

“It means that when we get out, you keep that key in your pocket. The car is yours. I’m giving it to you. I don’t need it anymore.”

Gilbert blinked. “You’re kidding me.”

“I’ll sign it over to you. I want you to have it. There’s a few speeding tickets in the glove box. Actually, more than a few. I’ll take care of those.”

“This is... I don’t know what to say.” Gilbert forced a laugh. “I don’t get it. You’re either getting something even faster, or you’re dying.”

“Yeah, one of those,” Miles said.

Gilbert’s face turned serious. “Tell me it’s the first one.”

Miles shook his head slowly, then pointed forward, encouraging Gilbert to keep his eyes on the road.

“Talk to me,” Gilbert said quietly.

“So, yeah, I’m dying. Not right away. At least, probably not right away. It may take a few years. But it’s coming. I’m giving up driving. I could probably keep doing it for a while longer, but if I’m going to have to give it up, I might as well do it now. I’m having some... muscle control issues. Surely you’ve noticed.”

“Not... really.”

“My awkward limb movements at times. My head rolling around on top of my shoulders.”

“I thought you were just stretching... or something. Okay, I’ve noticed. But I didn’t really think it was anything, and it was none of my business, anyway.” He shook his head. “I can’t drive and have this talk. I have to pull over.”

“Sure.”

Gilbert saw a wide shoulder up ahead, put on the blinker, steered the car over onto the gravel, put the car in Park, and killed the engine. “Okay,” he said. “From the beginning.”

Miles told him. The problems he’d been having trying to focus. Unable to remember things that had just happened. Increasingly irritable, prone to outbursts.

“Those, you probably didn’t notice so much,” Miles said, “given that I’ve always been kind of an asshole.”

What really got him worried, Miles said, was the clumsiness. Dropping things. Tripping over his own feet.

“I knew something was wrong, so I went to see Alexandra. She ordered a bunch of tests.”

“Parkinson’s?” Gilbert asked.

Miles shook his head. “That would have been good news.” He took a breath. “Huntington’s.”

Gilbert stared at him blankly, as though shell-shocked.

“God, Miles, I’m so sorry.”

And then Miles could see something happening behind Gilbert’s eyes, and he knew what he had to be thinking.

“It’s okay,” Miles said.

“What’s okay?”

“You probably already know the odds, so let me put your mind at ease. You’re thinking if I’ve got this, maybe you’ve got it, too. And if you’ve got it, will Samantha get it?”

Gilbert said nothing, but looked at his brother as though awaiting news of his death sentence.

“You’re fine,” Miles said. “You don’t have it.”

“How can you possibly know whether—”

Miles raised a hand. “Don’t go apeshit on me, but I had your DNA sampled.”

“When did you—”

“Dorian took your Coke can. When I broke the news to you about myself, I didn’t want you to have to wait to find out what your own situation was. You’re in the clear.”

Gilbert looked as though he might begin to weep. “I feel a little overwhelmed.”

“Sure.”

And then Gilbert did something Miles wasn’t expecting. He leaned over, as best he could in the cramped cabin of the Porsche, and put his arms around his brother, burying his face in his neck.

“I’m so sorry,” Gilbert said. “This is so goddamn fucking unfair.”

He held on to Miles for nearly fifteen seconds. “It’s okay,” Miles said, starting to disentangle himself from Gilbert. “It’s okay.”

Gilbert settled himself back into position behind the wheel, slowly shaking his head as a tear rolled down his cheek. “Whatever you need, if there’s anything I can do, all you have to do is ask.”

Miles smiled and tapped the dash. “Take care of my baby.”

Gilbert sighed. “I don’t give a shit about the car.”

“Well, if you don’t want it, then—”

“I didn’t say that. ”

Which prompted them both to laugh to the point that they both had tears running down their faces.

“I haven’t laughed like that since I got the news,” Miles said.

“Oh, jeez,” Gilbert said, wiping his tears.

Once they’d calmed down, Miles said, “There’s something else.”

“Something else? Jesus, you’ve already given me one heart attack. You want to go for two?”

“This part may be even harder to tell you.”

Gilbert said nothing, steeling himself.

“You’re an uncle.”

“I’m... what?”

“You’re an uncle,” Miles repeated. “Several times over.”

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

Miles was about to speak when his eyes widened and his head weaved slightly.

“Miles, are you okay?”

“Just... a little woozy for a second there. I’m okay. So, more than twenty years ago, I was looking for some extra cash. I made some money in kind of an unconventional way.”

Miles told him about going to the ReproGold Clinic, the sperm donation. Gilbert listened intently, mouth open, attempting to process so many family-related developments in such a short time.

“So,” Gilbert said, letting it all sink in, “you could have all kinds of kids out there.”