Adam Johnson - Fortune Smiles - Stories

Enrique asks, then comes back. “ ‘I got a few cars — whatever they’re worth, they’re yours. I was gonna leave ’em for the lepers.’ ”

That’s a phrase Nonc hasn’t heard since he was a kid, back when people used to leave old furniture out on the docks for the supply vessel to Carville Island, where the leprosarium was. Harlan would joke that you never really owned anything, the lepers just let you borrow it a while. Harlan hasn’t laughed since he lost his vocal cords — all that remains is a widening of the eyes, a thinning of the lips — but Nonc remembers him laughing with affection at the fate of the lepers, as if they were the closest to the Cajuns on the evolutionary tree.

“He doesn’t sound like he’s dying,” Nonc says. “You think he’s dying?”

“You ask him,” Enrique says. “He wants to talk to you.”

“What?”

“He’s been practicing his talking.”

“On the computer?”

“No, talking talking. You can’t understand him, but you get what he’s trying to say.”

Nonc steadies the phone, speculates on what his father wants to talk about — battles he ran from, how he’ll be remembered, where he should be buried. But when Harlan comes on the phone, when Nonc hears a hoarse, wet crackle from deep in the esophagus, he can tell it’s about the boy. Nonc imagines his father’s mouth open, like the door to one of those roofless houses, and though the sound is nothing Nonc can make out, he knows it’s about a grandson, a hurricane and the year ahead.

—

Nonc drives to his old house, where he grabs the keys and the cash and the wallet off the couch. Amid the junk on the floor, Nonc notices a small pair of binoculars, like you might take to a football game, and all the way to Dr. Gaby’s, the boy stares at the world through a single lens. When Nonc pulls up and parks on the grass, the dream team is assembled in folding chairs on the porch, with Relle slowly reading them the entire membership roster of the Louisiana Psychological Association. She reads a name, studies their faces for a reaction, then reads it again before moving on. Geronimo races from the van and joins them in an empty seat.

The day has become stagnant, baked over with clouds, and all of them listen expectantly to Relle’s voice as if she is calling their names, as if at any moment, they will be chosen to join the ranks of the known.

Nonc walks up the wheelchair ramp. Relle stands and drops the printout on her chair. “I thought you’d never get here,” she says. “Mississippi Psychological Association is next.”

“Are you ready?” he asks.

“Are we really going?” As if to test reality, she adds, “I mean, what about your job? Won’t you get fired?”

“Maybe,” he says. “Maybe they’ll blame it on the hurricane.”

She gives him a measured, appraising gaze. “Okay,” she says.

Inside, they find Dr. Gaby in the kitchen, folding an assembly line of sandwiches into plastic wrap. Geronimo fetches a mixing bowl from the cupboard, waits expectantly by it.

As if she knows why Nonc is there, Dr. Gaby doesn’t turn to face him. She asks Relle, “Any response from the list?”

“They don’t even know your name,” Relle says.

“They don’t have to know any names,” Dr. Gaby answers. “Just recognize them.”

Nonc speaks up. “We’re going to California,” he tells her.

“When are you leaving?” Dr. Gaby asks.

“Right now.”

“And how are you getting there?”

“The van.”

“You’re taking your work truck to California — they’re okay with that?”

Nonc shrugs, but Dr. Gaby doesn’t see this. She’s carefully placing each sandwich in the center of a plastic square. She folds one side, then the other, then twists the ends together.

“You can’t take the boy,” she says. “Not in a stolen van. You don’t even have a car seat.”

“I know,” Nonc says. “That’s why I’m here.”

She wheels around to look at him.

“Dr. Gaby,” he says. “I did what you said, I chose. I chose, and I’m going to be the right kind of father. All my dad’s bullshit, all that he did to people, there’s a chance to make something good of that. I’m only asking for a week. It’s not in the boy’s interest to take him. I knew that’s how you’d think about it, what’s in his interest.”

Relle says, “We’re going to bring back a four-by-four.”

Dr. Gaby asks, “Do you know what you’re getting into? You’ll have to have a death certificate, out-of-state registration, insurance, and that’s just for a title transfer. God forbid there’s probate.”

Nonc says, “We’re going to get there before he dies.”

Dr. Gaby turns to Relle. “Is she going to drive this vehicle back? What if it’s a stick shift? Will she drive the van?”

“This is about more than a four-by-four,” Nonc says.

Relle says, “Quit trying to undermine this. We haven’t even got out the door.”

Dr. Gaby hands Relle the sandwich platter. “Please, will you pass out lunch?”

Instead, Relle goes upstairs to finish packing.

“Helping with the child, that’s not the issue,” Dr. Gaby says. “I have a heart for the boy. The issue is this: name one person who left Louisiana and came back.”

“Me,” Nonc says. “I’m coming back.”

“Are you listening to yourself? You don’t commit to a child by leaving him.”

“It’s only a week,” he says.

Dr. Gaby thinks about this. She wheels to the fridge for milk, then pours Geronimo a Dixie cup of vitamin D. “You know my philosophy on these matters, right? You understand that if you leave this boy with me, I’ll have to do what’s best for him. That’s what will make the decisions.”

“That’s exactly what I want,” Nonc says. “That’s why I’m here.”

“Did you find the mother?”

“She’s in the Calcasieu Parish jail, ma’am.”

Dr. Gaby takes a breath and looks at the boy. “Can you give me a contact out there? If your cell phone breaks or loses service, is there someone I can get ahold of?”

“No,” he says.

“And can you tell me exactly when you’ll be back?”

“I’m figuring a week. Two days out, two days back, two days for the paperwork. A day for unknowns.”

“I’m sorry I have to be like this, Randall. Can we agree on an exact time of your return?”

Nonc looks at her with sudden distrust. “Well, the situation is fluid. There are unknowns. I suppose no is the answer, if you’re being exact.”

“I’m going to have to make a note of that, okay, that you can only guess at your return?”

Nonc lowers his brow in a look of betrayal.

“Randall,” Dr. Gaby says. “Do you know what you’re doing? You don’t have to go, you know. You have a job, I can help you. Do you want me to choose you? I will. I’ll do that.”

“Come on, Dr. Gaby,” Nonc says. “It’s just a week.”

Dr. Gaby sets a blank sheet of paper on the counter, then searches for a pencil. “You’ll have to write me a note giving me guardianship. If there’s an emergency or a medical decision has to be made, I’ll need that.”

“Temporary guardianship.”

“Of course,” she says. “Temporary.”

Quietly, Dr. Gaby pulls out a small cooler for their trip. While Nonc writes the note, she puts sandwiches and diet sodas inside, with some blue ice to keep them cold. The words come easy for him, but when he’s done and tries to read them, his mind can’t put them together.

“You must watch her,” Dr. Gaby says, handing him the cooler. “I’ve always believed Cherelle’s capable of goodness, though honestly, I haven’t seen much sign of it.”

When they head outside, they can see Cherelle is crossing the lawn. In a waddle, like she is pregnant with it, Relle carries her heavy-ass sewing machine toward the van.