A. Homes - This Book Will Save Your Life

He swims until he can't move his arms anymore, until he has no kick left, until he cannot lift his head, and then he lets a wave carry him back to shore. He walks down the beach back to the house, showers, dresses. It's 10:30 a.m. — what the hell do people do all day?

HE CALL HIS BROTHER at work. "Not interrupting, am I?" It's one-thirty on the East Coast.

"Just answering e-mail. I get seventy or eighty a day, people who would never pick up the phone are perfectly happy to e-mail. How's Ben?"

"Really screwed up."

"He's seventeen."

"He's gay," Richard says.

There's a pause; clearly the brother already knew or suspected. "It's not considered deviant anymore."

"It's not what a father hopes for."

"It's not an illness. Every kid is different," his brother says. "Barth turned out great, but look at Penny, she's brewing some kind of eating disorder and she's a shoplifter; twice she's been picked up for stealing eye shadow. It drives Meredith crazy— can you imagine the daughter of a feminist stealing makeup?"

"Why does she steal makeup?"

"No idea, we've never even seen her with makeup on."

"Maybe she wears it in secret."

"And Meredith's father almost had to do jail time for tax evasion; we bailed him out."

"The lawyer?"

"About ten years ago, he just decided to stop paying his taxes — no real reason. When they caught up with him, we had to loan him money so he didn't go to jail, and he was disbarred, and he never repaid us — it was Merediths inheritance from her grandmother."

"I had no idea."

"It's not like we go around telling people. Families are filled with shit."

"What were we like — did we ever do anything bad?"

"You once told Dad he was mean, and I think he would have liked to have killed you — 'ungrateful son-of-a-bitch,' he called you."

"Did you know we had polio?"

"I knew you had something that made your leg sick and that you impressed the doctor, who thought you might never walk without the brace. Don't you remember, your shoes?"

"We always had good shoes."

"Well, there was a reason."

"Don't you think it's really weird that no one told us?"

"They felt lucky we survived and didn't want the stigma of it. I think she even changed doctors so it wasn't in our records."

"Can you do that?"

"She didn't want people to think badly of us."

"Why was it bad? It wasn't our fault, we got a virus."

"She associated it with poor hygiene — dirty Jews and so on."

"Do you remember your tantrums?" Richard asks. "You had incredible tantrums, and you'd break things, and Dad almost called the police on you, but Mom stopped him."

"He did?"

"Yeah, it scared him; he worried you were crazy. He'd say, 'Do you need to go to a hospital?' "

"I don't remember that."

A silence — maybe he shouldn't have mentioned the tantrums. "Meredith told me about the prize. I don't know what to say."

"Very disappointing; it was the one thing I wanted, and now it's not going to happen, so does that make me a loser?"

"I don't think so."

"Meredith says if one of the kids came to me crying about it I'd tell them how wonderful it was that they'd worked so hard, gotten so much recognition, and accomplished so much, and when it's a prize that only one person gets it's hard to be that person — not winning doesn't mean you lose."

"She's right."

"I know, but I still can't swallow it, and secretly I'm mad at myself for ever thinking I might win." He changes the subject. "Are you still seeing the woman from the produce section?"

"We're friends," Richard says.

WHEN HE'S DONE with the brother, he calls Cynthia. "Free for lunch?"

"Yeah, sure, I guess, is everything all right?"

"Twelve-thirty. I'll pick you up?"

He takes her to a health-food place near the housewife rehab. "What's spelt?" he asks.

"It's the new-old whole wheat."

"And what's gluten — why do some people want it and some don't?"

"It's not good in the gut," one of the customers says.

They sit at a small table in the corner; she sprinkles sesame seeds across her salad.

"How's the roommate?" Richard asks.

"Someone hijacked her computer — online — gave it a worm that ate everything, cored it out. In the morning there was just the shell, the box, blinking at her, couldn't read its own hard drive. It threw her over the edge. Apparently, that's how this whole thing started — identity theft. Her ex-boyfriend's new girlfriend stole her identity, ran up huge bills, and it took two years to clear her name. Anyway, I had to take her back to the hospital; she started saying the worm was in her brain, attacking her brain."

"And the weatherman — are you still seeing the weatherman?"

"Off and on," she says. "He helped me get her to the hospital, but I have to end it. There's something about his hair — it's so well organized that when I run my hand through it, it doesn't budge. So — what's up with you?" Cynthia asks. "You called the lunch."

"Everything," he says. "Turns out Nic next door is some kind of culture god hiding out; the photographers across the street are there for him."

"You're like a freak magnet," she says. "First me, then the movie star, and now the ghost of J. D. Salinger."

"How do you know Salinger?"

"I'm a housewife; I'm not illiterate."

"Anyway, Ben spotted Bob Dylan at Nic's, and now I feel like I can't talk to the guy; I don't know if I'm intimidated or pissed at him for not saying anything." She nods. "And then Ben… Well — he's gay." Richard takes a breath. "It gives me the creeps, the idea of him with other men — when he sees me naked, does he find that interesting?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"You're his father."

"Who knows what gay people think?"

"Just because someone is gay doesn't mean that they're attracted to every person of the same sex."

"He made a pass at me — more than that really, it was violent and really scary."

"That's sad," Cynthia says. "He must be really angry."

"Of course he's angry, but it doesn't mean you try and rape your father," Richard says loudly, and the whole restaurant falls silent.

"Are you ever going to date?" she asks him in a whisper.

"I took your advice," he says. "I tried it."

"And?"

"That's what started this whole thing — I was out late at her house."

"How was it?"

"Good, weird." He's about to say more, but then looks at Cynthia, whose expression is pained. "And, by the way, it turns out I had polio as a child but my mother never told me."

"This was all this week?"

"In the last three days; I'm exhausted," he says.

"Have the ginger-ginseng smoothie," the person at the table behind him says. "It's restorative."

"Thank you," he says, and then talks more softly. "I feel like I'm on a roller coaster — never knowing what's going to happen next. Speaking of which, do you have any interest in donuts?"

"I just ate that whole salad," she says.

"Anhil, Nic, and I are looking for a place in Santa Monica to open a branch of the Donut Depot; we thought you might like to manage it."

"Would I have people working for me?"

"Yeah, I guess so, one or two."

"Would it be my own shop, would I be the donut lady of Twenty-third Street?"

"Pretty much."

"Are the donuts good?"

"Very good, fresh, new flavors every day — raspberry, peach, lemon."

"What's the time frame?"

"As soon as we can find a space and get it outfitted. Anhil will cook the donuts downtown and deliver them, and the new store will also sell Sylvia's cereal and snacks. It'll be sweet."

"Sounds good; as you know, I've been thinking retail."

After lunch he calls Sydney, the Gyrotonic date.

Her machine picks up; he starts to leave a message. "Hi, it's me, I just wanted to see how you were."