Boy Minus Girl Read Online Free Page A

Rossi. Mom, a devout teetotaler, frowns on Dad’s rare instances of drinking, but Uncle Ray made a big deal about how he brought this expensive vintage Italian wine to celebrate the family reunion, and I can tell Mom feels she can’t really say anything against it. I’ve never seen my father talk so much.
    “Ray, can’t tell you how good it is to have you back,” Dad says, his speech a little slurry. “You know, just the other day I was thinking about that fly-fishing trip we took with Dad to Colorado back in ’64.”
    Uncle Ray laughs and rolls his eyes. “Don’t remind me.”
    I glance at Dad and Uncle Ray sitting beside each other. With the exception of their prominent Eckhardt brows, it’s hard to believe they’re brothers. Uncle Ray has a thick head of hair while Dad is balding, with patches of gray sticking out the sides. Trim and muscular, Uncle Ray looks as if he’s spent every day of his life in the wind and sun; whereas Dad, who could rest his hands on his gut, looks as if he’s spent the last twenty years working in a tunnel. Dad’s wide-lapel brown Sears shirt makes him look all the more small-townish and out of it. Suddenly I feel a little guilty. Would Dad look more alive, more like Uncle Ray, if he didn’t have to work so hard to provide for me and Mom?
    “So there we were, at the top of Pikes Peak,” Dad says with a beaming smile, “and the moment we all piled out of the car, it starts rolling backward.”
    Uncle Ray laughs and shakes his head. “The old man forgot to set the parking brake!”
    “You should’ve seen the three of us running down the mountain after that Plymouth,” Dad laughs, his eyes tearing up.
    Uncle Ray guffaws.
    “The car shot right through the guardrail,” Dad says as he pantomimes with his hands, “dropped a good hundred feet, and lands on top of a pine tree.”
    I laugh, although I’ve heard this story a hundred times. It’s one of Dad’s favorites. Mom produces a tepid smile while nibbling her chow mein. I notice she keeps looking at Uncle Ray out the corner of her eye.
    “I never saw Dad so angry.” Dad lifts his wineglass and wipes the corners of his eyes with the back of his hand.
    Uncle Ray places his elbows on the table (something Mom never allows Dad and me to do) and leans forward. “He was angry ’cause he had no one to blame but himself.”
    Dad abruptly stops laughing.
    “That’s the thing about our old man,” Uncle Ray says, suddenly serious. “He never could admit he made a mistake. Even that day. He claimed the parking brake was busted. I’m surprised he didn’t blame the mountain.”
    A tense silence follows, and Mom places her fork on her plate. “Ray, we don’t hear from you for what? Almost four years? And then, out of the blue, here you are.”
    Uh-oh. Here we go.
    “Better late than never,” Dad says, a little too quickly and jovially. “Honey, please pass the chow mein.”
    “Don’t worry, Bev,” Uncle Ray says. “I won’t be in the way.”
    Mom shifts a little in her chair, as if digging in for battle, and asks, “Are you still playing guitar in that rock ’n’ roll band?”
    “Nope. Y’know, we stood a real shot at landing a contract with a big label,” Uncle Ray says, “till our lead singer died.”
    “How?” Dad asks.
    “ODed on Freon,” Uncle Ray says, and sips his wine.
    “Freon?!” Dad asks, horrified. “How does someone overdose on Freon?”
    “Sniffed it from a pressurized can. Lungs froze instantly. Died right on top of a groupie.”
    Mom and Dad exchange a concerned look; then Mom clears her throat and says, “Let’s see now.” She glances at the ceiling as if there’s a list written up there. “Before the band you were an actor, if I’m not mistaken, and before that you were a blackjack dealer in Las Vegas.”
    “Don’t forget I sold Porsches in Arizona. . . .”
    “Why, Ray, I guess you’re a jack-of-all-trades,” Mom concludes.
    Uncle Ray grins and winks at Mom. “And, yes, Bev,