Read Online And Sons by David Gilbert - Free Book Online

a stand. But not for long. Jeanie Spokes reached down and curled her fingers around the low-hanging fruit of the boy’s left hand. How her touch must have thrilled him. She pulled him toward the cab and into the backseat, where she positioned herself in the middle. Touché. I said my goodbyes, my see-you-soons, like maybe tomorrow, early evening, yes, yes, great, nice to meet you, Jeanie, who looked at me as if the duelists had retired and we seconds now held their aim.
    I closed the door and the taxi pulled away.
    I probably should have climbed into the front seat.
    The funeral reception was at the Knickerbocker Club, on 62nd Street, and people were already on the move, commenting on the pleasant weather and the reemergence of a stroll. I caught my wife glaring at me from the top of the church steps. Ashley had lost weight and was as beautiful as ever, a perfect self-portrait, damaged yet determined, a newfound survivor. Her confident future was already being extruded through my unfortunate past. She stared at me and then gestured toward Rufus and Eloise, abandoned with their aunt. Recriminationsradiated from her knuckled lips.
You jerk, you asshole. You’ve ruined our life, you pig
. This was all true, and I tried to acknowledge the sin on my face, but to be honest I was more focused on my impending move to 2 East 70th Street. Had the Dyer apartment changed much since I was last there? Which bedroom would I sleep in, Richard’s or Jamie’s? Would I share meals with the man, conversations, favorite books and movies, latest pages of our writing? Would we drink and smoke and talk late into the night? My mind raced along old track. I was a foundling found. All told, or totaled, I would spend a week under A. N. Dyer’s roof, which is how I became a witness, the primary witness despite some feuding claims, to everything that happened.
    Ashley grabbed the children and started up Madison.
    My son waved goodbye to me, or so he told me years later.
    “You were looking right at me and you just stood there, like I was nothing.”
    It’s the little things they remember, like a raised hand, or the lack of a raised hand.
    “Like I was less than nothing.”
    How are we meant to see everything?
    By late March we would all return to this church.

Master Charles Topping
12 East 72nd Street
New York, New York
USA
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    Dear Charlie, The Grand Canyon really is quite grand, despite the poor reproduction. The reverse looks nothing like the real thing, believe me! Imagine Dorothy in Oz and all that crazy color and realize we live in a black and white world. In an hour we’re taking mules down to the bottom for three nights of camping. I’ve named my ass after you. He is a stinky ass. I hope my ass doesn’t step in any holes for there are plenty of ass holes here! The sky at night is so dark & clear, the stars so starry you can’t believe what we’re missing in New York. It’s like a firecracker vs fireworks. Next stop the Hoover Dam for a bit of manmade glory. Hope you’re doing well in Canada. Caught any big ugly fish? Looking forward to the lies.
    Echo … Echo … Echo …
    Andy
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II.i
    A.N. D YER ’ S OLDER SONS , Richard and Jamie, I knew quite well. We shadowed one another in New York, within the crosshatchings of our fathers, my older brother squaring with Richard, and I with Jamie. It seemed no matter where we were, the Dyers and Toppings were within shouting distance—New York, Southampton, Hobe Sound—brought together by mothers who took the obligation of our fathers’ friendship more seriously than our fathers ever did. I think these women hoped that the continuation of this history might provide the missing words from these heavily redacted men, as if we might provide a full and pleasing account of their life together. We boys attended Buckley, then Exeter, and though Richard was expelled during his upper year for drugs (marijuana in general, LSD in particular), he managed to rejoin the cast at Yale, thanks