Portia plans these adventures with a regularity and reliability that none of us have ever known before, maybe because our parents were too poor or lazy or, in the case of Portia’s mother, mentally unwell to give us these experiences back in the day. It’s like Portia’s trying to prove something to Tommy and me—maybe to herself as well.
I tell myself to just enjoy this—this amazing gift that seems to have magically appeared, right when Tommy and I needed it most—but I wonder a lot about my good luck and just when it will run out.
Tommy does too, I can tell. He always hugs Portia for too long when he says good-bye to her, and I often have to peel him off her limb by limb.
At first Danielle joins us on a few of these family trips, though she’s distant and she bristles when Portia pays for everything, which I understand, believe me. I do realize it’s the twenty-first century, and I’m really not a sexist asshole, but I don’t like letting Portia pay either, even though she insists she’s doing it to get back at her husband, who is apparently loaded. But after the first few excursions, Danielle just stops joining us on our adventures, saying her feet hurt from waitressing, or she wants some time alone. Portia and I each talk to Danielle privately, asking her to be a part of things. Then we both ask to spend time alone with my sister, but she refuses, making up excuse after lame excuse. It’s like we’ve suddenly caught some deadly disease. Portia takes it hard.
“What did I do wrong?” she keeps asking.
“My sister’s not used to kindness,” I offer. “And she has difficulty trusting people—especially people who are good to her. She pushes them away before they can let her down. It’s a pattern that has nothing to do with you.”
But we both feel bad and maybe even guilty about the situation.
I can tell that Danielle quitting our new family bums Tommy out, makes him feel conflicted, even though he never says anything.
After Tommy and I return home from watching Fourth of July fireworks with Portia in the park across the street from Collingswood High School, when Tommy says he had an amazing time and begins to list all of the cool snacks Portia packed for our picnic that was in “a real wooden basket” and “on a blanket in the grass like families on TV would do,” my sister just says, “It’s late, Tommy. You should have been in bed hours ago. Now brush your teeth, buddy.”
When he blinks at her, confused, Danielle says, “You can tell me all about your picnic in the morning.”
Tommy looks like he’s not sure what to do, so I say, “Time to brush those teeth. You heard your mother.”
He nods once at me and does as he’s told.
Danielle has no steady boyfriend, and I’m madly in love. It’s been hard for her, being the only Bass sibling not high on life these days. So I let her hostility slide.
Danielle quit drugs cold turkey, without rehab, and she still drinks alcohol, which I’ve always admired in a slightly suspicious way, because I needed a lot of help to quit drugs. Alcohol is also a dangerous drug for me, which is why I don’t drink. And I worry that Danielle’s never having been to rehab makes her more susceptible to a backslide and prone to start using again. But she seems okay lately, working a full-time job even.
I pour myself a Diet Coke and sit down on the futon.
In the bathroom, Danielle’s getting Tommy ready for bed, and I hear him trying to tell his mother all about what happened tonight—which fireworks he liked the best, and the little American flags on sticks that Portia brought, and everyone chanting “USA! USA! USA!” after the grand finale—but Danielle only gives him instructions, moving him closer to bed.
After a short bedtime story, Danielle returns. She pours herself a large Jack Daniel’s and then sits down next to me.
“Do you wanna watch TV?” I ask.
“You’re not his father, you know.”
“Tommy’s?” I say, which is dumb, I admit, because I know who she’s talking about. It’s a strange comment, because when Tommy’s real father left, Danielle practically begged me to take them in, and when I did, she gave me a big speech about how I needed to be her son’s father, because we never had one.
“I appreciate all that you and Portia do for him, but he’s still my son,” she says.
“I’m aware of that.”
“Good.”
“What do you think about Portia and me?” I ask. “Truthfully.”
Danielle looks down at the drink in her hands. “She’s still married, you know. She could move back to Florida with her rich husband.”
“My worst fear.”
“You asked.”
“So you don’t trust her?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t trust anyone. Remember?”
“Do you trust me?”
“Maybe eighty percent.”
“What?” I say and then laugh. “You don’t trust me twenty percent of the time?”
“Eighty percent is the most I’ve ever trusted anyone. Be proud.”
“How much do you trust Portia?”
“Five percent. Tops.”
My stomach drops. “So you think she’ll hurt me?”
“Everyone hurts you eventually, big brother.” Danielle sips her whiskey. “Can I have your keys? I could really use a drive.”
“Where are you going?”
“Just out to clear my head.”
“Are you okay to drive?”
“Should I walk a line for you, Officer Bass, or say the alphabet backward?” She smiles at me in this wonderfully sarcastic little-sister way. “A short drive around town is healthier than Jack Daniel’s. I won’t be long.”