strong, bony elbow along a curving walkway as his body loped forward and his flip-flops slapped the pavement. We followed the gentle thuds of Isa’s wedge sandals. Ray’s steps chattered far ahead, even in the heat. Behind us, Patrick’s rubber soles came in even paces, always so damn certain. Charlie, folded into sections, protruded in a lump from my pocket and pressed into my leg as I walked. Devon hardly broke stride in rambling up a set of oddly deep stairs, where I had to quicken my pace, stuttering a step and a half for each stair. We shuffled across a large expanse of stone or ceramic pavers until we stood in a cluster before what I assumed was a front door, the five of us standing there as if the door would open of itself. None of us wanted to press Isa to act; we knew she felt unsound. In the silence of that scorching portico, how was it that I felt responsible, as if this were my younger brother and I had gotten us into this bind?
After a flurry of short breaths, Isa stepped quickly forward and told us to “smile natural,” as if there were such a smile. I thought of what Patrick had told me on the roadside outside Burbank: blind man can’t write on his own. I pressed my lips together and dipped my head to the right. I let go of Devon’s elbow, nudging my glasses up my nose and lowering my brim to hide my scar, berating myself for hanging on to this family, for not staying home. Inside the house, chimes set off the yapping of a little dog, mocking us from the other side of the door.
“He must be one rich motha’, your brotha’,” Devon said, but he offered a quick, good-natured laugh.
“Stop it,” Isa said, edgy. “Don’t talk like that here.”
Ray fidgeted like a terrier, moving about the porch and brushing against my arm. Heat radiated from some wall to our left, sucking moisture; even in the shade, I withered. As the door chimes trembled to a stop, the high-pitched yaps fell away. I made myself breathe.
“That’s one big-ass door,” Devon said.
“I said don’t talk like that,” Isa said, her voice cracking.
“Like what?” Devon said.
“Ruff!” Ray snarled, which got the yaps started again inside.
“Stand still, Ray!” Patrick said. “You’re making me hot.”
Leave him alone, I wanted to shout. Let him be himself, you son of a bitch! But I caught myself, closed my mouth. I shook my head and breathed. I was beyond this, I decided, outside it all.
That’s how selfish I was.
Still the dog yapped, with pauses between fits and bursts.
“Should I ring again?” Isa said in a high, nervous pitch as she shifted from one foot to the other.
“I’m starving,” Devon said.
“Why would anyone live in Tucson?” Patrick said, disgusted.
The heat didn’t so much oppress as drain me; I could feel my lips parching. Again I made myself inhale.
Just then the door scraped fast across its threshold, and the yaps circled in a frenzy.
Isa gasped. “Oh my gosh!” she said. “Robert! You scared me.”
Her brother. Was he holding something? Doing something? What had startled her?
From the doorway, Robert exhaled a miserable groan that blended into “Isa.”
A cool slant of air drifted across my ankles. I’ve waited on plenty of thresholds hoping for the kindness of others. Standing on Robert’s pavers in the bald heat of Tucson’s summer, I didn’t know what he looked like, how he stood. But I imagined how we appeared to him, his degenerate sister’s ragtag troupe: a Mexican kid, a black teen, a sightless ex-addict looking who knows where, and two born-again sinners posing as parents. He knew the baggage we bore.
“Don’t bother with introductions,” Patrick said. “We’re brothers!” He let the brother bit burrow beneath Robert’s skin.
Somehow the dog stopped barking, making silence deeper.
With a forced giggle, Isa clapped her hands and seized the moment. “Robert!” she said. “Praise Jesus you’re here! We’re on our way home to Daddy and just stopped by for a night. You look great.” She swished up to hug him or peck him on the cheek; I’m not sure. But as quickly as she’d thrust herself on him, she took a step back. From her pace, I could tell she was in self-protect mode, staving off insecurity by ramping toward one of her highs. “You’ve never met Patrick,” she blurted. “This is our little Ray. Look, your dog likes him! And this is our teenager, Devon.” Isa has always been generous that way, claiming us, trying to make us family though only she and Patrick shared a name.
“Come on, Kevin,” she said, grasping the back of my left arm, her palm tacky against my skin. She didn’t mean to, but she pulled me off balance. I stumbled, mouth open, pitching to my left and forward but catching myself before I fell. Charlie sprang from my pocket, releasing and clattering on the tiles. As my hand flew out, it pressed into softness between her thighs. Isa giggled as I pulled my hand from her leg.
The dog started yapping again.
Patrick chortled. I should have laughed too, but I was too self-conscious. I straightened, embarrassed. Isa clung to my arm, her hand trembling as if she might collapse without contact. I stood tall and dropped my shoulders to show strength of mind. I tried not to think about my scar.
“This is Kevin,” Isa said. I reached out to shake Robert’s hand.
“Who is it, Robert?” a woman’s voice called from inside.
Patrick’s footsteps—the rubber soles—flashed into the house, vanishing, leaving the rest of us to swelter in the heat, suspended.
Ray was squatting next to me, fiddling with the dog. “Are we staying?” he said.
“Shut up!” Devon said. “You’re going to blow it.”
My right hand still hung in the air, so I moved it down to Ray’s shoulder. Isa handed Charlie back to me, opened fully, so I held him upright like a staff, his tip on the ground, his grip in the air. I relaxed my jaw when I realized it was clenched.
Isa offered a nervous laugh. “I’m sorry we didn’t call first,” she said. “How are June and Alexis?”
Still Robert didn’t answer. Devon shifted his feet. The dog panted.
Across the street a car door slammed, and a man’s rough voice called out, “Robert! Sorry to hear!”
From inside the doorway, a trace of garlic cooled to my nostrils. Still nothing came from Robert; I was certain we wouldn’t stay.
“This isn’t a good time,” Robert said finally, his voice dead serious. “You can’t visit right now. You can’t be here. I’m sorry.”
I thought of walking back into the sun, stooping into the backseat, and spending the night at a rest stop: the sweltering seats, the suffocating air. Even my eye sockets felt dry.
Off to our right, a camera clicked rapid-fire.
“Hey!” Robert said.
The clicks fluttered on.
“Get off my property!” Robert yelled. Then he stepped among us and herded us toward the door, his hand on my back. Ray scampered ahead as the dog yapped. I swept Charlie back and forth, feeling the threshold through Charlie’s touch and stepping over it into coolness. The door slammed behind, footsteps dispersing helter-skelter on hard stone: marble? As I pulled the artificial moisture deep into my lungs, I felt blood pulsing in my temples.
We were in.
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