chapter 18

Of course that wasn't the end of the story. I'm not sure the story will ever be completely finished. To this day, Michael hasn't really been able to entirely forgive Russell, and that troubles him. He has gotten to the point that he can speak to his mother. And he eventually found with his father a common interest in history—albeit, his dad's interest tended to be less political than automotive.

They kept Russell at the clinic for several months, testing him and working with him. I don't know what was wrong with Russell. Caulder thinks that every person comes to the hour of his birth with his personality already in place, for good or bad—and that his life afterward will only shape what is already there.

I think that things happen, and that, if we don't do something to change them, they just keep happening. Sometimes that's a good thing, and sometimes it's a nightmare.

It's been hard for Michael. And maybe it always will be. They kept him at the clinic till nearly Christmas. It seemed interminable to all of us, but it was only the beginning of a long process. You don't undo years of behavior in a couple of weeks. But he does have a strong mind, a strong body, and a strong desire—those things, together with his luck, have helped him turn his anger and his intense hunger for human meaning into something closer to compassion than to despair.

He has made a solemn promise to himself that there will be no cycling of his trauma—that, whatever he finds of Russell in himself, whatever cruel or dishonest things, he will drag them out into the light and deal with them. I have never heard him speak a lie, nor have I heard him say a damaging word to anybody. Not ever. It's joy and light he loves; he has been on the other side of darkness, and he doesn't intend to go back.

Anyway, once he finally came home, they decided not to send him back to school. It was our last year, and he was so far ahead anyway; it wasn't like he was going to miss anything but the stress.

But his mother was concerned that he'd lose too much if he just sat around for all those months until college. So she took Caulder's mom's advice, and “sent” Michael to study with my mother, the local educational hobbyist.

And that's how it happened that Michael got worked into the fabric of our family, and how Michael and Charlie—and, eventually, Paul—became so close. And that is how Michael gradually became a permanent fixture in my life.

On one of the typical million, million nights of his new life, Michael ate dinner with us, and Caulder came over after. We all sprawled around the fireplace—Caulder lost somewhere in his dreams, Michael and Charlie playing cards, James generally messing around, and my folks reading the paper.

“Ginny got an application from a school in California today,” Charlie said. “Give me three cards.”

“Did you?” Michael asked, looking over at me.

I nodded.

“Is it a good school?” he asked.

I shrugged.

“You going there?” Charlie asked.

“I haven't decided,” I said.

“They haven't accepted you,” James pointed out.

“James,” Mother said wearily. “Why don't you put your exuberance out for the night and go get a book to read? Now? “

“You got any acceptances?” Charlie asked Michael.

“It's kind of early for that, isn't it?” Mother asked.

“I have some,” Michael said. “My mother sent applications out last year.” Charlie had to work to get it out of him which schools he'd heard from. It turned out there were some impressive names on the list. No surprise there.

“They going to fight over you?” Charlie asked.

Michael looked up. “I hope not,” he said.

“So, have you decided?” Charlie put his cards down.

“Have you? “ Michael countered, and laid his cards down carefully in front of my brother. Charlie hissed and sat back. “I shouldn't have taught you this game. Julliard.”

“That's the first I've heard of this,” Mother said.

“What?” Dad asked.

“He's decided to go to Julliard,” she said.

“Who?” Dad asked.

“Who do you think?” Mom said, giving him a funny, fond look. “Char lie.”

“Really,” Dad said, looking thoughtfully at Charlie.

“So,” Charlie went on, not to be put off. “What about you?” He dealt another hand to Michael.

“I don't know,” Michael said. He was obviously not talking about it.

“They still going to take you, even though you don't finish out this year?” Charlie asked.

“They've already accepted me,” Michael reminded him. He started rearranging the cards in his hand.

“So,” Caulder said from his stomach on the hearth rug, cheek on his hands, “Why haven't you decided?”

“I don't know,” Michael said. “Two cards.”

“You just choose the best one,” James said.

Michael glanced at him. “That makes sense,” he said.

“You worried about cutting it in the Ivy League?” Caulder asked him.

Michael looked at him. “Aren't you?”

“Man,” Caulder said. “Don't worry about that. You've been top honors all your miserable life.”

Michael did his funny little smile, and then he pulled out another two cards. “What else did I have to do?” he asked, and he put the cards down. “Two.”

“I already gave you two,” Charlie said.

“I'm going to Georgia Tech,” James said. He'd taken a place in the corner by the fire, and he had a book propped up against his knees. “No. Cal Tech. Cal Tech.”

“That's going to take some work,” my mother said, shooting a little look at my dad.

“What are we going to do tonight?” I asked, stretching.

“Just exactly what we're doing,” Caulder said dreamily.

I slapped him lightly on the back. “I thought you were supposed to be going out with Hally,” I said.

“I am,” he said. “Later.”

“Do you want company?” Michael asked, not looking up from his cards.

“Got you now,” Charlie chortled. He put his cards down again.

Michael put his down too, looking apologetic. And Charlie fell over backward against the couch.

Caulder got this wicked grin on his face. “Not really,” he said. I poked Caulder in the ribs. He rolled away onto his side and scowled at me. “Sure he does,” I said. “He just loves it when we all tag along.”

“I'm sure he does,” Michael said.

“We could go to the Film Society,” James said. “Are the girls coming over?”

“Later,” Caulder grunted, rolling back onto his stomach.

“What's the movie?” Charlie asked.

I went to check the schedule. “Philadelphia Story,” I told them.

My mom looked up. “Oh, you'll love that.” We all glared at her. “No, really—you will.”

“It's one of her favorites,” I said serenely.

“Jimmy Stewart,” my mother said, retiring behind her paper with dignity. “Katharine Hepburn. Cary Grant.”

“Let's do it,” Caulder said.

“Anything traumatic in it?” Michael asked.

“Nothing worth walking home over,” I said, grinning at him.

“That's very funny,” he said.

“Witty,” my mother went on from behind the paper. “Urbane. Killingly romantic.”

“Ah,” Michael said again. This time with more interest.

“Hally and I'll sit in the back so we can smooch,” Caulder said.

“That's where Charlie and I love to sit,” James said cheerfully. “In the back.”

“Romantic, huh?” Charlie said. He picked up the cards and handed them to Michael.

And Michael was giving me this look from across the room that brought heat up in my cheeks, and embarrassed me, and made me turn around to check if my mother had seen.

“What are you grinning at?” James asked me.

“Shut up,” I said.

“So, okay,” Caulder said. “I'll go call Hally.” He got up on his knees and looked around at all of us. “Decided?”

“Decided,” James said from the corner.

“You won't be sorry,” my mother said.

“Decided,” Michael said.

And he put his cards down.