Apology by Jon Pineda (books to read this summer .txt) 📕

bedroom, he found the bed made. The few things she had left in the bathroom were now gone. The counter looked as if it had been wiped clean. In fact, everything had been returned to its former place. As if she had never stepped foot inside.

In a few days, his uncle would be transferred to a halfway house downtown, where he would have to check in and check out, follow a new set of rules. His uncle was a child again.

Mario closed his eyes.

The room grew smaller.

When he opened them, everything felt askew.

The floor was seesawing.

The phone rang.

“I’m sorry,” he answered.

It was the wrong number anyway.

Earlier, when Tom had gone to pick up Micah, Rachel mentioned the impending release. Tom had wanted to reproach her for bringing it up, but instead, he took the overnight bag she held out and told Micah to get in the car.

They both watched him run.

“Bring him home safe,” she said.

“I always do,” he said.

When Tom pulled the Honda into his parents’ driveway, his mother and father were both standing at the front door. Micah jumped out of the passenger’s side. He was ten years old now and could sit up front without anyone saying a word about it.

The boy greeted his grandmother first, hugging her. With an air of reserve, he held out a hand to his grandfather. Manny took it with a laugh and shook it vigorously, nearly crying, he was so happy to see the boy.

That morning Manny had gone into the attic and rummaged through the storage area. Most of the items he had brought out were toys the kids had played with when they were young. Tom noticed his father was still in his pajamas.

Inside the living room, they walked around piles of toys.

“Look, Dad!” Micah said. He sat down next to a mound of Star Wars figures. Beside them was a box filled with ships and other vehicles.

“Good, good,” Manny said without looking.

Tom and his parents continued on into the kitchen.

There were more things piled next to the stove.

Tom studied his mother’s face.

“It’s because they’re letting him out,” she offered.

“What do you mean?” Manny said, watching her.

“Nothing,” she said.

She looked at Tom.

“I don’t want to start anything.” She smiled and patted her son on the arm.

Tom sat down beside his father, who was already scribbling into a crossword puzzle. Micah sped into the kitchen, flying an X-wing fighter in one hand and a B-52 bomber in the other.

“Lolo, have you been playing with these?” Micah said.

A slight moaning came from down the hall.

“I’ll go check on her,” Elinor said. “Come on, Luke Skywalker.”

She placed her hand on Micah’s back to guide him. He stood straighter, remembering what his father had said about such things. No slouching, no dragging your feet.

Near the stove was a wall of old bread machines and juicers, rusted pots and pans. Cookbooks were used as shims to keep the wall braced and level so that more items could be stacked. In the attic, there was more inventory. He had not managed to bring it all out.

“It’s good you’re here,” Manny said.

“I wanted to see you,” Tom said.

“Kumusta?”

“Mabuti.”

“That’s good,” Manny said.

“I wanted to see Mom and Sissy, too. Actually, Micah said he wanted to see his Aunt Sissy. He keeps asking about her.”

“That’s good. That’s real good.”

The boy came back into the kitchen and took a seat at the table. Elinor did the same. One side of her face was bright red.

“Aunt Sissy hit Grandma,” Micah said without looking up.

“She’s been just full of herself,” Elinor said.

She touched her cheek, then dropped her hand. It fell into her lap.

“They’re letting the bastard out tomorrow,” his father said to no one.

“I know,” Tom said.

“If I could see him, I’d kill him,” Manny said.

“I’m sure you would, Dad,” Tom said.

Micah got up from his chair. The spaceship and plane flew into the other room.

His father had borrowed their neighbor’s rototiller and was in the backyard crouching beside the bulky machinery, studying the network of levers. He was checking to see what went to where and why. Teagan wanted to leave for the back fence. She wanted to show Micah the buttercups and the dandelions.

Tom thought his sister had said she was going to make Micah a bucket.

“That’s good, Sissy,” his mother had added. “Micah, you help your Aunt Sissy make a bouquet.”

“Bouquet,” Teagan corrected and gulped hard, as if swallowing the word’s new pronunciation. She gaped at Micah for a moment and then took off in her awkward way.

The boy chased after her.

“He’s a gawky kid,” Tom said.

“They both are,” his mother said. She laughed to herself.

“Rachel thinks I’m too protective,” Tom said. “I should have let him start baseball sooner. The other kids throw so hard now.”

“He’ll be fine,” his mother said. “He’s taking life at his own pace.”

“Have you figured it out yet, Manny?” his mother yelled. His father was still crouched beside the tiller. He twisted nervously at his gray beard. He had taken off his straw hat with its wide brim and frayed ends. It was his beachcomber look. His time in the islands seemed so long ago. He fanned himself with the hat, even though it was not especially hot.

“Manny?” Elinor said.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he said. “I’m not an idiot, you know.”

Tom stared up at the sky.

.  .  .  .

Manny pushed one of the levers and then pushed it back to where it had been. He stood up and put on his hat. He pulled the cord to turn the engine. It sputtered on, and as it did, his hat fell off his head.

The metallic blades looked like claws frozen in place. Manny pushed his weight down on the shuddering handles, but he was having some trouble. The machine finally leaned back. He pulled another lever and the claws began to churn freely above the ground.

He lowered the front so the gouging would begin.

He walked it forward