Absolute Brightness Read Free

on my heel and got out of there as fast as I could without knocking anything over.
    From the dining room I could watch Leonard’s reflection in the large gilt mirror that hung over the sofa on the far wall. He didn’t see me, not at first; he was too busy entertaining my mother, telling her stories about his journey, talking about what he had eaten on the plane, who he’d spoken to, pulling out the contents of his flight bag and then explaining where he got everything, including the bag itself. I thought he’d never shut up.
    â€œThey gave me the bag on the plane because the air hostess said I was the most entertaining young person she’d met in a long while. It’s vintage. I told her if she was any nicer, I’d have to do my Julie Andrews impression for her. She was, like, Who’s Julie Andrews? I was, like, Are you kidding me?”
    I was not in the least interested in what he was packing or what impressions he could pull off, but I was certainly intrigued by his appearance. He was like a visual code that was at once both a no-brainer to figure out and impossible to decipher. I mean, it wasn’t just the fact that he was obviously gay. Please, I’ve watched enough TV to not be shocked by swish behavior. But there was something about Leonard that seemed to invite ridicule. Like he was saying, Go on, I dare you, say something, mention the obvious. The incredible thing was that no one said a word. Not Deirdre. Not Mom. And since I was out of the room, not me.
    Leonard had a narrow face with plain Midwestern features. His mouth was tiny and unremarkable except for the fact that it was always in motion. A few freckles dotted the bridge of his nose and looked like they had been painted on for a musical performance in which he was to play a hillbilly. If it hadn’t been for his eyes, two green pinpoints of flickering intensity, you might have missed him entirely. They were so bright, they made his whole head seem bright and biggish, sitting atop a narrow set of shoulders. His eyes were what held him in place, as if the sharpness of his gaze made him appear more visible to others, more present. The way those eyes could dart about the room and flit from surface to surface made it seem as though his life had depended upon his ability to take in every single detail, assess every stitch of your outfit, calculate the distance to each exit and the time it would take to get there. He did have the most adorable eyelashes I’d ever seen on a boy, long and silky and dark, but then he may have been wearing some product.
    â€œI see you,” he said to my reflection in the mirror, which naturally made me crouch to the floor and then drag myself into the kitchen.
    I had to warn my mother. I felt it was my duty to tell her that I had a very bad feeling, the same feeling I’d had a few years ago when Dad took up with Chrissie Bettinger, an event that of course led to my parents’ divorce and to the subsequent destruction of our entire family. Nana Hertle always tried to convince me that I possessed psychic abilities. I told her I didn’t believe in such things. But when I realized that I might have prevented my father from running off if only I had heeded my nagging premonitions, I began to wonder whether perhaps I did have a special power to foretell the future after all. If only I had said something at the time. So just to be on the safe side, after Leonard was settled into his makeshift basement bedroom and out of earshot, and Mom was back upstairs in the kitchen, I grabbed her arm and said, “Can’t you see it? He’s like a freak of nature. He’s from another planet. I mean, what’s he wearing on his feet?”
    â€œPhoebe, let go of my arm,” she said, narrowing her eyes and putting on a very cool voice. “They’re a kind of sandal. I think they call them huaraches. And you don’t know. Maybe they’re popular with the boys where he comes