Read The Outcasts of 19 Schuyler Place for Free Online Page B

politics,

Frustrate their knavish tricks,

On Thee our hopes we fix,

God save us all!”
    Uncle laughed. “Very good,” he said. “And very appropriate.”
    I sang the second verse again, and soon Uncle started humming. By the time I got to the top again, he was singing along. Neither of us had any singing voice to speak of, and Tartufo reacted by lifting his head and howling.
    Uncle asked, “What happened when you sang, Margitkám?”
    â€œNothing. The Meadowlarks paid no attention at all. I think it’s called ‘shunning.’ All of them except Gloria, my counselor.”
    â€œWhat did Gloria do?”
    â€œAt first she tried to ignore me, but after I had sung it straight through for a second time, she asked me to please stop.
’Please, Margaret, please stop singing that song,’
she said.”
    â€œAnd what did you do?”
    â€œI stopped singing, and I started to hum. I hummed. I hummed and hummed until I came to
Frustrate their knavish tricks.
I sang those words, and then I
la, la, la, la, laed,
until I came to
God save us all!
I sang those words,and then I started humming again. Do you think I was being incorrigible?”
    â€œIncorrigible? I’m not so sure. But irritating, yes. Irritating, I’m very sure.”
    â€œGood,” I said, strangely satisfied. And then, as if prompted by a choral director, we sang the first two verses all over again. This time Tartufo lifted his head and howled as if the moon and not the sun were full and visible. We stopped after singing a second chorus, and Uncle Alex kissed the top of Tartufo’s head, and I did too, and that was the moment when I caught Jake the handyman’s reflection in the rearview mirror, and this time—no mistake about it—he was smiling. Definitely smiling.
    At last we came to highway signs that were big enough to read, and they said that we were approaching a rest area. Uncle leaned forward and asked the driver to please stop.
    â€œNo problem.”
    Uncle replied, “My two favorite words,” and then he added,
“köszönöm szépen,”
his Old World thank you.
    Just before he put on his turn signal to change lanes, Jake the handyman turned half around and smiled directly at me. His smile was slightly mischievous and totally unvarnished.

six
    W hen I came out of the rest room, Jake was standing in front of the car, holding Tartufo’s leash, smoking a cigar. No genuine fragile X person could smoke a cigar and look relaxed at the same time.
    â€œIf it’s all right with you, I’ll give Tartufo a little run,” I said.
    He handed me the leash. “Take your time,” he said. “No hurry.” He flicked the ash from his cigar with a smooth gesture. I started toward a sign that pointed to a dog run in the back of the rest area, and glanced back at Jake. He was leaning against the car hood, a faint, relaxed smile on his face. An Asperger’s wouldn’t be leaning nonchalantly against the car hood; he’d be banging his head against it. I wondered if there were two handymen named Jake at Camp Talequa. One normal; one not.
    Tartufo took his time about where to lift his leg, and when I returned to the car, I found Uncle and Jake deep in conversation. Tartufo lunged toward Uncle, yipping with excitement as if he had not seen him fordays. I wondered how dogs measure time. Do they multiply minutes by seven, the way I did at Camp Talequa?
    I turned the leash over to Uncle and started to open the back door of the car when Jake, between puffs of relighting his cigar, said, “No hurry.”
    Who was this man who looked and sounded as if he not only knew what was going on but was in charge?
    Then Uncle said, “That accident on the highway really slowed us down.”
    Jake caught on right away. He took a deep pull on the cigar, then held it at arm’s length and twirled it between his thumb and forefinger while examining it.