Larry and the Meaning of Life by Janet Tashjian

Author:Janet Tashjian
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Henry Holt and Co. (BYR)
Published: 2012-05-28T16:00:00+00:00

I was excited to finally be home. Even though my hospital stay was less than three days, I’d missed the outdoors immensely. I spent my first afternoon in the backyard just taking in the brisk November air. With each cleansing exhalation, I tried to remove anxious thoughts—the inconclusive DNA test and Gus’s outstanding Ohio warrant.

Janine walked across the side yard and sat next to me on the picnic table. Her down jacket made her seem as if she’d been swallowed by a gray quilted balloon. It was still jarring to see her without Brady by her side.

“Something’s up with Gus,” she said. “UPS trucks have been coming and going from the house all week. He set up a bank of laptops in the dining room, and all the students—except you and me, who are obviously being kept out of the loop—are scurrying around like Santa’s elves on Christmas Eve. I have no idea what’s going on.”

“Maybe it has something to do with this.” Beth cut through the house and joined us in the yard, wielding her laptop and a pissed-off expression. “I was looking online to find you a present to celebrate your recovery.”

“You were?”

“Don’t get too excited—this is more important.” Beth tilted the screen toward us. “I wanted to find you some new paint-by-numbers kits, since you’re obsessed with the stupid things, but look what I found instead.” She brought up a Web site selling artwork from Sudanese refugees.

“What’s the big deal?” I asked.

“This.” Beth scrolled through the paintings for sale—a napping Santa, a kitten in a tree, a parrot in the jungle, a cowboy playing guitar.

“There’s Katie’s painting of the autumn landscape and Mike’s sunset.” Janine shrieked when she saw the ballet dancers she’d slaved over the week before.

“Your guru isn’t burning your paintings,” Beth said. “He’s pretending they were done by orphans and telling people the money goes to charity. He’s probably pocketing the profit too.”

“This explains the boxes, the computers, the UPS trucks.” A wave of anger took over Janine’s face. “He’s supposed to be our teacher!”

Beth shot me a “don’t even think about saying he might be your father” look, so instead I stared at the image of the cowboy and his meticulously rendered shirt.84 Not only was Gus lying about who’d painted it, he was charging four hundred and fifty dollars for “authentic ethnic art”! Potential buyers had no way of knowing the painting had been done not by a Sudanese orphan but by a soon-to-be Ivy League teen from Massachusetts.

“And this page is linked to another shopping site. Look!” Janine cried. “My Gore-Tex jacket, Katie’s skateboard, Mike’s laptop.”

“I hate to say I told you so,” Beth said, “but he’s a con artist. Preaching no possessions and nonattachment, then selling your stuff online and keeping the money. Give me a break.”

“Devil’s advocate,” I said. “Nothing on either of these sites mentions Gus’s name or address. It seems like he’s behind it, but we can’t prove it.” Still, Janine and I agreed to confront him. I hoped for a more definitive answer than he’d given me on the paternity issue.

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