Читать книгу The Grand March - Robert Turner - Страница 6

Russell was tired but couldn’t sleep, his mind abuzz with speculative scenarios of what the summer would bring and where this trip was heading. It occurred to him that it might be a good idea to record his thoughts. But he’d captured enough drivel in his notebook already. He would wait for inspiration before he picked up his pen again, knowing that it might remain capped for a long time. He resigned himself to staying awake and folded up Carmela’s couch-bed thing. Then he went roaming around their house.

The two rooms upstairs were being used for storage. It was hot up there, and he went down again quickly. To the right of the staircase was a door that opened to their bedroom. It was sparsely furnished, very airy, with a gleaming oak floor. He turned and walked through the living room again, past a wall of photographs: Carmela and Manny in Mexico on their honeymoon, them standing with a number of her extended family, a candid wedding shot, Carmela’s parents in their youth, snapshots of her nieces and nephews. Among all the pictures displayed there was none of Manny’s family.

Manny and his mother, Olivia, had moved here from Chicago when he was eight, a year after his father was killed in an industrial accident. Russell had been to their house a few times, but only briefly. Olivia did not welcome visitors, especially Manny’s friends, none of whom she liked. Manny himself more often than not fell short of her expectations. But she was not without a sense of humor, expressed in an acerbic sarcasm that was hard to laugh off. Manny inherited her sharp tongue.

Workbenches in the basement were piled high with all manner of electronic component: stacks of circuitry, spools of wire, miscellaneous hardware. Pegboards held specialized tools whose functions mystified Russell. He walked back upstairs. Above the clothes washer in the utility room hung a Door Prairie poster like the one Carmela had sent him. This one showed a beauty on the beach, in full-body suit and cap, someone he’d surely enjoy spending a day at the beach with. He walked past the guest room, then by Carmela’s sewing room. Noting that the lights were still on, he switched them off and went into the kitchen. A cool breeze blew through the open windows, calling him out to the porch.

Milky clouds smeared the sky. Water lilies shimmered on the lake. An image of the house swirled around the surface of a blue reflecting ball on a concrete pedestal in the front yard. Russell stretched out on the porch swing, closed his eyes, and let the birds sing him away.

He was roused by the sound of car tires on gravel. The engine shut off, a door opened then closed. Russell willed himself upright, groggy and stiff. Manny was startled at first when he saw someone sitting and stretching on his porch. It took him a moment to recognize his old friend, then he ran to the stairs.

He came to a dead stop and assumed a wild fighting posture. His lips moved rapidly and soundlessly, mimicking a poorly dubbed film, then he blurted out, “I told you if you ever returned you would die!” He stood locked in his stance while his lips continued moving a few seconds more.

Years before, when Russell and Manny were getting to know each other, they were amused to learn that they had independently developed the same parlor trick of speaking while moving their lips in a way that produced the effect of being overdubbed. They had both spent too many hours of their youth watching low-budget martial-arts movies and learning to do things like throw their lips out of synch with what they were saying. So this was the game they played now, a display of their peculiar bond.

With a whoop, Russell nimbly leaped onto the porch railing, adopted a similarly exaggerated position and dubbed over himself, saying, “Listen to me! We need to form an alliance!”

Manny chopped at the air, crazily kicking and flailing his arms about. Then he stopped, spit on the ground and said, “Do you think your Kung Fu is better than mine?”

“Why do you want to forfeit your life?” Russell responded, feverishly moving his mouth. “If we band together we will never be defeated.”

Manny drew himself up, squared his legs and placed his fists on his hips, like a warrior at ease, then announced, “Today we are friends. Tomorrow, we fight to the death.”

Russell laughed and hopped off the railing. Manny climbed the stairs and greeted him with a casual, “Hey, man,” as if they saw each other every day. He patted Russell’s shoulder as he walked past him and sent the door to his kitchen flying open.

“I’m hungry,” he bellowed. “You hungry?” He turned to Russell briefly, then stepped into the kitchen and called out, “Get me some food, woman.” He stood in the middle of the kitchen, thumbs in his belt loops, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. Then he slumped and drawled, “Oh, that’s right. Got to get it myself.”

Russell sat at the table while Manny rummaged through the refrigerator, his pants creeping down as he bent over. He yelled, “Meat!” and tossed a packet of ham over his shoulder. It slid across the table and Russell prevented it from slipping off. “Lettuce!” came the next cry, and half a head landed on the table. With a shout of “Tomato!” Manny turned around and fast-pitched one right at Russell, who ducked. It splattered on the counter.

“Dude,” Manny berated him, “What did you have to go and do that for?”

“What? You threw it.”

“You were supposed to catch it.”

“You hurl the thing at me and I’m supposed to let it explode on me? No thanks.”

Manny picked a chunk of tomato off the floor and examined it. “Nah,” he muttered, “I don’t even like tomatoes.” He ran a dishrag over the mess, then turned and began to assemble his sandwich.

“Help yourself,” he offered the food to Russell. “There’s soda in the fridge, and some filtered water, too. The shit out of the tap’s nasty—don’t drink it.”

“Tasted all right to me,” Russell said, spreading mustard on a slice of bread.

“Loaded with a hundred years of factory waste,” Manny responded. “Drink enough of it and it’ll kill you dead, and that’s no joke.” He crunched a pickle, then ran his tongue along the trimmed mustache he’d taken to wearing. His hairline was definitely receding, a fact he accentuated by wearing his hair longer in the back.

“Got everything there OK?” Manny nodded toward Russell’s plate. “Want some chips?” He pushed a bag toward him. Russell took a handful.

“Let’s go eat on the porch,” Manny suggested. “It’s stuffy in here. One of these days I’m going to install central air, when I get the time and the money.”

They sat together on the porch and ate from the plates on their laps.

“So, where are you working now?” Russell asked. “You past being a journeyman or whatever it was last I knew?”

Manny finished chewing before replying. “Oh, you bet. IBEW, certified commercial and residential electrician. Working for Charlie Jenner. You know, the big contractor?”

Russell didn’t know.

“Well, he pulls in all the big contracts around here. We built these condos on Long Lake, part of the big marina renovation down there. I’ll take you by it.”

After a bite of sandwich, Russell told him, “I’ve already seen it.”

“Oh yeah?” Manny replied. “What were you doing down there?”

“Hanging out. I got in early, didn’t want to wake you.”

“Don’t have to worry about that now. I’ve got to be on site at dawn.”

“What site is that?” Russell wanted to know, finishing the last of his sandwich.

“Big, big site. Warehouse store outside of town. City wouldn’t let them put it in town, so it’s just over the line. Pretty funny. We’ve got an election coming up this fall. I hope we vote in some realists who aren’t afraid of progress.”

Russell crunched a chip and raised an eyebrow. “Warehouse store?”

“Yeah, ‘Mega Cart’ it’s called. There’s one in South Bend. It’s wild. They, like, rent forklifts to people so they can buy full pallets of deodorant and toilet paper and stuff.”

“Oh, that’s horrible,” Russell said.

“What do you mean?” Manny asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Those places kill local businesses,” Russell opined.

Manny belched. “How can you say that? It’s local business building it. A lot of good work for me. Pays the bills and then some.”

“Well, sure, it’s good for you building it,” Russell conceded. “But places like that put small downtown shops out of business.”

Manny dismissed this with a snort and shook his head. “You been downtown lately? Most everything moved into the new mall. What’s left is antique shops, craft stores, places like that. Stuff they don’t sell at the Mega Cart.”

Russell considered this point while polishing off the last of his lunch.

“Is Ajax Novelties still there? I bet the Mega Cart doesn’t sell whoopee cushions.”

“They might be able to get you a gross of them,” Manny answered, putting his empty plate aside. “But Ajax, yeah, I was by there not too long ago. Thought about buying a joy buzzer, but didn’t. Should have.”

“We all have our regrets,” Russell rejoined.

They sat for a moment, quietly enjoying a faint breeze.

“So, what are you doing?” Manny asked.

“Sitting here.”

“And, what are you going to do next?”

Russell shrugged.

“You got everything in your kit?”

“Yep,” Russell affirmed, his eyes cast across the lake.

“Got everything you need? Camping gear? Tent, stove, all like that?”

“I got everything, man. I’m handy, you know.”

Manny scratched his chin, then fished a box of cigarettes from a pocket. He took one and held the box out to Russell, who declined. Manny lit his, got up and sat on the porch railing, leaning back against a post by the stairs.

“How long you sticking around?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Until I feel like leaving. Or until you kick me out.”

Manny smiled through the cloud of his exhalation. “I just couldn’t do that, man, pick up and take off like that. I mean, it’s cool that you can—but I’m just not wired that way, you know?” He looked around. “I’m digging my roots deeper here.”

Russell nodded in agreement. “It’s a great house, and you guys are looking good. It suits you.” He stretched out on the swing. “So what’s next? Kids?”

Like a spouting whale, Manny tilted his head back and directed a stream of smoke into the sky. He cleared his throat and spat over the side of the porch.

“Ah, yeah, maybe. I don’t know how much Carmela’s talked to you about it.”

“She’s mentioned wanting kids, that’s about all.”

“OK. Well, about a year ago we decided we were ready, right? I mean, she was ready a long time ago, but I wasn’t until we had it more together. Then I decided I was as ready as I’d ever be, so she went off the pill. But, hey—nothing yet. I don’t know. I’m beginning to think there’s something wrong. Know what I mean?”

Russell frowned. “I don’t know much about that.”

“What? You don’t know how babies are made?” Manny replied, taking another drag.

Russell shot him a tired look. “Fertility problems. I’ve only ever cared about making sure I don’t get anyone pregnant. I’ve never had to worry about trying to make it happen.”

“Uh-huh,” Manny contemplatively intoned. “Well, she wants to see a doctor, and I’m not so sure I like that idea. I mean, if something’s wrong with her, she’s going to feel like shit. It’s become so important to her in the past couple years. She wants lots of them, too, like four or five. She’s got names all picked out, and she’s been making baby clothes and stuff.” He got up and snuffed his cigarette in an ashtray on a windowsill. “And then, if it’s me, how’s that going to change how she thinks about me? Maybe she’d start thinking she married a dud, you know—firing blanks. It would definitely change things between us.”

Russell came within a breath of offering to try to get Carmela pregnant. He held his tongue, with the thought flashing in his mind that a few years ago he would have gone ahead and made the joke. Of course, a few years ago there would have been no context in which to make it. He changed the topic and inquired about Victor Van Donkersloop, their old friend who surprised everyone in their little coterie a few years ago when he joined the Navy.

“I see his mom around sometimes, but haven’t heard from him since forever,” Manny said, shaking his head. “I think Carmela wrote to him once but never heard back. You know how he is, though—we probably won’t hear from him until he just shows up one day.”

Their conversation was interrupted by a low, distressed moan. They walked across the porch and saw a large cat on the grass. Two swallows flew around, twittering loudly and harassing it by buzzing overhead. It hunkered down, ears folded back, and kept groaning.

Manny cheered on the birds. “That’s it. Get her. Get her good.”

“Poor cat. Why doesn’t it run away?”

“Too fat and stupid. Get her. Pluck her whiskers out.”

Russell shot him a look.

“Oh, I hate that cat and it knows I do. I want a dog, but Carmela hates dogs. Never mind that I hate that cat, but Carmela gets her cat and I don’t get a dog.” He grinned out one side of his mouth and scowled out the other. “That’s married life, I guess.”

He turned his back on the little drama of nature in his yard and walked to the door, saying, “Hey, Russ, can you put those dishes in the sink? I gotta take a leak and get out of here.”

Russell was washing the dishes when Manny returned, carrying a pair of socks.

“Hey, that’s cool—I didn’t mean for you to wash them, but thanks.”

Manny sat at the table and began to unlace his boots.

“So, how much money you got for your little trip?” he asked, peeling off his socks and dropping them on the floor. Russell leaned against the sink and paused before answering.

“About seven hundred bucks.”

Manny snorted. “Really? How long do you think that’s going to last?”

“I don’t know. As long as it lasts.”

“Have you even thought this thing through?” Manny asked, spreading his toes and airing his feet. “You don’t know how long you’re staying in town, or where you’re going, how long your money’s going to hold out, or how you’re going to keep going when it’s gone.”

He looked at Russell, who shrugged and said, “I’m playing it by ear, making it up as I go along. I’ve been doing the same thing for, what, five years now? And I don’t feel like I’ve done anything, really. Nothing important anyway. Got to the point where I was in a real rut. I needed to shake things up. So here I am, shaking it.” He did a sort of jig while Manny put on his fresh pair of socks.

“Yeah, I can see that.” Manny laced up his boots. “But seven hundred bucks ain’t squat, and you’re going to get sick of camping out. You’re going to run out of cash and end up somewhere else besides Cincinnati doing the same thing and falling in the same rut, and all you’ve done is change the scenery.”

“Well,” Russell began, getting a little annoyed at his friend’s critical analysis, “that’s one way it can turn out.”

“I just call it like I see it, you know? I want to things work out for you. All I’m saying is, you should think about what’s going to happen and be ready for it. Of course, I suppose you can always find work at a restaurant, right?”

Russell slouched. “Yeah, if I have to, but I’m in no hurry to get stuck back in a kitchen again.”

Manny walked to the utility room and tossed his sodden socks in a basket on top of the washer. He offered further commentary upon his return.

“Could get seasonal work, keep from getting tied down that way. A lot of the pickers around here end up in Texas and Florida in the winter.”

Russell nodded to signal that he was listening, but he was in no mood to seriously consider any advice. He was content to deal with things as they came up, to tend to his survival on a daily basis and devote himself more to the present than the future. It was novelty he needed, not stability. But he didn’t feel like explaining himself, so he suffered Manny to continue.

“You know Felix, Carmela’s brother?”

Russell shrugged. “By name, yeah. I don’t think I ever met him. I only know Carmela, Isabel, and Nestor. There’s two older brothers, right? I think they were already out of the house by the time I started coming around.”

“Felix and Luis. Luis is set to take over the dry cleaners whenever the old man retires. But Felix is a manager out at the gravel quarry now—he’s always bitching about how hard it is to get good workers. Want to swing by there? No harm in seeing if he’s got anything open. It’s hard work, but it’ll keep you in shape, give you something for your resume. Come on, and then I’ll take you out to the Mega Cart. It’s really pretty cool.”

Russell couldn’t object. He had nothing else to do and didn’t think he could insist on staying behind. Besides, he didn’t want to discourage Manny’s concern for his welfare.

“Pull that door hard so it’ll lock,” Manny said, loping down the steps. Russell slammed it hard enough to rattle the windows, then checked to make sure it was locked. The door opened, so he slammed it harder. This time the lock caught and he walked down to the driveway. He smiled to see the car. It was the same one Manny had driven in high school: a cherry red ‘63 Impala that Carmela had named “The Imp.” It had been well cared for. The chrome was polished, and the waxed body glinted in the sun.

“Water lilies are ancient plants,” Russell observed as they drove along the shore of the lake. “Been around a couple hundred million years at least.”

Manny looked at him over the top of his sunglasses, his wrist resting on the steering wheel. “You notice the new paint job on The Imp? Original color, new paint. Took it to Earl Scheib—any car, any color, ninety-nine dollars. Dropped a new engine in her a few years ago.” He rubbed the upholstery on the seat. “Had this cleaned, the whole thing detailed. It’s like new. I want to keep this car forever.”

They turned and headed downtown on their way to the gravel quarry.

“I saw the weirdest thing this morning,” Russell remembered as they approached downtown. “In the parking lot of Fisker’s Furniture. This fat guy in a nightgown and one of those long nightcaps standing next to this big old bed. He was waving a wand and there was this sign that said, ‘The Celestial Bed.’ It was freaky. I just kind of looked at it and walked on.”

“Let’s check it out,” Manny said. With a jerk of the wheel he changed lanes and made a hard right, racing through a yellow light. They pulled into the parking lot. It was empty. As they idled there, Manny looked carefully around him.

“What are you talking about? Celestial Bed, my ass. I ain’t seeing no Celestial Bed, pal.”

“I’m telling you I saw it earlier. Go in and ask if you want.”

Manny shifted the transmission into park and shook his head. “Right. I’m going to go walk into Fisker’s Furniture and ask to see ‘The Celestial Bed.’ Yeah, right. What do you think I am, some kind of fool?”

“I’m just telling you what I saw.”

“Well, you see it now?”

“No.”

Manny clicked his tongue. “Say it,” he ordered.

“What?”

“Say, ‘There ain’t no Celestial Bed.’”

Russell barked a bemused laugh and repeated, “There ain’t no Celestial Bed.”

“Say it again,” Manny insisted.

“Oh, come on.”

“Say it again, and mean it this time.”

“There ain’t no Celestial Bed.”

“All right,” said Manny, now thoroughly humored. “Let’s get out of here.”

Abruptly reversing, he spun the car around and squealed out across four lanes of traffic, gunned it through a red light and sped out of town.

A guard walked toward them as they approached the gate to the quarry.

“Flip him off,” Russell sneered, poking Manny in the ribs. “Flip him off and ram the gate.”

Manny swatted him and leaned out the window. “We’re here to see Felix Contreras.”

The guard nodded, opened the gate and waved them through. Men covered with dust worked among roaring machinery. Mountains of sand and gravel rimmed the pit. They drove slowly to a corrugated tin building where they were directed to Felix’s office. He was on the phone when they walked in and greeted them with a hesitant wave, holding his hand in the air while he continued his conversation with a strained expression. Noise from the machines outside vibrated the fake wood paneling of the windowless room. Fluorescent tubes glared from a cracked fixture. A fan tried to ventilate the room, but succeeded only in rustling the pages of a company calendar tacked on the wall behind the desk. They remained standing, although they could have seated themselves on a sagging couch. Felix hung up and loosened his tie. Sweat beaded on his brow as he addressed Manny.

“Hi. What are you doing here?”

He turned to Russell and nodded, letting his gaze linger on him a moment.

“Hey, Felix. You know Russ Pinske?”

“Afraid not.” He extended his hand. “Good to meet you.”

“Yeah, Russ is an old friend of ours. He just got back in town. I told him about you always looking for help.”

Felix sighed. “Guys, I wish you’d been here about a month ago. I got a full crew now. Nothing open except for haulers.” He looked hopefully at Russell. “You got a commercial license?”

Russell considered whether he should reveal that his ordinary license had expired a while ago, but said only, “No.”

“That’s all I need now. But who knows—a week from now could be different. Here,” he reached under a stack of papers on his desk and handed over a card. “Give me a call if you don’t find anything else. Jobs open up all the time.”

Relieved, Russell turned to leave. Manny stayed behind.

“You coming by tonight?” he asked.

“No,” Felix said. “I’m coaching Ernesto’s Little League tonight. We’ll probably stop by, but it depends on Liz. She’s feeling tired all the time these days.”

Manny nodded. “All right. Later on.” He walked to the door where Russell stood.

“Take it easy,” Felix called out from behind his desk. “Thanks for coming by.”

Manny cranked the volume on a disco station as they jostled along back roads. A hawk circled in the hazy, humid sky. Fields of corn and beans blanketed the rolling land, interspersed with clumps of trees. Russell didn’t know exactly where they were, but Manny seemed to know where he was going, and he seemed to want to get there in a hurry. He muscled the wheel and swerved onto another road, sending gravel and dust flying behind them. They crossed a bridge over a creek and Russell recognized the road they were on.

“OK, I know where we are. I went to grade school out here.”

Manny turned the radio down. “Yeah, I want to show you something.”

Kingsford Elementary School used to be out in the country. New houses now sprawled across land that had once been dairy farms and alfalfa fields.

“Charlie Jenner built this whole subdivision,” Manny boasted. “I wired a lot of them back when I was an apprentice.”

“Wow,” said Russell, at a loss to say anything else in the face of the countryside’s transformation. Manny smiled and shot down the road to the highway. They drove to the job site and pulled into a dirt lot next to a couple of trailers.

“There it is,” Manny said, cutting the engine. “Used to be a soybean field. Look at it now.”

Russell looked. Rebar twisted out of concrete pilings sunk deep into the fertile loam. Men worked on scaffolding along a partially completed wall, while earthmovers cleared and leveled the perimeter. Manny opened the door, leaving the keys in the ignition.

“I can trust you with The Imp?”

“You know it,” Russell assured him, glad to be offered wheels.

“Pick me up at four-thirty. Don’t be late.” He reached in the back seat, grabbed his hard hat and tool belt, got out of the car, and walked to one of the trailers. Russell slid into the driver’s seat.

The car glided into a space right in front of the Red Rooster Inn. Back when Carl tended bar here, he lived in one of the apartments upstairs. It was there that Russell first met Guy Bogel and Gary Pierce, who shared a place with an ever-changing rotation of shiftless creeps. They were always on the make, working the angles of one scam or another, and in his few interactions with them he had been fascinated by their reckless energy. He climbed the worn, creaking stairs to the third floor. All the apartments were empty. The door of their old unit had been torn off its hinges. Trash covered the floor. A rat skittered through the litter. He returned to the street.

He had a notion to walk around downtown, see what it was like these days, maybe pick up a joy buzzer for Manny. A couple blocks along he spied Helen’s scooter. It was hard to miss, with a big wicker basket strapped to the handlebars and an orange pennant fixed to the rear fender. At some point it had been painted yellow, but that paint was scratched and chipped in places, allowing the original blue to show through and giving it a sort of mottled look. He walked slowly down the street.

“You’re not going to just walk right by me like that, mister.”

The voice stopped him. Slowly he turned. She stood akimbo and stared at him sternly, tapping a sandaled foot under her long silk skirt. He took a step backward; she took a step forward. Her green eyes flashed like the first ray of sun on the sea.

“So are you even going to try to make excuses, or are you just going to stand there?”

“I was looking for you,” he began, leaning toward her. “I saw your scooter. I just got in town. I stopped by your place, but you weren’t there.” She continued to stare him down as he approached. He threw his arms up and admitted, “I’m the world’s worst friend. I totally suck.”

A single blonde curl fell out from under her bandanna and dangled in front of her ear. “The truth’s a pity,” she quipped with a crooked grin, “but there it is.” Her grin broke into a smile, her endearing malocclusion widening as she beamed. She wrapped her arms around him and picked him up off the ground.

“Whoa,” came his surprised response. She put him down.

“I’ve been working out.” She flexed her arms. “Pumping iron. What do you think?”

“Impressive,” he said, truly impressed. “Hey, what are you up to? Summer job?”

“Oh yeah.” She said with a tone of exasperation. “Retail job. Hadn’t really planned on it, but this old friend of my folks, Wayne Edwards, opened up an antique shop last spring. I ran into him a while ago and he needed help, so here I am for the next couple months.” She tapped his upper arm. “What are you up to, stranger?”

“Well, I left Cincinnati for good. Just got into town this morning. I’m on the road, looking for somewhere to go, something to do.” What he heard himself saying sounded absurd, so he added a modifying, “Or something like that.”

“And what are you doing for fun?” she asked with a smile.

He gave her a good long look, then hugged her.

“Oh, Helen, I’m glad you don’t hate me.”

She patted his back and broke the embrace, saying, “I’m glad I don’t, either.”

“You know, I stopped by your place this morning. Actually, you were the first person I looked up. But you weren’t there, and Myrtle wouldn’t tell me where you were.”

“Myrtle?” She looked startled. “You talked to Myrtle?”

“Yeah, she was in your apartment when I knocked.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Myrtle was in my apartment?”

“Yeah, the front door was open, she was in there. At least, I guess it was her—she wouldn’t confirm or deny that she was Myrtle.”

“Scrawny old bird with a blue fright wig?”

“Yep,” he said, his affection for her rekindling as they talked.

“That stinker. I’m going to have to have a talk with her.”

“So, you didn’t know she was in there?”

“No, I didn’t. And I didn’t give her permission either.”

She stared into middle distance and recalled, “I gave her a copy of my key a few months ago so she could water plants and stuff when I was up in Michigan.” She wagged a finger as she declared, “And I got that key back, I know I did. She must have made a copy. That stinker!”

He snickered. She huffed and pointed at him.

“You’re good for something after all—letting me know that’s been going on all this time. I’m going to chew her out good, boy.”

She fumed a little, then calmed down and said, “Hey, I’ve got to get back. I’m the only one here today. Let me give you my number. Call me tonight. I don’t have any plans, except maybe slapping Myrtle around. But we’ll get together and do some catching up.”

He found a scrap of paper in his pocket and wrote the number she recited.

“That’s unlisted,” she added.

He told her he’d call her later, then she got back to work. He walked to the novelty store and bought a joy buzzer.

After an aimless drive around town, he ended up on a county road out by Bass Lake, where Guy’s father, Frank, lived. He knew better than to stop if Frank’s car was there. Once on a carouse with Guy and Gary he’d been in the house while Guy raided the refrigerator and liquor cabinet, something he did on occasion. Although he’d never met Frank, he’d heard enough of Guy’s stories to steer clear of him. Frank had seen action in Vietnam, and the house was filled with military paraphernalia. Things had gotten really bad when Guy’s mother abandoned them all. Guy was eight at the time; his autistic brother Bob was six. That was the same year Frank lost most of his right foot when a bucket of hot tar spilled on him. The boys were pretty much left to their own devices while he drank and popped pills. Guy left the house at fifteen. Frank lived off illicit arms sales, supplemented with Bob’s welfare checks.

The driveway was clear, so Russell stopped to see if Bob was home, and if he knew where to find Guy. When his persistent knocking went unanswered, he turned to leave. The door opened behind him, and Bob stuck his head out.

“Hey, Bob,” he said, turning. “I’m Russ Pinske, used to hang out with Guy a little.”

“Uh-huh.” Bob eyed him with suspicion.

“Know where I can find him?” He smiled, consciously using his most friendly tone.

“Nope.”

“Have you seen him? Is he still around?”

“I don’t know. My dad’s coming back, and he gets mad at Guy’s friends.” With that he closed the door.

Exhausted, Russell drove back to Carmela and Manny’s. He tried several of the dozens of keys on Manny’s ring before he found the one that let him into the house. Tossing the keys on the kitchen table, he went back to the guest room, unfolded the bed from the couch, and rummaged through his backpack for an old alarm clock. He wound it, and set it to get him up in time to retrieve Manny.

His deep, dreamless sleep came to an abrupt end. Carmela was jumping on the bed in her stocking feet, her long ponytail flailing about her bobbing head. She giggled and squealed while bouncing around. He regarded her with mouth agape and groggy eyelids drooping.

“Come on,” she said brightly. “Get up and take a shower. We’re going to my folks’ for dinner. Put on some good clothes—you know my mom can’t stand sloppy.”

“What the hell’s going on here?” Manny’s voice boomed down the hall. Russell sat up. Carmela stopped bouncing. He stepped into the room, arms crossed over his chest, looking pissed.

“I let you use my car, tell you to pick me up, and this is how you thank me? Leaving me stuck out at work while you lie around here stinking up my house, snoring like a pig?”

Russell gasped. “Manny, dude, I set my alarm.” He grabbed his clock and shook it. Manny burst out laughing, and Carmela rolled her eyes.

“You can never pull anything off,” she said with a disappointed shake of her head.

He laughed and nodded in agreement. “You’re right. I always crack up.”

Carmela began bouncing again, acting goofier than before. Russell held his clock.

“Don’t hurt your clock,” she told him. “I came home and saw you and turned it off, and went to pick him up.” She dived off the bed toward Manny, shouting, “Catch me!”

He did, and carried her out of the room in his arms.

Russell rifled through his backpack, found the best clothes he had and threw them on the bed. They were pretty wrinkled, but they’d have to do. He stepped into the shower. A breeze came through the open window, carrying a hint of rain that blended sweetly with the water splashing on cool tiles. He wrapped himself in a fluffy towel and returned to the guest room. The bed had been made, his clothes had been ironed and laid out. He dressed, ran a comb through his mop of hair, and stepped out to join his friends.