“Just when I thought I was out,” Donny said, doing his best Al Pacino imitation, “they pull me back in.”
He could have re-upped, could have gotten the big reenlistment bonus and the offer of full retirement at age forty, and never had to set foot in Brinkley Springs again, except for the occasional holiday when home on leave, had his mother not gotten sick.
The cancer had been slow but deadly, ravaging her body one cell at a time with unerring precision. The doctors down in Beckley had discovered it by accident. Mom had gone in for a checkup while Donny was still on his second tour in Iraq. They’d discovered a lump in her abdomen, but had assured her it was merely a lipoma, a benign tumor composed of nothing more than extra fatty tissue. And they’d been right. The lump they’d removed was benign, but the tumors they discovered beneath it during the operation were malignant. So were the ones that followed.
His father had died when Donny was ten years old. He’d been coming home from work late one night after a full day of cutting timber on Bald Knob and had rolled his truck down a mountainside between Punkin Center and Renick. After plunging eighty feet, there wasn’t much left of him or the truck. Investigators were never able to determine what had happened. Maybe a deer had run out in front of him. Maybe he’d fallen asleep. Maybe another car had run him off the narrow road. Or maybe it had just been one of those things—dumb luck, the kind that altered lives forever. In any case, no matter what the reason, his father had never come home that night.
His mother had never remarried. As far as Donny knew, she’d never even dated again. He had no siblings, so when his mother got sick, he’d returned home, come back to Brinkley Springs to take care of her. He slept in his old bedroom. At night, after his mother was asleep in a haze of painkillers and sedatives, Donny had lain in that old bedroom and stared at the ceiling. It felt like a prison, and with each passing night, the walls had seemed to draw closer.
Mom had lingered for just over a year. They’d tried various treatments, but none of them had worked, and some of them had made her sicker than the cancer itself. In the end, she’d succumbed. Donny had been by her side in the hospital when it happened.
Now she was gone, and in a minute, as soon as he climbed back in his pickup truck and started the engine, Donny would be gone, too. This time for good.
“I’m sorry, Mom.”
The street lights blinked out. Donny stared up at them, waiting for the illumination to return, but it didn’t.
“Fucking town. Nothing works around here anymore. Even the lights are dead.”
Something screamed in the night. Donny jumped, startled. It sounded like an injured woman or child. The cry came from the woods, shattering the stillness. After a moment, he realized what it was. The shrieks belonged to a screech owl. He’d been terrified of that sound as a young boy, but had forgotten all about it in adulthood—as adulthood had given him all new things to be afraid of.
“Damn it.”
With a third sigh, Donny turned away from the house and clambered up into the cab of the truck. The seat springs groaned as he climbed inside. He slammed the door, rolled the window down and slipped his key into the ignition. He was about to start it when someone called his name.
“Donny? Donny, wait!”
Surprised, Donny leaned his head out the window and glanced behind him. The streetlights still hadn’t returned, and at first, all he saw was a shadow. Then, as the figure drew closer, he recognized it. Marsha Cummings was hurrying down the street toward him. Her flip-flops beat a steady rhythm on the pavement.
I must be tired, he thought. I didn’t even hear her coming. How could I not have, with her wearing those flip-flops?
Swallowing the sudden lump in his throat, Donny turned the key in the ignition. Nothing happened.
“Shit.”
He tried it again, but the engine refused to turn over. When he tried the headlights, he found that they were dead, as well.
“Donny,” Marsha called again. “Wait a minute, goddamn it!”
Sighing a fourth and final time, Donny let his fingers fall away from the keys. He waited for Marsha to reach him, and repeated the Pacino line under his breath.
“Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.”
And that was when the dogs began to howl.
“Yo, turn this shit up,” Sam said, reaching for the computer mouse. On the monitor, iTunes had just segued from Redman to Kanye West. The bass line thumped softly from two speakers and a subwoofer hooked into the back of the computer.
“Leave it alone,” Randy warned, smacking his friend’s hand away. “My parents are still awake. We don’t need them coming up here. And besides, Kanye West is a bag of fuck.”
“If you don’t like him,” Stephanie asked after sipping her beer, “then why is he on your iPod?”
“Because I used to like him. I just don’t anymore. Dude be tripping all the time. Too much ego and not enough talent. And besides, his shit’s outdated.”
“Well,” Stephanie persisted, “so are Redman and Ice-T, but you’ve got them on here. Hell, Ice-T was around when our parents were our age.”
“Yeah, but that’s classic shit. There’s a difference between being a classic and just being outdated. Ice-T was an original gangster. Kanye ain’t all that. He’s a squirrel looking for a nut.”
Randy turned his attention back to the video gamhe was playing with Sam. The two sat on the edge of his bed, controllers in hand, staring at the television. Stephanie sat in the chair in front of Randy’s desk. Her gaze went from the television to the boys to the computer, and then back to the television again.
She sighed.
“What’s wrong?” Randy asked her, his tone impatient.
“I’m bored. I mean, I didn’t come over here to watch you two play video games all night.”
Randy’s attention didn’t leave the television. “Then what the hell did you come over here for?”
“To spend time with you guys, asshole.”
“I reckon we are spending time together.”
“No, we’re not. We’re just hanging out in your bedroom.”
Her cell phone beeped. Stephanie picked it up and smiled.
“It’s Linda. Hang on, let me text her back.”
She grew quiet for a few moments as she typed, and Randy tried to focus on the game. Then Stephanie’s phone beeped again as Linda replied, and Stephanie squealed with laughter. Grunting, Randy dropped his game controller in frustration. On the screen, his character died a bloody death at the hands of Sam, who sat back and grinned.
“Now look what you did,” Randy said to Stephanie. “You fucked with my concentration and I lost.”
“It’s not my fault!”
“Sure it is. You and Linda text like twenty-four/ seven. Ya’ll are lesbians or something.”
“Asshole.”
“Don’t you get sick of each other?”
“Sounds to me like you’re jealous.”
Ignoring her, Randy turned to Sam. “I’m done, yo. This game sucks, anyway.”
“Come on, Steph.” Sam fished the controller out of Randy’s lap and held it up. “Why don’t you give it a try?”
“Okay.”
She hopped out of the chair and took a seat between them on the bed. Smiling, she accepted the controller from Sam, whose hairless cheeks suddenly flushed red. He glanced away from her, shifting back and forth nervously when she giggled. The bed springs squeaked.
“Promise to be gentle?” Stephanie grinned. “I reckon so,” Sam murmured.
Randy stood up and crossed the room. Like Sam, his ears and cheeks were red, too, but unlike Sam, it wasn’t from embarrassment. Sam was supposed to be his best friend. They’d known each other all their lives. They’d known Stephanie all their lives, too, and it wasn’t until this year, when it suddenly became apparent that Stephanie wasn’t just the little girl they’d always known anymore, that the relationship between the three of them had grown so complicated. Randy hated it when Stephanie tried to play him and Sam against each other. Worse, it bothered him even more that Sam was sucker enough to fall for it every time. Sometimes, she genuinely seemed to want to be with him. Other times, she seemed more interested in Sam. Randy hated how the whole situation made him feel.