“No, he’s not into anything,” said Achilles.
“And you?” asked Wages.
“Just a barroom brawl.”
“I knew that guy was a fucking cruncher,” said Wages.
“Cruncher?” asked Achilles.
“You know: crunch, candy cane, Cindy.” said Wages. When Achilles said nothing, he continued. “It’s what every addict wants for Christmas, the perfect drug. They say it’s not addictive. You can smoke it, eat it, snort it, or just hold it too long. It’s what everyone’s on. It gives them those cracks and crevices in the face. Fucks up your skin.”
“This didn’t have anything to do with that.” Achilles had never even heard of crunch before. Sure, Blow had shallow fissures in his cheeks, but they’d looked like acne scars. If they were into crunch, how’d they lure Troy into a drug house? Probably the same way they’d lured Achilles in: Troy asked after his parents, and Bud took him to the green camelback.
“Come on, man. This is the first time you’ve showered in three days. You’re living like you’re on active. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re sleeping in your boots. You’ve gone Renzo.” Lorenzo hadn’t showered or shaved for days at a time and ate raw garlic, claiming he wanted to smell like the Taliban, not like Ivory Soap. “What the fuck is up?”
“Nothing. I told you everything. I need to sleep.” Wages left. It was obvious he hadn’t bought the story.
Achilles felt riven, anxious, as if he had lost something, broken a bone that couldn’t be set. Shame menaced him that night, shadowing him as if it had a life of its own. He had never lied to Wages about anything before, not even minor shit like farting. Sure, he’d never told Wages he was adopted, but that was different, private. He told himself that lying about the fight with Blow was an act of kindness, of consideration for Wages’s new life. Wages would have demanded involvement — the starfish handed out more than plastic forks.
Before drifting off, he listened to his message from Janice, to see if maybe she’d changed her mind about Dale. “I’m just calling to see how you’re doing,” she said. “Wish you were here so we could go to the quarry. I went once without you and it wasn’t the same. If I go, it’s not the same as when you and I go. I know why us is you and me, not I. I’ve finally figured all that out: I and me, who and whom. I’m in a night class at Shippensburg taking English. I want my baby to be smart …” He hung up at the first mention of the baby, whom, until then, he’d managed to forget.
A heated conversation woke him in the middle of the night. He heard Wages grumbling and Bethany say “infection.” A moment later the light came on, and Bethany tiptoed into the room wearing the 49ers cap she wore whenever it rained. Had it been raining? Was that why his face was so wet? This was the worst hangover he’d ever had. She pushed an ottoman close to the pallet Achilles had made on the floor and sat down. Her voice apologetic, she said, “Sorry to wake you, but we’ve got to take care of this. Kyle told me you refused to go to the hospital. You know, those cuts could become infected. We need to clean them properly and bandage you up. Is that okay?”
Achilles nodded, noticing that someone had slipped a pillow under his head and covered him with a blanket. His legs were stiff, his head thumping. He was momentarily confused. Feeling as if he was going to cry, he immediately sat up, hoping that would forestall any tears. “Nothing hurts, but if you want.”
“I want.” Bethany gave him a big smile. Her face was cherubic, the ever-red cheeks setting off the bright green eyes. She led him by the hand to the bathroom and sat him on the toilet. When she leaned forward to get a closer look at his cuts, her hair fell into her face and her breasts swung forward in her shirt.
She tucked her loose hair under her cap and went to work. Her fingers were cool and dry, her hands steady. When had anyone last touched him like this? He remembered the sixty-day shots and how he’d always hoped to get a woman, any woman, as the nurse. Bethany smelled like baby powder, her breath like almonds. His arms went limp as she bandaged his hands. When she reached for his ear, he felt her body heat as her heavy breast grazed his shoulder and pressed against his neck. Achilles would have taken a beating every day to come home to this.
Wages loitered in the hall, muttering. The bathroom was too small for all three of them. It was a tiny room with a shower instead of a tub and a medicine cabinet the size of a shoebox, a room so small, in fact, that Bethany stood with one foot in the hall.
“Be useful and get me some more alcohol,” said Bethany, glaring at her husband. “And a cup of water.” Wages left with a grunt. Bethany caught Achilles’s eyes with her own. “You know he doesn’t believe you. I asked him how he could let this happen to a friend. So he’s grumpy.”
“It was just a misunderstanding,” said Achilles.
“Even I don’t believe that. But, thank you,” she said. “He’s trying to stay up all night and party like a rock star and still go to work. He wants to live like he’s twenty-one again. I know you boys like to stay up late and all, and that’s okay. But whatever this is,” she motioned at his face and the bandages, “I appreciate your keeping him out of it. He’s not alone anymore, and he’s quick to react.” She leaned in, now close enough that her breath tickled his earlobe, “You know his temper, so thank you.”
Achilles nodded, though he disagreed. Wages always had one chambered, but that wasn’t a temper.
“First your father, and now this. Poor Achilles. You have it so hard.” She clamped her hand over her mouth. “I forgot I wasn’t supposed to say anything.”
“It’s okay,” said Achilles. Coming from her it sounded nice, not like pity.
Wages returned with the water.
Bethany looked through her red nursing bag and pulled out two brown glass bottles. “One to help you sleep, and one for the pain you’re going to feel in the morning, and you’re going to feel pain.” She gave him two pills and the water. After he swallowed, she said, “Lift your tongue and say ahh.”
Achilles obeyed.
“Shit, Beth, he’s not a chemo kid,” said Wages.
Bethany shot Wages a look.
“Sorry,” said Wages, throwing his hands up like she’d drawn a gun on him.
Bethany patted Achilles’s arm. Her hand lingered as she said, “Forgive me. I get into the work zone.” She stood. “That should do it. Get some rest, on the couch, on the couch.” She repeated herself until Achilles nodded in agreement. “We’re right in the next room if you need anything.”
“Yeah, like you have a nightmare, or the Boogie Man comes, or some shit,” said Wages. “You have more bandages than the Invisible Man.”
He did. Half of his skull was swathed in gauze, as well as most of both hands, and his entire right arm was one cottony limb. Wincing at the pain in his ankle as he stood, he gimped his way back to his pallet on the floor, and was just about settled in when Bethany called out, “Are you on the couch?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Just checking.” Her voice hung in the air like perfume. His skin was icy-hot everywhere she had touched him. He drifted off to sleep imagining himself in the photos. Achilles and Bethany at Disneyland, the steeple of the Enchanted Castle rising high above them in the background. Achilles and Bethany at Niagara Falls, sipping hot chocolate dotted with marshmallows, while Rex, their lazy yellow Labrador, rests at their feet. Achilles and Bethany on a riverboat, the paddle pushing them to their destiny, roiling water behind, while ahead, a river as smooth as glass. Achilles and Bethany at the Elvis Chapel in Vegas. Janice objects, but it’s too late because Janice already had a baby. Bethany was having his, and Janice shouldn’t begrudge him that. She was pregnant for Dale for chrissakes, a stuttering, tobacco-swallowing mechanic too lazy to chase down any deer he doesn’t drop on the first shot. But Janice is upset anyway, very, dark lines streaking down her face like she’s a melting candle. Her crying tilts into a choking sob. Achilles puts a finger to his lips. “You’ll wake Bethany. Shhh.”