He feels bad about what he’s about to do. He tries not to hurt anyone, and most of the time he remembers enough to know that he’s not hurting them forever, or not as much as first appears. Like with Frankie. Yes, it was terrifying for him when the casino employees grabbed him, but nothing really bad happened, and Frankie had already learned how to take a punch. But this, this is different. He can’t remember what happens after September 4. What if what he does tonight has far-reaching ramifications beyond that date?
And yet: he has to proceed, as his future memory dictates.
Buddy reaches into his pocket and brings out the packet of DUSTED insecticide. He pours it into the top of the goji powder, stirs it a bit with the big Magic Marker he’s brought with him. Not too much stirring, though. The first dose will be scooped off the top. Then he screws down the lid and writes, Embrace Life!
It takes him only twenty minutes to make the delivery—traffic is light this time of night—and he remembers to stop at the Dunkin’ Donuts. He orders a dozen, most of it chocolate sprinkles (he’s partial to sprinkles), and adds a bear claw for the baker’s dozenth. He’s carrying the box toward the house when he remembers there’s something he’s supposed to do first. Something about the garage. Oh! Right.
In the garage, Teddy’s big Buick is sleeping. Buddy opens the driver’s side, and winces at the absurdly loud door chimes. Balancing the donut box in one hand, he leans down, fishes under the driver’s seat. He comes up with his prize, a Ziploc bag containing two marijuana cigarettes, one half consumed. Best not mix that with the donuts. He tucks it into his pocket for later.
Frankie and Irene are still at the table, but they’ve gone silent. Frankie sits with his head in his hands. Irene stares at the tabletop, arms crossed on her lap. It’s as if they’re playing an invisible chess game and they’ve lost track of the pieces.
Buddy opens the donut box, letting Frankie have first choice. A quiet oh of surprise escapes his brother’s lips. He reaches for the bear claw. Bear claws are his favorite. Always have been, always will be.
There are not enough donuts in the world to make up for what he does to his brother in Alton. It’s an act of selfishness. Selfishness born of great need, true and burning curiosity, but selfishness nonetheless.
He lies in bed next to Cerise, whose hair is long and blonde and entirely artificial. What he’s experienced in the past hour is real, however, the most real thing he’s ever lived through. For long stretches of minutes he was entirely in his body, in the moment. His mind wasn’t roaming through the past, or the future. He wasn’t staring at a glowing clock frozen at 11:59.
“You feeling okay, honey?” she asks.
He says, “I’ve never felt better.”
“I can tell by that goofy smile on your face.” She chuckles, her voice low and sexy. She nibbles at the lobe of his ear and he laughs with her. Still close to his ear, she whispers, “Is this your first time with a girl like me?”
His ears burn. He’s blushing.
She throws her head back and laughs. “I thought so! You were so enthusiastic.”
“I’ve never met anyone like you,” he says. “Yet…” He waits until she’s looking at him again. Until her eyes soften. He says, “I’ve always known you. I’ve been waiting for you my whole life.”
“Aw.” She kisses his forehead, pushes his hair back. “Ain’t you sweet.”
He closes his eyes. “I just want to lie here forever,” he says. “Back home I have to—well, my job is pretty stressful.”
“What do you do?”
He wants to tell her everything, from the first guessed baseball score until the day his mother gave him the medal. “My job is to predict the future.”
“Ooh. Are you a stockbroker?”
“It’s kind of like that. I try to figure out what’s going to happen, and find the way to the best outcome. It’s impossible to know all the details—”
“Who can?” Cerise says.
“Right,” he says. He sits up. “But I can spot trends. And sometimes I give things a nudge.”
“Ah,” she says. “You’re one of those Master of the Universe types, aren’t you?” Teasing him. “Doing a little insider trading?”
“It’s not like that.” But isn’t it? Everyone else is on the outside of the machine, and he’s running along under the glass, nudging the pinballs without being run over himself. He wants to tell her this. He wants to explain everything to her, but his own habit of silence is getting in the way. He wants to tell her that across town, his brother is being dragged from one boat to another.
“Oh, honey,” Cerise says. “You’re getting stressed out now. We can’t have that.” She takes his hand and puts it on her. “You have all the time you need.”
“I wish that were true,” he says.
She shushes him. “Don’t be that way.” She turns into him, and he feels Cerise’s cock harden in his grip. Even though he’s been picturing this night for years, he’s amazed every moment by what it’s like to be with another person. He thought it would be like masturbation, except a little better.
He was wrong. So, so wrong.
She says, “What else you want to try, your first day behind the wheel?”
“Everything,” he says.
Slowly, she teaches him how to please her. Yes, they have similar equipment, but they’re not the same. Cerise is Cerise. A miracle and a mystery.
He finds himself at a kitchen table, cards in his hands, three days before the Zap. Eventually they make enough noise that Matty stops pretending he’s sleeping and comes downstairs. Nobody worries about waking Teddy. He snores like a man twice his size, and his sleep is impenetrable.
Irene has made a pot of coffee, but Frankie has switched to beer and Buddy’s on his second tall glass of milk. Matty nabs the last chocolate frosted donut—that’s his favorite—and says, “So we’re having a party?”
“I thought you were grounded,” Frankie says.
Matty shoots him a worried look, but Irene is not in a rule-enforcing mood. “The game is seven-card stud,” she says to her son. “Low-high, nickel ante.”
“Nickel?” Matty says. “Pretty steep.”
“This is why you need a job,” she says.
“To lose it to you in poker?”
“Or win big,” Frankie says.
Matty looks away from Frankie, embarrassed. Covers it by hitching up his running shorts and affecting a world-weary voice. “Guess you gotta risk money to make money.”
Irene laughs, charmed by her boy, and Matty doesn’t hide his pleasure at this. Buddy’s reminded again that those two were on their own for years, a self-contained unit.
An hour from now, Buddy disappears to the top floor. He retrieves the blue envelope from the locked box in his room, the one with Matty’s name on it. Then he goes to Matty’s attic room, strips the boy’s bed, and puts on clean sheets. Frankie will have to take Matty’s room, because the new bunk beds in the basement are too small for him. Matty will fit, though. Buddy goes downstairs and unwraps a set of Kmart sheets and dresses one of the four bunk beds. In the springs of the bed above, he places the envelope and the Ziploc bag.
Then he goes up to his own room. He hopes to sleep for a few hours before resuming preparations for the Zap, including installing a new fire door for the basement.
But that’s in an hour. Now Irene deals him in. There’s no money to risk, however; everyone’s playing with handfuls of coins from Teddy’s change jar.
Buddy’s playing several games at once, in different eras. His mother asks if he’s got any sevens. Teddy leans close, his hands covering Buddy’s own tiny hands, as he shows him how to peek at the second card during the deal. A fourteen-year-old Irene, bored from babysitting duty, lays out a spider solitaire game while he watches. Frankie says, “You in or out?”