“What’s that.”
“Why old Gordo stuck up for me with Wabash, after all that. I never would of got that job otherwise.”
“He knew about your ma. He knew you needed the work.”
“Maybe. But I think it was about Big Man, mostly. I think he had a soft spot there.”
“Maybe,” said Danny. “But I’ll tell you something.”
Jeff waited.
“Marky never would’ve got that job without you there with him. You’ve watched out for him, Jeff, and I won’t ever forget that. None of us will.”
Jeff rolled his eyes. “Don’t be thanking me, for Christ’s sake.” He shook his head dismally. “All these years. All that time away from your family.”
Danny looked down at the floor, at his boots. “How about this,” he said. “How about we just give the whole subject a rest. That work for you?”
“That works for me. You just watch your ass, Danny-boy, all right? There’s no telling what some folks might do.”
“I’ll watch my ass.”
Danny raised his glass and after a moment Jeff raised his too and as they did so the men’s room door rattled open and the drunk man emerged and came toward them on a wandering course. He reached their table and stood balancing himself. Wet pink eyes disappearing in long, slow blinks.
“A word of caution, boys, if you will allow it,” he said, and swung his face from one of them to the other. Danny looked to Jeff, and Jeff looked to Danny but before either could speak the man said, “He is everywhere, boys. Everywhere. Even here, in this reportedly godforsaken place,” and he raised both hands and looked to the ceiling like a man preparing to catch something, and holding this pose he began to pitch forward, slowly, like a great statue falling, and he would have crashed face-first into their table except that both of them rose at once to take an arm and stop his fall and set him back on his feet again.
He nodded at them in turn. Patted their hands. Their shoulders.
“You see?” he said. “Even here, boys. Even here.”
36
HE’D COME OUT of the men’s room wiping his hands on his jeans to dry them, and Jeff was not at the table and he thought he’d gone ahead but then he saw him at the bar. Jeff, he’d said, reaching him before he could order, taking hold of his arm. Come on, Jeff, we said we were going.
Just one more.
That’s what you said last time.
What’s your hurry?
I gotta get home.
No you don’t.
Yeah, I do, Danny said. I gotta open the store in the morning.
Jeff sputtered his lips and flung his hand.
Fine, Danny said. Stay if you wanna stay, but I’m going. And he’d made his way through the bodies and was pushing through the door before Jeff caught up with him, You hard-ass, Young, you killjoy, the two of them stepping out into a strong October wind, Aw be quiet you old drunk, their voices carrying across the lot and the dog’s head popping up in the rear window well before they reached the back of the lot where they’d parked their vehicles, the car and the truck, side by side. Jeff wrestling his keys from his jeans pocket and dropping them in the gravel and stooping to pick them up and nearly toppling in the wind.
Let me drive you, Jeff.
I’m all right.
Danny leaned against the fender of the old Camaro and after a moment Jeff did too. They stared back at the building. The faint beat of music from within. Bodies moving dimly behind the glass. The cold night wind felt good after the heat of Smithy’s on a Wednesday night—Wednesday nights being a night of low enforcement, so far as carding went, and therefore one of the bar’s busiest.
Where do you think she is now? Jeff said.
Who?
You know who.
Why do you care?
I don’t care. I know where she is. Blowing some dumb-fuck for her ride home.
I thought you were over her.
I am over her. He snorted and shook his head. He said, You could see right through that goddam shirt or whatever it was she was wearing.
I know it, said Danny. She knew it.
Jeff looked up at the sky, the moon. His blond hair tossed by the wind. And it’s fuckin October. You think he knows she goes out dressed like that?
Who?
Who do you think? The old man. Old Gordo.
Yeah, I think he knows.
Abruptly Jeff leaned forward and put his hands on his knees.
You gonna puke?
No I ain’t gonna puke.
Why don’t we walk around awhile? We can walk the dog.
I’m all right. He straightened and combed his fingers through his hair. Just then a car pulled into the lot, a family wagon, and three girls they knew spilled out, all legs and high heels. Clutching at each other as they crossed the pitted lot, holding down their skirts in the wind. When they saw the two boys leaning on the Camaro one of them, Loretta Woods, called out, Get a room, you two, and Jeff called back, Only if you join us, and the girls went into hysterics, Dream on, Goss! and even Jessica Fisher, who was a shy girl, stuck out her hip and gave herself a spank and on they went laughing into the bar.
Now you see there, said Jeff. Let’s get back in there and get some a that.
We’re not getting any of that, Jeff.
Are you kidding me?
Shit, said Danny. Those girls will get you buying them drinks all night and when you go to take a piss they’ll go right out the door, laughing their asses off.
Jeff looked at him and shook his head. Pussy-whipped.
What?
Heard me.
That’s a fine way to talk about your sister.
Not talking about her, talking about you.
Danny looked at the big window in the front of the bar. The moving shapes within, the muted pulse of music.
He wasn’t going to say it. Then he did.
What’s up with her, anyway? he said.
Who?
Your sister, dumb-ass.
Whattaya mean what’s up with her? She’s Katie.
Danny watched the bar. Something’s up, he said.
Well, said Jeff. I didn’t know if I should say anything, he said, all at once sober. I mean—shit.
Danny turned to look at him. Jeff looking down. Shaking his head.
I think she might be cheating on you, buddy, he said, and looked up. He held his expression, then lost it. Sputtering into his hand.
Fuck you, said Danny.
Relax, man. She’s cramming. Entrance exams and shit. You should know all about that, college boy.
Yeah, Danny said. Cramming. That’s what she keeps telling me.
Jeff shook his head. Pussy. Whipped.
Danny pushed off from the fender. You coming with me or not?
No, I am not. Jeff rolled to his right and opened the driver’s door and lowered himself into the bucket seat. Got his legs in and shut the door. He put the key in the ignition and powered down the window but did not start the car. Gonna just sit here awhile, he said, and then I’ll drive on home. He tilted the seat back and closed his eyes.
I can wait and follow you home, Danny said.
I ain’t no drunker’n you.
Hell you’re not.
Whatever. Go home. I’m fine.
You won’t go back in there?
No, I won’t.
You promise?
Yes, sir.
And you’ll drive straight home?
Yes, sir, Officer Dan.
All right. I gotta let that dog out before he explodes.
Oh, Danny-boy, Jeff sang.
I’m gonna call you later.
The pipes, the pipes are clo-ogg-ing.
The dog rode with his nose pointed into the wind and he knew where they were going and he began to whine: he could smell the park, the river. At the last light on the business drag they turned right and took the winding blacktop into the park. The limbs of the big oaks bending in the wind, the points of the spruces stirring the stars like spearheads. Midway through the park the river swung into view through a single-file row of pines, and on it sat a bright gob of moon swimming against the current, keeping pace with the truck, and when Danny pulled off onto the dirt shoulder and came to a stop the moon stopped too and sat shuddering on the windy face of the water.