Alice said, “You can’t beat yourself up like this, Lynn. We were kids, for crying out loud.”
Sam nodded, “That is true.”
Alice added, “And Corinne was messed up. Sheeeeeeezus. Not trying to pile on, but did you guys see her today? That poor woman looks like something the cat threw up.”
Mikey said, “Don’t be mean.”
“I know,” Alice said, hand in the air, conceding to this. She turned to Lynn. “You didn’t say anything about Sally’s mom that wasn’t true; that’s all I meant to say.”
Lynn said, “Sally never, ever spoke ill of her mother, did she? Very protective of her.”
Sam said, “She never said much about her, period.”
Mikey could recall a single occasion when Sally had spoken somewhat disparagingly of her mother, but it was such a mild, fleeting observation that he wasn’t even sure it could count as “speaking ill.” Sally was eleven or twelve at the time, and Mikey was helping her memorize a vocabulary list on the bus on the way to school. Sally said the word delusional, spelled it, and offered the definition. She stared out the window in silence for a moment, then she said, “I think my mom does this sometimes.”
“Does what?” Mikey had said.
“When she tells stories about other people, like when my aunt Rhonda comes to visit, or Grammy, or when we visit them, or when my mom’s boyfriends are over . . . Anyhow, whenever my mom remembers things, she always remembers it wrong. Like that people were mean to her when they were actually nice.” Sally thought on this for a moment, then added, “Or that people were nice to her when actually they were mean.”
Sally fell silent again, and these would be the last words Mikey ever heard her speak of her mother.
Alice turned back to Lynn. “Did you and Sally make amends before she cut us all off?”
Lynn nodded. “I apologized. Things still felt a little chilly between us, but I got the impression it was going to be okay. But then it wasn’t even a full month after that happened that she cut off all of us. I couldn’t help feeling that was why.”
Alice said, “Lynn, you’re a sweet sap.”
Lynn said, “It’s one of those memories that still lives hot in me. Do you know what I mean? Still comes at nighttime in pieces and waves.” She looked around to meet the eyes of the others. “The other thing I’ve wondered . . . Do you guys think there’s any chance Sally started using something? I hadn’t thought about it all that much, but then with the suicide . . . And with Corinne, obviously it would run in the family. Anyway, there were times when I was really in the thick of it, my own addiction I mean . . . I was right at the edge.” Lynn’s voice had grown faraway and indistinct, and Mikey thought of the scar he had seen on her forearm earlier that afternoon.
Alice said, “What do you mean?”
“Self-obliteration,” Lynn said. “If I’d had the wherewithal to get myself to the edge of a bridge, I probably would’ve jumped off it. I just wonder about Sally’s state of mind. What took her there.”
Sam turned to Mikey. “Did Sally look healthy more recently when you saw her out?”
Mikey said, “I never got very close, but . . . I wouldn’t say she looked unhealthy.”
Sam said, “How did Sally look?” His broad pink face was wrinkled with emotion. He tapped his fork silently against his lip.
Mikey said, “She never stopped looking . . . exactly like herself.”
Mikey’s hands, resting in his lap, suddenly looked dead and felt dead.
Alice said, “You can’t blame yourself for any of this, Lynn. You got scared and lashed out a bit. I’ve probably done worse in the past twenty-four hours. I gave three different people the finger just on the drive over here! You’d probably fall out of your chair, go running for the hills, if you knew half the bad shit I’ve done.”
Mikey wondered where Alice was going with this but was relieved at the prospect of a new topic of conversation. “Like what?” he said.
“Yes,” Lynn said, brightening. “Like what?”
Alice said, “Stole one piece of a thousand-piece puzzle at the library.”
Mikey said, “Do better than that.”
Sam said, “Tell about the chicken thing. Remember? Sixth grade?”
Alice looked at him. “The chicken thing?” She looked puzzled for a moment. Then she grimaced. “Oh,” she said. Alice pushed wild black hair back from her face. “That’s nowhere near the worst thing I’ve done, but . . .”
“What’s the chicken thing?” Issa said.
“You must not think bad of me,” Alice said, straightening up in her chair, holding up her right palm as though speaking under oath. “I was young. And these hoodlums”—she looked around the table, indicting the rest of them—“put me up to it.”
“Did we?” Mikey said.
Alice took a swallow of wine and continued. “My aunt who lived out in Springville had a pool. Sometimes my mom would drive the whole lot of us out to swim in the summer. She was out in the boondocks. Had chickens. One afternoon, we got McDonald’s on the way, and I didn’t finish my nuggets.”
Lynn said, “That’s right. I remember now.”
Alice said, “I tossed my leftover nuggets into the coop when my aunt wasn’t watching.”
Issa said, “Oh? Ohhhhhhh. They ate them?”
Alice winced and nodded.
Mikey said, “They devoured them.”
Issa said, “Diabolical.”
Lynn laughed. “Oh, come on, Alice. That’s not that bad. You know those nuggets barely even have any real chicken in them, anyway.”
“Well,” Alice said, “I felt so bad that the next day, I killed a man and ate him so I’d know what it was like.”
Mikey was laughing and laughing.
Alice looked at him. “All right, Funny Pants, what’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”
Mikey cleared his throat. “Hm.” He was quiet for a bit. The worst thing I’ve ever done?
Alice said, “Well?”
“I’m thinking,” Mikey said. He could quickly recall plenty of shitty little things he’d done: petty grudges, nasty insults under his breath, moments of quiet rage, terrible thoughts toward people. But Mikey had never acted out on them; his anger had always been suppressed at the critical moment. Right? The worst thing he’d ever done? Was there anything truly unforgivable?
Mikey’s thoughts turned, and the question was reversed in his head. What was the best thing he’d ever done? The birthday cards to his friends? Fresh baked goods now and then to his father, who probably still preferred his Chips Ahoy! when it came right down to it? Offering to work Thanksgiving and Christmas so a colleague could spend it with their family, when for Mikey it was a great relief not to spend an obligatory holiday with his father? These were small niceties, and they required so little of him . . . Was there a best thing? Even a great or truly good thing? Mikey was suddenly disheartened by all these manufactured little courtesies he performed, disheartened by the idea that his very best things amounted to jack shit. He quickly tried to put this out of his mind. His thoughts returned to the question at hand, the worst thing, and there was abruptly a nagging pull on his brain, almost physically painful, a sharp tug in an uncertain direction. He just hadn’t quite landed on it, couldn’t quite find the words.
Alice said, “Let me guess . . . One time . . . you . . . cut the tag off your mattress.”
Mikey laughed and took a sip of wine. He finally said, “I’ll have to get back to you on that.”
Alice said, “Mikey, you really are a disappointment to me.” She took a sip of her wine then asked, “Too many worst things to choose from or not enough?”
“I’m not sure,” Mikey said.
Alice said, “Maybe your worst thing is still yet to come. Look out!”
The caterers cleared their plates and began to set out silverware
for dessert.
Lynn said, “I’m stuffed. Can we take a break, take some Tums and stretch out our tummies before dessert? Lie around in the other room for a bit? I’ll brew coffee.”
Alice said, “I’m going to eat more lamb in that case.”
Mikey said, “Let’s send the caterers on their way—snow’s really coming down out there.”
Alice filled another plate with lamb and poured two glasses of bourbon over ice. She handed one glass to Mikey.
He said, “I don’t know if I need—”
“Be a friend,” Alice said. “I hate drinking alone. I’ll do it, but I hate it.”
Lynn brought a pot of coffee and mugs and a bowl of sugar into the main room.
Mikey checked his phone, where he had a voice mail. He reported to the others, “Jimmy’s flight got pushed back again. Set to land at nine. He may not make it out here tonight—depending on the weather, he may just grab a hotel near the airport and try to catch us in the morning.”
Alice said, “He is avoiding us! I knew it!”
Sam said, “Maybe one of you musicians would want to play us some tunes?”
Lynn said, “That is one serious piano.”
Chris, appearing quite drunk and vaguely ghoulish with wine-stained teeth, said, “I’m more comfortable on vocals.”
Alice said, “Babe, why don’t you take a knee on that?”
Chris shot her a nasty look and said, “Then I’m going to go check my phone for a while.” She wobbled a bit as she went up the stairs to the master bedroom.
Alice gave them all a weary look and said, “Trust me, you do not want to be subjected to her vocals.”
Mikey sipped his coffee and said, “Is her singing voice quite similar to her speaking voice?”
Sam snorted into his fist.
Lynn said, “She’s very beautiful, Alice, and she seems very nice.”
“She is,” Alice agreed, “and she is. I know I’m too hard on her. I’m just too hard.” She took a sip of her bourbon and threw her braid over her shoulder.
Issa took a seat at the piano and began to play a melody that was soft and warm and slightly sad.
Sam said to Lynn, “What’s he playing?”
Lynn said, “Thelonious Monk . . . ‘’Round Midnight.’”
Issa swayed gently over and back the keys, up and down between registers. His head rolled smoothly over his neck, fingers lifted and grazed and caressed the keys, a slow and beautiful dance.
Mikey glanced over at Alice when a low vibration emerged from her lips.
“Are you purring?” he said.
“I’m relishing the moment.”
Alice, Lynn, Mikey, and Sam listened to the music and didn’t speak for a few minutes. It was completely dark outside now, and darkish in the room, which was lit by only a few hanging lamps that gave off a soft, golden light. Fresh snowfall was illuminated against the wall of windows. The fire on the far side of the room crackled and hissed.
When Mikey glanced at Sam’s face, he was surprised to see that Sam’s broad pink cheeks shone with tears. Mikey reached over and patted Sam’s knee. “You all right?”
“Oh,” Sam wiped his eyes. “It’s the reason Justine’s not here.”
“Uh-huh,” Mikey said.
Alice said, “Yeah?”
“She miscarried,” Sam said in a broken and uncontrolled voice, and then he wept loudly, wetly.
Alice leapt up from her seat to go next to Sam, and she threw her arms around his neck. Sam leaned his head against Alice’s and sobbed harshly for a moment, then hiccupped. “We’ve been trying for years. She was nine weeks along. Size of a lima bean, they said. Justine was already sure it was a girl. We called her Bunny.”
Alice rubbed his back.
Sam hiccupped once more. “We were going to announce it to you guys in person . . .” He sniffed and wiped his eyes. “Anyhow, Alice, that’s why it’s hard to hear about . . . It’s not that I don’t agree with your cause, it’s just hard . . .”
Alice said, “I get it.”
Sam wiped his eyes with the back of his wrists, and moved Alice’s black hair out of his face, handling it like a dirty Kleenex, something he didn’t particularly want to touch. “When we were having a hard time getting pregnant,” he said, “Justine got it in her head that if I stopped drinking, it’d be better. Some doctor told her that having a cleaner system can help with the sperm count.”
“So that’s why you’re not drinking.”
Sam nodded. “I stuck with it once she got pregnant, too, thinking that’d make it easier on her. It obviously doesn’t matter now. I don’t think she’ll be up for trying anytime soon, but it still seems like the right thing to do to stick with it. I should’ve just explained earlier.”
Alice nodded. “I get it. Sorry I gave you so much grief.” She grabbed Sam’s hand and kissed the back of it five times fast.
Sam said, “I wasn’t gonna come here after all, but Justine encouraged me. She’s staying with her sister.”
Mikey said, “I’m so sorry, Sam.”
“Better days ahead,” Sam said with a heavy sigh.
Lynn nodded. “Always.”
Alice said, “Is there anything we can do?”
Sam shook his head. “It’ll happen for us when it’s supposed to happen for us.”
Lynn said, “You will make a great dad when it happens.”
Alice kissed his hand again, then held it in her own lap, and he rested his head on her shoulder.
They listened to Issa’s music without speaking for a few minutes.
Mikey’s thoughts turned unexpectedly to his own father. Mikey still had no clue about his mother’s identity, or even if she was still alive, and could not help wondering now how it had all gone down thirty-one years ago. Mikey tried to imagine how a mother might have announced to his father that she was expecting and what his father’s reaction might have been. Mikey had never once seen his father display joy. He could not imagine his father ever having the same sort of emotion toward him that Sam already had for the lima-bean-size Bunny—the depth of the joy, the grief over the loss. Mikey thought it was very possible that his father never wanted to be a father. Or perhaps, Mikey thought, his father had once been like Sam, completely in love with the lima-bean-size dream of Mikey, but the love had disappeared along with Mikey’s mother. Or perhaps the love had drained from him over the years, a slow leak. Either way, the result was a father who now seemed to have no more feelings toward his grown son than he had toward the weatherman. Had there ever been more between them? Mikey almost wished there was a break he could clearly identify. It seemed things might be easier if he could trace their trouble back to one particular event, one ultimate fight, a precise and abominable deed, or some official diagnosis of alcoholism, depression, or neglect, but the exact
source had no name.
Alice had gotten out of her seat and was doing a downward-facing dog in the middle of the room.
Sam’s voice interrupted Mikey’s thoughts. “There is something else I wanted to talk to you guys about,” he said.
Mikey watched as Sam’s features drew together, reaching a dark and troubled expression.
“I was gonna wait till Jimmy was here, but . . .” Sam scratched his chin, tilting his head up, and he swallowed, his Adam’s apple leaping and bulging. He pushed his blond hair back from his brow.
Alice completed her stretch and sat back down on the couch, breathing heavily, rubbing the heel of her hands into her long, firm thighs.
Sam said, “Lynn, what you said about your own incident with Sally just a few weeks before she left us . . . That might’ve been a factor, but I’m afraid mine is much worse. I’m afraid that mine . . .
Well . . . sometimes I’m afraid that Justine’s miscarriage, and be-fore that, our trouble getting pregnant . . . Sometimes I’m afraid the
se things are my punishment.”
Mikey stared at him.
Alice said, “What on earth for?”
Sam said, “Alice, you were asking Mikey earlier about the worst thing he ever did? Well . . .” Sam released a hot sigh that smelled bad, as though these next words had been stewing around in a sour belly for far too long. “The worst thing I ever did was to Sally,” he said. “She left the group because of me.”
Chapter 19
I was in love with Sally all along,” Sam explained. “From the time I was six to the time I was sixteen. And eventually . . .” Sam paused, shaking his head slowly. “Eventually, I thought, after all those years loving her, I had it in my head that loving her so long and so hard meant that I deserved her,” Sam said, wincing at this word.
Sam cracked his knuckles over his large belly before continuing. “On the night of her sixteenth birthday, I had a gift for her and was going to go to her house to tell her that I loved her. I had it all planned out.”
Mikey glanced at Alice. She ran her fingers through the tip of her dark braid, swirling that black tail around a single bony knuckle.
Sam continued, “But I got there and saw through her bedroom window that she was there with someone. Someone else was in her bed.” He turned to Alice. “You probably remember, I was at The Gunner House later that night. You came and found me there. I told you what had happened. I was burning up with jealousy, turning inside out.” Sam turned to Mikey. “I thought for a minute that it could be you . . . Then I realized it had to be Jimmy.”
Lynn said, “Jimmy and Sally were together?”
Sam nodded. “There had been other things over the years . . . a time I caught her spending the night at his place, in his basement . . . Anyway. I always tried to ignore it, convince myself otherwise, but that night when I saw her in bed with someone confirmed it. I caught up with Sally the next day on the way home from school. Cornered her as she went to her house. I told her I knew what was going on with Jimmy, I had seen. At first I tried to conceal the fact that I was in love with her, tried to make it like I was just angry because they were being secretive, but my emotions got the best of me, and that came out, too. I told her that I loved her and she had hurt me worse than anyone had ever hurt me before.”
The Gunners Page 12
