A picnic, she said. Wayne, that’s lovely—thank you.
She reached her hand across the table and grasped his. He was exasperating sometimes, but no other man she’d met could reach this level of sweetness. He’d lugged this stuff out into the middle of nowhere for her—that’s where he must have been all afternoon.
You’re welcome, he said. The red spots on his cheeks spread and deepened. He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles, then her wedding ring. He rubbed the places he’d kissed with his thumb.
He said, I’m sorry that dinner won’t be as fancy as the plates, but I really couldn’t get anything but sandwiches out here.
She laughed. I’ve eaten your cooking. We’re better off with the sandwiches.
Ouch, he said. He faked a French accent: This kitten, she has the claws. But I have the milk that will tame her.
He bent and rummaged through a paper bag near his chair, then produced a bottle of red wine with a flourish and a cocked eyebrow. She couldn’t help but laugh.
He uncorked the bottle and poured her a glass.
A toast.
To what?
To the first part of the surprise.
There’s more?
He smiled, slyly, and lifted his glass, then said, After dinner.
He’d won her over; she didn’t question it. Jenny lifted her glass, clinked rims with her husband’s, and sat back with her legs crossed at the knee. Wayne bent and dug in the bag again, and then came up with wheat bread and cheese, and a package of carved roast beef in deli paper. He made her a sandwich, even slicing up a fresh tomato. They ate in the pleasant breeze.
After dinner he leaned back in his chair and rubbed his stomach. When they first started dating she thought he did this to be funny; but soon she realized he did it without thinking, after eating anything larger than a candy bar. It meant all was well in the land of Wayne. The gesture made her smile, and she looked away. Since they’d married he’d developed a small wedge of belly; she wondered—not unhappily, not here—if in twenty years he’d have a giant stomach to rub, like his father’s.
So I was right? she asked. This is your parents’ woods?
Nope, he said, smiling.
It’s not?
It was. They don’t own it any more.
They sold it? When? To who?
Yesterday. He was grinning broadly now. To me, he said. To us.
She sat forward, then back. Wayne glanced around at the trees, his hair tufting in a sudden pickup of the wind.
You’re serious, she said. Her stomach tightened. This was a feeling she’d had a few times since their wedding—she was learning that the more complicated Wayne’s ideas were, the less likely they were to be good ones. A picnic in the woods? Fine. But this?
I’m serious, Wayne said. This is my favorite place in the world—second-favorite, I mean. He winked at her, then went on. But either way. Both of my favorite places are mine now. Ours.
She touched a napkin to her lips. So, she said, how much did—did we pay for our woods?
A dollar. He laughed, and said, Can you believe it? Dad wanted to give it to us, but I told him, No, Pop, I want to buy it. We ended up compromising.
She could only stare at him. He squeezed her hand, and said, We’re landowners now, honey. One square mile.
That’s—
Wayne said, Dad wanted to sell it off, and I couldn’t bear the thought of it going to somebody who was going to plow it all under.
We need to pay your parents more than a dollar, Wayne. That’s absurd.
That’s what I told them. But Dad said no, we needed the money more. But honey—there’s something else. That’s only part of the surprise.
Jenny twined her fingers together in front of her mouth. A suspicion had formed, and she hoped he wasn’t about to do what she guessed. Wayne was digging beside his chair again. He came up with a long roll of paper—blueprint paper, held with a rubber band. He put it on the table between them.
Our paper anniversary, he said.
What is this?
Go ahead. Look at it.
Jenny knew what the plans would show. She rolled the rubber band off the blueprints, her mouth dry. Wayne stood, his hands quick and eager, and spread the prints flat on the tabletop. They were upside down; she went around the table and stood next to him. He put a hand on the small of her back.
The blueprints were for a house. A simple two-story house—the ugliest thing she had ever seen.
I didn’t want to tell you too soon, he said, but I got a raise at the bank. Plus, now that I’ve been there three years, I get a terrific deal on home loans. I got approval a few days ago.
A house, she said.
They were living in an apartment in Kinslow, nice enough, but bland, sharing a wall with an old woman who complained if they spoke above a whisper, or if they played rock-and-roll records. Jenny put a hand to her hair. Wayne, she said, where is this house going to be?
Here, he said, and grinned again. He held his arms out. Right here. The table is on the exact spot. The contractors start digging on Monday. The timing’s perfect. It’ll be done by the end of summer.
Here . . . in the woods.
Yep.
He laughed, watching her face, and said, We’re only three miles from town. The interstate’s just on the other side of the field to the south. The county road is paved. All we have to do is have them expand the path in and we’ll have a driveway. It’ll be our hideaway. Honey?
She sat down in the chair he’d been sitting in. She could barely speak. They had talked about buying a house soon—but one in town. They’d also talked about moving to Indianapolis, about leaving Kinslow—maybe not right away, but within five years.
Wayne, she said. Doesn’t this all feel kind of . . . permanent?
Well, he said, it’s a house. It’s supposed to.
We just talked last month. You wanted to get a job in the city. I want to live in the city. A five-year plan, remember?
Yeah. I do.
He knelt next to her chair and put his arm across her shoulders.
But I’ve been thinking, he said. The bank is nice, really nice, and the money just got better, and then Dad was talking about getting rid of the land, and I couldn’t bear to hear it, and—
And so you went ahead and did it without asking me.
Um, Wayne said, it seemed like such a great deal that—
Okay, she told him. Okay. It is a great deal. If it was just buying the woods, that would be wonderful. But the house is different. What it means is that you’re building your dream house right in the spot I want to move away from. I hate to break it to you, but that means it’s not quite my dream house.
Wayne removed his hand from her shoulders, and clasped his fingers in front of his mouth. She knew that gesture, too.
Wayne—
I really thought this would make you happy, he said.
A house does make me happy. But one in Kinslow. One we can sell later and not feel bad about, when we move—
She wasn’t sure what happened next. Wayne told her it was an accident, that he stood up too fast and hit his shoulder on the table. And it looked that way, sometimes, when she thought back on it. But when it happened, she was sure he flung his arm out, that he knocked the table aside. That he did it on purpose. The wineglasses and china plates flew out and disappeared into the clumps of yellow grass. The blueprints caught in a tangle with the tablecloth and the other folding chair.
Goddamnit! Wayne shouted. He walked a quick circle, holding his hand close to his chest.
Jenny was too stunned to move, but then, after a minute, she said Wayne’s name.
He shook his head and kept walking the circle. Jenny saw he was crying, and when he saw her looking, he turned his face away. She sat still in her chair, not certain what to say or do. Finally she knelt and tried to assemble the pieces of a broken dish.
After a minute he said, I think I’m bleeding.
She stood and walked to him and saw that
he was. He’d tom a gash in his hand, on the meaty outside of his palm. A big one; it would need stitches. His shirt was soaked with blood where he’d cradled his hand.
Come on, she said. We need to get you to the hospital.
No, he said. His voice was low and miserable.
Wayne, don’t be silly. This isn’t a time to sulk. You’re hurt.
No. Hear me out. Okay? You always say what you want, and you make me sound stupid for saying what I want. This time I just want to say it.
She grabbed some napkins and pressed them against his hand. Jesus, Wayne, she said, seeing blood from the cut well up across her fingers. Okay, okay, say what you need to.
This is my favorite place, he said. I’ve loved it since I was a kid. I used to come out here with Larry. He and I used to imagine we had a house here. A hideaway.
Well—
Be quiet. I’m not done yet. His lip quivered, and he said, I know we talked, I know you want to go to Indy. Well, we can. But it looks like we’re going to be successful. It looks like I’m going to do well and you can get a job teaching anywhere. I’ll just work hard and in five years maybe we can have two houses—
Oh, Wayne—
Listen! We can have a house in Indy and then this—this can be our getaway. He sniffled, and said, But I want to keep it. Besides you, this is the only thing I want. This house, right out here.
We can talk about it later. You’re going to bleed to death if we don’t get you to the emergency room.
I wanted you to love it, he said. I wanted you to love it because I love it. Is that too much to ask from your wife? I wanted to give you something special. I—
It was awful, watching him try to explain. The spots of red in his cheeks were burning now, and the rims of his eyes were almost the same color. The corners of his mouth turned down in little curls.
Don’t worry, she said. We’ll talk about it. Okay? Wayne? We’ll talk. We’ll take the blueprints with us to the emergency room. But you need stitches. Let’s go.
I love you, he said.
She stopped fussing around his hand. He was looking down at her, tilting his head.
Jenny, just tell me you love me and none of it will matter.
She laughed in spite of herself, shaking her head. Of course, she said. Of course I do.
Say it. I need to hear it.
She kissed his cheek. Wayne, I love you with all my heart. You’re my husband. Now move your behind, okay?
He kissed her, dipping his head. Jenny was bending away to pick up the blueprints, and his lips, wet, just grazed her cheek. She smiled at him and gathered their things; Wayne stood and watched her, moist-eyed.
She finally took his good hand, and they walked back toward the car, and his kiss, dried slowly by the breeze, felt cool on her cheek. It lingered for a while, and—despite everything—she was glad for it.
Then
The boys were first audible only as distant shrieks between the trees.
They were young enough that any time they raised their voices—and they were chasing each other, their only sounds loud calls, denials, laughter—they sounded as though they were in terror. When they appeared in the meadow—one charging out from a break in a dense thicket of thorny shrubs, the other close behind—they were almost indistinguishable from one another in their squeals, in their red jackets and caps. Late afternoon was shifting into dusky evening. Earlier they had hunted squirrels, unaware of how the sounds of their voices and the pops of their BB guns had traveled ahead of them, sending hundreds of beasts into their dens.
In the center of the meadow the trailing boy caught up with the fleeing first; he pounced and they wrestled. Caps came off. One boy was blond, the other—the smaller one—mousy brown. Stop it, he called, from the bottom of the pile. Larry! Stop it! I mean it!
Larry laughed, and said with a shudder, Wayne, you pussy.
Don’t call me that!
Don’t be one, pussy!
They flailed and punched until they lay squirming and helpless with laughter.
Later they pitched a tent in the center of the meadow. They had done this before. Near their tent was an old circle of charred stones, ringing a pile of damp ashes and cinders. Wayne wandered out of the meadow and gathered armfuls of deadwood while Larry secured the tent into the soft and unstable earth. They squatted down around the piled wood and worked at setting it alight. Darkness was coming; beneath the gray, overcast sky, light was diffuse anyway, and now it seemed that the shadows came not from above, but from below, pooling and deepening as though they welled up from underground springs. Larry was the first to look nervously into the shadowed trees, while Wayne threw matches into the wood. Wayne worked at the fire with his face twisted, mouth pursed. When the fire caught at last, the boys grinned at each other.
I wouldn’t want to be out here when it’s dark, Larry said, experimentally.
It’s dark now.
No, I mean with no fire. Pitch dark.
I have, Wayne said.
No you haven’t.
Sure I have. Sometimes I forget what time it is and get back to my bike late. Once it got totally dark. If I wasn’t on the path I would have got lost.
Wayne poked at the fire with a long stick. His parents owned the woods, but their house was two miles away. Larry looked around him, impressed.
Were you scared?
Shit, yeah. Wayne giggled. It was dark. I’m not dumb.
Larry looked at him for a while, then said, Sorry I called you a pussy.
Wayne shrugged, and said, I should have shot that squirrel.
They’d seen one in a tree, somehow oblivious to them. Wayne was the better shot, and they’d crouched together behind a nearby log, Wayne’s BB gun steadied in the crotch of a dead branch. He’d looked at the squirrel for a long time, before finally lifting his cheek from the gun. I can’t, he’d said.
What do you mean, you can’t?
I can’t. That’s all.
He handed the gun to Larry, and Larry took aim, too fast, and missed.
It’s all right, Larry said now, at the fire. Squirrel tastes like shit.
So does baloney, Wayne said, grim.
They pulled sandwiches from their packs. Both took the meat from between the bread, speared it with sticks, and held it over the fire until it charred and sizzled. Then they put it back into the sandwiches. Wayne took a bite first, then squealed and held a hand to his mouth. He spit a hot chunk of meat into his hand, then fumbled it into the fire.
It’s hot, he said.
Larry looked at him for a long time. Pussy, he said, and couldn’t hold in his laughter.
Wayne ducked his eyes and felt inside his mouth with his fingers.
Later, the fire dimmed. They sat sleepily beside it, talking in low voices. Wayne rubbed his stomach. Things unseen moved in the trees—mostly small animals, from the sound of it, but once or twice larger things.
Deer, probably, Wayne said.
What about wildcats?
No wildcats live around here. I’ve seen foxes, though.
Foxes aren’t that big.
They spread out their sleeping bags inside the tent and opened the flap a bit so they could see the fire.
This is my favorite place, Wayne said, when they zipped into the bags.
The tent?
No. The meadow. I’ve been thinking about it. I want to have a house here someday.
A house?
Yeah.
What kind of house?
I don’t know. Like mine, I guess, but out here. I could walk onto the porch at night and it would be just like this. But you wouldn’t have to pitch a tent. You know what? We could both have it. We’d each get half of the house to do whatever we want in. We wouldn’t have to go home before it gets dark, because we’d already be there.
Larry smiled, but said, That’s dumb. We’ll both be married by then. You won’t want me in your house all the time.
That’s not true.
You won’t get married?
It’s not like that, Larry said, laughing.
How do you know?
Because it isn’t. Jesus Christ, Wayne. Sometimes I wonder what planet you live on.
You always make my ideas sound dumb.
So don’t have dumb ideas.
It isn’t a dumb idea to have my friends in my house.
Larry sighed, and said, No, it isn’t. But marriage is different. You get married and then the girl you marry is your best friend. That’s what being in love is.
My dad has best friends.
Mine, too. But who does your dad spend more time with—them or your mom?
Wayne thought for a minute. Oh.
They looked out the tent flap at the fire.
Wayne said, You’ll come over when you can, though, right?
Sure, Larry said. You bet.
They lay on their stomachs and Wayne talked about the house he wanted to build. It would have a tower. It would have a secret hallway built into the walls. It would have a pool table in the basement, better than the one at Vic’s Pizza King in town. It would have a garage big enough for three cars.
Four, Larry said. We’ll each have two. A sports car and a truck.
Four, Wayne said, a four-car garage. And a pinball machine. I’ll have one in the living room, rigged so you don’t have to put money in it.
After a while, Wayne heard Larry’s breathing soften. He looked out the tent flap at the orange coals of the fire. He was sleepy, but he didn’t want to sleep, not yet. He thought about his house and watched the fire fade.
He wished for the house to be here in the meadow now. Larry could have half, and he could have the other. He imagined empty rooms, then rooms packed with toys. But that wasn’t the way it would be. They’d be grown-ups. He imagined a long mirror in the bedroom and tried to see himself in it: older, as a man. He’d have rifles, not BB guns. He tried to imagine things that a man would have, that a boy wouldn’t: bookshelves, closets full of suits and ties.
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