David Klein

by Stash (v5)

  “Yes, sir.”

  He took a closer look at Aaron’s eyes. “Are you all right?”

  “I just forgot, that’s all.”

  “You having a lot of pain, is that the problem?”

  “I got it under control.”

  “What are you taking?”

  Aaron shrugged. “Not too much.”

  “Is the safety on?”

  Aaron checked the gun and clicked the safety button back on.

  “You don’t need a gun here. I want you to get rid of it. It’s that kind of thing that makes me wonder about you.”

  “You can count on me. I got all the plants harvested and drying.”

  “Okay.” Now his tone eased. “And I appreciate you making that run for me yesterday. You get something to eat before you drove back?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What else did you do there?”

  “I put the bag in the walk-in and helped myself to the food on the stove. I did what you said.”

  “You work for me,” Jude said. “That means you tell the truth.”

  “I know.”

  They had been on the same flight from D.C., although Aaron hadn’t noticed Jude on the plane. He’d kept his head down, hat brim pulled low. After deplaning, he walked through the terminal. As he approached the exit he saw the signs before he could ID the people waving them. Big cardboard banners with hand-drawn letters: “Welcome Home” and “Support Our Troops.”

  For a stupid instant his heart leaped, as if the signs were for him.

  A few steps closer and he read “Welcome Home Alex” and “Alex, We Love You” and “U.S. Marines.” The people holding them were strangers to Aaron—women, men, children, a granny.

  He picked out the marine ten yards in front him in his brown service uniform, watched him pass through the exit and get swallowed by the sign holders. Aaron glimpsed the side of the marine’s flushed, beaming face, handling the attention. No obvious scars or dents in his body. No missing parts. A whole man.

  Passengers from other gates crowded the terminal, making their way toward the exit. Aaron felt glances his way, people sneaking a second look. Couldn’t blame them. Who doesn’t crane for a view of the accident.

  Two things he needed to do: shed the fatigues, get a new face. Maybe three: do something with his life, now that he still had one.

  Aaron moved on to retrieve his duffel. Not until he’d collected it from the carousel did he consider how to get to Glens Falls. His half-assed plan was to move in again with his buddy, Guy, who once shared a house with Aaron and had since moved to a mobile home park and said sure, come live with him again, only now his girlfriend would be there, too.

  Aaron thought of where else he could stay. Nowhere. No family. Father unknown. After raising her son alone, his mother met and married Ted the real estate flake and moved to Arizona a year before Aaron had joined the Guard. Arizona. No fucking way would Aaron step foot into a desert again as long as he lived. He’d made that promise to himself one night on patrol, if only he could get out of the sandbox alive. He was still undecided about the beach, which had sand but also water. He had an older sister, Ellen, who lived in Denmark with a scientist she had married. She didn’t know he’d ever joined the Guard or started college. So it was Guy, and his girlfriend, and a tin trailer, but only for the short term. He was resourceful and something better would come along.

  He secured the duffel around his shoulder and the carry-on in his left hand, lowered his hat another inch over his eyes, and considered taking a taxi. No, that would cost at least a Ben and he didn’t have cash to burn. He looked at the bus schedule. He’d have to get downtown first to catch a bus going north. Just the idea of it sent a stab of pain through his face. He put both bags down and reached in his pocket for a vike. When he tilted his head back to swallow dry he saw some dude approaching him.

  “You need a ride?”

  At first Aaron though he was military. He stood tall with his shoulders back, hair groomed. Looked straight at Aaron’s face and didn’t register a change in expression. Wore a smooth leather jacket and dark pants. Polished black boots.

  “I saw you on the plane, and now I see you looking at the bus schedule, so I thought I’d ask.”

  Sure, everyone saw him. Everyone noticed the freak. Aaron picked up his two bags again. “I have to get up near Glens Falls.”

  “I’m driving north, if you want. Take it or leave it.”

  Why not. He said, “Yeah, cool.” Another guilty conscience motherfucker feeling it for a soldier sent to fight a shitty war. Or, this could be his first break to bigger things.

  “I’m Jude Gates.”

  “Aaron Capuano, sir. Pleased to meet you.” Still with the manners from the Guard.

  It was cold outside the terminal and scraps of dirty snow hung on where the plows had built piles on the edges of the lot. The air felt good, clean. Gates popped the trunk as they approached his car. Aaron put his bags in and helped himself to the passenger side. Nice car, heated leather, like a jet with all the cockpit lights and navigation system.

  As soon as they were on the Northway, Gates reached in his pocket and pulled out a joint, holding it up so Aaron could see.

  “Do you mind?”

  “What? No. I mean, go ahead.” A roll of Life Savers he might have expected from this dude, but a bone?

  Gates produced a lighter and fired the joint. Pungent smoke filled the cabin. He took a single hit that glowed the lit end and offered it to Aaron. “You want some?”

  Fuck yeah he wanted some. There hadn’t been reefer in the sand and nothing at Reed except the vikes and antiseizure shit. Aaron hadn’t gotten high in almost a year, since he’d last rotated to the States. But he wondered. Was Gates one of those rich, middle-aged homos trying to lure him into a hole job? Whatever. If he tried anything, Aaron would gouge his eyes out.

  He took the joint and sucked, felt like a rookie when he exploded coughing.

  He took another hit without coughing this time and passed it back.

  “I’m good. Help yourself,” Gates said. Then he switched into the left lane and set the cruise on eighty.

  Aaron smoked the joint down to a roach and held it, not sure what to do with it.

  “Out the window,” Gates said, opening Aaron’s window for him. Aaron gave it a flick. A stab of pain struck his face and he raised a hand to cup his cheek.

  “You in Washington to meet with the president?” Gates asked. “I noticed a few soldiers in the audience during his State of the Union.”

  Here we go. Dude hadn’t said jack until now. No questions about the war or how he got wounded, no statements about pride and bravery. No political speeches leaning left or right. But he’d been waiting for an opening.

  “I was at Reed.”

  “I hear that place is no Hilton. Mold all over the walls.”

  Aaron snorted. “The walls, the toilet seats, the mattresses, you fucking name it.”

  He didn’t want to talk but found himself telling about it. Not just the grenade that carved out a chunk of his face and ripped his buddy to pieces, leaving a spray of bloody dust in their vehicle and on the road a million miles from home, but his whole lame story. Probably because he was so stoned—that always got his heart opening. They were supposed to fix his face, put in a plate and cover it up nice and neat with some skin from his ass, but that hadn’t happened yet and who knows if it ever would. He didn’t think about the future; it was too much like looking for something he’d lost but didn’t know where. Although he’d had a future once, had graduated from high school, and even though he didn’t get a ride to a Division I hockey school, he attended a semester at Adirondack Community College. He thought he wanted to be an engineer, or an architect. The problem was money. He had to pay full tuition because he hadn’t submitted his financial aid forms on time; when he finally got a loan he spent most of it on a down payment for the Yamaha FZ, which he flipped in a turn the first week. Totaled the bike, a costly mistake, but at lea
st he walked away from it. He had credit card debt up to his eyeballs and tried one of those debt consolidation companies, which only made it worse. The idea of the Guard came from a recruiter on campus. He’d seen the commercials on TV. Who hadn’t, they were airing all the time. Two weeks’ commitment a year and one weekend a month and you got help to pay for college and you could become somebody and do something useful with your life. At first it was great. He proved his strength in basic while other pussies dropped out. He mastered combat maneuvers. In the winter during the ice storm his unit helped evacuate people and clear roads and transport provisions. He made a difference. Then came the call-up. He wasn’t worried or afraid. He’d stand for his country.

  And then.

  And then he shut up. Rode in stoned silence swallowing down the same panic he’d felt while on patrol and a loneliness he didn’t know existed. The pot was too strong.

  At Exit 18 Gates asked him for the address. Aaron said he didn’t know the number, just the road name, which Gates keyed into the navigation system and got audio turn-by-turn directions and a full-color map display. What a system—better than anything the Humvees were equipped with. Car probably had better armor, too.

  “Thanks for driving me all this way,” Aaron said. “I would have been fucked otherwise.”

  Gates found the entrance to the park and turned in. Aaron told him to stop at a group of mailboxes with names and numbers. He got out and scanned the names and found Guy’s.

  Gates cruised slowly down the row. It was late and no one was outside. A few of the trailers had spotlights shining into dirt patches posing as lawns. They located the right one and Gates stopped. The windows were dark. A cracked vinyl awning hung lopsided over the door.

  “Hold on.” Gates handed Aaron a business card with his name and phone number. “I’m sure you’ve got good friends here who can help you get connected again, but in case you’re looking for something new I might have a position available. Some property that needs looking after. It’s a bit farther north, near Adams Station, so you’d have to relocate. Rent included.”

  “What kind of position?”

  “Like a caretaker, with benefits—like that joint you smoked.”

  “What do I have to do?”

  “You have to be discreet. You wouldn’t want to mention it to your friends.”

  “Discreet?”

  “It means careful, unnoticed.”

  “I know what it means.” He shoved the card in his jacket pocket.

  “We can talk again if you want.” Gates released the trunk but didn’t get out. Aaron retrieved his bags and Gates pulled away, swinging around the perimeter of the park and accelerating hard as he got out to the main road.

  Aaron rapped the aluminum door. Then again, this time on the glass. He heard noises from inside and saw someone moving and Guy came to the door wrapped in a towel.

  “Jesus fucking Christ, Aaron. What the hell …”

  Aaron stepped into the living room with his bags. The place reeked of lemon freshener masking mildew or mold, like at Reed. Guy turned on a lamp near the couch.

  “I thought you said tomorrow. Shit, I could have picked you up.”

  “That’s okay, I got a ride.”

  “Who is it?” a voice called from the other room.

  “It’s Aaron, babe. Get out here and meet Aaron.”

  “What—hang on, I’ve got to get dressed.”

  “Me too,” Guy said to Aaron. “Let me just throw on some jeans.”

  Aaron sat on the couch. The springs pricked his ass. He could hear the conversation in the bedroom, the girlfriend asking where was Aaron going to sleep, how long was he going to stay, and Guy telling her to be quiet, it would all work out.

  Guy came out first. He got two beers from the refrigerator and opened Aaron’s for him. He looked at Aaron’s face below the brim of his hat.

  “You got blasted,” Guy said. “Fucking Hajis. Does it still hurt?”

  “Not really.”

  “Sorry, man. At least you’re home now.”

  Home. “Where you working?”

  “National Grid, I got a gig as a lineman, working second shift so I get all the emergencies, cars running into the poles and shit. Tonight’s my night off.”

  Guy’s girlfriend came into the room, wearing sweatpants and a too-small T-shirt. She’d put on makeup and brushed her hair. She was tall with a big ass and boobs. She’d be someone to wrestle. That was another thing he hadn’t done in over a year: gotten laid. Or even kissed a girl. That was something he needed to do real soon. He’d had a girlfriend during his one semester at college, but she transferred to Boston University and stopped returning his phone calls and texts after he’d been made a regular and sent to the desert.

  Guy said, “This is Rose. She goes to ACC, just like you did.”

  She gawked at Aaron’s face, the part caved in below the eye where a chunk of his cheekbone was gone.

  “Sorry I disturbed you,” Aaron said.

  Rose fidgeted. “That’s okay, you didn’t. Are you hungry? We don’t have much. There’s cereal and I think some hot dogs in the refrigerator.”

  “I’m not too hungry.”

  The three of them fell silent for a moment. Finally, Rose said, “We only have one bedroom, but you can sleep on the couch.”

  He lived on the couch for two days and the third morning before Rose and Guy woke up he dug Jude’s card out of his jacket pocket and called the number on it.

  “You want to see the plants?” Aaron asked. At least that was something he could be proud of.

  He led Jude inside and through the kitchen to a door that Aaron opened into a room as bright as midday sun. The windows were covered with blackout shades and the walls painted a brilliant glossy white. Rows of alternating metal halide and high-pressure sodium light fixtures beamed down on the grid of young plants rising from their nutrient-soaked trays. A three-foot-diameter ceiling fan hummed above. Aaron had researched and found out about painting the walls to reflect more of the light. He also rigged the system of chains and pulleys he used to raise and lower the lights to be the right distance from the plants as they grew.

  Jude squinted from the glare, shading his eyes with one hand. He touched one of the plants, the stem thin and fragile.

  “These are the new ones,” Aaron said. “The last crop is drying next door.”

  He opened the door to what once served as a small bedroom and stood back and let Jude step in first. Clothesline spaced a foot apart crisscrossed the room. From each clothespin hung a thick bud on its stem, the tips of the flowers purple and frosty. Two fans oscillated on the floor, blowing air over the buds, like a breeze playing with laundry on the line.

  “What do you think, thirty pounds?”

  “I’ll bet more.”

  Jude fingered one of the buds. Resin stuck to his fingers.

  “You’ve got a green thumb, anyone ever tell you that?”

  His mother had told him that once, when he was a kid, and he had looked at his thumb, unsure what she’d meant. He still could see how she smiled when he did that, feel how she kissed his face. He used to help her plant flowers along the fence in their backyard. She showed him how to use a hand spade and which way to point the bulb in the dirt. He’d forgotten about gardening with his mother, never would have remembered it again if Jude hadn’t mentioned a green thumb.

  “I got some honey oil, too, just from cleaning off the trimming shears. You need hash?”

  “I’ll take some when I pick this up. When will it be ready?”

  “A few more days is all it needs. It’s drying good.”

  “I’ll be back within a week, I’ll let you know. And this time no shotgun.”

  They returned through the kitchen, which Aaron also used as his bedroom, sleeping on a bed he’d put in place of the dining table. At the foot of the bed was a wide-screen TV on a stand, wires running along the floor and out through the wall to a satellite dish mounted on the roof. The generator emitted a consta
nt hum and in the background the fans flitted.

  When they were outside again, Jude looked around and said, “I might need someone to drive a couple of important deliveries.”

  “I could do that.”

  “You got a passport?”

  “Still got my military ID.”

  “You can’t be fucking up on me. I heard you were getting high in the parking lot of my restaurant.”

  Was he? He didn’t remember.

  “Sorry, sir.”

  “Is that what you think my place of business is for?”

  “No, sir.”

  Jude turned around and headed for his van. Aaron gave Jude the finger behind his back. Drive the big runs. Fuck that. There was nothing big about this guy and Aaron was going nowhere with him, even though he worked like a mule in this backwoods hideout and cultivated superior product, as good as any Aaron had ever seen or tasted.

  Jude hesitated at the van, turned to face Aaron again.

  Come on, just leave, for shit’s sake. But Jude was hanging, holding back. Looking close at him, trying to make eye contact, as if on the verge of a decision.

  “By the way,” Jude said, “the mums look great.”

  It’s Not Closure

  Gwen parked at the end of a short single row of cars on a narrow, hilly lane in Niskayuna Rural Cemetery. Behind the gray hearse and matching limousine, she counted five other cars. She had expected more people. The obit had mentioned that James Anderson was an active community member and retired professor. Had he outlived his circle or made enemies of those he knew? Gwen would not go unnoticed here, approaching the tidy group alone and late, stepping between granite tombstones, trying to maintain a dignified posture with her heels sinking into the grass.

  A dozen or so heads bowed in front of a brushed silver casket topped with cascading flowers. Gwen had memorized the names from the newspaper: son Walter, daughter Sheila. And the four grandchildren: Tyler, Lily, Connor, and Michael.

  That must be the daughter, Sheila, the one dressed like a widow in black dress and veil, a man on either side supporting her, although her square frame appeared sturdy and firmly planted. That must be her husband to one side, and on the other, her brother. Next to them stood a younger woman, the lone black face among a bouquet of lilies, holding a toddler in her arms. The grandchildren were teenagers, sullen boys in ill-fitting jackets, the blue-haired girl staring off into the trees.