There's Blood on the Moon Tonight

by Bryn Roar

  Rusty looked up from the depths of his beveled glass and blinked. “Huh?”

  “I said that was pretty easy back there in Bidwell’s office. After everything ya’ll said, I was worried he’d have us quarantined. Even if we didn’t have the virus.”

  Rusty shrugged. He too had been pleased to get a clean bill of health. He had no memory, however, of the dog slime that had covered him that day in the Pines. “Best of all, we know we’re not apt to come down with it, either.”

  “You mean that remark he made about the bloodshot eyes?” Tubby was glad to be talking again. Rusty seemed distracted, though, and Tubby wondered if it was about his morbid obesity. If Rusty had told him what he was actually thinking, it would have blown Tubby’s socks off. Ralph Tolson had made an effort over the years to not only keep himself covered from prying eyes, but to keep his eyes from prying as well—thinking, that to look, would be an invitation for others to look at him. Therefore, he had no idea Nature had seen fit to endow him so generously. As far as he knew, every sixteen-year-old boy in the world had the same size Petey.

  “Yeah. He barely checked anything but our eyes. And did you get the feeling that the rest of the tests…spit, blood, and piss…were only perfunctory?”

  “Perfunctory?”

  “Means automatic, a token effort in this case.”

  “Yeah, like he was just dotting all the i’s! I doubt if he even goes to the trouble of having them tested.”

  “Which tells me the first symptom must be severely bloodshot eyes—like the big gray bitch—and it probably presents itself shortly after exposure. He also mentioned headaches and fever, but for some reason I don’t think either of those symptoms are as significant as the red eyes.”

  “Right!” said Tubby. “One look at our clean peepers and he’d already dismissed us from his mind!”

  They slid off their stools and left Moon Man’s, waving at Garfield on their way out the door.

  Garfield offered up a cheery “Toodiloo!” from the back room, where he was putting away stock.

  Approaching the Drive-In, Tubby saw that his dad was already back home, busy putting up the new steel shutters he’d purchased in Beaufort. Bill and Bud Brown seemed to be doing all the heavy lifting, though.

  “They’re back,” said Rusty, sighing happily.

  They ran into the yard, where Frank Tolson was handing up the shutters to Bud and his dad, both of whom were standing on ladders next to the second story windows. Stripped to their waists, the Browns’ stood sweating in the afternoon sun, their muscles in slick definition. Tubby wondered if he could ever look half as good.

  “Where’s Josie?” he shouted up to Bud, who was using an electric drill to secure the shutters to the window frames.

  “Hey, Ralphie boy!” Bud said in his Ed Norton voice. Like all of Bud’s impressions, it was truly awful. To Tubby’s ears, they all sounded like Vin Diesel with a head cold. Bud Brown practically glowed with joy, though.

  Realizing that Bud’s happiness was somehow due to Josie, Tubby experienced an ungrateful pang of jealousy.

  “She’s inside with your mom, packing up your baby pictures, Hoss!”

  Everyone laughed good-naturedly, as Tubby ran inside the house to prevent certain baby photos from coming to light.

  “I don’t see what he’s so embarrassed about,” Rusty grumbled.

  Upon their return to the island, Bill learned Bidwell had cancelled yet another appointment for Bud. Dr. Bidwell assured him he had nothing to worry about (according to the Doc, after all this time without any symptoms, Bud and Josie definitely didn’t have the bug), but Bill wasn’t convinced. He went ahead and made yet another appointment for Bud in the morning, demanding Bidwell honor it this time. Despite Ralph and Rusty’s successful physicals that afternoon, Bill wouldn’t be satisfied until he heard the same news for his son.

  Since their afternoon was free, he and Bud insisted on helping Frank put up his shutters. What would have taken Frank and Ralph half the day, had taken the three of them less than two hours.

  “Did you say something, son?” Frank said, clapping his hand on Rusty’s shoulder.

  Rusty blinked up at Frank behind his thick specs.

  “Huh? Oh no, Mr. T. Just thinking out loud, is all.”

  “We went by your house to lend a hand but your dad had already put up his own shutters.” Frank put his arm around Rusty’s shoulders. “I did manage to have that little chat with him, though.”

  Rusty perked up. “About the projectionist’s job?”

  Frank smiled and nodded. It looked like the boy could use some good news. “Ham told me it sounded like a fine idea. Said it sounded like the perfect job for a young man who wants to become a filmmaker someday.”

  Rusty couldn’t have been more astonished than if Ham had said he was the baddest motherfucker this side of Harlem. “My dad said that? Did you tell him what we talked about, Mr. Tolson?”

  “No, sir,” Frank assured him. “I assumed he got that message from you.”

  “I don’t get it! He’s always said he wants me to be a shrimper! Just like him and my granddaddy Jessie.”

  Frank nodded sagely. “My guess is he didn’t want to see you leave the island someday. For someone like your dad, Rusty, the mainland is another world away. Just let him know you won’t let that world keep you away from him when you do have to leave. Believe me, he’ll understand,” he said, thinking of his own son. How Ralph for years had been hinting at a career other than the theater business. “We all have a path that’s all our own. No one can choose it for you, son.”

  Rusty looked down, hiding the tears spilling out of his eyes. He wiped his face and sniffed. “I’ve got to get home, Mr. T. Thank you…about the job, I mean. I won’t let you down, sir.”

  “Glad to have you aboard, son!” Frank yelled to the boy’s back. Rusty was already halfway down the exit road by then, hurrying home to hug his daddy.

  *******

  Tubby was grateful that his mother and Josie weren’t actually checking out his baby pictures. He found the two them in the living room; wrapping framed family photos in newspaper, and putting them away in cardboard boxes. Frank would cart them to the Betty Anne in the morning.

  His mother saw him come in and handed him one of the huge empty boxes, Cretor’s Jumbo Popcorn Bags: 1,000 Gross, printed on all four sides. “You’ve got that one box to pack up your most prized things, son. Make wise choices, you hear?” She was heading back to her task, when suddenly she remembered. “Good gravy! I almost forgot! I’ve got to get you down to the Doctor’s office—”

  “No worries, Mom,” he said, glancing over at Josie. “Rusty and I went together after school,”

  “Really? Lands sake! How did you know? He only called me after you’d already gone to school this morning. I was planning on taking you myself.”

  “His nurse called the Academy,” Tubby lied. He thought it a deception his mother wasn’t apt to check up on. “He gave Rusty and me a clean bill of health. Said you could call him tomorrow if you have any questions.”

  “I’ll do just that,” Emma said, heaving out a huge sigh of relief nonetheless.

  Tubby was halfway down the hall when Josie hailed him. “Wait up, Ralphie!” Tubby looked back and almost laughed at the comical look on his mother’s face, watching the pretty redhead flounce after her precious baby boy.

  Josie strolled around his bedroom, checking out the monster models on his dresser, the familiar novels lined up in his bookcase, the faded horror stills on his walls. The stack of books by his bed. My bed! Josie O’Hara by my bed! She read the titles aloud and turned to Tubby, clearly dumbfounded. “Och! Except for A Fine Dark Line and Watchers, I have the same books on my bedside table!”

  “I know. Weird, isn’t it? By the way, I’d really like to borrow that Memoirs of an Invisible Man.”

  Josie was still frowning down at the stack of paperbacks, wondering, how can this be? This constant continuity that runs through us all. They were as
dog-eared as her own tottering pile of favored novels. Books that were well read and loved. Over and over again. Otherwise, Josie would’ve been suspicious.

  “Joe?”

  “Huh? Oh, sure. Long as I can borrow your copy of Watchers. I hear it’s Koontz best work.” Josie wandered back over to Tubby’s models; the puzzled look on her face remained, though. She shook her head, as if dismissing some niggling insight. “By the way, Bud told me what you got for him the other day at Moon Man’s. The Aurora model. That was thoughtful of you, Ralphie. I know it meant a lot to me boyo.”

  Tubby shrugged. He was nervous with Josie checking out the bits and pieces of his life. His heart skipped a beat when she picked up the thick spiralbound notebook containing his short stories. One of many.

  She opened it and read aloud the first page of a story entitled The Scariest Thing...

  Josie sat on his bed. “Wow! This is really good, Ralphie! You never told me you were a writer.”

  “I didn’t want you to think I was trying to impress you. You know, after you’d already told me the same thing?” Josie nodded and put the notebook aside. “You can read them, if you like.”

  “Really?” she said, taken aback. “You don’t mind?”

  “Why should I mind? I mean, if you want to be a writer, then people are going to have to read your stuff someday, right? And if it stinks, I’d rather a friend tell me than somebody I don’t even know. My dad says he likes them, but with parents you can never tell. They have to support their kids’ dreams and aspirations. Even if they’re talentless. I think it’s like a law or something.”

  Josie looked at him as if she was seeing him for the first time. “I wish I was half as brave as you.”

  Tubby thought he’d never heard anything so silly. He laughed, but the expression on Josie’s face remained. “What…you’re serious?”

  “I wouldn’t let you read my stuff the other night.”

  Tubby sat beside her. “Make you a deal, Joe. You read mine, and afterwards, you let me read yours. How’s that sound?”

  Josie’s eyebrows arched suggestively. “You mean, you’ll show me yours…if I show you mine?”

  Tubby tittered like an idiot, trying to be cool, but failing miserably. “Heh! Heh! Yeah, something like that.”

  Josie’s hands twisted in her lap. Tubby could tell his proposal had just struck terror in her heart. “What if…what if you hate my stuff?”

  “I sincerely doubt that. What I was able to read, I really liked…that is, before you snatched it out of my hand.” He smiled reassuringly. “No fooling, Joe. That opening paragraph blew me away. But even if I didn’t like it, so what? You could fill a small country with the people who hate Stephen King!” Josie gave him a look. “Well, Rhode Island, anyway. What I’m trying to say is one opinion doesn’t make or break a book.”

  Josie smiled and held the notebook to her chest. “Thanks, Ralphie darlin’. You’re sweet to say that.”

  He blushed. “We writers have to stick together. By the way, I really dig your shirt.”

  “Girls don’t poop? We don’t, you know.”

  “Uh-huh. My mom must have loved that. Know where I can get her one?”

  While they selected certain cherished items to be packed up—Tubby’s 1 sheet collection, rolled up carefully in cardboard tubes, his Famous Monsters of Filmland mags, certain valuable comics, and of course his beloved models—Josie told Tubby of her very special day on the mainland (minus certain stops, of course. So as not to spoil his big surprise later that night).

  “How was Joel when you guys walked him home today?” And before Tubby could answer her. “Oh, I almost forgot! What happened at your check-up?”

  Tubby told her that Joel was in better spirits when they dropped him off. Josie was relieved to hear it. At the last second, she’d decided to leave her mother and brother alone together that afternoon. All they needed was to get to know each other once again. A necessary but perhaps awkward experience, without Josie there to run interference. Tubby then related what he and Rusty had deduced about the “Bloodshot” question posed by Bidwell.

  Josie agreed with their conclusion. She was thrilled that Rusty had passed the period of incubation in good heath. Ralph, too, of course. “So he checked your eyes, made you spit, took some blood, urine, and a hair sample from the back of your neck—was there anything else?”

  Tubby blushed. “Well…um, we did have to strip so he could check for scratches and bites. I guess he doesn’t trust us enough to take us at our word.” He wondered if Josie was envisioning him standing there in all his doughy wonder. “Oh, one other thing! He told us to tell you that he had to change your appointment to tomorrow morning. You’ll also need to bring your mother along with you.”

  “Why’s that?” she asked him, just to be polite.

  “Because you need an adult chaperone with you. His nurse won’t be there.”

  “I guess Bud’s going tomorrow, too, huh?” she said, even though she had no intention of going herself. It was easier than making up a lie as to why she couldn’t go.

  She held the flaps of the box closed while Tubby tore off a strip of Duct Tape.

  “Right before you, I guess.” Tubby was taping up the cardboard box when he remembered the Rabies Report in Bidwell’s private office. Because he was reluctant to get further involved, he almost let it drop from his mind. No telling what his friends would make of the news; what trouble they’d get into. Then again, if telling it would keep Josie in my room even one second longer...

  In an instant, Ralph spilled the beans, omitting not one single detail.

  Josie listened to Tubby’s tale with an impassive look on her face. Her mind, however, was reeling from the news. Racing, plotting. Afterwards, she went over to his bookshelves and ran her fingers over the spines of the same novels she’d read, time and time again. Looking right through them. I wonder…she thought to herself with a sly smile…yeah…maybe I do need that check up after all…

  Tubby waited for Josie to come out of her trance. Obviously deep in thought over something he’d said. Finally, she nodded, as if coming to an important decision. “Ralphie love, after our meeting tonight, can you come over to my house to help me pack a few things?”

  Tubby tried not to look too eager as he vigorously nodded his head.

  *******

  Rusty heard the pounding echo of a hammer as he rounded Huggins Way. Brand new sheets of plywood precisely covered the O’Haras’ front windows. Probably his old man’s handiwork, but he couldn’t be certain. He sure didn’t want to run into Mrs. O’Hara with a hammer in her hand! Shayna hated him almost as much as she hated Ham. Rusty thought it probably had something to do with his daddy naming him after her husband.

  Sure enough, his father was putting up the last of the boards on the O’Haras’ screened-in back porch. “What’s up, Daddy?”

  Ham wiped his face with his flannel shirtsleeve and looked over his shoulder. His seamed face broke into a big smile at the sight of his only child. His love shining on Rusty like a thousand rising suns. The reality of his dad’s adoration hit Rusty for the first time in his life and stopped him cold. Until then, he’d never known there was a difference between a child’s and a parent’s love. Love was love, right? Shiiitt! It was like comparing Lizard Lake to the Atlantic Ocean. And knowing that humbled Rusty right down to his very soul.

  “Hey there, son!” Ham said, sliding the hammer into his tool belt. “You got the best timing in the world! Here I am finishing up with this mess and up you stroll!”