“What?”
“Anything.”
I tell him about the frozen honey hands waiting for his return. I fill him in on Red Earth. The letters I sent out to Justine. Late-night eggs and chamomile tea with Linda. The birds outside my window in the honey locust this morning.
I don’t tell him about Ravi. There’s no time for Ravi.
As I talk, guys pass back and forth behind David. Moving in the background like that, their figures break apart and blur. I catch the flash of a muscled arm, the butt of a rifle. Some of the guys call out to David. “O’Dell. Hurry it up. You see the line back here?”
There is a line. I see it snaking darkly in the farthest corner of the room. Maybe they’re standing at such a distance to give David some privacy. To be honest, I can’t tell how much privacy David has. He keeps glancing up to his left. He appears to be making eye contact with someone there. An officer, maybe? A censor?
“Where are you?” I ask.
David isn’t listening to me. He’s listening to whoever is standing up to his left. He nods at that person, whoever it is, then turns back to me. His mouth is set in a hard, firm line, but his eyes look troubled.
“We only have about five more minutes left, Penna. Then I’ve got to log off. It’s someone else’s turn.”
My heart drops. “Did you get to Skype your mom and dad?” I manage to keep my voice steady.
“Just got off with them. Good talk. When Mom wasn’t crying and Dad wasn’t making stupid jokes in an effort to keep her from crying. Maybe you could give them a call?”
“I will. I promise.” Desperate, I grip the edge of my desk. “It’s your turn now, David. Tell me something.”
“‘Something,’” he says.
I stare at his face on the screen.
He blinks, waits, looks surprised when I still don’t respond. “Don’t you remember? Our last night, riding on the scooter? I said that exact thing. Something. It made you laugh.”
“Did it?” I remember kissing his neck, that’s all. “I need to go back to the viaduct with you,” I say.
“Do it. Don’t wait for me.”
David swallows hard; I watch the muscles in his throat moving. His beautiful throat.
“Take a picture and send it to me, okay?”
“Okay.” Breathe in. Breathe out. “Now, could you please tell me how you’re doing? Have you been drawing much?”
“Not really. Let’s see.” He furrows his brow. “We managed to get enough guys together to play a decent game of baseball. And oh yeah, the most important thing. We’ve been doing a lot of target practice. Guess I’m pretty good. Sniper good, the other bums here say. Oh! And one other thing—the most, most important thing.” He turns his head in that herky-jerky way, and his eyes widen in surprise. “Hey, no way. A-holes!”
Again that little picture of me looks surprised. I’ve never heard David say that word before. Usually he’s less predictable when he’s laying into someone. More creative.
That’s what I’m thinking when two big guys appear from the edges of the screen and jump on David. One grabs him in a headlock. The other rubs his knuckles hard across David’s scalp.
“Hey! Stop! I’m talking to my girlfriend here!” David yells.
From above, in that corner that held his attention before, I hear someone yelling, “Get lost!” And then there’s a scuffle of bodies I can’t make out—shadows and shapes all gathered around David, who’s completely hidden from me now. There’s pushing and pulling, shoving and kicking. There’s yelling, cursing—David’s voice again, swearing a blue streak—and laughter.
As quickly as they appeared, the shadows and shapes dissipate. Someone shouts from the background, “She’s got you pussy-whipped, O’Dell.” Someone else shouts, “Leave him alone, why don’t you?” And someone else shouts on top of this, “All of you! Shut up! I can’t hear myself think!” And then from the left corner, loud and clear: “You’ve all lost your Skype privileges for today. All of you. Get ready for inspection. Now.”
David looks at me, and I can’t read his expression at all.
“Gotta go.” He touches the screen again, where my lips must be. “Smile.”
I try.
“Love you,” David says.
“Love you too.” I reach for him, touch the screen. “But you didn’t get to tell me the most, most important thing!”
David shakes his head. “Can’t now. Gotta hustle. I’ll write you.”
He logs off.
I log off too.
I sit there for a moment, feeling all mixed up. Happy. Sad. Scared. I look up at the photo of Justine.
I go into the kitchen then and dial the phone number that I found listed for Justine Delmore in Yellow Rock, South Dakota. The phone rings. And rings. Five rings. Maybe she sleeps late too. Maybe she’s moved on yet again.
But then there’s the click of a phone being lifted from its cradle.
“Hello?”
The woman’s voice is high and reedy. The word hangs in the air between us, suspended on a line that stretches like those train tracks from this little gray house to those jagged yellow cliffs.
“Justine?” I say breathlessly. “Is this Justine Delmore?”
The woman tells me that no, Justine Delmore doesn’t live here anymore. Justine moved back to her hometown a little while ago. Maybe a month. Maybe two. Maybe more. The woman’s not sure. “Time isn’t the same when you’re my age,” she says.
I sit down hard on the kitchen chair.
Justine lives in Killdeer now too.
“Who is this?” the woman asks then, suddenly suspicious. “Is this a scam? You aren’t one of those identity-theft people, are you?”
I shake my head no. It takes a few moments for me to actually say the word. And then I tell the woman thank you. Thank you so much. I can’t tell her how grateful I am.
I go into the kitchen, take out the local phone book, and look up Justine Delmore. She’s not listed.
But she’s here.
•••
I’m still sitting at the kitchen table when Linda strides in, freshly showered and toweling her hair. She’s wearing her favorite robe. It’s white terry cloth. Even feeling so mixed up inside, I realize that it’s a relief to see Linda in something other than that black uniform. Something other than boss clothes.
“Lawd have mercy,” Linda says, using her poor excuse for a drawl. She steadies herself against the counter, making a show of surprise. “She’s emerged from her den.” Linda grins. “Doing some schoolwork? Portfolio stuff? Hope so.” She looks over my shoulder.
She frowns.
For the last half hour or so, ever since the phone call to Yellow Rock, and my failed effort to locate Justine’s address and phone number, I’ve been drawing David and Justine. One after another, I draw them. I have five Davids now, and I’m working on my fifth Justine. I’m working quickly, spontaneously, drawing David here and in Iraq, Justine here and in Yellow Rock.
Some of the drawings are as realistic as I can make them. (David sprinting toward the viaduct wall and riding on his scooter; Justine brushing her hair and standing on the porch of this very house.) Others are the best I can imagine. (David in camouflage playing baseball with his buddies; Justine and someone I’ll call Owen sitting in the cockpit of a plaster airplane.) They’re rough sketches, sure, but still these are the best things I’ve drawn all summer.
“You’re obsessed,” Linda says.
“I got them right,” I say. “You’ve got to admit that.”
The coffeemaker spews out its last drips and fills the pot. Linda flings herself at it and pours a cupful.
“We have just over a year before you go away to college. We have time for just you and me. We could have a better time than we’ve ever had before.” She takes a steamy glug of coffee.
“Now that David’s gone. And as long as I keep Justine out of the picture.” I flatten the eraser ball against the table. It’s a little pancake now.
“I’m no
t talking about David here, Penelope. I understand about David. Don’t give me that look. I do.” Linda gives me her own version of my look back. “I am talking about her, though. I don’t want to even think about her, let alone see her—pictures of her, just lying around in plain sight.” Linda shudders, sloshing coffee onto the floor.
“You’re living in her house,” I say.
Linda swipes her foot across the spilled coffee, mopping it up with her sock, and then takes another sip. “It doesn’t matter whose house it was. I will not be haunted by your imagination.”
“You’re haunted by your mother. Who lives right here. In Killdeer.”
I didn’t expect to tell Linda so soon. But there. I have. It’s a rush, the relief I feel. So why not say this too?
“I’m going to see her,” I say.
Linda is shaking her head so hard that the coffee is sloshing all over the place now. On her hand. Her favorite robe. The counter and, of course, the floor. But she doesn’t seem to notice. Fiercely she says, “That woman would never come back here.”
“But she has.” And I tell Linda how I tracked Justine down, how I learned of Justine’s return. “I’d think you’d be a little happy,” I say. “I mean, now we’re not the only family we’ve got.”
“With family like her, who needs enemies?” Linda slams her dripping coffee cup on the counter and walks purposefully past me. At the kitchen door, though, she hesitates. She grips the door for support as she looks back at me, wrinkles furrowing her brow.
“I don’t want to have anything to do with this, Penelope. Keep me out of it. And you’d better be ready for work this afternoon when I come to pick you up.”
Then she walks down the hall past all the pictures of just the two of us. She goes into her bedroom and closes the door. No doubt she’s putting on her black uniform now, like every other morning, like nothing will ever change.
Twelve
I want another mother. I want another home—a place as familiar as the life and love lines in my palms and David’s. I want David.
I’ll settle for his house.
And Bonnie.
I get dressed and get on my bike.
When I bank into David’s driveway, I screech on the brakes so fast that I nearly go headfirst over my handlebars. The pink impatiens I helped him plant last spring need weeding. The bird feeder he always kept filled stands empty now. Our names, scratched into the sidewalk last fall when the concrete was just poured, are caked with red clay.
For some reason, all this makes me want to turn right around and bolt. But before I can, Bonnie appears at the front door. I can see her mouth moving behind the glass—“Penna!” Then she opens the door and her arms, and comes toward me, her spiky blond hair shining in the sun.
“We Skyped!” she cries, throwing her arms around me.
“Us too.” I hug her back, hard. Maybe I’ll absorb some of her happiness through osmosis.
Bonnie steers me into the dim kitchen. She turns on the light, and the room’s paintings spring to life—sloppy, colorful paintings David did when he was a kid.
“I’ve missed being here,” I say.
Bonnie takes me by the shoulders and sits me down on a stool at the counter. She backs away then, holding up her hands like she’s saying, Stay. Keep me company on this long, lonely Saturday.
“Could I have something to drink?” I’m not thirsty. I just know this is exactly what Bonnie wants to hear.
She goes to the refrigerator and opens the door. She stares into it as if it will tell her something. “Iced tea okay?”
“Great.”
She pulls out a pitcher and whirls toward a cupboard, takes out two glasses. Pouring, she talks. “Beau’s at work all the time these days. I think it helps him keep his mind off David. I’m just so glad it’s Saturday. I’ve been neglecting things with David gone. It’s like I just don’t care what the house looks like anymore. Not that I ever did, much.”
Bonnie sets a glass of tea down on the counter before me. The counter is a mess, covered with dried spilled food and crumbs. But the tea is good when I sip it, laced with lemon and mint. Bonnie takes a sip too.
“I like life comfortable, you know? But with David gone—well, I’ve really let things go. I’ve given myself today to regain some semblance of control.” She rolls her eyes. We both know what this means. She won’t be in control until David’s home again. She won’t be comfortable either.
Bonnie sits down on the stool beside me. I drain my glass. Then I stand and start scrubbing the counter.
“Don’t you go cleaning up my mess,” Bonnie says.
“I like to do stuff like this.” I rinse the dishrag in steaming hot water. I dry my hands swiftly and snap on some yellow rubber gloves. With yellow rubber gloves I can deal with almost anything.
So I clean and we talk. I tell her about working at Red Earth. Somehow I manage to make it all sound funny. I’m a real crack-up, with all my mistakes. I am even worse at the job than I really am. I love the sound of Bonnie’s laugh, deep and booming, like she doesn’t care what anyone thinks, she’s just going to let it rip. David must have picked up his laugh from her. Before OSUT, when he laughed, everyone laughed.
Bonnie’s laughter makes me feel so comfortable, so at home, that I find myself telling her about Ravi and his pictures. “I hope you can see them too,” I say.
“Oh, I will! Soon, in fact.” Bonnie smiles. “I knew you and Ravi would hit it off. You’re both high-quality people, you know?” Bonnie’s smile fades. “Poor kid. He’s been through so much. I can’t even believe, really, how he keeps on keeping on.”
This seems a little extreme to me. I mean, 9/11 and all that followed for Ravi was a little while ago. But I don’t want to get into it. I don’t want to talk about Ravi anymore. With David’s mother. In David’s house.
Flustered, I turn to another counter, hoping Bonnie didn’t glimpse my expression. I spritz on some high-powered cleanser and scrub hard.
Bonnie tells me about her job. She tells me that Beau got a promotion at the public relations firm, which is really good timing since the value of their house and their retirement accounts have taken a beating in this economy.
We’ve been talking for nearly an hour, mostly talking around the subject of David, when Bonnie suddenly says, “How do you think he seemed this morning? How did he sound to you?”
I look up from the stove top. I’m scouring away at what look to be ancient drippings—eggs, maybe, that have adhered like glue to the black burners. I’ve poured on the cleanser, but these drippings don’t seem to be going anywhere.
“Good. He sounded good.” I blink. I sound like I don’t mean it. I don’t mean it. “I mean, it’s hard to tell on Skype, right? But he looks healthy. Real healthy, don’t you think?”
Bonnie nods. “It was hard to tell. But it was better than nothing.”
“Anything’s better than nothing. Even noise.”
Bonnie slaps her hand on the spill-free, crumb-free counter. “Did you get one of those phone calls too? Talk about an exercise in frustration! I nearly lost my mind.” She turns sober. “I’m going to have to work really hard at not doing that, Penna.”
I look at her. “Are you okay?”
She bows her head and runs her fingers through her hair—that gesture David makes when he’s anxious. She looks up at me and forces a smile. “Positive attitude, right? Beau’s got that in spades. I just have to work a little harder.”
I set down my scouring pad, tug off the yellow gloves, wash my hands, and go over to the counter. I take a deep breath.
“David said he had something big to tell me. But then we had to stop talking. Did he tell you anything important? That you can tell me, I mean.”
Bonnie sits very still, watching me.
“What have you heard?” My voice rises. “Bonnie?”
“He’s doing okay.” Her voice is quiet and careful. “No action to speak of in these first days—at least not against the U.S. military. Those Iraqi
s, though. Already, he’s seen some awful stuff when it comes to the citizens. There’s a certain marketplace he happened to be passing through. That’s what we always hear about on the news, right? ‘A marketplace.’ Well, I guess some are worse than others when it comes to casualties.” Bonnie looks at me, her blue eyes pained.
Suddenly my head is spinning. It must be all that cleanser, too many chemicals inhaled. I go to the fridge, open the freezer door, and look inside as if there’s something I want in there. All I really want is frosty air to clear my head. It helps a little. I shut the door and sit back down beside Bonnie, who doesn’t even give me a second look. She keeps talking as if a girl sticking her head inside a freezer is an everyday occurrence.
“What’s the connection between ‘casualty’ and ‘casual,’ I want to know.” Bonnie presses her fingertips to her forehead like she’s got a bad headache. Maybe the chemicals took a toll on her too. “Anyway, he’s starting night patrol duty tomorrow. Actually, it’s today for him now.” She glances at the clock on the stove. “He’ll be on patrol soon, most likely. He didn’t say much more about it. He tried to sound happy just to be doing something that makes all that training worth it. Maybe he is happy. I don’t know. I did more looking around on the Net than I should have. Don’t do that, Penna, if you can stop yourself.”
“He planted his own little garden over there,” I hear myself say. “Already he figured out how to do that. Can you think of anyone else who would pull that off? He’s resourceful. And lucky.”
“A good combination.” Bonnie takes my hands in hers. She taps her finger gently against my tattoo. “I was so upset when I saw that he’d gone and done this. I know I didn’t act like it—why waste the precious, little time we had left—but I was. But now I’m glad he did it. Anything that makes him happy, as long as it doesn’t hurt him, makes me happy.”
“Are you happy about patrol duty then?” My voice is shaky.
She sighs heavily. She starts to speak and then can’t seem to find the words to say. She stands and comes around the counter to me. She puts her arms around me. I let her hold me for a while. Finally I pull away.
While He Was Away Page 11
