“Where’s Bud?” he asked.
“Watching football down to Ida’s,” I said.
He grunted. “I could go down there, I guess, with the men.”
“Why?” Dottie said. “When you got us beauties to hang around with.”
Glen laughed.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“Well, nothing,” he said. “Unless you’re the one looking at you all.”
“We may not be pretty,” Dottie said. “But we’re strong and we could take you down right now, if you don’t behave.”
“Except Evie,” Robin said. “Probably not Evie.”
“Shit, I could take you down too,” Evie said.
Glen sat down in a kitchen chair. He leaned back, balancing it on its two rear legs.
“Down,” I said. “Now. I mean it.”
“He ain’t a dog,” Evie said.
I shot her a look that even she didn’t dare cross. “Glen,” I said.
He tipped back down, but when he straightened out his legs, his right, combat-booted, size-thirteen foot connected with Arlee’s little left arm. When she screamed, we all jumped.
“Oh, damn,” I said. “She’s so quiet. I forgot.” I ducked beneath the table to check on my girl, who was now sitting up, crying so hard that she wasn’t making any noise. When she finally caught her breath, she let loose a storm of tears, snot, and noise. When I tried to touch her, she pulled away from me.
“Honey,” I coaxed, “come on out. Mama needs to look at your arm.”
“I’m sorry, Arlee,” Glen said from somewhere above us. “Why didn’t no one tell me she was there, for crying out loud? I’m sorry, baby.” He got down on his hands and knees. Arlee scrambled away from him, toward the other side of the table. Dottie scooped her up and held her against her chest.
Glen got up and I crawled out from beneath the table, banging my head on the way. I bit my tongue to keep from yelling something rude.
“Ouch, man,” Evie said. “Wow. This is turning into a real bad trip.”
I went to my baby. “Let Mama see,” I said. We surrounded her like some sort of witch’s circle.
“Back up,” Robin said quietly. We did. She took Arlee from Dottie while I swiped cards to the other side of the table. She sat her on the cleared spot.
“Is it broken?”
“Dammit,” Glen said. He put his face into his hands. “I fuck everything up.”
“Quit crying,” Dottie said. “You didn’t mean it.”
Robin moved her quick fingers over Arlee’s arm. “You’re okay,” she said.
“No, she’s not,” Glen said.
Arlee began to wail.
“I’m leaving,” Evie said. “I’m not feeling so good.” Out she went.
“Glen,” Robin said, “if you don’t make this a big deal, she’ll calm down. If you can’t calm down, you should leave until we figure out what’s going on.”
Glen turned and marched out of the house, banging the front door shut behind him.
Arlee had a big, fat bruise. I fetched ice and a towel and Robin applied it to her arm. We fed her a leftover summer grape Popsicle and she finally calmed down. Her eyes were swollen and the lids drooped. I picked her up and held her close.
“It’ll hurt for a day or two,” Robin said. “Ice it for fifteen minutes or so, three times a day. I’ll be up in the morning to check on it.”
“I can’t believe I forgot she was there,” I said. “What kind of mother am I?”
“A good one,” Robin said. “We all forgot.”
“Party’s over,” I said. “Time to settle down.”
Robin walked down to Ida’s house for the night and Dottie headed for her house. I gave Arlee a bath and put her into clean pajamas. Neither of us was ready for bed, so I carried her downstairs and out to the porch, where we rocked while I read her one of the storybooks that Robin had brought for her, about a peaceful bull named Ferdinand. I had just finished reading it when Bud came into the house and headed upstairs.
“Out here,” I called. He tromped back through the kitchen and sat down in the rocker next to me. He held out his arms and Arlee crawled into them. He kissed her curls. “Daddy’s girl is okay,” he crooned. “Robin told me not to worry, that Arlee wasn’t bad off. So of course I got worried. What happened? Can Daddy see your hurt?” Arlee held up her arm and Bud pulled off her pajama top to see it better. “Whoa,” he said when he saw the spreading black-and-blue spot. “What the hell?” he mouthed to me.
“She’s okay. Glen feels horrible.”
“I suppose I should go to see him.” Bud sighed. “This’ll set him back a few years.”
“Where is he?” I asked.
“Imagine he’s gone to his tent,” Bud said.
“Cold, isn’t it?” I asked.
“Might be snow flurries.”
“Bring him back here. Tell him he can sleep on the sofa.”
Bud left and I put Arlee to bed. I pulled on a nightgown and piled myself under the quilts on our bed. Bud was gone longer than I thought he might be and I made myself stay awake, waiting for him to come back. I heard a car door slam at the Butts house. An engine started and I wondered who was going where. The car went up the hill. Another car door slammed and another engine started up. That car followed the first one.
I dozed off, only waking when Bud came into the bedroom.
“Well,” he said, “Evie’s gone to the hospital. In labor. I went out to the tent and Glen wasn’t there. When I was coming back, I saw Madeline, Bert, and Evie headed up the hill. Dottie was behind ’em. She stopped and told me Evie’s water had broken.”
“Hope things go all right,” I said.
“Me too,” Bud said. He climbed into bed and snuggled close.
“So tired,” I mumbled.
“Me too,” he said. We spooned and fell asleep.
27
Evie had a hell of a time that night. Her blood pressure climbed to stroke levels and they had to fight to save her and the baby. In the end, both of them lived, and Archer Bertram Butts was born early the next morning.
Dottie called us at about eight o’clock. I’d never heard her sound so damn happy. “You should see him,” she crowed. “Most beautiful baby in the world. Got dark hair. Long legs. Skinny feet. Big hands. I’m taking him places. I got to buy him some clothes. Get some toys. Teach him to play any sport he wants to play.”
As I was congratulating Dottie, Robin walked up from Ida’s house to join Bud, me, and the kids for breakfast. She sat down next to Arlee, who pointed to her own arm and said, “Boo-boo.”
“I think it’s better,” Robin said.
Arlee frowned. “No,” she said. “It hurts.”
“Had a nice time talking to your mother and sister this morning, Bud,” Robin said. “Ida talked a blue streak.”
“Huh. That’s good. She’s quiet, usually,” I said.
“Maybe it was easier to talk to someone she doesn’t know well. Anyway, I love her quilts. She’s an artist. She should be selling them.”
“She don’t like to do that,” Bud said. “Says Jesus gave her the talent so she could give of herself to others.
“She told me that she wanted to be a nurse, once,” Robin said. “Was ready to go to school, but life had something else in mind for her.”
“Really? Did you know that, Bud?”
Bud wiped applesauce from Travis’s mouth. “What?”
“That your mother wanted to be a nurse?”
“Nope. Never knew that.”
During this whole exchange, Bud hadn’t once looked at Robin and I thought that was rude. “Bud, Robin’s talking to you,” I said.
He gave me a look. “I know that,” he said. He looked at Robin. “Nope,” he said, “I never knew that.” He looked back at me. “That better?”
<
br /> No one said anything for a few seconds. Robin cleared her throat, pushed back her chair, stood up, and stretched. “You know,” she said, “I think I’ll skip breakfast. I’m still stuffed from yesterday. I want to head back to Portland.”
“Stay!” I said. “You really have to go? Let me make you some toast, anyway.”
“That’s okay,” she said. “I want to get back and settle in. We’ll see each other soon.”
“Glad you could come,” I said.
“Are you kidding? My pleasure! What a wonderful place! And the company wasn’t bad either.”
When Robin said goodbye to Bud, he barely glanced up, just waved a spoonful of applesauce in her general direction and went back to feeding Travis. Arlee and I put on our jackets and walked Robin to her car.
I shivered. “I think there’s some snow coming soon,” I said.
“Is Bud okay with me?” Robin said. “He seems kind of distant.”
“Don’t take it personally,” I said, although I was annoyed at him. “Bud’s a mystery, kind of like a snail tucked into a clamshell and wrapped in seaweed. He’ll warm up to you once he knows you.”
“I don’t want to wear out my welcome.”
“No chance. You’re always welcome. You’d better keep in touch,” I said. I hugged her extra hard, breathing in the odors of clean shampoo and soap. “Knowing you’re out there makes me feel better.”
“Me too,” Robin said. She kissed the boo-boo on Arlee’s arm, climbed into her car, and started up the hill. As we watched her drive off, Arlee used her hurt arm to wave.
“Guess you’ll live,” I said to her. “Want to go for a walk?”
She nodded.
I told Bud where we were going, grabbed mittens and hats for Arlee and me, tucked a loaf of homemade wheat bread under one arm, and we were on our way.
As we walked slowly along the path leading to the state park, I peered through the pines and spruce on the right, looking for the place Bud had told me led to Glen’s campsite. It wasn’t easy to find, but finally, I spied a barely there trail snaking its way beneath thick branches. “Do you want to visit Glen?” I asked Arlee. She grabbed her hurt arm. “Ow,” she said.
We ducked underneath a thick pine bough and followed the trail. Not too far along, I smelled smoke. “Glen’s home,” I said to Arlee. We continued for about fifty yards and stopped. I hollered, “Glen?” No answer. “Glen?” I called. “It’s Florine and Arlee.”
“Come ahead,” he said. We ducked and wove through brush until we spied his tent, which was covered over with nets and camouflage. Arlee stopped and said, “No, Mama.”
I crouched down until we were eye level. “Let’s say hello,” I whispered.
She touched her arm again.
“He didn’t mean to do that, honey. He felt really bad. Let’s make him feel better.”
Arlee frowned. She walked past me up to where Glen sat on a campstool, showed him her arm, and said, “Kiss it.”
Glen gave it a big smacker. “All better?” he said.
She nodded. He went into the tent and brought out another campstool. He put it down, looked at me, and pointed to it. I sat.
Arlee said, “Dis?” and pointed at a lantern swinging from a broken branch. The point of the branch had been driven into the ground. After Glen told her that it gave him light, she wandered around the whole campsite, pointing to everything. He patiently told her everything she wanted to know and then she crawled into the tent. He followed her. I heard him say, “I got some colored pencils and some paper. Think you can draw me a picture?” I didn’t hear Arlee’s answer, but Glen joined me outside. “I got her started,” he said.
We sat for a few seconds in silence. “Itsy-bitsy spidah up the wadda spout,” floated out from the innards of the tent.
“I love that little girl,” Glen said.
“I know. She’s lucky to have you in her life.”
“I wouldn’t do nothing to hurt her. Nothing.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t,” Glen said, and he began to cry.
I put my arm on his back but he shook it off.
“Down is the wain and washa spidah out.”
“What’s wrong?” I asked him.
“You couldn’t understand,” he said, and then he said, “I can’t make sense of nothing. It’s like I don’t belong anywhere anymore.”
“What do you mean?” I said. “You belong here. You’ve always—”
“No. That’s not what I mean,” he said. “I don’t belong in this world.”
A shiver ran up my spine. “Out cayma sun and dye up alla wain.”
“What are you talking about?” I said.
He used the flats of his palms to wipe the tears off his cheeks. “I can’t even explain it, I’m so goddamn dumb.”
Our breath mingled in the November cold. I pulled my mittens from my jacket pocket and slipped them over my hands. “Arlee,” I called, “are your hands cold?”
“No,” she said.
I said, “Glen, you’re not dumb. You’re the only one who thinks so. I’m listening. I want to know what you think.”
“I wish I could talk to all of you, but none of you would get it.”
“Well, maybe not, but try me.”
Glen opened his mouth, closed it, shook his head. He shook his head again. “It’s hard,” he said.
“I would imagine,” I said. “Maybe talking about it will make you feel better.”
“Okay,” he said, and he took a deep breath. “Over there,” he said, “was like being in hell. We all felt like we’d been put there for something we’d done, but we didn’t know what it was. Bugs the size of mackerel. Hotter than a steam iron, and Jesus, didn’t it rain. I got moldy in places I didn’t know could grow mold. We went through swamps up to our necks, looking for little bony yellow people that wanted to deer gut us all.
“That’s what the devil looks like, Florine, them little people, all after you, only some of them wasn’t, but it was hard to tell if they was or not. I shot people, Florine. I don’t know how many. Sometimes I couldn’t know if I got the right ones, or if I had the wrong ones. They lived in these villages and sometimes they smiled at you, but then they threw grenades when you turned your back. I killed women. I know I did.” He stopped, clenched his fists, rubbed them over his face. He rocked back and forth on the little stool.
“You don’t have to say anything else,” I whispered.
He shook his head. “Fuck it all,” he said.
Trying to make him feel better, I said, “I wish I had a flask of whiskey and cocoa for you. Remember when Grand was dying in the hospital, and you brought me some? It helped. It did. I wish I had some for you right now.”
“Nothing will help,” Glen said. “I got a feeling I’m done for.”
“Don’t talk like that,” I said.
“Thing is, Florine, I went to the army ’cause I didn’t want to work with Ray. Ray didn’t make me do it. I did it because I didn’t know what I wanted to do. High school was over. Football was over. I’m too stupid to go to college. So I signed up. I love my country, but I wasn’t doing it for that reason. I just couldn’t think of nothin’ else to do. How numb is that, for chrissake?
“I mean we wasn’t saving Americans, exactly, was we? We’re a long ways from Vietnam. Can’t see us being overrun by the bastards anytime soon. So there wasn’t much danger in that. Wasn’t saving the world. We was fighting the ‘Communist Threat,’ they said, but we was more likely to rot to death. Or get shot or blasted into eternity.
“How would you feel if you was walking along with Dottie and someone shot her? No more Dottie, just her lying dead, blood everywhere. No more bowling. No more best friend. And just seconds ago, she was telling you a joke and you both was laughing. Do you know what it’s like to see a person’s soul leave their
body, Florine?”
“I’m pretty sure I saw Grand’s soul leave,” I said.
“Sudden, I mean,” Glen said. “Soul goes somewhere else and you just got a dead person that you liked a bunch and someone else probably loved lying on the ground, and it ain’t pretty. And you didn’t even get so much as a scratch. Feels like they took the bullet for you without you even having a say about it.”
My insides twisted for him having to see that. At the same time, I wanted to jump up and run. I wished Arlee would come out of the tent and ask to go home. But she didn’t. She mumbled and sang to herself as she colored.
I straightened up on the stool and blew out a breath.
“You don’t have to stay,” Glen said gently.
I reached over, grabbed one of his big hands, squeezed it, let it go, and sat back. “Go on,” I said. “It’s not pretty to listen to, but go on.”
He said, “It got so that any letters from home didn’t mean nothing, because they didn’t have nothing to do with what was going on. It was like torture, Florine. All them cheerful words and news from a place that wasn’t real anymore. I hated mail call. I hated getting something from someone who might as well have been living on the moon. ’S why I told Maureen to stop writing. I’d look at her words and I couldn’t even make sense out of ’em. What the hell was she talking about? ‘I pray for you every night. I think of you every day and hope that you are okay.’ Of course I Christly wasn’t okay!”
“She felt bad when you asked her to stop writing.”
Glen nodded. “I know she did. But you just don’t know what it was like. Some guys just walked off into the jungle and didn’t come back.
“And then, them damn protestors. Now, I can see why they think it might be wrong to be over there. Like I said, it was hard for us to figure it out and we was there.” Tears ran down his cheeks, unchecked. “I got piss thrown at me in the airport in Boston,” he said.
“Holy shit, Glen.”
His chin trembled. “Some girl did it. She was pretty and she smiled at me like she knew me, so I went over to her. She was holding a drink and when I got close enough, she threw it in my face. It was hot piss,” Glen said. “I still smell it if I close my eyes. They hauled her off, but by then, it was done. They blame us, Florine. They blame the soldiers. They don’t know nothing. They don’t know nothing.”
Written on My Heart Page 19
