“Yeah?” said Barry. “Where would a place like that be, exactly?” He went to the fridge, took out another carton.
“I’ll just have a word with Rhett,” Roy said.
“Be my guest.”
Roy went upstairs. Rhett was playing a video game in his bedroom, back to the door, tuft of hair sticking up on his head.
“Why’nt you come on home with me for now?” Roy said. “Till your ma gets back.”
“I’m all set,” Rhett said, not turning.
“What are you going to eat for supper? There’s nothing in the fridge.”
“There’s Chinese.”
“It’s old.”
“I’m not hungry.” Rhett hunched closer to the screen.
Roy watched him play the game. “Got to keep up with your studies even when you’re not there,” he said. “Can’t fall behind.”
No answer. On the screen, a pumped-up warrior ran down a dark tunnel.
Roy drove home. He checked the messages, none, and the mail, bills, then went downstairs and worked on the shelves until they were done. He carried them up to Rhett’s old room-Rhett’s room, period-set them up, tried a few books here and there. He remembered Rhett’s Pop Warner trophy-every kid got one-and his Pop Warner highlight tape, found them in the closet, put them on the top shelf. The setting sun, reflecting off someone’s windshield on the street, glowed on the cheaply plated trophy figure, a hard-charging boy with a football tucked under one arm. Roy stood there until the light faded; probably only a moment or two.
Roy switched on the kitchen lights, sat down with a Coke, a pencil, a blank sheet of paper. He wrote three headings: House Projects, Budget (w/new salary), Managerial Skills. Under House Projects he wrote bathroom. Marcia had always hated the bathroom. Maybe start by ripping out the linoleum, laying those tiles that looked like marble, then hanging a bigger mirror, framed by little makeup lightbulbs, and The buzzer. Marcia didn’t like that either, Roy remembered as he went to answer it. She wanted chimes. He opened the front door.
Gordo. Gordo in muddy uniform, eyes blurry, propped up by a boy-no, it was Lee, not in uniform, wearing a denim jacket and jeans, which was probably why Roy didn’t recognize him right away. Gordo swayed back on the stoop and Lee, so much smaller, almost lost him. Roy grabbed Gordo’s arm. Gordo tilted forward, his eyes making an exaggerated attempt to bring Roy into focus.
“Hi, good buddy,” he said.
Roy pulled him inside. “You all right?” he said.
“I hear the rolling thunder.”
Roy got him in the living room, laid him on the couch.
“Puke city,” Gordo said.
Roy sat him up.
“Roy has a secret life,” Gordo said. He turned green.
“I’ll get some water,” Lee said, going into the kitchen.
“What’s my secret life?” Roy said.
“Listenin’ to gospel. Don’t you worry none. I’ll take it to my grave.” Gordo’s arm shot out abruptly, jerked Roy down beside him on the couch. “Tell you something confidential, good buddy.” Roy smelled alcohol in several states, from raw to almost completely digested. “He’s not gay.”
“Who?” Roy asked.
A mistake, asking a question, because Gordo put his lips to Roy’s ear to answer. His breath was hot, his lips wet. “Lee. Thought he was gay, but he’s not. You think he was gay?”
“No,” Roy said; but he remembered the feeling of Lee’s hand on his back as they posed by the cannon.
“Could have taken advantage of me out there, couldn’t he of?” Gordo said. “If he’d of been-”
Lee returned with a glass of water.
“Not thirsty,” Gordo said.
“Drink,” Lee said.
Gordo stopped shaking his head. “Is that an order, Corporal?”
“Yes.”
Gordo drank, but the green tinge on his cheeks and upper lip didn’t go away.
“Where’s my canteen?” he said. He felt along his belt, patting frantically with both hands. “Lost my canteen.” He started to cry.
“Canteen’s in the car,” Lee said. “All your gear’s in your car, right outside.”
“Think I care about that goddamn car?” He turned to Roy. “Know my plan for that piece of shit?”
“No,” Roy said.
Gordo wiped away tears with the back of his sleeve, muddying his face. “Think of China,” he said.
“China?”
“Boom,” said Gordo.
“What does that mean?”
“If you don’t know, who does? Big bang, good buddy.”
“He wants to blow up his car?” Lee said.
Gordo put his lips to Roy’s ear again. “Ammonium nitrate in the trunk, in the back, under the hood, everywhere. Sublevel five. Boom.” The words buzzed through Roy’s auditory tubes and into his brain.
He got up, moved away. “Better sleep it off, Gordo.”
“I might lie down,” said Gordo, lying down, “but you can forget about the sleeping part. Think I trust anybody now and forevermore?” His eyes closed. “Boom,” he said, and then went silent.
Roy and Lee gazed down at him. He twitched once or twice. The corners of his lips curved down. Can you look unhappy, anxious, troubled with your eyes closed, and drunk? Gordo did.
“Hope you’re not angry,” Lee said.
“About what?”
“Bringing him here. He didn’t want to go home. He wanted to be here.”
“What about Brenda?”
“I called her.”
“And?”
Lee glanced at Roy. Roy couldn’t tell how old he was. From the face alone, the skin poreless, the features small and precise, Roy would have guessed about nineteen or twenty. But the eyes were at least ten years older than that, and so was the way he talked, the way he carried himself.
“She’s upset. Didn’t really want him home-”
“Until he sobered up.” Roy finished the sentence for him. Not something he usually did, if ever, but he’d known what Lee was going to say and it had just popped out.
Their eyes met. “Which could be some time,” Lee said.
Gordo twitched suddenly, as though he knew they were discussing him and didn’t like it. They both gazed down at him.
“Lucky you were there,” Roy said.
“Where?”
“At that camp of yours.”
“I wasn’t. Satchmo boards close by.”
Satchmo? Roy didn’t get it at first. Then images from the dream of the smudged-faced horseman came streaming back to him, as clear as when he’d dreamed them.
“They’ve got stables out there?” Roy said.
Lee nodded. “I saw Gordo’s car in the lot on my way up.”
Gordo groaned.
“So you need a drive back?” Roy said.
“It’s not necessary.”
“Going to saddle up instead?”
Lee smiled. “Would if I could.”
