looked out. A minute or so later, Dub came outside, wearing a ski jacket and pajama bottoms. He opened the passenger-side door and slid in.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey.”
“I’m real sorry about that Bridger thing. I didn’t have a clue about them only having one spot.”
“Didn’t think you did.”
“My old man’s so fucking organized.”
“That’s good.”
“I don’t even want to go anymore.”
“That just proves you’re dumb.”
“You go. You take the position. You’re better anyway. I can’t hit the curveball for shit, and that means I’ll wash out sooner than later.”
“Shut up.”
Dub glanced over. “Hey,” he said. “What’s with your face?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t look like nothing.”
Wyatt took a deep breath and shivered all of a sudden, even though he was no longer cold.
“C’mon inside,” Dub said. “It’s cold.”
“Nah.”
“I’m freezing my ass off.”
“Then go.”
“Nope,” said Dub, sitting back, like he was actually getting comfortable.
Dub was very stubborn, always had been. They ended up going into the Mannions’ house together.
5
Mrs. Mannion, wearing a quilted pink robe, her round face glistening with some sort of clear cream, made hot chocolate. They sat around the Mannions’ kitchen table-Wyatt, Dub, Mrs. Mannion. It was warm in the Mannions’ house, much warmer than home, and Wyatt felt no drafts; his place was full of drafts.
“Hot chocolate okay?” said Mrs. Mannion.
Dub grunted.
Wyatt said, “Yeah, thanks.”
“Not too hot?”
“No,” Wyatt said. “Just right.”
“So,” said Mrs. Mannion, “first thing would be a call to your mom, right?”
Wyatt shook his head.
“She’ll be worried,” said Mrs. Mannion. “You know that.”
Wyatt knew, but he didn’t admit it out loud.
“Can’t he stay here for the night?” Dub said.
“Of course. Longer if he wants. But he still needs to call his mom.”
“She’ll be asleep,” Wyatt said.
“No she won’t,” said Mrs. Mannion. “Proves you’ve got a lot to learn about mothers.” Wyatt gazed into his hot chocolate, thinking: Rusty will answer for sure. “Tell you what,” Mrs. Mannion said. “I’ll call.”
“Aw, Mom,” said Dub.
“Don’t ‘Aw, Mom’ me.” Mrs. Mannion reached for the phone and dialed. Rusty had the kind of voice that carried through the phone speaker, and Wyatt clearly heard: “Yeah?” Mrs. Mannion stuck her jaw out a little. “Linda, please. It’s Judy Mannion.” A second or two went by and then Mrs. Mannion said, “Linda? Wyatt’s over here. He’s fine.” She listened for a few moments and said, “Good idea.” Then she hung up and turned to Wyatt. “Your mom’s coming over.”
“Why?”
“Why? What kind of a question is that?”
“I’m going to bed,” Dub said.
Mrs. Mannion washed the mugs and stood them upside down in the drying rack. “I’ll be pushing off, too,” she said. “Invite your mom inside when she gets here.”
But when Wyatt saw the headlights coming, he went out to the driveway to meet her. His mom drove an old Cherokee-old and wrecked, rusted out and burning oil, but not yet quite paid off. Wyatt got in the passenger side and sat down. Linda’s face was puffy from crying, and she was no crier.
“I’m staying at Dub’s,” Wyatt said.
His mom nodded. “Okay, I understand. I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”
“Yeah, I’m all right.”
“No, you’re not,” said his mom. “Look at me.”
He looked at her. He was all cleaned up now, blood washed off, hair combed, nose a bit swollen but straight.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. A tear formed in one eye, rolled down her cheek.
“You didn’t do anything.”
“Oh, I did.”
“What, Mom? I don’t get it.”
“I only wanted-” Her face started to crumple up. She got control of herself and continued. “I hate what just happened. It made me sick. And there’s no excuse, none at all. But for someone like Rusty-his whole life has been about hard work, and now getting canned like he did, sitting around all day, useless, stewing in his…” Linda went silent for a few moments. “He’s his worst self right now.”
This is how he always is. That was Wyatt’s response, but he held back, caring too much about his mother to say it.
Linda gazed at the Mannions’ house. Dub’s big flat screen glowed in his second-floor window. “I wanted this-want this to work so bad.”
“Wanted what to work?”
“A family. This family.”
Wyatt shook his head.
“Nobody’s perfect, Wyatt.”
“And a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.” A nasty thing to say, and he regretted it at once.
Too late, of course. His mom actually winced, as though he’d thrown a punch. “This jealousy of his-it’s just so stupid,” she said.
“He’s jealous of me?”
Wyatt’s mom gave him a long look that made him even more uncomfortable than he already was but that he couldn’t interpret. “That’s not what I meant,” she said. “I meant-” She paused, as though making some effort, then licked her lips. “I meant Sonny. Rusty’s always been a bit jealous of him.”
“He knew him?”
“Not really. Rusty was a bit older, went into the service as soon as he could, got posted out to the Coast. He was jealous sort of after the fact, jealous that Sonny and I were-had once been…an item.”
“An item?”
“A couple. We…we were so young.”
Wyatt didn’t want to hear about that. Wasn’t he the young one right now? Her job was to be the older one. “Where is he?”
“At home, asleep. I don’t think he even-”
“Not Rusty. I’m talking about my real father.”
“He’s in prison. A life sentence, you know that.” The TV light went off in Dub’s bedroom.
