American Boy (17 page)

I should have taken her laugh as a warning to abandon the topic, but I had come too far to stop now.

I swiveled around on the bench and put one leg on each side so I had better access to Louisa. I stroked her hair, then pushed down the collar of her coat and pulled the hair away from her neck. I leaned forward, but just as I was about to kiss her, she spoke up in a voice that was quite a bit louder, “What are you doing, Matt?”

I spoke into the warm hollow of her throat. “You did things with Lester Huston. Anything he wanted, you said. And you didn’t even like him.”

“Because I needed him. For a while.” She lifted her shoulder, but only slightly. It was the tiniest of gestures, but there was no misunderstanding it. This was not the twitch of a woman excited by passion, but rather that of an animal trying to rid itself of a fly.

I sat up straight. “And you don’t need me.”

“That’s right. I like you well enough, Matt. But I don’t need you. You think you and I have something in common, but when I look at you, I just see another guy who wants to tear off a chunk of me. And you know what? I don’t really need any more of your kind in my life. I don’t mind putting out, but from now on I want it to be with someone who can do me some good. More than taking me out of a crummy little apartment just to move me to a crummy little shack.”

I slid farther down the bench. “Is it Johnny? Is that who you need?”

“Oh, Matt! There is so much you don’t get. Johnny Dunbar isn’t interested in me. Not like that.”

“Is it the doctor then?”

There was a long pause. Louisa put her feet firmly back down on the floor that was pocked and punctured from the spikes of hundreds of golfers. She stood up. “He’ll come around,” she said. “Now go out in that other room. I need to take a leak.”

I walked out of the locker room and continued right out of the Merchants clubhouse.

The polished penny loafers that embarrassed me at the start of the evening now troubled me in another way. They were filling with snow, and I had barely started down the drive leading away from the golf course, trying to walk in the tire tracks of Johnny’s car. The wind was quickly erasing them.

A subzero night like this one had a smell, sharp and faintly antiseptic, and when I breathed it in my nostrils burned with cold. Somewhere far beyond this hilltop, grass grew and dirt sifted through the hand like flour. But much as I tried, it was impossible to imagine this in midwinter Minnesota. I had miles to go, my ears and feet already tingled with cold, and frostbite seemed a real possibility.

Out here everything was a shade of blue—the dark blue of the winter sky, the darker blue of tree trunks and fence posts, the pale blue of the snowfields. The moon had drifted south and risen higher, its light not much more helpful than a star’s.

The road paralleled Harp Creek, which also served as a water hazard along the fifth hole. I’d driven any number of balls into it over the years. The creek was iced over now, and because I’d walked that terrain often, I could tell how impressively the snow had drifted along the fairway.

Perhaps it was all the cold and snow that caused me to think, when I saw the white Valiant in the distance, that it was just another snowbank, mounded high by the wind alongside the road. But when I came closer and recognized the dark rectangles of its windows, I ran, or as close as I could come to a run without slipping on the packed snow or out of my shoes.

The car’s lights and engine were off. Two of its tires were on the road, and two on the shoulder. Johnny was folded over the steering wheel, passed out or simply sleeping on his own crossed arms. I rapped repeatedly on the window, and eventually he came around. He didn’t seem the least bit surprised to see me.

He rolled down the window. “Matt. How long ... did you ... you know? With Louisa?”

“What the hell are you doing here? Are you okay?”

“I started to drive, but I knew . . . I couldn’t.... I was fucked up. Like Lester said. Too fucked up. I was going to give you two hours and then—” He looked past me, or tried to, but his eyes wouldn’t focus. “Where’s Louisa?”

I opened the door. “Scoot over. She’s back at the clubhouse. Waiting for you to rescue her.”

“What did you—?”

I got behind the wheel and started the car. “Not a goddamn thing. Unless you count making an ass out of myself. And how the hell did you get so drunk so fast, anyway?”

He slumped against the passenger door. “I told you. Fucked-up juice.”

By the time I had the car turned around and drove back to the clubhouse, Johnny had passed out again. I loaded the remaining cans of Budweiser in the trunk, and Louisa climbed in the driver’s side and slid across the seat, careful not to disturb Johnny. His slumber relieved us of the pressure of searching for something to say to each other.

I drove to my house, where I’d once again hide the beer in the garage. But before I sent them on their way, I whispered instructions to Louisa. “Sneak him into the house through the back door. Dr. Dunbar might still be up, but if he is, he’ll be in the front parlor. So take Johnny up to his room by the back stairs. If anyone sees you, make like you don’t know what happened. Tell them Johnny and I went off by ourselves. I don’t give a shit. Go ahead and tell them I’m drunk, too.”

After hiding the remaining cans of Budweiser under the tarp, I took two beers into my bedroom again. While I drank, I relived the evening, concentrating on what had occurred and what it had to do with human intimacy. These were not sexual fantasies, however. Instead, I replayed the conversation I’d had with Louisa, realizing that it might have led to something rarer than sex—friendship, which could develop further as we discovered that we really did have something in common. But, I also relived how I’d sent away a friend and let him shiver in a parked car while I tried to exploit his housemate. Maybe I could have reached some understanding, some insight into my character, from this line of thinking, but just as I approached that point, another thought obliterated all others:
That second kiss—it wasn’t an act, was it? It couldn’t have been.

15.

LIKE OTHER FAMILIES OF STANDING in Willow Falls, the Dunbars breakfasted at the Heritage House’s restaurant after church services, and anyone who observed those Sunday morning gatherings might have fairly concluded that it was not the children, but rather the men, who were so restless they couldn’t sit still. Carrying their coffee cups, smoking the cigarettes or cigars they had gone without for an hour, the husbands and fathers moved from table to table, gathering others in their band as they moved through the restaurant. Dr. Dunbar barely sat with his family long enough to place his breakfast order before he was on the move. Like a politician seeking votes, he walked the length and width of the room, stopping at a booth here, a table there, and moving the length of the counter like a boy with a stick along a picket fence.

Has that antibiotic taken effect, Mrs. Richards?

The Wildcats might have won that game last night with a stouter fourth-quarter defense.

George, are you and the Missus flying to Arizona this winter or driving?

That sounds like gout, Gary; you come in and see me first thing tomorrow morning.

No, Bob, I’m not ready to trade in the Chrysler yet, but when I am, you’ll be the first to know.

Harold, when I hear a compliment like that I have to wonder if you’ve already started your campaign for state’s attorney.

Jane, Tom, when I see the poise in that daughter of yours, I say to myself, now there are parents who did more than a few things right.

No, no, I don’t think it’s croup, Mrs. Ecklin. A cold, nothing worse. It’s just settled in her chest.

It was something to behold, Dr. Dunbar and the other men too, in motion and at rest, effortlessly ruling their town with nothing but small talk and handshakes. Their easy application of power remained mysterious to me, no matter how much I studied them Sunday after Sunday.

My mother had no religion, at least none I was aware of, yet when it came to her son she must have felt she had to take extra precautions to protect my soul, should I actually have one. She saw to it that I attended church, Sunday school, and confirmation classes. By then the habit was formed, and I continued to attend church more or less regularly. I was a Presbyterian for no reason other than that the Dunbars were, and the Sunday morning breakfasts at the Heritage House, to which I had a standing invitation, had as much to do with my church attendance as did any religious convictions.

Every Sunday I gave the waitress the same order: orange juice, scrambled eggs, a side order of ham, hash brown potatoes, a cinnamon roll, and coffee with cream and sugar. And each time I placed my order, Dr. Dunbar followed it by remarking, “Is that all for you, Matt, or will you be sharing it with the battalion?” It was my favorite meal, but more than the food, I loved sitting at the Dunbar table on Sunday mornings, letting everyone see me there.

Since becoming part of the Dunbar household, Louisa had also been attending First Presbyterian Church with the family, which meant she also joined us on Sunday mornings at the Heritage House. She sat so quietly at the table that anyone who’d heard rumors of her previous wild life would have had to reassess them in light of this demure, respectable presence. Oatmeal, she would order; oatmeal and tea. It was exactly what Mrs. Dunbar ordered.

On the February morning after our night drinking at Merchants clubhouse, I watched Louisa for some indication that whatever she felt for me before had changed. But I didn’t see a single sign, unless you counted the faintest of smiles that crossed her face when Johnny said he wasn’t hungry and ordered only coffee.

The twins were trying to persuade Louisa to judge a contest they were having over who had made the best bookmark of a Bible verse that morning in Sunday school. Louisa ignored them until Julia stood up, walked behind Louisa, and tilted her head down so she had to see the strips of cardboard the twins had placed in front of her. “Which one?” Julia demanded. Louisa hastily pointed to one of the bookmarks, and even though her judgment was halfhearted, Julia whooped in triumph. Had I been inclined to give Louisa a word of advice at that moment, I would have told her not to be so obvious in her observation of Dr. Dunbar, and to pay attention to his daughters as well. But I didn’t say a thing, and not surprisingly, Janet did not take Louisa’s judgment gracefully. She glared at Louisa, to which Louisa seemed oblivious. Then Julia raised her first-place bookmark high overhead, waved it back and forth, and circled the table as if she were competing in the school carnival cakewalk. Janet slumped in her chair and sulked.

Meanwhile, the good doctor was part of a group—the wing tip, dark-suit, Vitalis crowd—who were gathered near the cash register, arguing over whether Willow Falls should build a new elementary school on the west end of town, in order to accommodate the population growth in that direction.

While the men settled nothing, Mrs. Dunbar looked nervously out the window. Snow had begun falling shortly after sunrise, increasing in intensity with each passing hour. Its descent now was nearly horizontal, and the wind blew so hard that the restaurant’s plate glass window hummed and rattled in its frame. The street in front of the hotel was already drifted over in places, and it was clear that some of the cars parked on the west side of the street would have to be dug out.

“This is a blizzard,” Mrs. Dunbar said more than once, “a real blizzard.” Tornadoes in summer, blizzards in winter—Mrs. Dunbar had storm fear, an affliction not uncommon among residents of the Midwest.

As if he felt his wife’s anxiety from across the room, Dr. Dunbar stepped away from the power brokers and returned to the table.

“I wonder if we should get going,” said Mrs. Dunbar. She brought her napkin up from her lap and dropped it on the table, an action to be taken only at the end of a meal. Louisa did the same. The twins had stopped eating, and though I’d had more food in front of me than anyone, I was the first to finish.

Dr. Dunbar leaned toward the window as if he hadn’t noticed earlier what was happening out there. “By God, it is coming down, isn’t it?”

“We should get going,” Mrs. Dunbar repeated.

“Right you are,” said the doctor, and we all rose as if on command and began to put on our coats. Before we could move toward the door, however, Anna McDonough hurried over to our table. Anna was the wife of Dale McDonough, the owner of the hotel. They were a stylish and well-respected couple in their sixties, and they had both resided in Willow Falls their entire lives.

“Whoa, slow down, Anna,” Dr. Dunbar said. “I have no intention of leaving without paying the bill.” Although the doctor was making a joke, neither of the McDonoughs would have cared if Rex Dunbar never paid for a meal, so long as he continued to visit their establishment.

“Dale can’t talk,” she said breathlessly. She pointed to the far end of the dining room, where Mr. McDonough was sitting on a high stool, as he so often did, surveying the restaurant’s operations. Like Phil Palmer, the McDonoughs were highly visible owners, doing everything from frying eggs in the kitchen to checking guests in and out of their hotel.

Still in a jocular mood, Dr. Dunbar said, “I’m sure Alice would like to hear how you managed that.”

“No, I mean he’s trying, but—” She was interrupted by a commotion across the room, and we all turned in time to see Dale McDonough topple from his stool and crash to the floor. While everyone in the restaurant stood to see what had happened, Dr. Dunbar took off at a sprint. Anna McDonough trailed behind him, her high heels clacking on the hotel floor.

Janet and Julia started to follow their father, but Mrs. Dunbar restrained them. “Sit,” she said. “Whatever is going on, your assistance is not needed.”

A ring of bystanders had quickly gathered around the fallen hotel owner, making it impossible to see what Mr. McDonough’s condition was or how Dr. Dunbar was ministering to him. Earlier it had seemed as if Dr. Dunbar was among equals as he stood around with the other men, joking and discussing the issues of the day. But now those other men looked passive, weak, and ineffectual alongside the doctor, with his expertise and ability to act in the face of crisis.