Lone Star (57 page)

It's barely dawn when they leave the Dog Inn.

A final ride, a short cab to Trieste International Airport.

They're silent as Italy passes them by.

I'll come back, he says. Are you listening? Can you hear my voice?

I hear.

I promise I'll come back.

I promise I'll be waiting.

His arm is around her. He holds her hand. This is for my dad, too. Not just me. He staked his reputation on me going to Afghanistan. He's waiting for me. He said, don't let me down. I promised him I wouldn't. Johnny Rainbow keeps his promises. I know I mouth off and everything. But deep down, I really do want to make him proud. Like he made his father proud.

Of course, Chloe says. That's what we all want. To make our parents proud.

He presses his mouth into the palms of her hands. She prays not to break down. It takes them so long to separate. His plane leaves at eight, and here it is seven-thirty, and he's not on it. Last call. Like in a bar. His back is to the boarding gate. Chloe stands as straight as she can, watching him stride backwards, his face to her, the way he strode backwards, his face to her, when they were in the forest on the way to the killing field.

In a song he calls out to her from across the crowded airport lounge, his crazy tenor vibrating, other travelers stopping to
gape, to listen. This one goes out to the one I love. If he would stop walking, they'd throw money at his feet. Her eyes pooling up, she shakes her head. Don't do that, Johnny, please.

A tall man in an oversized military coat stands like an official at the gate. The man watches Johnny, doesn't move, doesn't blink, doesn't speak. Johnny walks past, half nods to the man, and brings up his hand in a salute. Ironic? From a distance, Chloe can't tell.

Right before he disappears from her view, he turns around one last time. She stands watching until the last drop of him dries up before her eyes. The only thing left for him to do is make a grand exit. He turns completely around, not just a jaunty glance back. His whole lanky body faces her, guitar on his back, army duffel dropped to his side on the floor. He stands motionless for a moment as other passengers file past him down the gray chute, and then he bends at the waist as if doubling over, one arm flying up for balance, and takes the deepest bow Chloe has ever seen anyone take. In tribute and farewell he leans so far forward that his black ponytail flips over and his guitar case slides, nearly hitting the floor.

Johnny remains that way for a few moments and then straightens up. All his teeth on display, his coal eyes shining, he blows her a kiss, nods to the official, yanks up his duffel, spins around, and marches on.

The man in the military coat follows him down the accordion highway.

Give me the waters of Lethe that numb the heart, if they exist,

I will still not have the power to forget you.

Ovid,
The Poems of Exile: Tristia and the Black Sea Letters

San Diego University Freshman Course Load

F
ALL
S
EMESTER:

Intro to Mixed Martial Arts

Jewish Faith and Practice

Class Voice I

World War II

Studies in European Literature

S
PRING
S
EMESTER:

Women's Self-Defense

Modern Middle East

Class Voice II

Social Ethics

Bootcamp

Nursery Management

Mission Florist

Dear Mom,

I was offered two internships, one during the week, one on the weekends. During the week, a paralegal at a prestigious law firm. Tell
Dad so he'll be pleased. On the weekends, a job at Mission Florist, the most well-known florist in San Diego. It supplies all the hotels, country clubs, and wedding venues. I took a course in nursery management to satisfy a core requirement and the professor suggested I apply at Mission. He thinks I have a natural talent. If it's okay with you and Dad, I was thinking of taking two additional classes in the summer: landscape design and plant biology. I'd have to stay here. I'd get paid at the jobs, and the university will let me have summer housing—for an additional fee. I can pay for that, but not for the extra course work. If I want to have two majors, philosophy and plant science, I really need to take the extra classes. Please, can you and Dad help? Talk it over and let me know. Maybe you can come and visit again, if Dad can get another break from work. I'll show you an awesome beach I found. It's definitely for families, so don't worry.

Love,

Chloe

P.S. I'm glad little Ray likes Maine. It's so different from Liepaja. Give him a hug from me. How long is he staying? If you come in the summer, you should bring him. He'll love San Diego.

P.P.S. Please please forward me all my mail, even what you think is junk.

Fort Benning

Lieutenant Commander Scott: Lieutenant Commander Scott here.

Chloe: Oh, hello. Um . . .

Lieutenant Commander Scott: How can I help you?

Chloe: Um, yes, I'm calling because I'm looking for a soldier who enlisted in your officer program last summer.

Lieutenant Commander Scott: Did he enlist or did he join the officer-candidate school?

Chloe: Um, yes, he enlisted in the officer school.

Lieutenant Commander Scott (after a pause): Is this some kind of a joke?

Chloe: I'm terribly sorry. He said he might be joining the Park Rangers . . .

Lieutenant Commander Scott: Do you mean the 75th Ranger Regiment?

Chloe: Yes, that's what I meant.

Lieutenant Commander Scott (with a sigh): His name, miss?

Chloe: He told me his name was Johnny Rainbow. But . . .

Lieutenant Commander Scott: Johnny
Rainbow
?

Chloe: I don't think . . .

Lieutenant Commander Scott: Yeah. We don't have anyone here by that name.

Chloe: Right. But what I was saying was . . .

Lieutenant Commander Scott: Can I help you with something else?

Chloe: He has a Lone Star tattoo on his chest.

Lieutenant Commander Scott: I don't know what that is.

Chloe: Like the star of Texas. On his chest.

Lieutenant Commander Scott: Young lady, my men are dressed when they come here, and they are dressed when they train. I don't keep track of my men's tattoos.

Chloe: Right. Of course. But I think his father might be someone important. Someone who has pull or . . . influence or something.

Lieutenant Commander Scott: I don't know anyone like that. I don't know anyone with a tattoo or a father like that or anyone named Rainbow. The name is not in our rolls.

Chloe: I think his name was Junior. That's why they called him Johnny. Johnny, Junior. Something like that. Which means he had his father's name. Who, I think, may have been a four-star general.

Lieutenant Commander Scott: Was he a four-lonestar general, miss?

(Silence from Chloe.)

Lieutenant Commander Scott: So let's see if I have the facts straight. You're looking for a soldier who may have either
enlisted or joined the OCS, or gone into the Rangers, you're not sure, a soldier with a tattoo of a star on his chest who answers to the name John, but also Junior, and whose father may or may not be a high-ranking commander?

Chloe: He has long black hair! Tied in a ponytail.

Lieutenant Commander Scott: Certainly not in Fort Benning. Our men have no hair.

Chloe: He sings. He has the most amazing voice. You wouldn't forget it if you heard—

Lieutenant Commander Scott: Did he come here to be a soldier or is he going to music-and-dance camp down the road?

(Silence from Chloe.)

Lieutenant Commander Scott: Will there be anything else?

Chloe: There is nothing else.

San Diego University Sophomore Course Load

F
ALL
S
EMESTER:

Judo Multilevel

Hiking/Camping

Prophetic Traditions of Israel

Ethics of War and Peace

Studies in Modern European Philosophy

Romanticism

Introduction to Horticulture and Green Design

S
PRING
S
EMESTER:

Aikido Multilevel

Topics in Russian and Eastern European History

Studies in World Literature

Plant Diversity

Landscape Design

Continental Philosophy

Legal Reasoning

Yesterday's Café

Chloe got up her nerve (plus her mother made her) and walked up the road, past Hannah's old place, to Blake and Mason's. Hannah's mother had married the manager of L.L.Bean, sold her house, and moved with him to a small bungalow on the enormous Conway Lake. A black Ford F-150 was parked outside the Hauls' pebbled drive. Janice's Subaru wasn't there. Chloe knocked quickly, thinking—or hoping?—that no one was home, despite the noise of a nail gun from the back. She'd just as soon leave the small gift and a note by the door and hightail it out.

She heard pine needles crunching under work boots. Blake came around the stilts of the back deck, tool belt on, nail gun in his hands. His mouth had nails in it. He spit them out before he spoke.

“Ah,” he said, coming forward but stopping a good distance away. “You're back.” He was reserved, almost formal. “Hey.”

“Yeah.” She failed in spoken word. Mental note to oneself: take damn Interpersonal Communications next semester. “Hey. How's everything? Whatcha doing?”

“Fixing the ramp to the lake for my dad. What's going on with you?”

“Yeah, yeah, oh, excellent.”

“Your mother gives my mother periodic reports on you,” he said.

“She does?” Mental note to oneself: talk to mother about blabbing! Intensely discomfited, she chewed her lip and stared at her flip-flops and his work boots. He had cut off his hair. It was short, streaked with blond. His face still had a week or two of growth on it. His unshaven face was so familiar, it felt wrong to be this awkward. “I brought you something from San Diego,” she said. She couldn't look directly at him.

“Is it a fridge magnet? I've always wanted one of those.”

She pulled the bottle from behind her. “It's a local beer,” she said. “Called Ruination.”

“Yes, I see that.” He took it from her hands and read the label. “‘San Diego's liquid poem to the glory of the hop.'” He smiled. There. That was better. “Nice. Thanks. Do you want to share it?” His sand-color eyes softened.

She stepped back. “No. I'm late for work. I just wanted to stop by, say hi.” She was already halfway down the drive.

“Where'd you find a job?”

“My friend Taylor, remember her, got me rehired at the water park in North Conway.”

“Sure, I remember her,” Blake said. “Her squeeze Joey and I are bowling partners.”

“That's great. Say hello to your mom and dad—”

“Not Mason?”

“Oh, him too, of course, yeah, sure, absolutely, uh, I'll see you.”

She turned and walked speedily down the road, trying not to kick up too much dust or run or trip over her discomfort.

She saw Blake standing by the edge of the shallow receiving pool where she was wading waist deep in water holding a long red flotation bar, waiting for the next writhing body to eject from the flume slide.

He wore navy swim trunks and a T-shirt. She wore her lifeguard red.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Came to pick you up. When are you off?”

“Not for another two hours.”

He looked at his watch, then took off his T-shirt and jumped into the shallow pool with her.

“Don't distract me,” she said, after a short stare, keeping her gaze on the water-slide exit. That was literally her entire job. She couldn't look away. She was there to catch the kids as they exited the ride. Blake had lost weight. No more happy-Blake pie weight
around the middle. Is it because he was less happy or ate fewer pies? He'd gotten narrower at the waist, wider through the chest and shoulders. He was tanned as if he worked shirtless outside all day. “My mother said she was coming to pick me up.”

“I know. I told her I'd do it.”

“Oh. And she was okay with that?”

“Why wouldn't she be?”

Chloe changed the subject. “Have you met the little guy yet? Ray.”

“Um, have
you
met the little guy yet? He's been living with your parents since last year. Where've you been?”

She stammered. Thank God for the slippery kids. She returned to her duties. He stood in the water by her side.

“So you like San Diego, then?”

“It doesn't feel like home, if that's what you're asking,” she replied. “But I love it there, yes. Weather is fantastic. Seventy-five all year round. Never rains. Even the Pacific is almost warm that far south. Lots of beaches.”

“You always liked the beach.” His mouth twisted. Hers too.

Kids came down, one, two, three, seven. He stood back and to the side, rowing his hands through the water. It was a beautiful, sunny June day.

“How's everyone?” she asked. Vague enough.

“Who do you mean?”

She got flustered.

He took pity on her and volunteered about Mason. He was working as a manager for one of the White Mountains ski resorts, up in Crawford Notch.

“Is he still living at home?”

Blake hesitated.

“Just tell it to me straight,” she said, her red bar out to catch the kids. “I'm fine.” This is not what heartbreak is.

“They're living up there.”

“They?”

“He and—”

Chloe busied herself helping a boy to the stairs. She
was
fine, but she didn't want to hear about it. Could Blake see her condemning expression?

“When did you get so fit?” he asked. “Though you're still not tanned, I see.”

She shrugged it off. “Can't lose the Irish.” The fit came from all the self-defense classes she was taking. She didn't mention his weight loss or his increased brawniness or his brown chest. She didn't want him to think she noticed.

“Is it true you never made it to Barcelona?” he asked.

“It's true,” said Chloe. “I never did.”

“So where'd you go then, after you split?”

“Italy.”

They fell quiet.

“I'll get out,” he said. “Dry off.”

“I'll be another hour.”

“That's fine.”

In an hour, she climbed out of the pool, toweled off, punched out, threw a white terry cover-up over her wet red bathing suit, and met him waiting for her by the bench near the exit.

They walked to his black truck. He opened the door for her.

“Is it new? It's swanky.” Lang had told Chloe a little bit about Blake doing well.

“Not new, but swanky. I have drinks in the cooler. Want a Coke?”

She was impressed by his attention to amenities. Gladly she took a Coke. “Did you get the truck with your prize money? Congratulations, by the way.”

“Thank you. But I didn't get the dumb money yet. Soon, I hope.” He grinned. “You surprised I won?”

“Pretty stunned, actually, yeah.”

“That I wrote it in the first place?”

“That too.” It had taken him an extra year, but he had done it. She should've known he'd eventually write it. He had said he would. “So when do I get a copy?”

“Oh, not until it's properly published. That won't be till next summer.”

“No! I don't want to wait that long. You must have a manuscript lying around?”

“Uh-uh. You won't like the bad guy in it. Wait for the book.” He had been driving for a few minutes when Chloe noticed he was going north on 16 instead of south. “Yes, I know,” he said. “You don't want to drive up to Crawford, to visit Mason?”

She whirled to face him. “Stop kidding.” She watched the road, waiting for him to make a U-turn. “Why is he all the way up in Crawford Notch? I thought you and he were going to be the Haul Brothers together.”

“We're still Haul brothers,” Blake said. “We're just not the Haul Brothers.” He sighed with resigned disappointment. “Truth is, Mason wanted to do something else. He loves the skiing, the winter sports. Likes managing the slopes.” He continued to drive in the wrong direction.

“Blake, turn around. I'm not going to visit him. Ain't gonna happen.”

“I know,” he said, one hand coolly on the wheel. “But I thought you might want to say hi to your friend Hannah.”

Only slightly less aghast. “Where—in Bangor?”

“Oh no,” Blake said, “our dear Hannah is not in Bangor anymore. She's in Jackson.”

“Jackson, where Lupe lives? Why? It's got like fifty people in it.”

“Fifty-three with her, the baby, and young Zhenya.”

“What are you talking about? Stop playing mind games! You're freaking me out. What Zhenya?”

“Why is your voice so high?”

“Because you're confusing me. Can you stop driving for a second?”

“No can do.” He pointed to the narrow road. “No shoulder.”

Chloe knew that Hannah had gone to Bangor, but little beyond that. Despite one or two halfhearted attempts, she had not
spoken to her friend in nearly two years. Since Krakow. As they drove toward Jackson, Blake filled her in. After they had come back from Poland (“Of course we flew back right away. What else were we going to do?”), he had offered to pay for Hannah's abortion. Hannah opted for door number two and decided to approach Martyn, to let him know it was happening. “
The least she could do
is how she put it,” Blake told Chloe. Martyn used his formidable powers of hypnotic persuasion to convince Hannah that there was no reason to terminate the pregnancy, that if she stayed with him, he would take care of her schooling, the baby, everything. He even offered to help sponsor Zhenya from Liepaja to come stay with them in Bangor. The only thing he asked of Hannah was that they get married. He didn't want his baby to be illegitimate. How old-school of him, how quaint, Blake and Chloe clucked. So Hannah and Martyn got married, after some doing Zhenya was shipped to Bangor, baby Hayley was born, and . . .

“It sounds like they lived happily ever after,” said Chloe. “Don't tell me she got sick of him already.”

“She didn't get a chance to. The dude croaked.”

Chloe coughed up her Coke. “What?”

“He was like a hundred years old,” Blake said. “That parrot became an ex-parrot eight months ago. Heart attack.”

“No!”

Blake continued driving, palming the gear shift in the console. “Our Hannah thought that as his widow she would come into his money, but during probate she discovered that the place they were living in was university housing. It wasn't his. And his debt was in the hundreds of thousands. Apparently, Martyn had quite the gambling problem. Stock-market options. Kept it well hidden. Bottom line, negative red. He may have paid a few grand to sponsor Zhenya, but that was about all. So now she has nowhere to live, his massive debt to sort through, and a baby and a Latvian to feed.”

“Blake . . .” Chloe didn't know what to say. “That's awful. What's in Jackson?”

“Yesterday's Café.”

“What's that?”

“Where she works. She's a waitress at Yesterday's Café.”

“But where's she living?”

“Back with her mother and her new stepdad in their cottage, barely bigger than Lupe's garage.”

“Crap.”

“Oh yeah.”

He made a right into Jackson. Shaking her head, Chloe reached for the wheel.

“Blake, no.”

“Just go say hello.”

“With you? We're just going to waltz in there? Arm in arm?”