The Impossible Knife of Memory (8 page)

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The guys all shook my hand, polite and respectful as Dad introduced me around. The sight of them, the smell of so many soldiers in a room on a hot day, brought back a vague memory of living on base when I was little. I shook my head to clear it away.

“Is there going to be a quiz to see if I can remember your names?” I asked.
“No, ma’am,” said several of the guys at once.
“Wait till you see the backyard,” Dad said.
As we walked through the house, he explained that they all served with an old friend of his, Roy Pinkney, and were on leave and headed north to Roy’s camp near Saranac Lake.
We stepped out of the back door and my mouth dropped open.
“Roy took one look at the backyard, hollered ‘Potential!’ and sent some of his boys into town to rent a mower,” Dad explained with a grin. “It only took an hour or so before they had the whole place squared away.”
For the first time in weeks, the backyard had been mowed. Mowed and neatly raked. A fire pit had been dug in the middle, circled with stones and piled with wood, ready to be lit. A soldier stripped to the waist was chopping wood with a splitting maul. Chairs and upended logs waited around the fire pit. Four small tents had been set up, too, poles straight and strings taut.
A tall, bald man walked up to us. “Do not tell me this is your little girl, Andy. No way.”
“Hayley Rose,” Dad said. “You won’t remember him, but this is Roy.”
I put out my hand to shake, but the man gathered me into a big hug and kissed the top of my head.
“Not possible,” he said, releasing me and smiling. “It is just not possible for you to have grown up this much.” He stepped back and looked at me. “I hope you thank God every night that you take after your mom instead of this ugly cuss.”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“Do you remember the first time you handed this angel to me, Andy?” Roy asked.
“When we were living next to the PX?” Dad asked.
Roy nodded. “You must have been about, what, five months old?”
“I don’t remember, sir,” I said.
“Three months, I think,” Dad said. “Rebecca was still alive.”
My mouth dropped open for the second time because Dad never, and I mean
never
, said my mother’s name out loud.
“You’re right,” Roy said. “I can remember her laughing at me. You see, Hayley, your father handed you to me just as you were starting to do your duty in your diaper. And it was July, as I recall, so all you were wearing was that diaper. I’d just come from, I don’t know where, but it was something that required me to be in my finest dress uniform and I looked good.”
Dad snorted but Roy ignored him.
“So I sit down in your folk’s apartment and your sweet mother leaves to pour me some iced tea and your face goes all red and you start grunting—”
(I said a quick prayer of thanks that the shirtless guy chopping wood could not hear this.)
“—and Andy hands you to me, and I knew nothing about babies so I laid you on my lap. And then your diaper exploded.”
Dad and Roy both cracked up and I waited for the earth to swallow me. Roy gave me another hug, and then Dad did, too, and finally I laughed and I realized that there was no way in hell I was going to the stupid football game.
I stayed on the edges of the conversations for the next few hours. I made three-dozen deviled eggs, ran the dishwasher, and kept an eye on my father, waiting for him to get drunk. But he didn’t. He drank soda and lemonade, even as all the other guys pounded beer and Roy sipped Scotch. This was a new version of my father, comfortable in his skin. Happy to joke about life over there and his scars and the bullshit they all had to deal with from desk-jockey officers and lying politicians.
I couldn’t believe what I was watching.
Dad hated talking about the war and never did it sober. Half the time he didn’t even want people to know he was a vet. Strangers often said things like, “Thank you for your service,” because they meant it and they thought that was the right thing to do, but the problem was it set off a series of detonations inside my father that sometimes ended with him punching a wall or the face of a jerk in a bar. The worst was when he accidentally found himself in conversation with the family member of a soldier who had been killed. The sadness in their eyes would blow another hole in his brain and then he’d go dead quiet for days.
And yet here he was, as sober as Spock and me, and being a soldier was all he could talk about. And he was
laughing
.
Roy had brought a couple of grills and soon the hot dogs and hamburgers were piled high and the guys in the backyard chowed down. I got a look at the cooler, which was filled with six kinds of ice cream plus whipped cream and a bunch of half-frozen candy bars that Roy told me were going to be chopped up and mixed with the ice cream, and I was a confused, but happy and grateful girl.
Until Michael showed up.
After Gramma died, Michael rented her house from my father; apparently, they’d been buddies in high school. He moved out when we moved in, but he came back more often than I liked. The way he looked at me creeped me out and I was beginning to think that he was the source of Dad’s weed. He’d never done anything that I could complain about to Dad, but whenever he walked in the door, I felt the need to be somewhere else. Roy and his guys would have Dad’s back if Michael wanted to do anything profoundly stupid.
Covering the football game for the newspaper seemed like a good idea after all.

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The crowd in the stadium roared so loudly I couldn’t hear what the mom manning the ticket booth said.
“Why?” I asked again.
She glared and waited a beat for the noise to die down. “Everybody pays to get into the game. No exceptions.”
“But I’m the press,” I whined. “On assignment.”
“Students get a dollar discount.” She put her hand out. “Four dollars or don’t go in.”
I paid her. Finn now owed me nineteen bucks.
The bleachers were a wall of people dressed in Belmont Yellow. For one second, it felt like they were all staring at me, that they all knew I came to the football game alone and didn’t know where to sit, but then a whistle blew and the football teams on the field behind me crashed into each other and the crowd cheered and jumped up and down. I was invisible to them.
I turned my back to the stands. On the other side of the field sat the enemy, the Richardson Ravens, dressed in black and silver. Beyond the goalposts at the far end of the field rose a gentle hill that was dotted with people sitting on blankets, little kids zooming around them, cheerfully ignoring the sad excuse for a football game.
The referee blew his whistle and the two lines of players crashed into each other again, grunting and shouting. I couldn’t see what happened to the ball, but the Richardson side of the field erupted in cheers.
I texted Gracie:
hey
After a long pause, she wrote back:
at movie ttyl?
I sent a simple smiley face, because my phone did not have a smiley face that was wrapping her hands around her own throat and beating her head against a wall.
The two teams ran to their huddles to plot out their next bit of brilliant strategy. They ended the huddle and ran back to line up, each face inches away from the scowling face of the enemy, feet pawing at the ground like impatient horses. The quarterback grunted, the lines crashed together, and they all fell down again. Everyone in Belmont Yellow screamed and whistled.
Should I be writing this down?
I looked up at the stands.
Wouldn’t anyone who cared about this game be here? Why would they want to read about it?
Answer: they wouldn’t. My earlier plan to get the stats and eavesdrop for quotes first period Monday was still viable and even more attractive than it had been on the bus. I just needed someplace to go that was not my house. It was only a quarter to eight. I could probably make it to the mall before nine.
what movie,
I texted Gracie.
She didn’t answer, which meant she was with Topher, which meant any hope I had of crashing her Friday night plans had just evaporated. How lame would it be for me to go to Gracie’s house and ask her mom if she wanted to hang out? Mrs. Rappaport was a big fan of home makeover shows. Last time I was at her house, she’d been talking about redesigning her kitchen. Maybe we could watch a few episodes about countertops.
I shuddered. I’d be better off spending the evening chasing rats out of Dumpsters.
The clock clicked down the last few seconds to halftime, the refs blew their whistles, and people raced for the bathrooms and the food stand.
“This is ridiculous,” I muttered as I pressed against the fence that separated the spectators from the field. As soon as the herd moved past, I followed, intending to head for the parking lot, unchain my bike, and ride. Not home, not for a few hours. Just ride in the dark and hope that Topher and Gracie would have a huge fight and she’d call in tears and ask me to spend the night and mention that they had a lot of ice cream in the freezer.
“Great game, huh?”
I turned around, ready to spew venom about parents who were happy to pay taxes for football coaches but would be good-God-damned if they were going to waste their money on librarians or gym teachers.
“I was certain we’d be down thirty points by now,” Finn said.
In his left hand, he was holding a flimsy cardboard box loaded with cheeseburgers, greasy fries, and two soda cups. In his right, he held a third cup that was filled with marigolds that looked like they’d been yanked out of somebody’s backyard.
“What’d you think of that first-down denial?” he asked. “Great way to end the half, right?”
“What happened to your date?” I asked.
“She’s here,” he said.
“You brought your big date to this football game? You could have written the article yourself.”
“No, I couldn’t,” he said. “What girl wants to be ignored on a date? Hold this for me.”
He shoved the box that held the food and drink at me, pulled his buzzing phone out of his pocket, glanced at it, and typed a reply. Behind us, the marching band took their position on the field, drummers beating a solemn cadence.
“Okay.” Finn put his phone away. “Want to meet her?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” I followed him through the crowd. “Is she a zombie?” I asked. “I bet she’s wearing Belmont Yellow. Oh, God, Finn—is she a cheerleader?”
“Definitely not a zombie or a cheerleader or a zombie cheerleader. I’m just getting to know her. Actually, it’s sort of a blind date.”
“That’s gross,” I said. “Old people go on blind dates when they get divorced and don’t know what else to do. You’re only, what? Sixteen?”
“Almost eighteen,” he corrected.
“And you already need other people to fix you up?” I laughed.
“This way.” He took the box from me and headed for the exit.
“Did you lock her in your trunk?”
“I’m meeting her up on the hill. I thought it would be more romantic than cement bleachers.”
The marching band launched into “Louie, Louie,” saving him from hearing my answer.

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I followed him past the giggling children rolling down the hills like sausages. Past their tired parents sitting on stained comforters with their arms around each other. Past people critiquing the performance of the band and the flag twirlers. We walked all the way to the top of the hill and into the shadows beyond the reach of the stadium lights.

“She dumped you,” I said.

“Not yet.” He put the box of food and soda at the edge of a plaid blanket.
“Maybe she had to pee,” I said. “What’s her name again?”
“Her name is Hayley.” He straightened up and handed me the cup of marigolds. “Hello, Miss Blue.”

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“Me,” I said.
“You,” he confirmed.
The marching band started playing the theme from the

latest Batman movie.
“Why didn’t you just ask me?”
“I was afraid you’d say no.”
“What if I say no right now?”
“Do you want to?”
I watched the band move in and out of their formations.

“I haven’t decided yet.”
“You could sit and eat while you’re thinking about it,”
he suggested.
We sat on the blanket, the cheeseburgers, fries, and
flowers a border between us, watching the little kids and
the band until halftime was over. It was marginally less
awkward when the game started again, if only because
there was so much to mock. Finally, the ref blew his whistle
and it was official. The Belmont Machinists had lost their sixth game of the season and I had no idea what would happen next. I didn’t know what I wanted to happen next. The stadium slowly emptied; the families on the hill gathered their kids and shepherded them toward the parking lot, and
soon we were the only ones left.
“Okay, here’s the tricky part,” Finn said. “The security
guard is going to walk by to see if anyone is up here partying. I’m pretty sure we’re far enough away that he won’t be
able to see us, but we should lie down for ten minutes or so,
to be safe.”
“That is the lamest attempt ever to get a girl on her
back,” I said.
“I’m serious, look.” Finn pointed to two security guards
at the far end of the football field. “I’m not going to try anything. I swear. I’ll move over here so you’re comfortable.” He scuttled about four yards away and lay on the grass.
“How’s this?” he whispered loudly.
I lay down on the blanket carefully, keeping my head
turned and my eyes open so I could watch him. “If you
touch me, I’ll cram your nose into your brain with the heel
of my hand.”
“Shh,” he said.
The lights in the stadium started to click off, one at a
time, until darkness took over the field.
“A couple minutes more,” Finn whispered, his voice reassuringly far away.
The last of the cars pulled out of the parking lot, tires
squealing. The chatter of the security guard’s radio moved along the hill below us like a stray breeze. As it faded, I sat up and watched his flashlight bob into the distance. A few minutes later, the guard reached his car and slowly drove
away, tires crunching over the gravel.
“Close your eyes.” Finn’s voice startled me. “Count to
twenty.”
“After I shove your nose into your brain, I will break
your fingers and disable your kneecaps,” I warned. “I’ll stay here,” he promised. “I’ll keep talking so you
know I haven’t moved. Five. Six. Seven. Talking, talking,
talking, okay? Eyes closed? You’re lying down? I’m still
talking and I am looking for something to talk about but it’s
tough because this is a bizarre situation. Fifteen. Sixteen.
Somehow I failed to anticipate that your response to my
well-thought-out date would be to threaten me with violence. I should have been prepared for that. The next time
I’m in a meeting with MI5—”
“Can I open my eyes yet?” I asked.
“Twenty,” he replied. “Look straight up.”
The night sky stretched on forever above me, the stars
flung like glass beads and pearls on a black velvet cloak. “Wow,” I whispered.
“Yeah,” he said. “I had to pull a lot of strings to get the
weather to cooperate, but it all worked out in the end. Can
I sit on the blanket now?”
“Not yet.” I found the Big Dipper and Orion’s Belt with
no problem, but didn’t know the names of anything else.
Had there always been this many stars in the sky? “I won’t try anything,” Finn continued. “Unless you
want me to. Of course, if you wanted to try anything, I’d be
a very willing participant. Do you want to try anything?” “I haven’t decided.”
“Did I mention that the grass I’m lying on is soaked with
dew?” he asked.
“I haven’t even decided if this is officially a date.” “What would you call it?”
“An anti-date.”
“I brought you flowers.”
“I like them. It’s still an anti-date.” I paused. “But I don’t
want you to blame me if you get sick. You can come back if
you want.”
“You promise not to maim me?”
“I promise to give fair warning before I maim you.” I watched out of the corner of my eye as Finn’s shape
stood, walked over, and lay down two inches away from
me. I could feel the heat radiating off his skin. He smelled of
wet grass and sweat and soap. No body spray.
“Nights like this,” he said quietly, “I could look at the
sky forever.”
I expected him to keep talking, to ramble on about the
stars or his adventures as an astronaut or the time he was
abducted by aliens (which I might have believed), but he
just lay there, staring at the corner of the Milky Way that
was smeared right above us. The layers of noise—cars on the road, distant airplanes, the farewells of crickets, the flutter of bat wings—all faded until I could hear only the sound of my heart beating in my ears, and the slow, steady
rhythm of Finn’s breath.
Somehow my hand found its way to his. Our fingers
entwined. He squeezed once and sighed.
I grinned, grateful for the dark.
We left about an hour later so that Finn could drive
me home and get back to his house before curfew. Neither one of us had much to say. We didn’t talk in the car,
either, but that was easier because he turned on the radio.
It felt like the time under the stars had delivered us to a
new country that we didn’t have the language for yet, but
I didn’t know what it felt like for him because I didn’t have
the guts to ask.
I finally spoke up just before he turned into my driveway.
“No,” I said. “Pull up by those bushes.”
“You’re having a party without me?” he asked. “An army buddy of my dad’s is here with a bunch of
guys on leave. They’re headed up to the Adirondacks tomorrow.”
I unbuckled my seat belt and opened my door the instant he shut the engine off because I didn’t know what I
wanted to happen in the front seat. Well, I kind of knew, but
I wasn’t 100 percent sure, and it seemed like the safest course
of action was to get my bike out of the backseat as soon as possible. The handlebars got caught on the coat hook above
the back door, but Finn reached in and unhooked them. “Thanks.” I leaned on the handlebars. “That was a . . . I
had a good time.”
He leaned against his car. “Can we call it a date yet?” “No.”
“Can we call it a pretty good anti-date?”
I chuckled. “Yeah.”
He tossed his keys up and down. “I would like to point
out, for the record, that my pants remained zipped and my
belt buckled for the entire evening.”
“Smart move on your part.” I hesitated, because I wanted to kiss him and I was pretty sure he wanted to kiss me,
too, but the bike was in front of me, and Finn was several
steps away and then two soldiers came around the side of
the house and started rummaging in the back of one of the
trucks.
“I better go,” I said.
“Are you going to be okay?” he asked. “I mean, with all
those guys around and everything?”
“You’re the one who should be worried. You just took
out the captain’s daughter without his permission.” Dad was sitting by the bonfire in the backyard with Roy and a bunch of the others. The conversation died when I
stepped into the circle of light.
“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” I said. “Just wanted to tell
you I’m home.”
“How was the game?” Roy asked.
“We lost,” I said. “But the stars were nice.”
“Sleep tight, princess.” Dad’s face was half in shadow,
angular and old-looking. I wanted to sit on the ground next
to him and lean against his knee and have him smooth
my hair back and tell me that everything was going to be
all right, but the awful thing was, I wasn’t sure it could
be. He was sober, still drinking soda, surrounded by guys
who understood everything he’d been through, but his
good mood of the afternoon had vanished. He looked lost
again, haunted.
One of the younger soldiers got up and offered me a
chair, but I muttered a quick g’night, and hurried inside. Michael was parked in front of the television gaming
with a couple of the privates, dribbling chew-stained spit
into a paper cup. I went straight to my room without saying a word. Didn’t bother with a shower or brushing my
teeth. I locked my bedroom door, changed into my pj’s,
and crawled into bed with a book and my phone. Finn texted just as I got comfortable:
am home
you ok?
yep
, I texted back.
I waited, staring at the screen. Should I say anything
else? Were we supposed to text all night long?
ttyt?
he asked.
sure
I hesitated, then held my breath and typed quickly:
flowers were sweet
stars spectacular
thx
He didn’t reply and he didn’t reply and he didn’t reply. I
smacked myself in the forehead.
“Anti-date,” what was that
supposed to mean? He thinks I’m a nutcase now, a total crazy
cakes, I said I was going to shove his nose into his brain, who
says crap like that?
and then my phone lit up again.
nxt to you
i didnt notice any stars
night