For someone with as bad a hangover as Bobby was bound to have today, he was thinking pretty quick to come up with a story like that off the top of his head.
“So what do you think about that, Drew?” asks Dad. “You’re going to have dinner with your big brother the war hero tonight. You can put off eating a little bit longer for that, can’t you?”
“Yeah,” says Drew. “I want a bacon cheeseburger.”
“How about you, Ceejay?” says Mom. “Can you believe you’re going to see your brother tonight after all this time?”
“Wow,” I say, trying to come off like I’m thoroughly amazed. “I can’t wait.”
18
Chuck drops Bobby off in front of the house around 6:30. Through the living room window, I watch him walk toward the door. There’s not exactly a spring in his step. He didn’t even bring his duffel bag.
As soon as the door opens, the family flocks around him. My big sister Colleen is here now with her husband and little girl, but of course, Lacy’s now stuck in Davenport helping take care of Grandma Brinker. Everyone takes turns hugging him, with Mom going first. As big as he is, you can tell she still thinks of him as her little boy. His hugs are stiff, though, awkward. It reminds me of the time at my grandpa’s funeral when I had to dole out hugs to people I hardly knew.
When the squeezing is all done, Mom asks Bobby where his bags are, and he says he left them at Chuck’s.
“Well,” she says. “We’ll go by and pick them up after dinner. You’re staying at home tonight, young man.”
“Okay,” he says, but there’s a little grimace that goes along with it, like he’s already planning some way to get out of it.
“How come you didn’t wear your uniform?” asks Dad. He loves to see Bobby decked out in his uniform.
“You know,” Bobby says. “You get sick of that after a while.”
“Where’s your gun?” asks Drew.
“I didn’t bring that either, little man. You’ll just have to deal with me unarmed.”
Drew looks disappointed. Later, while everyone’s gathering their things to get ready to go to the restaurant, I pull him aside. “Listen,” I say, “don’t ask your brother a bunch of questions about war, okay? He’s probably sick of talking about that.”
Drew looks at me like I’m being foolish. “I don’t have to ask him any questions about war,” he says. “I’m a captain second grade at Halo.”
At the restaurant, I start to see why Bobby might have wanted to postpone the family reunion ordeal. Before we ever get to our table, Dad’s already pulled him over to three sets of diners to let them know his boy is back from Iraq. When the waitress comes with the menus, Dad has her shaking Bobby’s hand. She’s about Bobby’s age and looks happy to get the chance to do a little handholding with such a good-looking guy. But his smile is stretched tight, like a suit you only wear once a year.
Luckily, he doesn’t have to talk too much. Everybody’s busy filling him in on what they’ve been doing since the last time they saw him. Colleen tells a million stories about how cute her little girl Reece is. Dad trots out his latest dumb jokes, and Colleen’s husband Jason brags about his success in the insurance game. Me, I hold off. The things I want to talk with Bobby about are just between me and him. The rest of our Martian family wouldn’t understand. Then Dad drops the bombshell.
After dessert, he pushes his plate aside and says, “Bobby, I hope this dinner was a little better than that army chow you’ve been putting away.”
“It was good,” Bobby says, scraping at the corner of his mouth with his napkin.
“Well, let me tell you, though, son. You ain’t seen nothing yet. Saturday, we’re going to have the biggest barbecue the McDermott household has ever put on. Everyone’s going to be there, and you can ask anyone you want to come. We’re going to do this homecoming up right.”
You’d think a bone got lodged in Bobby’s throat from the expression on his face. “You don’t have to do that.”
“The ball’s already rolling,” says Dad. “Your mom and me have been making calls all afternoon.”
“And we’re going to have a big German chocolate cake,” says Mom. “Just like you like it.”
Bobby stares at his empty dessert plate. He knows he’s beat. Later, when Mom reminds him that we need to pick up his duffel bag from Chuck’s, he doesn’t even have the heart to argue.
19
That night, Bobby sleeps in my bed, and I take over Lacy’s while she’s away. He’s still asleep when I head off for work in the morning, and he’s nowhere around when I get home that afternoon. The parents were counting on him to be here for dinner, and I was counting on finally having some alone time with him before they got off work. But he didn’t leave a note or anything, so I call Chuck on his cell phone to see if he knows what’s up.
Turns out Chuck lent Bobby his pickup so he could go out to Dani’s. I had completely forgotten about her offer to sell him some OxyContin. This doesn’t sit well with me at all. It’s bad enough he’s standing up the family for someone like Dani, but the deal about the OxyContin bothers me even more. That was never the kind of thing Bobby was into. He never wanted to be sedated. Life was a celebration for him. He once told me that you had to look at every day like it was your birthday. “The day I forget that,” he said, “you might as well shoot me.”
Something’s definitely wrong if Bobby’s on the painkiller ride, and I’m determined to find out what it is. Brianna’s only too happy to give me a ride to Dani’s, doesn’t even ask why I want to go. She’s too excited about getting a call from Randy Pilcher, the smoosh-faced thirty-year-old idiot she cozied up to at Dani’s party before he threw her over for someone with better drugs.
When I get in her car, that’s all she wants to talk about. I don’t mind. It’s not like I really want to go into how Bobby’s hooking up with Tillman’s sister. But I’m not exactly ready to throw my support behind Randy—who spent a year in jail, remember—and how he wants to take Brianna out this weekend.
The date will have to be a secret, of course. Her parents would never let her go out with him. Or with anyone she thinks is cool, according to her. They don’t understand her. They don’t understand anything. They forget how it is to be young. Usually, I agree with her—my mom and dad are the same way—but when it comes to smoosh-face Randy, I can’t help thinking parents might just be right every once in a while.
“So,” I say when she stops for a breath. “Did you ask him why he left you at the party and took off with some other girl?” I’m not trying to be mean. I just want her to think the thing through.
“Oh, he explained the whole thing,” she says. “That girl was his cousin and he had to go with her because he was afraid she’d get herself in trouble with this guy that sells shrooms.”
“Really?” I say. “And you believe that?”
She glares at me. “Are you trying to be negative about this? You didn’t talk to him. He’s different than he looks. He’s, like, real into music. We like a lot of the same bands. He’s got every song Gore Squad ever recorded.”
“I’ve got news for you—that group’s old and they suck.” All right, I am being pretty negative, but being supportive doesn’t mean you have to side up with every stupid idea that plops out of your friends’ mouths. “Look,” I say, “I just think you need to step back for a second and get some perspective.”
“I don’t want to step back,” she says. “I want to take a step forward. Otherwise, I’ll end up like you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She looks at me, then back at the road. “You know what it means.”
“No, really, tell me. What’s supposed to be so terrible about me?”
She’s quiet for a moment. “You’re scared to death of guys.”
“What are you talking about? I’m not scared of anything.”
“Yeah, right. Ceejay McDermott, the baddest-ass girl in Knowles. Except when it comes to dudes.”
“Y
ou’re insane. I have more guy friends than girl friends.”
“That’s right—friends. But that’s as close as you let yourself get. You’re so afraid of getting hurt, you won’t even try for any more than that.”
“That’s crap. How about that time I kissed Tillman?”
“When was that? Fourth grade? And ever since then, you go around mooning after him like he’s the only one in the universe for you, but that’s just your excuse so you don’t have to put yourself out there to get hurt again by someone else.”
That really twists in my stomach. I’m like, “Yeah? Well, you don’t know what you’re talking about. This isn’t about me anyway. It’s about you pretending some jailbird is a good guy when the reality is you’re just desperate.”
As soon as the word desperate flies out of my mouth, I know it’s pretty brutal. But I’m thinking, Hey, this girl has just severely attacked my rep—Ceejay the fearless.
“Screw you,” she says, which means she’s done with the subject. Except that the way she’s strangling the steering wheel with both hands pretty much means she wishes it was my neck right now.
We ride on in silence. It’s like a stranger sitting between us. It’s too weird. I mean, sure she started it, but life’s too messed up right now to have my best friend mad at me too. I have to do something, shove that stranger out the car door. “Look,” I say, “there’s something I haven’t told you about why we’re going to Dani’s.”
“What? Tillman isn’t there? I just assumed you wanted to go out there so you could follow him around like a puppy.”
“No, Tillman’s not there. Bobby’s there.”
“Bobby? Your brother? I didn’t even know he was back in town.”
“Yeah, neither did my parents. Until yesterday.”
“What’s he doing at Dani’s?”
“What do you think?”
“Oh my God.” She finally looks at me. “Are you serious? He’s hooking up with her?”
“Most likely.”
“What about Jace?” she asks.
“Are you kidding me? Do you know anyone who wouldn’t choose Bobby over Jace if she had the chance?”
Brianna’s like, “Yeah, but still. I mean, they’re living together and all.”
“Like that means anything these days.”
“It might mean something to Jace. No telling what he’d do if he caught them together.”
“He can’t do a damn thing,” I say. “Not to Bobby.” But in the back of my mind I know Jace isn’t exactly the type to square off and fight fair if he can get around it.
“So how does he look?” she asks. She always had a little crush on him but a lot of girls did.
“He looks fine,” I tell her. “But he seems different.”
“Different? Like how?”
“I don’t know. Distant.”
“I guess that makes sense. He’s been a long ways away.”
And just like that the stranger goes flying out the door and bouncing down the road behind us. We’re Ceejay-and-Brianna again, friends to the end. That’s what sharing a juicy secret can do.
We drive past the turnoff to Casa Crazy, but before getting to Dani’s, we spy the captain’s truck on the roadside, the nose pointing toward the shoulder, the back end poked deep into the high weeds. As we slow down, Mr. White appears from behind the truck and waves his arms at us.
Brianna rolls down the window. “Why don’t you learn how to drive?”
He leans over with his hands on the roof of the car and peers in at me. “I think you better come over here and look at this.” He sounds serious.
“Look at what?”
“It’s your brother. He’s had an accident.”
“What? Jesus.” Before Brianna can even park the car on the shoulder of the road, I’m out the door and running into the high weeds.
“Don’t get in a panic,” Mr. White says, following right behind me. “He’s okay. He’s just messed up.”
“What are you talking about?” I don’t bother looking back. “How can he be frigging okay if he’s messed up?”
“I mean, he’s not hurt bad physically, but he’s either really drunk or on something.”
Behind the truck, Captain Crazy is fixing one end of a rusty chain to the bumper. The rest of the chain leads to the bumper of Chuck’s pickup. With the high weeds and the trees you couldn’t even see it from the road.
“Hey, there,” says the captain, sunny-eyed and smiling. “We’ll get this big boy hauled out and back on the road in no time.”
I’m not in the mood for smiles, though. “Where’s Bobby?” I ask, heading for Chuck’s pickup. “Bobby, Bobby, are you okay?”
Now I can see where the truck plowed through the weeds, missing several trees by inches before coming to a narrow ditch. The front end is lodged in the dirt on the far side of the ditch, and the back tires are slightly off the ground. The bumper and grille are crumpled but not too bad. “Bobby, Bobby, where are you?” I’m frantic.
“He’s in the back of the truck passed out,” Mr. White says. “I think he’ll probably have a knot on his forehead, but other than that he’s not hurt.”
I peer over the truck’s tailgate. Sure enough, Bobby’s lying there on his side, fast asleep. He’s breathing fine. He looks as peaceful as the days when I used to watch him sleep in his room at home.
I turn to Mr. White. “What the hell happened?”
“I don’t know exactly.” He brushes his long hair back from his face. “The captain and I were gathering blackberries for some wine when we heard this loud wham! When we got here, Bobby was already out of the truck stumbling around, looking all confused, yelling, ‘There was an IED in the road. There was a goddamn IED in the road.’ ”
Behind me, Brianna’s like, “An IED? What’s an IED?”
Mr. White looks at her like she should know what it is. “An improvised explosive device. You know—a bomb like they make in Iraq to blow up military convoys?”
“A bomb?” Brianna says. “What would something like that be doing in the road here?”
“Nothing,” Mr. White tells her. “There wasn’t any IED. There wasn’t anything but a branch sticking out in the road about two feet.”
“God,” Brianna says, “maybe Bobby got hold of some magic mushrooms or something and hallucinated it.”
I’m like, “Oh, Jesus, Brianna, shut up. Bobby’s not into that crap.”
I climb into the bed of the pickup and kneel next to him. A knot is already rising on his forehead, but he isn’t cut anywhere. I nudge his shoulder, trying to wake him, but he only rolls over on his side. He’s like a wounded animal, which is just too weird. Bobby’s the one who helps wounded types. He doesn’t get wounded himself.
“This isn’t good,” I say, stroking his hair. “Maybe we should call an ambulance.”
“Yeah, actually that’s probably not a good idea,” Mr. White says, leaning over the side of the truck. “You might get him busted. At the very least he’d get a DUI, but it might be worse than that. I didn’t go through his pockets. No telling what he might have on him. Maybe he does have some mushrooms.”
Looking back at Bobby, I can’t help but think of the time he ran off the road into that golf-course water hazard. No way can I have the cops getting hold of him again. I check his pants pockets and sure enough there’s a small pill bottle with nine or ten OxyContin tablets left in it. I’m like, “Crap, maybe he OD’d.”
“No,” Mr. White says in his matter-of-fact way. “He was messed up, but not that messed up. He just passed out while we went back to get the chain to haul him out of there. The best thing to do is get him to the captain’s and pour some coffee in him. He’ll be all right. He couldn’t have been going too fast or the truck would be more busted up than it is.”
I look him in the eye. The way he looks back at me, it’s like he’s got everything under control. I pat Bobby’s head gently, and when I climb down from the truck, Mr. White helps me. For such a skinny guy, he’s pret
ty strong, his grip on my arm warm and confident like his voice. It’s as if he’s passing that confidence on to me, making me feel like things aren’t so bad.
For a while it looks as if we might not get the truck pulled from the ditch, but after a few more heave-hos, it finally pops out like a bad tooth. Bobby sits up and gazes over the tailgate. “What the hell?”
“Damn you, Bobby,” I yell at him. “Don’t you scare me like this anymore.”
“Ceejay?” He stares at me like he can’t quite focus. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m helping to get your sorry butt out of a ditch. That’s what I’m doing.”
He surveys the scene around him and scratches his head. “Wow,” he says. “Freaky.”
The pickup runs fine, so I drive it over to Casa Crazy with Bobby still in the back. That’s about the last place I want to go, but we need the captain to pound the bumper and grille back into some kind of shape before Chuck gets a look at it. Plus, I don’t want to drag Bobby back home where the parents can see what kind of shape he’s in right now. It’ll mean a lecture from Dad about missing dinner, but I figure I’ll face up to that when it comes.
When we get to the captain’s, he takes the truck around to the barn while Mr. White goes inside to whip up some instant coffee, leaving me, Bobby, and Brianna sitting on the wooden front porch. Right now, it’s hard to pry much that makes sense out of Bobby, but from his slurred rambling, I gather he and Dani threw themselves a pretty serious private party at her place, which sounds like all kinds of trouble.
“Jace didn’t come home while you were over there, did he?” I ask.
Bobby doesn’t answer. Instead, he sits there staring at Brianna with one eyebrow cocked like he’s an undercover cop and she’s his prime suspect.
Finally, she’s like, “What?” And he shakes his head and goes, “Who the hell are you?”