Perfectly Good White Boy (33 page)

“Can you believe this one?” my dad said, nudging the lady with the baby, pointing at me. “My littlest guy, a Marine? Been trying to get used to it. You never do, I guess. You think they'll stay little forever, I guess.”

The lady with the baby smiled a whole bunch. As if she knew anything about me.

“I'll miss him a lot,” Neecie said. “We only became friends this year, you know.”

“I didn't know that,” my dad said, nodding. “He had that older gal for a while, what was her name . . .?”

“Dad . . .” I said.

“Hallie,” Neecie supplied.

“Right,” he said. As if he'd ever known her. “What happened to her, Sean?”

“She went to college,” Neecie said. “In Wisconsin. But then she dropped out and came home.”

“She's going somewhere in St. Paul this fall, I guess,” I said. Just so it didn't sound as bad.

Then someone came around with plates of wedding cake and we ate a bunch of that, the lady with the baby feeding a little to the baby, too, and my dad taking pictures of that, and then Neecie asked my fucking dad to dance, and he was so pleased, you'd think she wasn't doing a whole pity job on him, which I knew she was because I'd told her the whole sad suicide story. But later, when I was dancing with her again, she said it wasn't pity, because she wanted to be nice, and be in my life and know my family, just like I knew hers, and what was the big problem with that?

“He lives in Arizona now,” I said. “And don't ask me who that lady is.”

“She's his sponsor,” she said. “He just told me.”

“Oh.”

“He won't live in Arizona forever, maybe,” she said. “And besides. What do you lose by being nice to someone?”

For being such a pain in the ass for most of the year, the wedding party was fun. Especially after midnight, when we all said a big good-bye to Brad and Krista as they got in his truck to drive to their hotel suite. That was also when Steven-Not-Steve and my mom and dad and the sponsor-lady-with-a-baby and a lot of the other adults left and things got really loose. A lot of dancing. A lot of beer getting spilled. A lot of people going into the lake, either in their fancy clothes or stripped down. Eddie and Ivy were running around with cans of whipped cream they'd got from somewhere, spraying them down each other's faces or at people passing by. Neecie was drinking champagne straight from the bottle. Some of the groomsmen started a limbo contest that got really dirty, girls pulling up their dresses and guys stripping down to their T-shirts. I was stripped down to my shirt too, sweating like crazy, and yeah, having a few beers, since my dad was gone and I didn't have to feel weird about that, because what the hell, I could be hungover, I could sleep on the plane. But I didn't feel exactly drunk—maybe because I was dancing and laughing—it was like the beer fizzled through me and I sweated it out or something.

Finally, at three a.m. or so, Eddie and Ivy long disappeared, I took Neecie to my camper cabin. I'd brought sleeping bags and flashlights, and she carried two big bottles of water and she was laughing and telling me to slow down because her dress was falling down, and when we got in the cabin, she was freaked because there was no electricity.

“It's a camper cabin,” I said. “You're lucky the windows have screens.”

“Jesus. Every camp I've gone to involved dorms.”

“Princess.”

I laid out the sleeping bags and stuff, apologized for forgetting pillows.

“They probably don't let you have pillows in the Marines,” Neecie said, sitting on the bunk and handing me one of the giant water bottles. “Drink some of this. You don't want to be hung-over tomorrow.”

“I'm fine.”

“Just drink it. I'm going to brush my teeth.”

“Jesus, why?”

“Because I believe in dental hygiene, idiot. Didn't you bring a toothbrush?”

“No.”

“Gross. You're gross.”

So we brushed our teeth, first her, then me using her brush and both of us spitting into the bushes. I remembered Hallie and our first morning together and felt a little weird for a minute.

“You let other people use your toothbrush?”

“No, god,” she said. “That's totally gross. I'm throwing that fucking thing away.” She chucked it into the bushes.

“Litterer.”

She pushed me inside. “Move it, the mosquitoes are all over me.”

She was quick about stripping down, out of her dress, the flashlight on the wooden floor in a circle. Folding her dress and slipping into a T-shirt and little shorts and everything, so I did the same, except I didn't have anything to slip into so I just stood there in my boxers for a while.

“Get in, will you?” she said. “I think there's a mosquito in here.”

“Just one?” I teased her, but got into the bunk. Which smelled like mothballs and old bug spray. And Neecie's cake smell.

God, The Horn. But I didn't touch her. Even though there wasn't much room for both of us to lie there like that. It felt really good to lie down, though. The breeze from the lake had come up and it was cold, and being under the sleeping bag felt perfect. My head swam, thinking about how still and calm it was compared to the rest of the day.

“That was so fun, Sean,” she said. Her hand on my chest, then. Right in the hollow. Right where I wanted it.

I inhaled. Didn't exhale for a while.

“I know.”

“I wish you didn't have to leave.”

“Me neither.”

“Are you feeling weird? With me touching you?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“But we can't have sex or anything,” I said. Blurting.

Neecie laughed. “Why not?”

“I didn't bring any condoms.”

“You're not very good at planning, Sean.”

“Well, did you bring any?”

“No.”

“Well, don't give me shit about planning, then.”

“I'm a better planner than you, though.”

“Well, no shit. That hardly helps the current situation.”

She stretched beside me, her body finally touching mine. She kissed my neck. She smelled like cake. And sweat. And booze.

She said, “The current situation is what you'd call extraordinary. Extraordinary circumstances.”

“What does that mean?”

“Just what it means. It's unique.”

“Because I'm leaving.”

“Yes. But also because of who we are.”

“You're not my girlfriend.”

“And you're not my boyfriend.”

“So, it's just . . . what? Sexual?”

“Not tonight, obviously.”

“So what do you call it, then?” I was thinking a bunch of shitty things. Like, sad. Like, desperate. Like, friends with very few benefits

“No, we're something else. Some other thing. I don't know what you'd call it. Maybe there's a word, though. Maybe I'll think of it tomorrow, when it won't matter and you'll be . . .”

“Stop talking,” I said. And rolled over on her and kissed her. And we did a bunch of things for a long while, not sex, but still good things, for most of the rest of the night, we did all those things and we didn't talk anymore, just touched each other, on and on, and I wasn't even tired; when I woke up, I didn't even remember falling asleep.

Chapter Twenty-One

It was weird, how busy and people-choked I'd been twenty-four hours earlier, with all the hugs and handshakes and well-wishes and stuff, everyone helping clean up the day after the wedding, my mother and Steven-Not-Steve and my dad, and Mrs. Albertson and Gary coming to get Neecie and meeting everyone while we all broke down chairs and tables and crap, everyone bossing and fussing and laughing and talking, and then I was all alone, going to my hotel room, my last day before boot camp, just a couple of things in my backpack.

And I was late; my mom had gotten turned around dropping me off at Sergeant Kendall's and then she had to cry and kiss me good-bye and say she was sorry my dad hadn't come with, but I didn't think I could have handled that. I didn't even want to be doing this in front of Sergeant Kendall. Even if it was with my mom.

Then Sergeant Kendall took me out to eat, with the vouchers I'd get for meals, anyway; he said there were other recruits flying out but they'd gone earlier and now it was late, almost nine, and we sat in his car for a minute before I went inside.

“Good luck, Sean,” Sergeant Kendall said.

We shook hands.

“You're going to do fine,” he said. “I know it.”

“Thanks.”

“You have my e-mail and phone, right? Stay in touch.”

“I thought we couldn't, though? Don't they take everything away?”

“Right, yeah,” he said. “No, I mean, for when they give you privileges. And afterwards too. Okay?”

“Sure,” I said. Then I got out of the car and heaved my backpack onto my shoulders and went into the hotel lobby.

It was quiet and empty, kind of dark, with the weird mood lighting that hotels thought made them so swanky, though this place was just kind of regular, as far as I could see. I handed the lady at the counter my stuff that Sergeant Kendall had given me. Vouchers and crap, all paid for by the Marines.

She nodded at me and then started typing junk into the computer.

I stood there, my hands in my pockets.

“Sorry,” the lady at the counter said. “My computer is being so slow tonight.”

“That's okay,” I said. I pulled out my phone; there was a new text from Neecie. She was at work, telling me how hungover and tired she still was. And about all sorts of dumb things people were doing, Kerry was bugging her, the usual.

put yr thing up on the shelf.

how does it look.

sad. it missed you.

sorry. tell it to toughen up.

I'd given her, finally, the morning after the wedding, the thing I'd found by the dead turtle aquarium that one day I was pissy at her. It was one of those fucking giant tea cans but instead of pitching it out the window or recycling it, someone had sliced out one side and built a little fucking dollhouse scene inside. Like you could see the people at the kitchen table and sitting on the couch, little metal stick people, curled up and bent into place. Because those iced tea cans were so colorful, so was everything about the little house, and it reminded me of the Albertsons' house a lot. I guess it was weird; it wasn't exactly perfect, except for the iced tea can, which wasn't really that romantic, I guess, but like Neecie had said, we weren't that way. Not something to recycle or trash. Not something shitty to say good-bye to and forget. Something else altogether.

“Here you are, Mr. Norwhalt,” the lady at the counter said, handing me my ID back.

Then she looked at me. Smiled.

“Basic training, huh?” she said.

“Yes, ma'am,” I said, trying to sound the part. What a dork.

She smiled bigger, looked down at her computer. Then looked behind her, like she was going to say something naughty.

“I'm going do something for you,” she said. Typing more junk into the computer.

Fuck. Then I was nervous. She was a cute chick, no doubt. But fucking hell. I didn't want to deal with this kind of weirdness. Neecie was still in my head, tumbling around in there, naked and otherwise, and I didn't need another girl. And this wasn't a girl; she was like a lady. Older. I still didn't have any condoms.

Then she handed me a printout.

“Executive Suite,” she said. “Your room number's on this card.” She handed me a keycard in a little envelope. “I figure, you might as well enjoy a good night's rest, right?”

“Wait, do I have to pay extra or . . .?”

“No, it's all good,” she said. “Late check-in. Complimentary. I've comped you dinner, too; just dial this number if you want something to eat and they'll bring it up. And the Direct TV too. On us. Watch any movie you like.”

“Oh,” I said. I hefted my backpack over my shoulder, grabbed the keycard. “Okay. Thanks.”

“You're very welcome,” she said, smiling down at her computer again. “Enjoy your stay. And thank you for your service.”

I nodded. I hadn't done any service; she'd done the service around here, but I didn't want to say that. She looked all pleased with herself, and I didn't want to ruin it.