The Nakeds (11 page)

Hannah found the piece of the woman’s shoulder and snapped it into place and now the woman was a whole woman. The puzzle was really coming together. She leaned back for a moment, admiring her progress, while from the other room, her mother shouted:
Oh, no. Oh, God, no. OK, OK, OK.

WHEN MARTIN
stood at the nurses’ station with his hands jammed in his pockets, sucking on breath mints and waiting for Penny to return from handing out midnight meds, he felt remotely human. It was the briefest respite. It wasn’t redemption, which he certainly needed, but something else. He had no illusions about his gift-giving, and understood that buying toys for the girl could never absolve him of what he did and, mostly,
didn’t
do—stay put and care for the child—but Penny reminded him that some small part of him was still capable of feeling something other than guilt and shame.

They were becoming friends and maybe more than friends, and it was a human thing to do, more human than hating your sister or lying to your parents about how you spent your days or ignoring most of Tony’s phone calls and hanging out alone in your tiny apartment or on the couch in your parents’ den. It was risky, starting to care about someone—that urge to talk, to tell too much, to confide and confess already pressing on his throat.

Penny answered Martin’s questions and thankfully didn’t ask too many of her own, especially about what brought him to the hospital in the first place, which was obviously an unexplained and curious duty to Hannah Teller—nor did she ask why he kept coming back, even though she had told him Hannah had been released and sent home with her mother weeks ago. Martin had imagined the little girl sitting in a wheelchair and being pushed through the big glass doors and into the sunny day with all the new, complicated physical problems that were his fault.

He worried that Penny had a sense about what he had done and sometimes felt himself pulling away, recoiling—not from her, although it probably looked that way when he took a step back from the nurses’ station and said an abrupt good-bye or refused to accompany her downstairs to the cafeteria for her break.

Perhaps Penny was suspicious but was choosing not to acknowledge it—the way Tony Vancelli was telling him now that his new girlfriend, Veronica, a seriously religious girl, the daughter of a local minister, was oblivious to his heavy cocaine use. Sure, she’d asked Tony, who was a sloppy user, about the white powder under his nose, and sure, she noticed his mood swings, but she trusted him, Tony said—that’s all that matters finally, he told Martin, that a chick sees what she wants to see.

“How does she explain it to herself?” Martin asked. It was a rare occasion—Martin had let Tony talk him into leaving the studio and venturing out somewhere other than the hospital. They were in a little bar on Main Street they used to like, and, with some coaxing that involved insults about Martin’s masculinity—the size of his penis, questioning if he even had one—he’d been pushed into joining Tony for a beer.

“She thinks I’m just moody,” Tony said, laughing. He picked up his shot of tequila and downed it, smacked his lips happily, then popped a quarter-moon of lime in his mouth and sucked it dry. “The point is, Veronica doesn’t see what she doesn’t want to see. And I get my dick wet. That’s what matters, right?” Tony slapped him on the shoulder. “You need to get your dick wet too, my friend,” he said, looking around the room.

“I’ve got someone,” Martin said, surprising himself.

“Sure you do,” Tony said, sarcastically. “That’s why you’re always cooped up in that hellhole of yours—because you’ve ‘got someone.’ ” He set the lime down on the bar where it rocked back and forth a couple times before it was still. He looked at Martin hard. “You know, you haven’t been yourself since Margo left town. If I looked like you, if I had your pretty-boy face, I’d have the wettest dick in town. My dick would be so wet I’d need to wrap it in a towel to keep it from flooding the floor. My dick would be so wet I’d need to keep a sponge in my pants. I’d have to wring my dick out before I left the fucking house. My dick—”

“It’s not Margo,” Martin interrupted.

“Then who is it?” Tony leaned toward him. He wagged his finger in Martin’s face. “You miss your wet dick, is what you miss.”

Martin shook his head.

Tony turned and eyed the entrance, where two tall, pretty girls in miniskirts and go-go boots, in pearly pink lipstick with white-blond hair, were stepping inside, looking for a place to sit. Tony watched them slip into a booth and set their oversized purses on the table. One of them was adjusting her breasts in her halter top. “Hey, isn’t that Margo’s friend, what’s-her-name?” he asked Martin.

Martin turned to look. “Annabelle. Yeah, that’s her. You had sex with her in the backseat of my car.”

“How’s your car anyway? You haven’t been driving.”

“I told you, transmission’s shot to hell.”

“Get that shit fixed.”

“And back tires are flat.”

“Both tires?”

“Yeah,” Martin said, realizing how weird it sounded.

“Maybe someone doesn’t like you, man. Both tires sounds like weird-ass revenge to me,” Tony said.

“The bus doesn’t bother me,” Martin said. “You can get fucked up and not have to worry.”

“Thought you didn’t even drink, man—until tonight.”

“Yeah, I don’t. If you wanted to get fucked up, though, you could.”

“I don’t know about you anymore. You’re not the same guy you were.” Tony was talking to Martin, but smiling over at Annabelle.

“I need to get going,” Martin said, slapping his hands on his thighs. “I’ve got work tomorrow.”

Tony ignored him. “Should I call that girl over? She’s got a pretty little friend for you,” he said.

“I’m seeing someone else,” Martin lied.

“What’s her name?”

“She’s a nurse.” Martin finished his drink and stood up.

Tony was waving Annabelle and her friend over, smiling like a horny dickhead, Martin thought, and barely noticed when Martin slipped out the front door.

HER FATHER
wasn’t there to fix what was broken and he couldn’t take Hannah to the market or to the movies on a whim. He could call her on the phone and make a plan, coming over like a visitor. That’s what he did on Saturday mornings, came over like a visitor—a rushed visitor who pulled up to the curb and beeped his horn, who only got out of the car when Hannah opened the front door.

At the car, he hugged her hard, helped her into the front seat, and then slipped her crutches into the back. They were quiet for the first few minutes, like people who didn’t know each other. He tapped on the steering wheel and nodded at nothing, and Hannah felt uncomfortable and nervous. He was her dad, she knew, and she shouldn’t feel the way she felt. Finally, he asked about her leg and the cast, wanting to know if she was in pain, if any of her friends from school had come over to visit, and if the twins across the street had stopped by since she’d been home from the hospital.

She told him that her leg didn’t hurt, but it didn’t work either. “I’d rather have it hurt than be so useless.”

He nodded, sadly.

She told him that the twins were away at camp for the whole summer, but that before they left, they played a lot of hopscotch and mostly ignored her. She said she didn’t really blame them, that not a lot of kids wanted to play indoors in the summer.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “You’ll be moving soon anyway. You’ll make new friends when you move.”

He took her to her favorite place on Main Street for breakfast, a café with blue-and-white-checked tablecloths and matching napkins, with big windows and the best banana pancakes in town. They sat where they always sat, at the same table with the same three chairs.

“Christy wants to meet you.” Her father leaned back and stared out the window.

Hannah noticed that the gold Star of David he had always worn around his neck was now replaced by a shimmering two-inch cross.

“Well?” he said, turning to her.

“What?”

He picked up his napkin and wiped his mouth, though there was nothing on it that she could see. “I’m sorry—about all of it. I know it must be hard on you. The accident, the timing—I know it’s terrible.” He reached across the table and rubbed her arm.

Hannah wanted to pull her arm away but knew that her dad would be hurt, so she left it on the table between them. She was aware of the awkwardness of his touch and how he seemed as uncomfortable as she was. She wondered what his life was like now, if Christy had children who he was pretending were his own.

When the waitress came up to the table, Hannah’s dad ordered banana pancakes and eggs for the both of them. And for the first time, at least in front of her, he ordered himself bacon, which surprised her because he was the one who had always insisted on keeping a kosher house. He even offered Hannah a slice, held an oily strip out to her—the limp thing flopping over his hand.

“No, thanks,” she said.

“People always said bacon was tasty and I didn’t believe them. I thought it was just salty, but it’s really tasty,” he said.

“Mom’s got a boyfriend,” she told her dad, when really she knew that Dr. Seth wasn’t her boyfriend at all but a married man who rushed out the door before dinnertime.

“Really?” Asher said, and she couldn’t gauge his reaction, his face giving nothing away. Hannah was nervous, found herself answering questions he didn’t ask. “Mom’s doing fine. She takes good care of me. When the house sells, we’re going to start over.”

“As long as you don’t forget about me,” he said.

“I won’t,” she said.

“What are you doing tomorrow morning?” He was chewing and talking at once, a drop of grease on his bottom lip. “Want to come to church with us and then afterwards we’ll take you to the beach? You can watch me surf. Would you like that?”

Hannah cut into her pancakes with the fork and lifted a bite to her mouth, looking at him. She gathered up her courage and asked the question before she could change her mind. “Dad, aren’t we Jewish?”

“Some Jews find Jesus,” he said, scratching the scar on his cheek. “Some Jews find Jesus and ask him into their hearts.”

She wasn’t hungry anymore and she wasn’t sure who this man sitting across from her was, smiling like he meant it, talking about Jesus and the big swells of Huntington Beach. She didn’t know who he was, eating slices of pig, and she wanted her other dad back, even if he looked unhappy most of the time.

“This bacon sure is tasty,” he said again. “Are you sure you don’t want a piece?”

•  •  •

After breakfast, they went to the park. Hannah was staring at the swing set, her favorite thing, remembering when her dad used to stand behind her, pull her to his chest, and push her into the sky.

Her crutches were leaned up against the bench, just to the left of her cast. When they’d first approached the bench, Asher had reached for the crutches, offering to take them out of her way.

“No,” she said, pulling them back, needing to know where they were at all times and insisting they stay within reach. She wanted them right by the bed when she slept. She wanted to be able to reach over and fiddle with the rubber hand rests, to scratch at the rubber blades that went under her arms, as she was doing now.

“Isn’t that your friend from school? Eddie something-or-other?” her dad said, pointing. Eddie and his very tall friend were climbing up the slide that was meant to look like a snake.

“Yeah, that’s him.”

“He’s so short. Isn’t he little for his age?”

“I guess,” she said.

“Good-looking little guy, though.”

Hannah thought that maybe those pills weren’t working after all and felt guilty for hoping that they didn’t work in the first place. “He’s growing,” she said unconvincingly. “He takes pills. They’re going to make him grow. They’re going to cure him.”

“Doesn’t look like they’re working,” Asher said.

“You don’t know that,” she said.

He shrugged.

They were quiet for a few minutes.

“He’ll probably be a mensch,” her dad finally said.

She looked at him.

“All he’s going through now, it’ll build character.”

Hannah looked at the pink scars on her father’s cheek and thought that they looked a lot like the scars on her stomach.

They were quiet again, watching the kids play. Eddie’s friend so outweighed him that he was having a difficult time on the teeter-totter. He was stuck several feet up in the air and starting to cry. “OK, OK,” his friend was saying, popping up from his seat, sending Eddie to the ground with an audible thud. “Don’t be a fucking baby.”

The two boys walked to the jungle gym then, the taller boy leading the way and Eddie sheepishly following behind.

“Did that big kid just say the
f
-word?” her dad said.

“They all do,” she said.

Asher said nothing.

There were two different boys on the snake slide now.

A young pretty woman pushed her little boy on a swing.

A pair of girls in matching bathing suits played in the sandbox.

“You could do that,” her dad said, pointing at the girls.

“I’m not allowed near the sand.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s right,” he said. “Remember when I used to push you on the swings?”

She nodded.

“I’ll push you again,” he said, putting his arm around her.

Just then Eddie looked over. He was once again at the top of the snake slide, waving at Hannah, all enthusiastic, standing taller than he could ever hope to be, and then he was on his stomach coming down fast, flying right out of the snake’s mouth and onto the grass. He stood up, wiped off his little chest and knees, and made his way over to them.

“Can I sign it?” he said, excited, having not yet seen the cast, the metal cuff in the middle nearly twisted all the way to the left.

“I guess,” Hannah said.

Eddie looked at her leg and changed his mind. “Oh, I, I don’t have a pen,” he said.

“My dad does. Don’t you, Dad?”

Asher was reaching into his pocket when Eddie’s voice stopped him. “It looks weird,” the boy admitted.

“It’s only temporary,” Asher said, angrier than he wanted to sound.