Something Is Out There (19 page)

“It
was
funny.”

“Not everything’s part of your own little jokey world, Sean, okay?”

The boy drinks his juice and then sighs and stands. “You don’t need to go ballistic on me about it.”

“Well, grow up a little.”

“Yeah. Me grow up. I’m out of here when I turn eighteen. And look at you, you’re twenty-seven and still living at home.”

Walker ignores this, cutting a small piece of the cake and lifting it to his mouth.

“I’m sorry,” Sean says. “That was shitty.”

“Apology accepted.”

“But you know what? I’m sick of that stupid boat. If there’s anything going on with her,
he’ll
be the last to know.” There are tiny flecks of white in his eyes—one’s blue and the other’s brown. An anomaly, of which he’s proud. His eyesight is also extraordinarily good, has been measured at 20/10. The joke between the brothers is that for someone with such nearly supernatural sight he’s pretty thick. But in fact the boy never misses a thing, and about this that is now going on he has come very close to the truth. Walker slaps his shoulder and then boxes the side of his head lightly, and tussles with him a little, trying to get him off the scent. “Go to bed,” he says. “And stop imagining things.”

“I can’t help the way you look at her, dude. But it’s, um,
evident
. And she was crying today. That was hard to miss.”

“I don’t look at her any way—and what the hell.”

“Maybe she needs something you can give her.”

“What’d you say?” Walker takes him by the front of his shirt. “You got a smart mouth, you know it? And you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Let go of me. Christ! I just meant somebody to talk to.”

Walker loosens his grip, but keeps his hands on the boy’s arms. “You shouldn’t stick your nose in where it doesn’t belong.”

Their mother’s voice comes from the other room. “What’s g-going on in there? I’m t-trying to sleep.”

“We’re going to bed, Ma,” Walker says. He lets the boy go.

Sean moves away from him, making a show of adjusting his shirt front and rolling his shoulders.

“Remember what I said,” Walker tells him.

“Fuck you,” says the boy.

“She’s my sister-in-law. And yours. She’s family. Just because I’m not torturing her every minute like you are.”

“Whatever,” says the boy. “Just fuck off.”

“And watch your language.”

“Fuck off.”

“I—can hear you,” says their mother. “Sean, I’m going to come in there and wash your mouth out with soap.” The fact that she now has nothing like the physical strength to accomplish such a thing shuts them both up. They look at each other, hearing their mother’s voice. “Go to bed,” Minnie calls, “b-both of you.”

“Good night, Ma,” Sean says.

“Just let me sleep, dear,” says Minnie.

A little later, lying down again in the quiet of his room, Walker’s afraid to go back to sleep, afraid the dream will come back out of the dark of himself. But it’s still there, anyway, the image of Jenny on all fours in the bed of the truck, the body
that in the dream is nothing like hers—hanging breasts and great rounded belly, the fleshy shaking of her. He puts the light on and tries to read. Useless. The image keeps swimming at him through the drowsiness that never quite closes him down.

The actor couple, the Podrups, accept Max’s estimate of two thousand dollars, with a deposit. And it becomes Walker’s job to spend the next two days buying materials, taking delivery, and going to Harbor Town to tear down the wall. It rains on and off both days, and in the late afternoon of the second day, the alarm siren sounds across the city—a tornado warning. The Podrups are out, because of the noise and the dust. He breaks through the drywall and pulls out the studs, sweating even in the air-conditioning and resisting the temptation to go spy on Jenny. Max is at the dealership. Walker talks to him on the phone, but the talk is confined to the project. Max’s voice is full of the frustration he feels not being able to work on the boat. The rain has stopped him. But he says nothing about it, nor anything about his wife. The conversation is clipped, direct, cold, and without the slightest hint of the kind of blood-simple chatter that has always existed between them.

The third day at the Podrups’, Walker uses his lunch break to drive into Midtown, to the Café Olé which is half a block from the antiques shop and the computer store. There’s a window looking out on the street, and he sits at a table there, watching the entrance to both buildings. Jenny’s car is in the side lot next to the shop. The Miata convertible is on the street. He watches for an hour, but doesn’t see Jenny, or Disco Bill. He waits past the hour, thinking one or the other or both of them might come out and cross the street. People walk by both places and some of them go in. There’s a lot of traffic. But no sign of the two people he has come to look for. He pays for his lunch and sneaks back to
the truck, feeling small and dirty. He knows quite well that it’s not for Max’s honor and pride that he watches, but for his own; he doesn’t question it now. He tells himself Max doesn’t care anymore. But a suffocating sense of his own failure and shame follows him back to work. In Harbor Town again, breaking up the last of the wall, he sees himself there in the shards of plaster, imagines that this is his body, made of his weakness and cowardice, beneath the blows. He hammers away at the pieces.

The sun is out again. The storms have left a cool, sunny late afternoon, with breezes that carry the fragrances of magnolia and crape myrtle and dogwood. It’s a rare, mild spring in Memphis. The family gathers for dinner near the shadow of the unfinished boat under the new tarp that Max bought using the advance money from the Podrups. Minnie wears her floppy straw hat, and a new, bright blue flower-print dress that Max bought, also with the Podrups’ money. Jenny does most of the preparations, and Max cooks the hamburgers and hot dogs. They sit at the long picnic table and drink cold beer from the cooler, while the meat broils on the flames. Walker stands there with Max, sipping a beer, surreptitiously watching Jenny, who wears a light green sleeveless tank top and denim shorts that are tight across her middle. She goes back and forth from the house, carrying plates. Sean helps her.

Walker and Max say little to each other. Max will have to help with some of the work in Harbor Town this weekend, and he complains about that. Walker ignores this. There isn’t any way around it. It will take the two of them to put together the frames for what will be required. Minnie presides over a quiet dinner. There’s obvious tension between Jenny and Max, as well. Sean chatters about the
Simpsons
reruns he’s been watching—Minnie bought him DVD sets of the first two seasons.

“I watched a c-couple of them,” Minnie says. “They’re funny. You know your f-father was funny. It’s why I m-married him.”

“That show never even amused me,” says Jenny. “Or diverted me, either.”

“I never liked it much,” Walker says.

“For someone who didn’t like it, you watched it enough.”

He feels the rush of blood to his cheeks, and so he hauls himself out of his seat and walks over to the grill to get another hamburger. He glances back at her, and sees that she’s oblivious to what she has just done to him. He finds himself imagining that she falters in some way, and needs him for something he can refuse. It’s stupid, he tells himself, even as he entertains the thought. He returns to the table and endures their talk, wolfing down the hamburger. The talk has been about the boat, but now it’s about the old man again, and the days he spent on it, and the way he was.

“W-when I first knew him he was—well, beautiful. Like I said h-he m-made me laugh. He was always—thinking of something fun to—do. And then one y-year it just t-turned.”

“Was it after he started this?” Jenny indicates the boat frame under the new tarp.

“B-before that,” Minnie says, thinking. “That was—late.”

“Sometimes I think it’s cursed,” Jenny says. “Like it’s got hold of us.”

“It’s got hold of me, all right,” says Max. “That’s what you mean anyway, isn’t it?”

“If you say so.”

To the table, Max says, “I guess it’s no secret that Jenny wants me to quit on this thing.”

“Not just Jenny,” says Sean, with a thin smile.

“Right,” Walker hears himself say.

“Your father couldn’t figure how to get r-rid—of it,” Minnie puts in. “Wished he’d never s-started it. That’s true.”

“Free at last,” Max says. “I’m the one who’s going to finish it.”

“Nothing’s gonna stop
you,”
Jenny says, and throws her napkin down.

“You’ve hit the nail on the head,” he tells her.

Minnie says, “It’s n-not good to spend—so much time on one thing.”

“What is this,” Max says, “some kind of intervention?”

They all trade looks with one another, and there’s a pause, during which they hear the distant blast of a train.

“I’m working toward something,” Max says. “I’ve got a goal.” He’s looking right at Jenny. “What’ve you got if you don’t share this goal?”

She’s staring down, completely beautiful, the long soft strands of her hair shining in the sun, being stirred by the little breeze that comes. Her smooth hand holds her fork, with which she moves some of the green beans on her plate.

“I’m your goddamn husband.”

“That’s all,” Walker says.

“What?”

“Everybody sh-shut up,” says Minnie. “I h-have a headache.”

They all turn to her.

“Not l-like that. Christ. Every—every h-headache isn’t a—stroke. You—you all just—make me t-tired lately with th-this squabbling.”

“We’re not squabbling,” Max says. “We’re just having a little debate.”

Jenny gets up from the table and quietly strides into the house, carrying her empty plate with her.

“You wanted to say something to me?” Max says to Walker.

“Yeah,” says Walker. “I wanted to say I love you, bro.”

“That’s more l-like it,” Minnie says, smiling.

“Peace, brother,” Sean says. “Dig.”

Max lightly cuffs the side of his head, ruffling his hair. “Get me another burger off the grill, squirt,” he says.

Walker waits a few seconds and then goes into the house, too, carrying his plate. Jenny’s not in the kitchen. Her plate is in the sink. He sets his own on top of it, and moves to the entrance of the living room. She has gone into the back part of the house. The bedrooms. He says, “Jenny?”

Nothing.

He steps to the middle of the living room, and pauses. Her voice comes faintly from the master bedroom. She’s talking, low, on the telephone. He wants to sneak closer, to listen, but the others are coming in, too, now. He goes to help his mother into the house. Outside, it’s threatening to storm. Lightning flickers in the sky beyond the trees that line the opposite side of the street.

Saturday, he and Max work efficiently and without much tension on the project at the Podrups’ house. Jenny calls Max on his cell to say she’s gone in to work at the antiques store, and has decided to stay there all day. Max’s voice is cold as he talks to her, and when Walker reacts to it, he goes into the next room. He’s gone for a good twenty minutes. Walker can hear his voice, but no words. Finally he comes back in, folding the cell with a snap, with temper. “Women,” he says.

Walker says, “If I had a wife—” He stops himself. He was going to say that if he had Jenny he would not treat her that way; he would do everything he could, all the time, to please her.

“Yeah?” Max says.

“Nothing.”

“I get that boat finished everybody’s gonna wanna take a turn at the wheel. You’ll all thank me.”

“Free at last,” Walker says.

“Watch it happen,” says his brother.

They work on in silence. It has threatened rain all morning, but now the sun comes out, the sky widens, no clouds.

Just after noon, Max decides to go work on the boat. Walker drives him to the Highpoint house without speaking, and when they arrive Max simply opens the door, gets out, and slams it. He doesn’t look back, walking toward the rear of the house. Walker taps the horn, so that he turns, and then Walker waves at him. He shakes his head, smiles, lifts one hand, and then heads on. Walker drives back to Harbor Town by way of Central Avenue. He takes a left on Cooper, and goes the mile out of his way to the Café Olé. But then, driving past the antiques shop, he turns around and heads back to the worksite. He continues what he and Max started in the morning, building the framework of the cabinets, and doing some of the wiring. The Podrups arrive and say they’ll stay out of his way. But Mr. Podrup keeps coming into the room to watch the work. He wants to talk, is curious about Walker’s situation. Has he always lived in Memphis? Yes, sir. Does he like it? Yes, sir, always did. He doesn’t mind the heat in the summer? Sometimes, but it’s like that most everywhere else.

“Well,” says Mr. Podrup. “That river makes it worse.”

“But the river runs all the way down the continent,” Walker says. “Right?”

“I guess you’ve got a point there.”

“Ron,” Mrs. Podrup says, from the other room, “let the boy work.”

“It’s all right, ma’am,” Walker tells her. “I was about to take my lunch break anyway.”

She comes to the entrance and stands with her hands on her hips. “He called me ma’am.”

“Yes, he did,” says Mr. Podrup. “I heard it.”

“Just being polite,” Walker says. He wants to hit something; the feeling rises in him like heat, a column of fire where his spine is.
I’m no goddamn boy
.

“Well, lunch breaks are necessary,” Mr. Podrup says automatically, not even attending to his own words. Walker moves away from him, surprised at the strength of the urge to strike him.

“Can’t work on an empty stomach,” she says.

Apparently they both think the fact of the lunch break means they’ll all sit and talk. The disappointment shows in their faces as Walker heads for the door. He can’t get away from them fast enough. It’s as if he is the harm that might come to them if they keep talking and keep getting on his nerves as they are.

He goes out and gets into the truck in the bright sun. They’re the ones with the money, doing the remodeling; they’re the ones settled into their lives, certain of things and full of smug assumptions about people like him. Driving too fast to Midtown, he thinks of Jenny and the computer store geek. She couldn’t see anything in him. How could she see anything in him?