All American Boy (24 page)

Not yet, you bastard. Don't die yet. I still have one thing to tell you
.

He waits until his mother is out of sight, then slips back into the room.

The odor hits him again. He'd gotten used to it before, but even just the few minutes away has left him unprepared again. It's the stench of death.

He looks down at Uncle Axel. The old man's eyes are open, staring down his nose. He's still gurgling. His head seems to tremble, as if he's trying to lift it, to see who it is that stands there. Wally watches the old man's feeble attempt at life, not wanting to feel sorry for him, to feel any compassion. Still, it's a strange shiver, a pitiful effort to summon energy that no longer exists. He doesn't want to be reminded of Ned in his last days, his final hours. There can be no recognition here, no familiarity: nothing about this monster could ever remind him of Ned. Not even these last flickers of his spirit, these final tremors of life.

“Hello, chap,” Wally whispers. His voice sounds strange and unfamiliar.

Uncle Axel's head shakes against his pillow. His grotesque ear-lobes wiggle.

It's happening. Wally can feel it. He's about to die. He's about to walk into hell and right past the gate Jacky Tricky is waiting to greet him, his sharp teeth ready.

And Wally's going to make sure he knows it.

“Do you recognize me?” he asks. “It's
Walter
.”

He thinks he sees the old man's shoulders stiffen. His black eyes try to make out the form looming over him.

I hope you'll understand about Uncle Axel someday, Walter
.

Wally snorts. Here's what he understands: that the old bastard made an unhappy boy even unhappier. A tight smile stretches across his face.
You think Jacky Tricky was bad, Uncle Axel? Meet Wally Day
.

“Wa—”

The old man is trying to say something. Wally pauses, not sure what it is. He says it again.

“Wa—er …”

It sounds like his name.

“Yes, Uncle Axel. It's
Walter
.” He says his name with force, the way his father had said
bastard
all those years ago. “And I have something to tell you …”

“Wa—ter …,” the old man rasps.

“Yes, it's Walter.”

“Wa—ter—”

The old man's lips are chapped, yellow, flaking like mildewed French pastry. His tongue, shriveled and gray, clicks against the back of his throat.

“Wa—ter—”

It's then that Wally realizes what the old man is trying to say. On a table to his side sits a blue plastic water pitcher and some orange paper cups. Wally looks at them, and then back at Uncle Axel.

He's asking for water.

Damn you, old man, I'm not here to give you water. I'm here to tell you that you're going to hell and that right inside the gate, Jacky Tricky will be waiting for you, fangs and claws sharpened and
—

“Wa—,” he croaks, and his eyes, rolling, catch Wally's for just the briefest of moments.

I hope you'll understand about Uncle Axel someday, Walter
.

Wally stands there, unable to move. He opens his mouth to speak, then shuts it. He clenches his fists at his sides, then opens them again. “Damn it,” he whispers, turning away abruptly. “
Goddamn
it!”

He heads toward the door.

“Wa—ter—,” he hears, very softly, behind him.

Wally stops.

He turns around.

When does the cycle end, Wally?

He gazes down at the dying old man.

When does it finally end?

“Wa—ter—,” pleads the old man, his dry, cracked lips barely moving.

Wally stares at him.

“Damn Jacky Tricky,” he says finally to himself.

He bends down, cradles Uncle Axel's head in his arm, and gently, ever so gently, holds the cup of water to his lips.

14

RESPONSIBILITIES

“It will just be for a little while,” Luz is saying as they sit at the kitchen table, their cups of orange tea between them. “Just for a little while, Mrs. Day, and then I'll be back.”

Ever since she'd gotten home from the hospital from seeing Uncle Axel, Regina has had the feeling that something terrible would happen. And now it has. Luz is going to leave her. She's going to
go
. She took the money and now she was going to go.

The girl had found her at the shed, trying to pry off the boards with a hammer.

“Mrs. Day, what are you doing? You wanted me to board it up!”

He's got to be in there. I dragged his body from the living room through the kitchen then out through the back door. His head bumped against each step of the back porch. I remember. I can see his head hitting every step. It's so clear in my mind
.

But Luz said there was nothing in the shed.

I'm afraid I might be losing my mind
.

It's happened before, why not again?

It wasn't a spa that they sent her to. That's what Aunt Selma called it, but it was no spa. It was an asylum. An insane asylum. A madhouse. A funny farm.

“What is your name?”

“Regina Christina Gunderson.”

“And why are you here?”

“My sister says I tried to kill myself.”

“And did you?”

Did she? Regina's never been sure. She can't imagine it; she was always so scared of blood. It made her think of the bloody bundle they took away from Mama's room. It takes courage to kill yourself, Regina knew, and she never was that brave.

But Kyle's blood didn't bother me. It was all over the floor and I mopped it up without giving it a thought
.

“Mrs. Day,” Luz said. “Why are you so frightened of the shed? What do you think is inside?”

“The policeman …”

“The policeman? You think he's in the shed?”

Regina could see him standing there in his blue uniform, his bushy mustache twitching.

Any idea where he is? Do you have any idea?

Walter … He came looking for Walter.

Are you going to press charges against the pervert? We can have his sorry faggot ass thrown in jail, Captain Day, I promise you that
…

“Mrs. Day?”

She found Luz's eyes.

No, not Walter.

The policeman came looking for Kyle.

Kyle
, who's in the shed.

“Mrs. Day, you're trembling.”

“It's cold,” she told Luz. “I should fire up the wood furnace. That will help.”

“Mrs. Day, come inside with me. We'll make some tea.”

She looked into Luz's eyes. So pretty. How she loved the girl, loved her more in that moment than she'd ever loved anyone. Once, a long time ago, there was another girl who looked like Luz. Regina's thought about that girl many times over the years. She was her friend. Her name was Terry. They were going to go to the Dogtown Deli and eat corned beef on rye.

“Kyle,” she said, gripping the girl's leather jacket. “Kyle's in the shed.”

“Oh.” A terribly sad look had passed across Luz's face. She seemed as if she might cry. “No, Mrs. Day. Kyle's not in the shed, Mrs. Day. Trust me, he's not.”

“He's there, he must be there—”

“Kyle's gone. And he's not coming back. I won't let him.”

“He's in the shed.”

“I know Kyle was cruel to you,” Luz told her. “I know he made your life hell. But he's
gone
, Mrs. Day. And I won't let him bother you ever again.”

Regina looked into the girl's face. So pretty, so dainty—but so
strong
, too. Strong like Rocky. Yes, just like Rocky.

“Do you hear me, Mrs. Day?” Luz's face was in hers, and she gripped the old woman's hands. “
I won't let him come back
. You don't have to worry anymore. Kyle's gone and your nightmare is over. I promise you that, Mrs. Day. I promise.”

But now Luz was leaving.

“Is it okay if I leave Jorge here?” she's asking. “I can't send him back to my father. He would be so cruel to Jorge without me there. It would just be for a couple days, maybe three. I need to go to the city, Mrs. Day. I need to get a job.”

“Oh, but you don't need a job, Luz. You can live here—”

“I'm going to be a model, Mrs. Day. Just like you said.”

Suddenly Luz starts to cry. She can't speak. She shakes her head and waves her hands, unable to stop crying.

Regina reaches across the table and takes the girl's hands. What can she do? What can she say to console her, to stop her tears—awful, terrible tears that are breaking Regina's heart?

“
Hush little baby
,” Regina sings, “
don't you cry, Mama's gonna sing you a lullaby
…”

Luz looks up at her. A small smile tricks across her lips.

“Oh, good,” Regina says. “I've made you smile.”

The girl wipes her eyes. “I knew you still had a beautiful voice.”

“Oh,” Regina says, blushing.

Luz sniffles. “Sing some more for me, Mrs. Day. Please?”

Regina laughs. “Oh, dear. What would I sing?”

“What did you sing on the stage?”

“Old songs. Songs you wouldn't know …”

“Sing one of them. Please?”

“Oh, I don't know …”

“Please! It would make me happy.”

There's nothing Regina wants more, so, sitting there in her kitchen, with the light fading into dusk, Regina sings.

“
Don't sit under the apple tree
,” she begins, unused to the sound of her voice. She pauses and starts again. “
Don't sit under the apple tree with anyone else but me
…”

Luz chimes in.

“
With anyone else but me
…”

Regina sings the whole song, with Luz joining in on the refrain. When she's done, Luz claps, and Regina laughs, covering her face with her hands.

“So long,” she says. “So long since I've sung.”

“Thank you for singing to me, Mrs. Day.” Luz stands, gives Regina a kiss on the cheek, then heads to her room to pack. By the time the sun has set, she has driven off in Kyle's car.

The wood furnace needs to be fired up. That would take away some of the cold. It always did. There weren't many things Regina loved about this house, but the wood furnace was one of them. It was the only thing that could take the chill off cold winter nights, especially when Robert was home, lying beside her, snoring, a stranger in her bed. Regina never slept well when Robert was home. He was always pulling the blankets to his side. Sometimes, in the night, when she'd awaken, her teeth chattering, she'd be angry, angry enough to scream, to pound her fists against her husband's back, to shriek at him for doing this to her, all of this, all of this horrible life—

But she never did. She just tiptoed out of bed, snuck downstairs into the basement, and added some wood to the furnace. Then she slipped back into bed, gingerly prying part of the blanket from Robert's hands, always careful not to wake him.

“I don't know how you manage,” Bernadette had said. “Why not divorce him, Regina? It was only after I kicked Albert out that my life truly became my own again.”

Robert had forbidden her from seeing Bernadette after the divorce. But Robert was away on the ship; he'd never know if Regina disobeyed him. She'd consented to the visit so that the boys, Walter and Kyle, would have a chance to play together. It was good for cousins to stay close. The boys were in the living room, eating popcorn and watching that vampire soap opera on television. Regina stood at her ironing board in the kitchen. She had offered Bernadette a cup of tea and her ex-sister-in-law had accepted, taking out a flask from her denim jacket and pouring a shot of whatever it was into the cup. Bernie had turned into quite the hippie, Regina thought: she was always off protesting the war and the military. Her hair was tied up in a bandana, and on the back of her jacket she had sewn a peace sign with red, white, and blue thread.

“Do you think they should be watching such things?” Bernadette asked her.

“You mean that television show?” Regina asked.

“There's a severed head in there,” Bernadette said. “I just walked through and saw it. It's been chopped off and put in a box. And that man with the fangs is always running around biting girls on the neck.” She shivered.

“Well, Walter loves it,” Regina told her.

“But is it
good
for him? I mean, I
worry
about our children, Regina. Their fathers are war nuts. Whenever Albert is with Kyle, all he talks about is guns and killing. That's why I've set some limits on how often they can see each other. I don't want Kyle growing up warped.” She made a face as if she thought Regina didn't understand. “Come on, you
know
what it's like, Regina. Robert is the same way.”

Regina just sighed, ironing a sleeve of Walter's school shirt.

“I worry about our children, and so should you, Regina. Every night on the news they see all those dead Vietnamese people.”

Regina looked up at her, disturbed. “Please, Bernie—”

“All of this has an
impact
. I heard Dr. Spock talking about it on the
Mike Douglas Show
yesterday. I'm really worried, Regina. How will our children grow up?”

Regina had never really thought about all this before. “Wally has a very vivid imagination,” she told Bernadette. “He's like my sister. He just likes to …
imagine
things.”

“Well, when that imagination starts leading him to chop off girls' heads and put them in boxes, then you'll say I was right.” Bernadette opens up her purse and withdraws the silver flask again, pouring another shot into her tea. “We're responsible for them. We brought these boys into the world. We have to take care of them.”

No, that's wrong
, Regina thinks.

I didn't bring Walter into the world
.