The Big Crunch (21 page)

J
UNE’S MOTHER HAD PREPARED A LIST
— typed, single-spaced, two pages long.

“You’re seventeen,” she said by way of opening the discussion.

“So you keep telling me,” June said.

Her mom gave her a sharp look.

“Sorry,” said June, silently telling Sarcastic June to shut up.

“Yes, well, Dad and I have been talking, and we think that despite what happened last month — with Wes — we think we can trust you.”

“You can,” June said, wondering if it were true.

“All things considered, Wes seems like a nice boy. And you seem quite serious about him.”

June nodded eagerly.

“Of course, your new job in Minneapolis will keep you busy most of the time, and I cannot express how important this job is.”

June nodded somberly. Her job at the Minneapolis branch of Benford Bank, a temporary position, would be working with an army of other temps assembling the world’s most intricate and difficult jigsaw puzzle. Several days earlier, someone at the bank had dumped six thousand deposited checks into the bank’s paper shredder, along with several bags of other paper trash. The problem was that the checks had not yet been recorded or canceled, so now the bank had a Dumpster full of shredded paper. June’s job
would be to sort through those tiny strips of paper, separate the ones that had once been parts of checks, separate those by color and pattern, then puzzle the strips together to reconstruct each individual check.

“Why do people still use paper checks, anyway?” June asked. “Haven’t they ever heard of check cards?”

Her mom laughed. “After this, I imagine the bankers are asking themselves the same question. They’ve asked Dad to spend six weeks — possibly longer — up in Minneapolis. They are showing a great deal of trust in El. This could lead to a permanent position.”

“In Minneapolis?”

“Yes, possibly. Nothing is for sure, so I’ll be staying on here — at least until we see how things go.”

June pointed at the list on the table between them. “So what’s that?”

“Rules.”

“That’s a lot of rules!”

“Do you want to go to Minneapolis or not?”

“Sorry,” said June.

Her mother looked at the top sheet. “Rule number one. No sex.”

“Mom!” June felt her face go red. “We are not having sex!”

“I’m not saying you did, or you would, or you wouldn’t. I just want to be perfectly clear.”

“That’s pretty clear. Is kissing okay?”

“I trust your judgment in that regard. Number two. You will be home by ten o’clock every night, no exceptions.”

“Then when are we supposed to have sex?” June asked.

Her mom gave her the raised-eyebrow look.

“Kidding!” said June.

“Rule number three. You will be responsible for keeping house for your father. That means cooking, cleaning, shopping, and laundry.”

“All the time?”

“Dad will be working long hours, and he’ll need you to take care of him.”

“But I’ll be working too!”

“June …”

“Okay, okay. Next?”

“Four. No drugs or drinking. At
all.
“

“Gee, and here I was planning on developing a heroin habit,” said Sarcastic June before June could stop her.

“Rule four-point-five. No sarcasm.”

“You just made that up!” June said.

“Rule four-point-five-one. No arguing about the rules.”

June bit her lip and nodded.

“Rule five. Keep your cell phone with you at all times. Rule six. Call me every day. Rule seven …”

There were thirty-six rules. June clamped her mouth firmly shut and listened numbly as her mother proceeded to restrict her future behavior in every way imaginable. She pushed aside Sarcastic June, Fearful June, Scornful June, and all the others, telling herself over and over that tomorrow she would be with Wes, and that was all that mattered.

H
E WAS GETTING FASTER.

Jab, rock, bend, plant.

His movements had become robot efficient, as rhythmical as hip-hop — perfectly timed, flawlessly executed.

Jab, rock, bend, plant.

Thinking? There were no thoughts. Except one.

Jab, rock, bend, plant.

More of an image than a thought, really.

Jab, rock, bend, plant.

Her face.

Jab, rock, bend, plant.

Today, as soon as he was done with his bundle, he would race home, hit the shower, then drive downtown to Riverview Terraces, where June would be waiting.

Jab, rock, bend, plant.

He wondered where she was at that moment. Driving up I-35 with her dad? Maybe they were already at the condo, unloading their stuff.

Jab, rock, bend, plant.

Was she thinking about him?

June carried the last suitcase from the back of her Dad’s SUV, into the building, up the elevator to the seventeenth floor, down the
short hallway to number 170, a completely furnished luxury condo, her home for the next six weeks. Wes would be knocked out by the view, looking out over the river in one direction and downtown in the other.

She plunked the suitcase down in the entryway and flopped down on the long leather sofa.

“June!” Dad was calling from his bedroom. June groaned and got up and went to see what he wanted. He had changed into a suit and was looking in the mirror, tying his tie. “Where’s my carry-on?”

June pointed. She had set it at the foot of his bed.

“Oh. Thanks.” He snugged up the knot in his tie, lifted the bag onto the bed, and opened it. “Cuff links,” he said, digging into one of the many small compartments. June helped him fasten the cuff links. Just like her mother would have.

“Will you be home for dinner?” she asked.

“I’m afraid not, Junie. Business dinner with my new associates. You’ll have to fend for yourself.” He saw something in June’s face. “I imagine you’ll be seeing Wes.”

“Is it okay if he comes over?”

He looked at her for a long time. June felt herself blushing, though she wasn’t sure why.

“I’ll be home by nine,” he said.

“Okay.”

“You start work in the morning.”

“Okay.”

“We’ll go shopping for food tomorrow. Tonight you can order in.” He opened his wallet and handed her two twenties. “Pizza, or whatever you want.”

“Thanks.”

Again, the long, searching look, then he looked at his watch. “I have to go. Call Mom and tell her we’ve arrived safely. And say hello to Wes for me. Tell him I look forward to spending some time with him. Just the three of us, hanging out.”

“Uh, sure, he’d like that.” It was all June could do to keep her face blank.

Wes’s hair was still wet from the shower when he arrived at Riverview Terraces. He felt strangely cavernous, as if his insides were hollow. He hoped he was dressed okay. He’d changed his shirt three times, finally deciding on the plaid cotton shirt he’d worn the first day he met her. Was that okay? Would she notice?

He stepped out of the elevator on the seventeenth floor. June, wearing jeans and a powder blue T-shirt, stood at the end of the thickly carpeted hallway. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail and her feet were bare. Wes floated toward her. He could not feel his legs. Neither of them spoke.

He was close enough to touch her when she turned and glided into the apartment. He followed her. She led him into a large, high-ceilinged room with tall windows and black leather furniture. They stood in front of the windows, inches between them, and looked out over the river.

Wes’s hand found hers. “I can’t believe you’re here,” he said. They weren’t looking at each other. Her hand was cool and slightly moist.

“Me neither.” She withdrew her hand, turned toward him, and slipped her arms around his back. He did the same. They held each other loosely, not hugging, the fronts of their bodies barely
touching. Wes’s cheek brushed delicately against her temple. His hands were shivering. He felt her shoulder blade beneath his right thumb; the fingers of his left hand grazed the knobs of her spine. If he squeezed her, would she dissolve like a dream?

June was terrified and she didn’t understand why. Who was this boy? What was she doing here, high above the city, alone with him, her breasts separated from his flesh by only three layers of cotton fabric: her bra, her T-shirt, and his plaid flannel? He smelled like deodorant — one of those harsh-smelling brands that boys thought made them smell manly. She wondered what she smelled like. Her shampoo, probably — rosemary — with a whiff of fear sweat and a hint of candy smell from the mint she’d eaten a few minutes earlier. Why was she so jangly?

Wes’s arms tightened, just a little. June made her arms do the same, and as she did so, she became acutely aware of her body. She gasped.

Abruptly, Wes released her.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

June nodded, taking a step back. “I just … I don’t know. This all feels so weird.”

“Me too.”

“It’s like you’re not real.”

Wes nodded. “I think I’ve been thinking about seeing you so much that it’s like … like what if none of this was real? Like we’re in a dream or something.”

“Maybe we are.”

“I wonder if it’s your dream or mine.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s mine.”

“Or both of ours. You’re still in Omaha, and we’re both asleep and our dreams got hooked up.”

June felt herself smile, and some of the tension drained from her shoulders. “If it’s a dream, we should be able to look out the window and see the Eiffel Tower.”

They turned back to the window.

“Doesn’t look like Paris,” Wes said.

“Dreams are weird.”

Wes laughed, and at the sound of his laugh, something inside her came unstuck and she laughed too.

“Do you ever eat pizza in your dreams?” she asked.

“I only dream about two things. Pizza and you.”

“In that order?”

“Not always.”

“Because I was going to order a pizza. Are you hungry?”

Wes smiled, a wide, open smile that echoed in her heart.

“Always,” he said.

W
ES WAS DREAMING OF TREES
— pink, pale blue, yellow, lavender, bright orange — all the colors of the rainbow. Except green. He didn’t understand how they had changed color, or how he was supposed to plant them. One row of all pink? Or alternate the colors: red, orange, yellow … He tried to ask Chuckles what to do, but Chuckles only laughed and laughed and —

Suddenly, he was awake. He felt June’s arm draped across his chest, heard her breathing in his ear. He opened his eyes to find Elton Edberg standing over him.

Wes threw June’s arm off him and leapt from the sofa. June, startled, let out a yelp and sat up.

“Dad!”

“Hi, honey,” said Mr. Edberg, his voice weirdly normal.

Wes’s brain creaked and jangled as he strained to throw off the effects of sleep.

“Hi, Mr. Edberg,” he said in a muddled voice.

“Hello, Wes. Sleeping with my daughter, I see.”

“Daddy! We weren’t
doing
anything!”

Mr. Edberg looked at his watch. “Nine o’clock,” he said, looking from June to Wes. “Time to leave, don’t you think, Wes?”

“Yes, sir,” said Wes.

“Unless, of course, you had planned to stay the night?”

“Daddy!”

Wes wasn’t sure he could move; his feet felt as if they were glued to the carpet. His thoughts flashed back over the evening — the talking, the pizza, more talking, making out … of course, Mr. Edberg would know, all he had to do was look at June, at her swollen lips, at the way he had found them wrapped in each other’s arms. Was that bad? All he knew was that he was horribly embarrassed. But it wasn’t as if he had caught them romping around naked. They’d never even
gotten
naked.

June stood up and took his hand. “Come on. Daddy is just being sadistic and weird.”

Elton Edberg’s eyebrows lifted. “I’m your father. It’s my job.”

June rolled her eyes and led Wes to the door. “I’ll walk you out.”

On the way down, in the elevator, she said, “I don’t know why he has to be that way.”

“Like he said, it’s his job.”

“He doesn’t have to be so sarcastic.”

“Better than chasing me out with a shotgun.”

“Daddy doesn’t even own a shotgun.”

“Probably a good thing.”

June rode back up the elevator feeling embarrassed, relieved, and happy: embarrassed because her dad had to be so, well,
embarrassing.
Relieved that he hadn’t been as embarrassing as he might have been. And happy because … well, not really
happy,
but more like
proud
that her dad had seen her and Wes together that way. Like he had seen that grown-up side of her, more woman than girl. And he hadn’t freaked. At least not too badly.

She was pretty sure she hadn’t violated any of her mother’s rules. Technically.

Back in the condo, her dad was taking a shower. June cleaned up the pizza box, napkins, and glasses she and Wes had dirtied. She plumped and arranged the sofa pillows and set up the coffee machine for the morning. She was wiping down the kitchen counter when her dad came in wearing his bathrobe. He put his hands on her shoulders, looked into her face, kissed her forehead, then went off to bed.

A little later, she called Wes.

“Did you know you’re a good kisser?” she said when he answered.

“I am?”

“Yeah. Really good.”

“What’s good about it?”

“Not too sloppy, not too dry, not too hard, not too, uh, tentative.”

“Not tentative? I should put that on my gravestone.
He was not a tentative kisser.
“

“And
hot.
Be sure to add
hot.
“

“Are we having phone sex?” he asked.

“You know, my mom forgot to put that on her list of no-nos.”

“Everything okay with your dad?”

“Yeah. Dad’s fine. We’re all good. I start my job tomorrow, putting Humpty Dumpty back together.”