Casualties (5 page)

Nearly thirty hours after leaving Jacksonville, Robbie woke with a lurch. The brakes of the bus groaned and then let out a hiss as the driver shifted into park. Rain splattered against the metal roof and dribbled down the windows. The clapboard buildings outside seemed to ripple as though they'd been painted on a curtain.

“Gershom, New Hampshire,” said the driver.

Robbie pulled himself to his feet and hauled his pack down off the rack. When he climbed down to the sidewalk, the yellow structure in front of him turned into Inman's Drug and Sundries. Still here, then; a good sign. This was where his Uncle Kevin used to buy him jawbreakers, bubble gum, and bags of malt balls behind Ruthie's back.

He let the rain drizzle down the back of his neck and arms while the bus heaved into gear and pulled away, sending one last blast of diesel exhaust into his face. Part of him was sorry to see it go. On a bus, you didn't have to make any more decisions. The world got trimmed down to window-sized chunks that just slid past like a movie; at night the bus was a rolling cave where you could hunker
down with your music and your pint and no one said anything. Sleep was possible, even if only for an hour at a time.

Here on Gershom's Main Street, there was nowhere to hunker down, and nothing slid past except a green Ford pickup that had to be from the seventies. He saw the driver peer at him from under the bill of a cap. Robbie stared back until the man looked away. His uncle might look like that; his truck probably wasn't much newer than that one either. Robbie's stomach, still sour from booze and burgers he'd snared along the way, began to hurt. Would he even recognize Kev? Would Kevin know him after all this time?

Fuck it, he was here.

Robbie pulled his phone out of his pocket and punched in the number he'd known by heart since he was old enough to count. One ring, two, five. He pulled the phone from his ear and glanced at the time. Only three thirty, his uncle should still be at the shop. He listened again. Two more rings. His hand began to shake. What if he wasn't there, what if—

Then Kevin answered with something like a grunt.

“Garage.”

“Kev?” Robbie heard his voice croak; he'd gone too long without talking. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Hey, Uncle. It's me, Rob. Just got off the bus here in downtown Gershom. Think you could come by and pick me up?”

Robbie heard his uncle take a breath. Kevin used to stutter sometimes. Maybe he still did.

“Jesus H. Christ.”

Robbie felt his lips twist up in a grin. “Nope, just me. I'm in front of Inman's.”

“Sit tight,” he heard his uncle say. “I'll be right there.” The phone clicked in Robbie's ear. Kevin was never much of a talker, Robbie remembered, and he hated the phone.

Robbie stepped under the awning of the drugstore and began to smoke while the rain petered out. He smoked one cigarette, then
another, trying to remind himself that even if Kevin left immediately, it would take thirty or forty minutes for him to get here from the garage and scrapyard he ran on the family property. Still, he kept looking at every truck that nosed its way down the street. The longer he waited, the more the town itself altered his memories, turning them into something he hated. Inman's, the diner, and the bowling alley looked scarred, all peeling paint and green streaks of mold under the clapboards. They were squeezed now between bigger, glassier storefronts filled with high-priced camping gear, a cell phone store, a real estate office. The chatter of skateboards on concrete drew his gaze down to the bridge where he used to hang over the edge with a fishing line. Two kids, maybe ten, maybe older, in baseball uniforms pushed their way toward him. Skateboards in Gershom. Christ.

A tan Chevy Suburban measled with splotches of Rust-Oleum pulled up halfway through Robbie's fourth cigarette. Robbie recognized the hunch of his uncle's shoulders and the hair that bushed out around the bottom of his hat. Kevin pushed open his door and started to unfold his cranelike body, but Robbie hoisted his pack and motioned him to stay in the truck; he just wanted to get to the farm.

When he climbed into the passenger seat, Kevin grasped his hand and just looked at him for a long minute. “Good to see you, Rob.” He smiled and shook his head. “Can't believe how much you resemble your dad when he was your age.”

Robbie saw that his uncle, like the town, looked worn. His hair used to be the color of a new basketball. Now his frizz and the beard that covered his chin looked muddy with patches of gray. His hazel eyes, the same color as Ruthie's, peered at him through a pair of black-rimmed glasses. Robbie didn't know what to say, so he just nodded and tried to smile.

They took off slow, wheels sloshing through the puddles left by the rain.

“Heard from your mom a couple of weeks ago,” Kevin said. “Told us she didn't know when you'd be home.”

Here it was. “She still doesn't. I'm gonna surprise her.”

Silence. The truck rolled past the Methodist church and, a few hundred feet later, the cemetery shared by all the churches. Robbie found the far left corner guarded by the maple they'd planted. A few of its leaves already littered his father's grave.

“You want to stop for a minute?”

Robbie shook his head. Maybe later.

When Kevin pulled onto the North Road, past the hospital, he picked up a little speed. Very little, Robbie noticed. Hard to believe Kevin and his dad used to race cars up at the county track when they were kids.

“How's Big Ruth?” he asked as they passed a clump of new houses in a field that used to feed cows.

“Not bad for ninety-one. A little trouble gettin' around but there's nothing wrong with her mind, that's for sure. Told her I was headed out to get you. She's probably sittin' at the window right now watchin' for us.”

Robbie wanted to see his great-grandmother, but he wanted even more than that to be alone. He was trying to figure out how he would manage it when Kevin cleared his throat like he was getting ready to say something he wished he didn't have to say. Robbie glanced at him from the corner of his eye. His uncle looked straight ahead.

“You sure about this surprise stuff?” he said. “Your mom sounded kinda on edge. And Big Ruth's gonna want to talk to her. Hell, she'll want her out here on the next plane.”

Shit, he'd fucked this all up. Robbie curled his hands into fists. He looked out the window until he trusted himself to speak. Even when he did, though, his voice sounded harsher than he meant. “I just can't do it, Kev. I need a little time first.”

He took a chance and looked at his uncle. The car slowed and Kevin pulled into the dirt driveway leading to what looked like an empty barn. He turned in his seat and Robbie saw his eyes assessing him as though he were one of his engines that sounded a little off.
“You know I'm glad to see you after all these years. But I've got to ask, what are you doing here?”

Christ, he wanted a drink. He wanted a smoke. He wanted out of the truck. He wanted Kevin to lose the worry that was gathering in his eyes and let him alone. “I don't even know myself. I just—I used to think about this place back in— I need to be here for a little while.”

Kevin said nothing for a moment; he seemed to be waiting to see if Robbie was through talking. Then he nodded in that slow way of his. “I'll talk to Big Ruth, I guess.”

Robbie unclenched his fists. He still wanted a smoke but he would wait. Then a new fear struck.

“What if Mom calls?”

Kevin started up the engine and began to pull back onto the road. “Guess we cross that bridge when we come to it.” A pause. “She probably won't, though. She's already called this month, and as long as you're here, she's got nothing new to tell us.”

—

Robbie let Kevin lead the way into the old farmhouse kitchen. His uncle was right; his great-grandmother was at the big picture window rapping on the glass like one of her birds pecking at the feeders that still hung all over the yard. Robbie felt too big for the kitchen, and “Big Ruth,” her eyes huge behind her purple glasses, was so much smaller than he remembered. When she smiled, her skin creased and puckered like the deer hide slippers on her feet.

“Come here, son, let me have a look at you,” she said, pushing her walker toward him. Robbie dropped his pack and let her hug him. He was afraid to hug her back; her shoulders felt tiny and hollow, fragile as the teacups she still kept on a special shelf next to the round oak table.

“Put Robbie's things in Ruthie's old room,” Big Ruth said to
Kevin. Without a word, his uncle picked up the pack and carried it upstairs.

“When Kev comes back down, he'll make you something to eat. He's not a bad cook as long as I keep an eye on him. You must be starving.”

“No, thanks. I'm not that hungry, BR.” He looked out the window. He was tired of windows now, even big ones. He wanted out. “Mind if I take a walk?”

He saw her eyes widen as if she were getting ready to protest, but Kevin was back.

“Go ahead,” his uncle said.

“That's right, son,” his great-grandmother said quickly. “Go on and stretch your legs. We'll have something for you to eat when you get back.”

It was nearly five but there was plenty of light. He followed the brook up the mountain to the fishing hole, shallow now that it was nearly August but clear. He stripped down and sat in the icy water. He splashed it on his face and shoulders and then lay shivering until his spine bounced against the rocks covered with green slime. Bits of sky flashed through the poplars and the pines towering over him. Water streamed over his cheeks, face, eyes until his teeth chattered. For the first time, calm settled over him. He felt himself sink into the sounds and wetness; for a few moments he felt like he was part of the stream itself. If it had been spring, it would be easy. The water would be higher, rush faster. One slip and his head would crack against the rocks. The brook would fill his nose, mouth, lungs and he would be part of it forever.

A memory found him. He was nine or ten. He'd caught a trout and was unhooking it from the line when a moose snorted twenty feet behind him. He remembered how he'd dropped his rod and run like hell for the sugar shack. He felt the smile forming on his lips as he thought of how he'd crashed through the brush, convinced the
moose would follow. He wished another bull would appear. He'd stand up, naked, dripping, and face the thing. If it ambled off, that would be a sign. If it charged, he wouldn't be afraid. He'd let the moose make the decision.

—

By eight o'clock Big Ruth had already pushed her way to bed. She hadn't said much during dinner, but she watched Robbie the whole time, he felt it. She kept patting his arm as if to make sure he was really there. She hadn't mentioned calling Ruth, and Robbie was grateful to his uncle. “Sure I can't do anything?”

Kevin put the last dish in the drainboard. “All done. Join me on the back step.”

They each drank a beer; Robbie heard rustling in the lupine field up in back of the house, and then it stopped. A sniff followed, a long loud sucking in of breath. Robbie startled.

Kevin chuckled. “Probably the bear that's been raiding Big Ruth's feeders. She's caught one or two out there in the mornings. Heard her yelling from the front step one day, and she tried to make me shoot it.” He finished the last of his beer and pulled a joint out of his pocket.

“You still grow your own?” Robbie said as he watched his uncle light it up and inhale.

“Yup.” He passed the joint to Robbie.

“Things have changed, huh? Last time I was here, you reamed me out for getting into your stash.” He'd been about sixteen then.

“Had your mother to answer to.”

Robbie held the smoke in his lungs until his eyes watered. He exhaled slow and easy. This might help him sleep.

“Think I'll head up to the cabin after,” Kevin said. “Been a while since I spent the night at my own place. Don't like to leave her alone much at night anymore. She sleeps good, though. Doesn't usually get up until five or so. I'll be back by then.”

“Okay.” His uncle sounded like a nurse, the way he talked about Big Ruth. He felt ashamed of his mother. She shouldn't leave it all up to Kevin.

Kevin seemed to read his mind. He took the joint from Robbie. “Your mom sends money,” he said. “She keeps telling me she'll pay for a nurse or a nursing home. I tell her we don't need either one, but she wants to do something. She'd come visit more if she could.”

“How can you be brother and sister and be so different?” Robbie said. He hadn't intended to ask it, but there it was. Kevin stood up but didn't make a move to descend the porch steps and head out to his truck. He stared off into the shadows of the front yard as if he thought he'd find the answer to Robbie's question out there by the feeders. Then he just shrugged and looked down. Robbie wished he'd stay awhile longer. He liked his uncle's quiet talk. He felt all of a sudden like he could sit there all night, passing a joint back and forth, talking about anything or nothing, like he used to with Garcia or Korder or Rami. Kevin started down the steps. Robbie held the joint up for him to take.