Shine Shine Shine (30 page)

“That’s good. This is our smell. This is us now. Right now,” said Sunny. She took a big sturdy drink of the vodka and smiled, her face lit from beneath, every tooth shining. Then she yanked her jeans off and left them on the floor, threw her hoodie and T-shirt down next to them.

“Come on, Maxon,” she urged him.

When she was standing there in only her cotton panties and her white cotton bra, she pushed the door closed with a solid thud, and Maxon was inside the room with her. Inside the room where the kids went to have sex, there were Sunny and Maxon, about to do it.

“This is what happens,” said Sunny, giggling. “This is what happens, this is what. Happens. What happens, what happens, what happens.” She was drunk. Maxon knew it. She grabbed the waistband of his jeans and ripped them open, dragging the denim down over his legs. He felt his legs automatically kicking his shoes off by putting each toe on the opposite heel, pulling down. It was as if the feeling of his pants around his ankles just made them behave this way. Then she pressed her hands into his chest and pulled off his flannel shirt.

There they were, him in a T-shirt and boxers, her in her underwear. It could have been any other time. They could have been somewhere in the woods. This was not unfamiliar, this was not yet unsafe. There was a chance she would chicken out of whatever she was planning for them. He could run away. He could take a picture, right now, before it happened. But she was in a hurry, and jittery. She grabbed his hand and led him, zombie-like, to the pile of pillows.

“Shut up, Maxon, you’re so chatty,” she said, her feet prancing a little as she pulled him over and pushed him down on the pile.

“Lie down on your back,” she said. “And don’t worry. I know what to do. Renee told me.”

He knew he should not be here. He knew it could be a bad moment. It could not be good. And yet, as she stood there in the golden light of someone’s old flashlight, humming to herself as she pulled off her bra, as she crawled over to him like an animal, where he lay on the pillow, as she fell into his arms, he could not leave her or stop her. She was on top of him, the little tips of her breasts against his chest, her hands beside his shoulders, pressing down into the pillows, and she put her mouth up to his ear.

“I love you, baby,” she said into his ear, her breath causing electrical ripples down his body. He felt the familiar triangle light up between his hips and his groin, very fast, like a jolt. She put her mouth on his neck beneath his jaw, on his collarbone, on his sternum and his ribs. This was a kiss followed by another, each one small and chaste, but quick, like kissing hello. There was none of the wetness he dreaded. There was no terrible sweating. His body was cold, chilled, except for the places where she touched him, where her lips engaged with his skin. There were little hot marks left on him, like thermal imaging, his body blue, and mouth shapes in orange and red punctuating it. She moved down, kissed the points of his ribs where they arched over his belly, her elbows dropping to support her, her butt rising in the air as she leaned back and down. She giggled, pressing her face against his belly, tickling.

She kissed his hipbone, then with her cheek rubbed against the inside of his boxers. She pulled the fabric down with her teeth so his penis came out through his fly. Her hot breath on him made his hands clench into the pillows around him. His eyes shut tight. He could not think about what she seemed about to do, and he could not stop her. Then everything went from fast to slow as she put her tongue on him. He was hers, whatever she wanted to do to him. A very simple thing, he thought. A very simple motion. He really wanted it. Her hands pressed against his thighs.

Then he felt the hot wetness of her mouth touching it, and gasped. “I can’t,” he choked out. The first thing he had said since the theater. She took her mouth away and looked up at him. He saw her, mouth red, eyes black, framed in his legs, her tawny shoulders raised up like a lion at a kill.

“Come on, boy,” she said, and as her mouth closed over him again, it felt so good. Moments later, he silently ejaculated, managing to get it out of her mouth first.

“That was awesome,” she said cheerfully, pulling herself back up next to him. She reached across him, pulled a folded sheet from the pile and tucked it over them. Her cheek against his shoulder, her arm under his neck. He was warm, warmer than ever, and floating. They went to sleep, her from liquor, him from being at peace.

*   *   *

T
HEY WOKE UP TO
the sound of the door opening. As Sunny’s eyes opened and she remembered, slowly, where she was, she saw the outline of her friend Renee and two guys in the door. Renee was reaching around on the floor for the flashlight. Sunny took in the sight next to her, Maxon asleep in his boxers and T-shirt. She saw her own panties still in place. Her plan had failed.
At least I got my bra off,
she thought.
Maybe we even kissed lying down.
He was deeply asleep, his mouth open. She pulled her arm from under his neck and his head lolled off to the side. Strange. She wondered if he’d had vodka, too.

“Hey, occupado!” she called to Renee.

“Sunny? Is that you? Where’s the fucking light?”

“I don’t know,” Sunny said.

“I got a Maglite,” said one of the boys, and Sunny recognized the voice of Adam Tyler, a football player.

“Why didn’t you say so, asshole,” Renee said, and snatched a flashlight out of his hand, turned it toward Sunny.

“Hey,” she said as the light hit her eyes, pulling the sheet up and around her. She stood up and hopped over to her clothes, began to put on her jeans under the sheet. The bra would just have to stay here; no way was she giving the football team a show. That was Renee’s job anyway.

“Get going, sister, this ain’t a motel,” said Renee affectionately.

“Wait a minute,” said Adam Tyler. “Isn’t that Maxon Mann?”

Sunny looked over at Maxon. He was now sitting up perfectly straight.

“Whatcha doing here, Mann, don’t you know this is the honeymoon suite?”

Adam punched his buddy’s arm and his buddy punched back. Renee was holding the flashlight so it pointed toward the ceiling.

“Shut up, Adam,” she said mildly.

Maxon stood up and spread his hands amicably.

“Hey, Tyler,” he said, “I didn’t realize you lived here, man. My apologies. And my compliments.”

“Fuck you, nerd,” Adam shouted, lunging forward, menacing Maxon with his fists. “I don’t live here, I fuck here. And you don’t fuck where I fuck, okay? So take your bald bitch and go down and poke her in the bathroom, where shitheads like you belong.”

Sunny did not see Maxon coming toward Adam, but she heard the sound of his fist landing on Adam’s head. When the buddy jumped into the fray, planting a firm fist in Maxon’s kidney region, Maxon began to fight for real, and Renee pulled Sunny out the door, leaving Adam’s flashlight on the floor, still lighting up the scene. Behind the door, there were sounds of a raging typhoon.

“Come on,” said Renee. “We have to get help. They’re going to kill him.”

“They’re not,” said Sunny, panting a little as they ran down the mall, zipping up her jacket. “Don’t worry about him, worry about them. Seriously, trust me, he is in no danger.”

There was a time when Maxon had been put to the ground by two brothers, fighting him. Then it took three brothers, and then four. Since the growth spurt, there had been no bruises. Either he was winning all the time or his body no longer responded to punishment. It was as if he didn’t even feel pain.

She let Renee go. She slowed to a walk, headed for the door. Outside the air was fresh. She got into her car, wishing for a cigarette. She also wished for a drink of water and a couple of Advil. When Maxon emerged from the mall a few minutes later, and sauntered across the parking lot, he was neatly dressed, his face wreathed in a carefree smile. He popped open the door and folded himself into the passenger seat.

“Did you kill them, Maxon?” she asked him, starting up the car.

“Nope,” he said. “But we can use that room whenever we want.”

“Baby, you know,” said Sunny, “I like drinking but I am never going to do it unless I have you around to protect me. And I don’t think we should go back to that room.”

They never did go back to the honeymoon suite at the Yates Mall. And even during her years away at college, Sunny never drank without Maxon there to protect her. And that was true all through their lives.

*   *   *

I
N THE STUDIO OF
WNFO News, Sunny sat in the same white wicker chair as before, folded her feet the same way, laid her hands on the side of her pregnant belly. But now her head was bald, and her eyes were red from crying. Showing up on television as a bald woman was something that she could do for Maxon, whether it mattered or not. Whether or not, for him, there would ever be an opportunity to watch the tape. Seeing her sitting next to Les Weathers, with no Maxon on the other side, it would be clear to everyone in the world that Maxon was gone. The special symmetry was missing. There was an absence in space. The camera closed in on just the two of them, Sunny and Les, and when Les began the interview, the cameraman pulled the shot even tighter, on just their heads. Two heads, talking on television, one blond and one bald.

Sunny had had a dream, and in the dream, she was wearing her mother’s clothes. The clothes were tight and didn’t fit her pregnant body, but she was wearing them anyway, and carrying her mother’s purse as well. She was wearing her mother’s walking shoes, and dealing with the aftermath of her mother’s death. Seventeen copies of the death certificate, a decent obituary, cremation. And as she was discussing the details of the memorial service with the rector of the church, her mother walked into the room, clearly alive and not even sick. There was a large shining lump on the mother’s head, as if she fell out of a tree and forgot who she was, accidentally went into a coma and died from cancer, and then remembered who she was and fully recovered. And what Sunny felt at that moment, when she saw her mother walking into the room, was anger. Why did you put me through all that? she asked her mother. The sickness, the sores, and pulling the plug? Why did I have to do all that by myself, when you were perfectly well enough to do it with me? But the mother was transformed. Having been fake-dead, she was now somehow above reproach, and wouldn’t even respond.

“Sunny Mann,” said Les Weathers. “First let me say that I am sorry about what’s happening to you now, and I appreciate your coming in to share your experiences with us once again.”

“Thank you for having me,” she said.

“Around the world, and certainly here in the U.S., everyone has been watching the story so carefully. But just to fill in our viewers, your husband’s rocket has been hit by a meteor and all communication with the astronauts has been lost. How are you holding up?”

And Sunny managed to answer, “I am doing okay. I am taking it slowly, one thing at a time.”

Sunny told about how she had found out, what she had been thinking. She explained that she really wanted Maxon to be alive, and the whole crew to be safe, and Les Weathers told her that he did, too, they all did, everyone in the whole world. After the interview, someone came to take Sunny’s mic from the back of her shirt and unpin it from her collar. Les Weathers stayed on set with her as the crew peeled away. Soon they were sitting there, still in the wicker chairs with no one else around.

“How are you doing, really?” Les said.

“I don’t know. It’s pretty awful,” said Sunny.

He put his hand over hers, and she watched the two hands fold together, the way human hands naturally do.

“I hope you realize,” he said, “that we are here for you. We are all here for you. Especially me.”

“Okay,” she said. She swiped at her eyes with one sleeve.

“I’m right down the street if you need me.”

“Thanks.”

“And if he doesn’t come back, Sunny,” Les went on, leaning in toward her ear. She could feel the warmth from his body, different from the heat of the lights. It was a moving, breathing warmth. “If he doesn’t come back, I know this is not the right thing to say, but I’m saying it anyway: If he doesn’t come back, I want you to know that I don’t mind about the baldness either. I don’t mind.”

25

At 2:30 in the morning, the phone next to Sunny’s bed rang. It was NASA. She should come in right away. Communications with the rocket had been established, and there was a video uplink. The men were alive. They were well. She could talk to Maxon, see him, hear him talk. She pulled on some clothes, kissed Bubber awake and dressed him, and bundled them both out the door and into the van. There she sat, blinking, at her reflection in the rearview mirror. She was about to send a love letter with no words in it at all. She set off toward the Langley Research Center, where they would be waiting for her.

*   *   *

A
T THREE O’CLOCK IN
the morning, the mother’s heart fluttered. It fluttered and faded. Then it resumed operating, but at an unsteady pace. The kidneys had been gone for hours, the liver dead, the blood full of toxins. Underneath her body, her mind was racing. In the room, under the flat sheet, there was no change. The orange light of the parking-lot fixtures filtered through the shade like morning sun through the shell of an egg. A nurse had come in, hours ago, and felt for a pulse. Now the room was silent.

To say that the mother did not resume consciousness just before death would be wrong. It would be something that was said to palliate the people who maybe should have been there for the death. She did not resume the symptoms of consciousness: the fluttering eyelid, the squeezing hand, the gentle nod. But she did resume the awareness that she was dying. And she fought with death. All by herself, in the dark, with nothing to help her control the encroaching darkness inside her, she fought against her own failing blood and the terrible things in it that were at work against her. She fought to live.