by Pete Hautman
“Maybe he’s going to tell you you’re not really his daughter. You’re the secret love child of a powerful wizard, and you have superpowers. With a single gesture, you can make all those shredded checks put themselves back together. Or go back in time and save them from the evil shredder monster.”
June laughed. “Do you have any idea how silly you are?”
“I know exactly how silly I am,” Wes said with a grin.
“You’re still invited, you know.”
“I’m still recovering from the last dinner with him. Anyway, my mom’s been giving me grief about never having dinner at home anymore.”
They walked back to June’s building without talking. June kept thinking of things to say, but the silence between them was too comfortable to break.
The silent times — the two of them together, without talking — had been getting longer the last few days. Was that okay? Was she boring when she didn’t talk? Did she talk too much? Maybe she should be more mysterious. Maybe he’d gotten to know her too well, and now she wasn’t interesting anymore. Was it possible to get to know someone too well? Was it possible she could lose interest in him? She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. What was he thinking right now?
She had no idea. Once, after some boys had teased her at school — she had been about thirteen — she had asked her mom, “What’s wrong with boys, anyway? What are they thinking?”
“Boys only think about one thing,” her mother had said. “Sex.”
But Wes wasn’t like that. He thought about all kinds of things. But he had to think about sex sometimes. Maybe even as much as she did.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked him.
“Huh?”
“What were you thinking about. Two seconds ago?”
“Oh. Um … I was thinking about what my mom was going to make for dinner. Why?”
“Never mind,” she said.
Food would have been her second guess.
What Wes was thinking about — he would never have admitted this to June — was how nice it would be to go home and shower and eat with his sister and his parents, and watch some TV without having to talk about what he was watching, and then go to bed early. Because even though June was the most important person in the universe and spending time with her was, mostly, all he wanted to do … it wore him out sometimes.
And he was thinking about last week’s fried chicken dinner with Elton Edberg, how Mr. Edberg had asked him a thousand questions: Where do you plan to go to college? What do you want to do with your life? Have you considered banking? Have you considered the military? Who do you plan to vote for in the next election? It’s not too soon to open an IRA account. Do you go to church? What does your father do?
Most of the questions had been about things Wes had never thought much about. By the end of the evening, his brain had been in complete overload.
He kissed June good-bye in front of her building, then walked down the block to where he’d parked. As he got closer to the car, the tension flowed out of his neck and shoulders. Being in love is hard, he thought — wanting to be perfect for her every second they were together, and trying not to think too much about the scary, murky future when they would be apart. Between the tree planting and his time with June, he was exhausted.
He had never been happier in his life.
CHAPTER
FORTY-NINE
JUNE’S DAD TALKED ON HIS CELL from the time they left the condo until they got to the restaurant. Watching him in action — switching from call to call, changing tone from demanding to cajoling to syrupy sweet depending on what he wanted from whoever he was talking to — was both impressive and sickening. June considered taking out her own cell and calling Wes. Just to make a point. But she didn’t.
Her dad didn’t stop with his phone calling until they were seated in the restaurant, then he made a big show of turning his phone off.
“Isn’t this nice?” he said.
June wasn’t sure if he was referring to the two of them being together, or to having turned off his cell phone, or to the restaurant itself.
“It’s sure big,” she said, going with the third option. Everything at Sammy’s Steak House was huge: high ceilings, oversize water glasses and utensils, towel-size napkins…. Even the leather-bound menus were enormous. She looked around at the other customers. They were big too. Probably from eating at Sammy’s.
“Big is Sammy’s claim to fame. The biggest and the best. I hope you’re hungry.”
The menu, as big as it was, had limited choices: six types of steak on the left side, with pork chops, lamb chops, scallops, and whole lobster on the right. June decided on the scallops. They would be the easiest to eat. Her dad ordered a rib eye steak.
While they waited for their food, he asked her how work was going.
“Incredibly boring,” June said. “It’s going to take at least another month. Maybe longer. Wretched Hitler is getting more perturbed every day.”
“Wretched Hitler?”
“I mean Gretchen Hiller. Some of the women call her Wretched Hitler. Not to her face, of course.”
Elton Edberg grinned. “I wonder what my employees call me.”
“The Terminator,” June said.
“Really?” He frowned slightly, then shrugged. “That’s not so bad. At least it shows that I have their respect.”
“I was kidding,” June said.
“Oh?” he said, not at all embarrassed. “You have your mother’s sense of humor.”
“Mom has a sense of humor?”
“Oh yes. She keeps me on my toes. I imagine you do the same with Wes. How are you two doing?”
“Fine,” said June.
“That’s it? Just ‘fine'?”
June nodded. Her father frowned.
The awkward moment was interrupted by the arrival of their meals. June’s sea scallops were the size of hockey pucks. Her dad’s rib eye steak was almost four inches thick.
“Look at this potato!” her dad said.
“Are you sure that’s not a loaf of bread?” June said.
He stabbed the potato with his knife. “Nope. Potato.”
The outsize portions made her dad feel important, but for June, everything about the place made her feel small.
“So what are we celebrating?” June asked as she cut into a giant scallop with her giant knife.
“Oh, that!” he said as if it had entirely slipped his mind. “Benford Bank has offered me a full-time position.”
“Here?” June didn’t even try to keep the hope and desperation out of her voice.
“Well … for the next month, at least. Actually, there are several possibilities — Omaha, Des Moines, Fargo …” He cut a large piece of steak, put it in his mouth, and chewed. June had been taught to not ask questions of people who were in the process of chewing, but this was too much.
“Fargo?”
He started to answer, hesitated, then made an effort to swallow, opened his mouth … and froze. For a moment, June thought he was making a funny face, though she couldn’t imagine why. Then his eyes went big and round and he clutched his throat; the skin around his eyes turned red, veins bulged, his mouth opened and closed soundlessly.
June heard herself scream.
“Be still my heart!” Wes’s mom put her hands to her chest. “Is my son going to consent to joining us for dinner?”
Wes rolled his eyes. His mom smirked and stirred something on the stove.
“We hardly see you anymore,” she said.
“That’s because I work ten hours a day. Also, June’s only going to be here for a few weeks, so, you know …”
“Is everything all right with you two?” his mom asked.
“Yeah. Her dad is taking her to a restaurant tonight.”
“It’s good to take a break sometimes. Will we ever get to meet her?”
“Uh …”
“Yeah!” Paula materialized in the doorway. “I want to know what she looks like.”
/> “Why don’t you bring her by for dinner tomorrow night?” his mom said.
“I bet she’s really pretty,” said Paula.
“Uh … I could ask her.”
“Or maybe she’s ugly,” Paula said.
“She is not ugly!”
“We could do steaks on the grill. Everybody likes steak.”
“Daddy!”
He was trying to stand up, one hand clutching his throat, the other waving desperately in the air. June could sense movement, every head in the restaurant turning toward their table. A man — their waiter — appeared behind her father and wrapped his arms around him. She heard a grunt of effort, then a wet, popping sound, and something hit her on the chest.
Her father drew a ragged breath. The waiter released him; her father slumped back into his chair. June looked down at the half-chewed hunk of steak rolling down the front of her white top, and she realized what had just happened. Her father had been choking.
“Thank you,” he gasped, looking up at the waiter.
“Not a problem, sir. The Heimlich maneuver is a part of our training.”
“Yes, well, you have been very well trained.”
“Thank you, sir. Enjoy the rest of your meal.”
June used her napkin to pick the hunk of masticated meat from her lap.
“Excuse me,” she said. She dropped the napkin on the floor and walked quickly through the restaurant to the restroom, where she did her best to wipe the stain from her top. She was able to get most of it out, but the wet spot between her breasts was obvious. Leaning over the hand dryer, holding out the front of her top to blast it with hot air — what had just happened hit her with full force.
He had almost died. If it had happened at home, with no one else around, she would have stood by helplessly as he choked to death. A whirlpool formed inside her chest, threatening to suck her insides out; she let out a gasp, squeezed her eyes shut, and sank to her knees on the restroom floor.
“Are you all right?” asked a woman’s voice.
June forced herself to breathe, to open her eyes. A woman in a waiter’s uniform was bending over her. June managed a weak smile.
“I’m fine,” she said. “It was just a twinge.” She stood up shakily and quickly left the restroom.
Her father had finished most of his dinner. He smiled and asked if she was okay.
“I’m fine,” she said. A fresh napkin had been laid next to her plate.
“You were gone a long time. I sent one of the waitresses in to check on you.”
“I was trying to clean my shirt.”
“Oh. Well, it looks fine! Dig in!” He went right back to his rib eye, eating with as much gusto as before, but taking smaller bites.
June was careful not to ask any questions while her dad was chewing. In fact, she was terrified to do or say anything. Her appetite was gone. All she could do was watch her dad shovel food into his mouth.
Noticing that June wasn’t eating, he set down his knife and fork.
“I’ve spoiled your appetite, haven’t I?”
“You almost died!” she said.
“But I didn’t.”
June glared at him. “You would have if that waiter hadn’t done that Heimlich thing.”
“I’m sure if he hadn’t, you would have. Don’t they teach the Heimlich maneuver in school?”
“Not in any school I’ve been to. Besides, I thought you were having a heart attack.”
He shrugged and said, “Oh, well. Life is just one near-death experience after another.”
“Is that going to be another one of your sayings?”
He gave her his patented Elton Edberg smile. “Do you like it?”
Wes said, “He’s okay, isn’t he?”
“That’s not the point.”
“So what is the point?”
“The point is, he almost died!”
“Yeah, well, he didn’t.” Wes was feeling irritable. He thought he might be experiencing withdrawal symptoms, like he’d gotten addicted to spending several hours a day with June. Talking on the phone only heightened his frustration.
June said, “But he could have. It could happen to anybody, anytime. So what’s the use?”
“The use of what?”
“Of everything!”
Wes couldn’t tell if she was really asking him that, or just trying to confuse him.
“I guess we just have to have fun while we’re still alive,” he said.
“All you think about is having fun. And eating.”
Huh? Where did that come from? Wes didn’t know what to say, so he waited for June to continue.
She said, “I mean, what are we doing, anyway?”
“Talking on the phone?”
June didn’t say anything for a second; Wes was afraid she was going to hang up on him again.
“Why don’t you come over?” she said. “Right now.”
“Now? It’s almost ten!”
“So?”
“They’d never let me use the car this late.”
“You’re not coming over?”
“I don’t think I should.”
“Thanks a lot!”
June knew she was being a whiny bitch again, making him feel bad when he hadn’t done anything wrong. Why did she want him to come over anyway? He was right — the minute he got there, it would be time for him to go home. It was just stupid. But she hated that he wouldn’t do it.
Wes said, “Look, if you really want me to, I’ll take a bus downtown.”
“My dad would just tell you to go home.”
“That’s what I’m saying!”
June closed her eyes and swallowed.
“June?”
“What.”
“Do you want me to come over?”
“Yes. No. No, it would be stupid.”
She heard him exhale, probably with relief.
“My mom wants you to come over for dinner tomorrow,” he said.
“To your house?”
“They want to meet you.”
“Why?”
“My sister wants to know if you’re as beautiful as I think you are.”
“Oh!” He thought she was beautiful? June looked in the mirror. No way.
“June? Are you there?”
“I’m here.”
After Wes said good night to June, he went downstairs. His parents were on the sofa, watching a talk show. Paula was sitting in the recliner, reading.
“June says she can come for dinner tomorrow,” he told his mom.
“That’s wonderful,” she said.
“Who’s coming to dinner?” his dad asked.
“Wes’s girlfriend,“ said Paula. “They’re in love.”
Wes rolled his eyes. His mom laughed. His dad went back to watching TV.
“Do you think we could have something besides steak?” Wes said.
“Is she vegetarian?”
“No, it’s just … she has this problem with steak.” He thought for a moment, then added, “We probably shouldn’t have roast chicken, either.”
CHAPTER
FIFTY
JUNE OPENED A CAN OF TOMATO SOUP, dumped it in a pan, and put it on the stove. She sliced cheddar cheese and made a sandwich — lots of butter on the outside — and put it in a frying pan. She tore open a bag of prewashed salad greens, put them in a wooden bowl, and put it on the table with a bottle of ranch dressing. She set the table for one.
All her dad had to do was turn on the burners, and in about five minutes he would be eating. Grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup — the ultimate comfort food, and hard to choke on. The salad was because she’d promised her mom to make sure he ate something green with every meal.
She frowned at the table she had set. Her mom would have put out candles, or a floral centerpiece. June shrugged; she was not her mother. Besides, Wes would be picking her up in about twenty minutes. Time to start working on her face. She wanted to make a good impression.
Wes said, “Wow.”
&n
bsp; June smiled.
Wes said, “You look … really different.”
June’s smile quivered and began to fade.
Wes said, “Good! I mean, you look great.”
“Too much makeup?” she asked. She might have gone overboard on the eye shadow.
“No! I mean, I’ve just never seen you so, uh, glamorous.”
“Is glamorous okay?”
“Yeah! I mean, you look fine.”
He was lying. She felt a little sick. His parents would hate her.
“I’ll go back upstairs and wash it off.”
“No! We don’t want to be late. My mom has a thing about that.” He took her hand and coaxed her into the car. “Besides, they don’t care what you look like.”
On the drive over to Wes’s house, June could feel her insides crumbling. She knew she had on too much makeup. It was supposed to make her confident and safe, like wearing a mask, but suddenly she was feeling like a clown. A slutty clown. She pulled down the visor and regarded herself in the tiny mirror. Wes was watching her out of the corner of his eye. She took a tissue from her purse and began wiping away some of the eye shadow. Of course, it smeared. She worked on it all the way there. By the time they pulled into his driveway, she had succeeded in making both eyes look the same: like a sad raccoon.
“How do I look now?” she asked.
“You look beautiful,” Wes said. He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.
June examined her reflection. “Yeah, like I haven’t slept in a week.”
Paula was standing in the entryway waiting for them. Her enormous eyes locked on June like twin lasers. When she opened her mouth to speak, Wes braced himself, certain that something embarrassing was about to come out.
Paula said, “Hi.”
“You must be Paula,” June said. Wes could tell she was nervous, biting her lip, messing up her lipstick.
“You’re prettier than I thought,” Paula said.
June tipped her head. “What did you think I’d look like?”
“No offense, but my brother normally doesn’t have very good taste.”
Wes faked a slap at the top of Paula’s head; Paula ducked, laughing. June was smiling — that was good.
Their mom’s voice came from the kitchen, “Are they here?”