“The nursing home,” Buddy said.
“Assisted living. I’ve been looking into it.” He was bluffing, but he wanted Lijy and Buddy to feel sorry for him. He wanted them to do something for him. He was desperate. He didn’t want to feel the way he was feeling, but he didn’t know how to make it stop.
“You’re only fifty-five years old,” Lijy said.
“I’m lonely. I told you.”
Lijy exchanged a glance with Buddy.
“So, we have some news for you,” Buddy said.
“We’re done talking about me?”
“We can come back to you in a second,” Buddy said. “Tell him, Lijy.”
“We’re moving to Arizona.”
Chic didn’t say anything. He looked at his brother, then Lijy. “How is this helpful?”
“We’re going to join a church,” Buddy said.
“A church?”
“Not really a church, per se,” Lijy said. “More a group of like-minded people.”
“You’re joining a cult?”
“No,” Lijy said. “Not a cult.”
“I wrote a book,” Buddy interjected.
“When did you write a book?”
“It’s like a cookbook type of thing, and I also included my thoughts on some things, and I sent it to this publishing company in Rock City, Arizona. The publishing company and the people, they’re all in Rock City, Arizona.”
“They invited us out there for a visit,” Lijy added.
“We went out and stayed a week. And . . . we decided to move out there.”
“Rock City, Arizona? You’re leaving me? It’s like Mom. It’s like . . . I can’t believe you’re leaving. What about Erika?”
“She’ll come with us.”
“What the hell do either of you know about Arizona? You’re from . . . Lijy, where are you from?”
“That doesn’t matter,” Buddy interrupted.
“There are rattlesnakes in Arizona.” Chic said. “And cactuses. Have you ever seen a cactus? And not on television.”
“And here’s the thing,” Buddy said. “We want you to come with us. So, you don’t have to move into We Care. You won’t have to be lonely. You’ll be with us.”
“Why can’t we stay here? What’s wrong with Middleville?”
“Middleville has changed. It’s twice the size as when we were kids. Witzig’s is gone. They’re building new houses on the east side of town. There are a bunch of second-rate teenyboppers all over the place. You know this. You’ve seen it. It’s not the Middleville we grew up in. I hear the teenagers talking. I see them. The boys have long hair. They listen to loud music. I hear it coming from their cars. They’re having sex.”
“You should at least think about it, Chic,” Lijy said.
“Rock City, Arizona. That doesn’t even sound like a real town. It sounds made up. Are you making this up?”
“You just told us you’re lonely.”
“If I was going anywhere, I’d go to Florida.”
“Florida? Like Mom. What the hell is in Florida?”
“I can’t believe you’re leaving me. My wife just died. You’re leaving me, and my wife just died.”
“Just think about it, will you?” Lijy asked.
“I thought about it.” Chic picked up the wadded-up napkin containing the remnants of the cookie he had spit out. “By the way, if this is Arizona . . . this cookie . . . then I don’t want it.”
Mary Geneseo & Chic Waldbeeser
July 27, 1998
Mary knew Green was pissed after Carol’s welcoming party. In his room, she tried to give him a little peck on the cheek, but he pulled the bed covers over his head. So, this was it. This was what she’d gotten herself into. “Come on, Green. Don’t be like this. This is temporary. I told you. A few weeks, tops.” Behind her, Green’s roommate, whatever his name was, was snoring. In her wildest dreams, she never would have guessed she would be sitting in a nursing home trying to coax her “husband” into talking to her. Just go, the loud voice told her, let him be like this. You don’t need this. You’ve already made up your mind. Just walk out the door.
Mary went out into the hallway. It felt like was four in the morning (it was twenty minutes after nine). The place was so quiet, except for the hum of the vending machines down the hall. It was after lights out, but since it was Green’s first night, Carol had let Mary stay with him until he fell asleep. Chic’s room was two doors down the hall. She stood in the hallway listening to the soft buzz of voices from the television in the common room. She wanted to go to Florida, but she didn’t want to go, or rather she wanted to go more than she didn’t want to go, or actually, she didn’t want to go but wanted to go more than she wanted to stay. It was clear, but it wasn’t. Nothing was clear. What was clear was that she couldn’t stay, not in this town, not in Peoria. She wanted to go. That’s what she wanted to do, and the loud voice agreed. You should go, it said. But the whisper voice didn’t agree. She couldn’t dump Green at a nursing home. People do it all the time, the loud voice said. You can’t go, the whisper voice said. She couldn’t help herself. She was pulled by some magnetic force, something larger than herself. She’d leave Chic too, someday. That was out there in her future, and she was speeding toward it. She knew, deep down, this wasn’t going to work, none of this. She’d had a shot once at making something work, with Lyle, even though everyone who ever met him gave him a look that told her they thought he was an idiot. She saw the way they looked at him. But she ignored it. She loved him. She did. Or, thought she did. Or wanted to. Or, thought she should. And then . . . she opened that door. God, she felt that for a long time, the pain, like a mallet to her heart. She still felt it, actually, if she let herself think about it. Not that she wanted Lyle back. Jesus, no. She hoped he had gotten syphilis and gone mad and jumped off a bridge. But, holy shit, he had marked her, scarred her—whatever the hell you want to call it. Sometimes, at the strangest moments, she flashed back to that day, her keys jingling as she opened the apartment door, Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing” on the stereo. When the memory snuck up on her, she had to sit down and choke it back, choke it the hell back. It was so much easier to think about it getting better. That’s what she focused on. It was going to get better. It had to get better. It would get better. It was getting better. Chic had come into her life, and she was following the path his appearance had presented. She couldn’t help that Green was going to get hurt as a result. She was only a blip in his life, something for him to see in his rearview mirror, like Lyle was something for her to see in her rearview mirror. She had to do what she was going to do. It was settled. She had to. She could. You can, the loud voice said. And you will. She tried the knob on Chic’s door. It was unlocked. She peeked in. A slit of light from the parking lot squeezed through a part in the drapes. The room smelled of Vicks VapoRub. She slipped off her shoes and tiptoed across the tile floor. Chic’s bed was the farthest from the door. She set her shoes in front of his nightstand and slid in behind him.
Chic was on his side, his back to the door. She nuzzled into him. “Hello, hello,” she whispered.
He was spooned around the green duffel bag. He opened his eyes. “What are you doing here?”
“Shhhhh.” She slid her hand down the front of his pajama bottoms.
“My roommate is in the next bed.”
“Close your eyes.”
“I don’t want to close my eyes.”
“This is Florida. Right now. We’re in Florida.” She blew her hot breath on the back of his neck. “Close your eyes and think about the beach, white sand, palm trees, blue sky.”
He rolled over to face her. “Look, this is important to me. What are we doing? Please. Tell me.”
She stared at him.
“Why’d you move your husband here?”
“I can’t just leave him.”
“So, you’re choosing me?”
“What if, I was thinking, what if we went west—to Arizona?Your brother is in Arizona.”
<
br /> “Why does everyone want to go to Arizona?”
“Or Nevada? Or Utah? I’d even go to California.”
“I want to go to Florida. That’s the whole point.”
She propped herself up on her elbow, and whisper sang: “Some will win, some will lose. Some were born to sing the blues. It goes on and on and on and on.”
“What is that?”
“It’s a song. By this band, Journey.”
“Never heard of them.”
Morris sat up in his bed. “Are you guys almost done yakking? I’m trying to sleep.”
“Sorry Morris,” Chic said.
“And don’t think I don’t know that you’re the new guy’s wife.”
“I’m not the new guy’s wife,” Mary said.
“Very funny. I saw you come in. Now, please, shut the hell up so I can get some sleep.”
Lijy & Chic
January 9, 1986
For the first time in over twenty-five years, Lijy told Buddy a lie. After dinner, he and Erika were watching television, and Lijy poked her head into the living room and said she had to run out to Stafford’s to pick up some bananas. Outside, it had begun to snow lightly, little salt shakings falling to the ground. She knew she had about thirty minutes before Buddy would start pacing and looking out the window. A few days after Christmas, Russ had told her what Chic had said at Diane’s funeral. He was curious. Was Chic really his father? He didn’t seem anything like him, and why would Chic say he wasn’t his father and then backtrack and try to smooth it over? Come to think of it, Russ had said, Chic hadn’t ever come out and said that he was his father. The way Russ had looked at her that afternoon, like he wanted some answers, his eyes searching her eyes, trying to determine if she was lying to him, she had wanted to melt into a puddle and get the hell out of the conversation. She dodged the bullet by repeating over and over that Chic was his father and telling Russ that he was reading too much into what Chic had said, that he was probably just upset about his wife dying and not thinking straight. That seemed to do the trick. But she was worried. Could she trust Chic? She thought she could, but now . . . Jesus . . . she didn’t know, and in a couple of months, she and Buddy were off to Arizona. As soon as they left, was Chic going to spill the goddamn beans? They’d been spending a whole lot of time together. Russ was always going over to his house. It was not his secret to tell—that’s what really irked her. It was her mistake, and she was going to tell Russ. She had it all worked out in her head. She’d take him to dinner at some nice restaurant. Maybe she’d make him dinner. Or maybe they’d go for a drive. Anyway, she’d tell him—she hadn’t decided on the time or venue and really those details didn’t matter—and when she told him, she’d reach out and grab his forearm. This was how she imagined it. It would be spontaneous. She’d grab his forearm, and squeeze it, squeeze it so hard that Russ would look down at her hand and then up to her eyes, then down to her hand again. She’d probably be hurting him she’d be squeezing so hard. When he looked up to her face again, she’d come out with it. She’d start, of course, by telling him she was sorry. “Russ, I’m so sorry . . . ” But anyway, it was her truth to tell, and she wasn’t going to let Chic Waldbeeser beat her to it. So she’d spent the better half of the afternoon locked in the bathroom writing Chic a letter, another letter, and the letter was tucked safely in her purse, and her plan was to put it in Chic’s mailbox. However, there was a problem. Instead of a mailbox, Chic had a front door mail slot. She noticed this as soon as she got on his porch. She also noticed that the living room lamp was on, and she could hear the television, some sitcom with a laugh track. But she couldn’t back out now. She had to get this letter to him, so she rummaged through her purse and got the letter out and ever so quietly, she began to slip the letter into the mail slot. She was careful not to go too quickly. She didn’t want the metal flap to squeak. She kept sliding the letter slowly, slowly. She was breathing heavily, her heart thub-a-dub-dubbing in her chest. She worked the letter about halfway into the mail slot and stopped. That was good enough. He’d find it there. She stood up and quietly turned around, but before she could get down the first stair, the door burst open.
“Lijy?”
She looked at the mail slot. Chic looked there, too, and saw the letter hanging half in and half out of the slot. He snatched it. It was a white envelope with his name scratched across the front.
“It’s not what you think. No lie this time. It’s not like that.”
“I don’t care what it is. I’m not reading it. I refuse to read it. I won’t let myself read it.” He ripped it in half.
“Chic. No. Please.”
He ripped it in half again. And again. And again. He ripped it until there was nothing left but tiny pieces. He threw the pieces at her, into the wind, which whisked them off the porch and into the winter night.“We both know what happened the last time you wrote me a letter.”
“I talked to Russ. He told me. You made him suspicious.”
“Do you know he has these ideas about trees in your head not matching the ones in the real world, or something like that? I don’t know. It’s not fair that he doesn’t know the truth. I mean . . . he should know the truth.”
“I’m going to tell him. When the time is right.”
“He’s married. He’s twenty-five years old.”
“The time isn’t right.”
“Suit yourself. Don’t tell him. Do what you want. Is that all? Is that what your letter said? Don’t tell him the truth. I can do that. I’ve done that for twenty-five years.”
“Don’t be like this, Chic.”
“Be like what?”
“Like this.”
“Like what?”
“Cruel.”
“You dragged me into this. You concocted some elaborate secret that no one knows about but me, you, and my dead wife and son. And now you’re moving to Arizona with my brother and leaving me here in Middleville.”
“What’s moving to Arizona have to do with anything?”
“Look, I get it. I’m not going to say anything.”
“He likes you. And you two are starting to get close. I just want to make sure that you don’t accidentally say something.”
“I’m not going to tell him, but you know, if you wouldn’t have gone off and did what you did, which was, I should point out, a very . . . ”
“I know. You don’t have to remind me. I know. Trust me. I know. And I’ll tell him. I’ve been planning to tell him. And I will. I’ll tell him. Just let me do it in my own time.”
“I didn’t want to be part of this in the first place.”
“Actually, I think you did.”
“I did not.”
“Then why did you do it?”
“Why are we talking about this? Why does it matter? This happened so long ago, so long ago.”
“You brought it up.”
“I did not bring this up. You were on my porch. You came over here to give me a letter. I’ve made my peace with this, Lijy.”
“You aren’t over it. You’re clearly not over it.”
“I am too.”
“I don’t think you are.”
“Let’s drop it. This isn’t going anywhere.”
“I agree, but you should admit that you aren’t over it.”
“You should tell Russ, and you should tell him soon. That’s what should happen. And while you’re at it, you should tell my brother too.”
“This bothers you, doesn’t it, Chic? It really bothers you that I had an affair.”
“I’m just looking out for my brother. That’s who I feel sorry for here.”
“Well, you’re an awfully good brother.”
“Thank you. Finally. Thank you. I’ve been waiting a long time for someone to tell me that.”
“I’m going to tell him, Chic.”
“No you won’t.”
“I will. I’m going to.”
“For some reason, I don’t believe you.”
“I’m going to tell him th
e truth.”
“No one tells the truth, Lijy. No one.”
Chic & Buddy & Lijy & Russ & Ginger & Erika Waldbeeser
May 25, 1986
On the day that Buddy, Lijy, and Erika were leaving for Arizona, Russ and Ginger held their marriage celebration on the banks of the pond on their new farm. It was supposed to be just a quick afternoon picnic, but Buddy insisted on doing something more formal. After a minor argument beside the already packed station wagon, Russ agreed to let Buddy conduct a “ceremony.” Russ set up some lawn chairs while Buddy picked a handful of black-eyed Susans for Ginger’s bouquet. When he was done, Buddy ushered Russ up front and made Ginger stand behind the lawn chairs. Buddy then pushed play on a boom box, and Canon in D blared through the speakers. Ginger, wearing a tank top and shorts, slowly walked down the “aisle.” When she reached Russ, who was wearing a mesh baseball cap, t-shirt, shorts, and sandals, she took his hand. Buddy then asked the two of them to turn and “face the congregation,” which consisted of Chic, Lijy, Erika and a few cows about fifty yards away behind a barbed-wire fence.
Buddy first read a passage from his book. Chic tried to follow along, but Buddy mumbled the words. After a few minutes, he closed the book and went free form. He told Russ and Ginger that the greatest difficulty in life was finding something or someone to connect with. He hoped they’d found that connection in each other. He said he’d found connection with Lijy. He’d also found connection with what he called “spiritualism.” At one time, he thought he had found a connection with coin collecting, but that had been an artificial connection, and artificial connections offered only the illusion of connection. He told Russ and Ginger to look out for artificial connections. “I’m connected to all of you,” Buddy said in closing. “Me, Russ, Lijy, and Ginger, even Chic, all of us are connected to each other. We’re family.” He stood there and shuffled like he had more to say. “Do you mind if I’m honest?” He turned to Russ.
Russ shrugged. “Sure. Be honest.”
“Ginger, it’s your wedding day, and I don’t want to ruin our connection.”
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