"Well," sighed Dave, "I've got to admit, I wasn't crazy about it...but that's the way it goes. When you come to one of these guys' parties, you have to be ready for anything. Just be grateful they didn't throw you in, too."
"I am," she said emphatically.
"Y'know, you do look cute when you're wet, though," teased Dave.
"Don't even think about it," she warned, her eyes widening. "If you try to pitch me in that pool, I'll never speak to you again!"
"Aw, I wouldn't do that," he drawled. "You look even cuter when you're not wet."
"Well, that's good." Darlene smiled coyly, meeting his gaze. "You don't look so bad yourself."
"Thanks," grinned Dave, watching her for a moment. She really was cute, and he enjoyed just looking at her like that sometimes. She was petite, but not too thin, and stood about five feet tall; delicate and birdlike, she moved with the quick, alert flickers of a sparrow. Her black hair was cut short, brushed up on the back and sides and swirled loosely into a slight tuft on top like a feathery crest. Dave especially loved her eyes, those wide, brown eyes which he found to be her most arresting feature; lively and glittering, full of intelligence and emotion, they stood out brilliantly on her small, oval face.
He'd been dating her for about three months now, and was more enamored with her than ever. She was funny and smart and thoughtful, concerned with his well-being, eager to spend time with him. Though she was a bit shy, and had taken a while to open up to him at first, she was now very close to him, and they shared an undeniably strong attraction. They both attended the same college, and liked to do the same things, and he'd found himself thinking of her more and more often as the weeks passed.
He'd met her through a friend of hers whom Billy had dated for a brief time, and he was grateful that she'd crossed his path. Full of worry about school and the future, he was happy to have one stable, pleasant element amid the shifting puzzle pieces of his life. If not for her, he might have been totally consumed by his fretful tendencies, launched into a constant and feverish state of distress.
Darlene was the right girl at the right time, and he thought that he might even be in love with her. He hadn't told her that yet, though he figured that she already knew.
Reaching over, he took her hand and held it tightly, entwining his fingers with hers. She smiled and blushed, then placed her free hand atop the clasp.
At that moment, Ernie entered the kitchen, breaking the electric, silent concert which had blossomed at the table. "Hey, you kids," he said laughingly, a huge mug of beer in his paw. "I can't leave you two alone for a minute, can I?"
"Sure you can," said Dave. "We won't mind."
"Uh-uh-uh," chided the tall, stocky guy, flicking one finger back and forth in the air. "No can do, David. I'm the chaperone here, so I feel it's my duty to keep an eye out for monkey business."
"You want monkey business, then you oughtta' go follow Billy around for a while. He's the one you should be watching, not me."
"Oh, I'm watching Billy, all right," Ernie said in his deep, breathy voice. "You're not as innocent as you make out to be, though."
"What?" Dave said with mock surprise. "Me? I'm pure as the new-driven snow, Ernie!"
"New-driven mud is more like it," chortled Ernie.
"Boy," said Dave, wagging his head, feigning despair. "I'm really hurt that you think that of me, Ernie. I thought you were my friend."
"You did?" laughed Ernie. "Well whatever gave you that idea?"
"Can you believe this guy?" Dave asked Darlene, hitching a thumb at Ernie. "All this time, I thought he liked me."
"Well, I like you," she smiled, patting his hand.
"I'm glad somebody appreciates me," grinned Dave.
"She just doesn't know you like I do," quipped Ernie, adjusting his silver-framed glasses by shifting one lens with a thumb and index finger.
"Oh, I think I know him pretty well," Darlene said confidently.
"Wait till he gets a few beers in him," warned Ernie. "He's like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Once he drinks the magic potion, he turns into a monster."
"I think you're confusing me with yourself," laughed Dave.
"Just watch this guy tonight, Darlene. Don't let him have more than one beer, okay? He can't hold his alcohol."
"I'm sure he'll be fine," smiled Darlene, squeezing Dave's hand. "He can drink as much as he wants since he isn't doing any driving."
"So you're the chauffeur tonight, huh?" Ernie said wryly. "Well, be prepared: he's a lousy tipper."
"Hey, I'm a student!" laughed Dave. "I don't have to tip! I'm always broke!"
"How did you get mixed up with this guy, Darlene?" asked Ernie, grimacing with mock confusion. "He's such a tightwad!"
"Oh, I just found him wandering around," she said lightly. "He was a stray, and he was just so cute that I had to pick him up."
"That's right," piped Dave. "As long as she gives me a slipper and a bowl of dog chow every day, I'm happy."
"You better keep him on a short leash," kidded Ernie. "And whatever you do, if he starts to lift his leg, get the heck out of the way!"
For a moment, they all laughed, adding their own voices to the cacophony coursing from the basement below. Ernie seemed particularly pleased, proud of the reaction which his joke had spurred. Typically a very serious and studious person, he loved to entertain at his parties, reveled in the role of host and comedian. At parties, Ernie Dumbrowski transformed, underwent a startling change, a genuine metamorphosis. Usually, he exhibited a commanding, grim demeanor, a no-nonsense attitude; he often seemed solemn and intense, even cold and uncommunicative. At parties, though, he lit up, grinning and goofing and raising hell with the gang, releasing all the pressure from within himself like steam from a whistle. His straight black hair, usually parted severely to one side, was allowed to drift askew, drop strands across his forehead, shoot cowlicks from the peak. He visibly slouched, let his thick frame relax from its standard, rigid posture. His voice boomed, leaped from its everyday hush to an outstanding, royal roar. At parties, Ernie became a fresh and vigorous presence, retaining his good nature and brilliance but discarding his tense restraint.
Ernie and Billy Bristol were Dave's best friends, and had been for years. First coming together at the Wild West Steakhouse, they had formed a close-knit alliance, a magnetized trio. The only things that they really had in common were their jobs and school: they all worked at the steakhouse and attended Orchard College. Otherwise, they were all very different: Dave was the worrywart, paranoid and skittish and self-conscious; Ernie was the ambitious overachiever, dreaming of medical school; and Billy was the wild card, hyper and carefree, living for pleasure and mischief and spectacles. As individuals, they tended to indulge their separate natures to excess, to self-destructive levels; as a group, they balanced each other, kept each other from going too far. Billy helped Dave and Ernie to relax and have fun; Dave and Ernie kept Billy in check, prevented his wilder impulses from causing real damage. The three of them complemented and sustained each other, and they knew it, even if they never spoke of it.
Of course, graduation was coming up, and what would happen after that was anybody's guess.
"Can I get you a drink, Darlene?" Ernie asked courteously. "I can fix you whatever you want-rum and coke, screwdrivers, seven and sevens, whatever."
"How about a rum and coke without the rum?" she responded.
"Are you sure?" wondered Ernie. "I can fix you a weak rum and coke, if you want. One drink won't hurt you."
"I'd better not, thanks. Just a coke would be fine."
"All right," shrugged Ernie, opening the refrigerator. "One soda, coming up. If you decide you want anything else, just help yourself."
"Thanks, I will," nodded Darlene, accepting a cold, red can from the host.
"Well," sighed Ernie as the refrigerator door fell shut. "I'd better get downstairs and see what's going on. I don't like to leave Billy and those boneheads alone in my house for too long. They've probably demolished most
of the basement by now."
"I was wondering what those explosions were a couple minutes ago," smirked Dave. "I thought I heard a jackhammer down there, too."
"I wouldn't be surprised," smiled Ernie, turning to head down the hall. "So are you two going to join us, or are you going to sit in the kitchen all night?"
"I don't know," said Dave, looking expectantly at Darlene. "What do you want to do?"
"What do you want to do?" she replied.
"Whatever you want to do."
"Well, I want to do what you want to do," she smiled.
"I want to do what you want to do," persisted Dave.
"What do you want to do?" asked Darlene, looking as if she might burst into laughter at any moment.
"Whatever you want to do!" sputtered Dave. "You want to go mingle, or you want to stay here in the kitchen all night?"
"It's up to you," she giggled, her pretty brown eyes sparkling with amusement.
"I'll settle this!" interrupted Ernie. "You're both coming downstairs, and that's that!"
"Hey, Ernie," yapped Dave. "What's the big idea? Can't you see we're trying to make up our minds here?"
"That could take the rest of the decade!" tossed the host. "Someone's got to make the decisions around here."
"Hey, Darlene," said Dave with a wink. "You think we should listen to Ernie?"
"If you think we should," she chimed.
"What do you think?"
"That's it!" laughed Ernie, stomping out of the kitchen. "I can't take any more of this!"
"Wait!" called Dave. "We're just getting started!"
"That's what I'm afraid of!" Ernie answered from the hallway.
"Gee," shrugged Dave. "I wonder why he left?"
"I don't know," laughed Darlene.
"Do you think it was something we said?"
"Well," she said between giggles, "what do you think?"
"I think it's time for a beer," he said, rising from his chair, gently pulling Darlene along with him.
Laughing, hand in hand, they followed Ernie down the hall, pausing once for a long, loving kiss in the shadows.
*****
Chapter 5
The hitchhiker's trip to Confluence was a roller coaster ride. The drunk at the wheel drove like a maniac, whipping the station wagon from side to side, never staying in one lane for more than a few seconds.
Despite the dangerous ride, the hitchhiker was never worried. Keeping his eyes on the golden line, he knew that he would make it to Confluence. He'd come so far, and endured so much, and he had a strong feeling that the worst was over.
And sure enough, he reached Confluence in one piece.
After escaping the drunk, the hitchhiker walked for a while through the darkened streets. The sight of familiar landmarks made him feel comfortable and confident, ready to handle anything because he was back in his hometown, his place of power. Most of all, he was excited by the knowledge that he was close, close to her, to the beginning of his mission.
Before long, he reached his destination.
Standing there on the sidewalk, beneath the entwined branches of two huge oak trees, he paused. The red brick house waited before him, a small, squat box with just a few feet of front yard separating it from the sidewalk.
He drew a breath and nodded. This was the place, all right.
In the front windows of the brick house, he could see the gray glow of a television. Someone was home. Someone was awake.
It had to be her.
There was only one car in the driveway, and it was her old, green Gremlin, the one with tacky bumper stickers all over the rear panels and chrome. There was no sign of her mother's car, and that was as it should be; her mother had always worked late, since she was a waitress at a downtown bar. Her father, of course, was dead, killed many years ago in a steel mill accident...or was it just a few years ago?
For a moment, he stood on the sidewalk and smiled, eyes focused on the beautiful glow of the living room windows. It was overwhelming, after all that he'd been through, after all the agony and struggle, to be standing on the brink of fulfillment.
After all the despair, a miracle was about to happen. He was the one who would make this great miracle come to pass.
He was the Miraclemaker.
Heart leaping in his chest, eyes gleaming, he started across the yard. He smoothed his hair and clothing, trying to make himself look more presentable.
When he reached the front door, he knocked on the windowless panel, the final barrier between him and the start of his holy crusade. Taking a step back, he saw a shadowy form gliding behind the translucent curtains.
He heard footsteps approaching from inside the house, then the first rattle of the doorknob. Mesmerized, he watched the door open inward, releasing a spray of light from the house.
Then, he saw her.
She peered out through the gap with a puzzled expression, and for a second, he was stupefied. She had long, amber hair, hazel eyes, a round face-the same features that he remembered, that he'd known for years. The wide mouth, the pale skin, the chubbiness were all the same...even the rumpled gray sweatshirt and sweatpants that she'd always favored...and yet, she looked so different. She seemed plainer, slacker, less defined, amorphous as dough before it is baked into a solid, distinct form. He'd expected this, naturally, given the circumstances of his last encounter with her, but it still surprised him. It was her...and yet, it wasn't her, not quite the same person.
"Hello?" she said, frowning, holding the edge of the door loosely in her hands.
"Hi," said the Miraclemaker. "I'm Gary Milton. My God...are you Debby?"
"Yes," she said, staring at his face. "Do I know you from somewhere?"
"Sure you do," he grinned, feeling strangely startled because she didn't recognize him. "Gary Milton, remember? I worked with your dad."
For a moment, she frowned and tipped her head to one side, still searching his face. "Wait a minute," she said at last, pointing a finger at him. "Gary Milton. I remember my dad used to talk about you all the time."
"What did he say?" said the Miraclemaker. "I hope it was all good."
"Well," she said, "the main thing I remember is him telling me how you two picked on some guy named Charley."
"Charley Grapowski!" The Miraclemaker clapped his hands victoriously. "That's right! Charley always came to work drunk, and we'd get him to do stupid things, and then he'd get in trouble! Boy, he was something else."
"My dad used to love telling me stories about you and Charley," she said.
"Yeah." The Miraclemaker nodded good-naturedly, shuffling his feet on the black rubber welcome mat. "We sure got a kick out of ol' Charley."
"Dad always said watching Charley was more fun than watching TV." She laughed, opening the door further, leaning more fully over the threshold.
"Wow," said the Miraclemaker. "Just look at you. My God, you've changed. The last time I saw you was years ago."
"Really? I must've been pretty young, because I don't remember ever meeting you."
"How old are you now?" he said. "Nineteen? Twenty?"
"Not quite." She giggled. "I'm only seventeen."
"Seventeen." He shook his head. "Wow. That's hard to believe."
"Time flies, I guess," she said, resting her shoulder against the frame of the door.
"Boy, does it ever," said the Miraclemaker. "So, is your dad home? I thought I'd drop by and see him, since I'm in town for the first time in a while."
"Uh, my dad passed away," she said, her voice suddenly softer.
"What?" he said, doing his best to sound stunned. "No! Oh God, you can't be serious."
"It's true." She nodded. "There was a big explosion down at the mill, and he was right in the middle of it."
"Oh my God," he gasped, eyes wide and jaw dropping with false shock. "Not Jack! When did this happen?"
"Three years ago," she said quietly, brushing a lock of amber hair behind one ear. "Three years ago, almost to the day."
"Dear Lor
d," he whispered dramatically, grimacing as if he were in agony. "I didn't even hear about it. I've been in L.A. all this time, and I didn't even know."
"I'm sorry you didn't find out until now," she said sympathetically. "I guess maybe my mom didn't know how to get ahold of you out in California."
Slowly lifting his hands to his temples, he closed his eyes tightly and bowed his head. "If only I'd known. I...God, I wish I could've at least been at his funeral."
"Uh, look," she said, her voice filled with concern. "Why don't you come in and have a cup of coffee or something?"
"I'd better not," he sniffed, rubbing his eyes. "I don't want to put you to any trouble."
"Oh, it wouldn't be any trouble," she insisted. "You look like you need to sit down for a couple minutes."
"Maybe...maybe I'd better," the visitor groaned shakily, looking lost and distraught.
"Come on in," she invited, opening the door wide. "I'll go put a pot of coffee on."
"Thank you," he mumbled brokenly. "I just...I wish I'd seen him one more time before...before he died."
"So do I," she smiled tenderly, closing the door.
And just like that, he was inside.
No muss, no fuss; he was inside. The lies had worked, just as he'd known they would. He'd known that she worshipped the memory of her dead father, and that posing as a friend of his would gain him swift admission to the house. Using information that she herself had unwittingly given him, he'd won her confidence, made her trust him enough to bring him inside. She still hadn't guessed his real identity, and probably never would. Everything was now laid out before him in perfect order, like a marvelous buffet.
All that he had to do was start eating.
"Do you take cream and sugar?" she asked, turning her back to him, walking toward the kitchen.
The visitor didn't reply.
Instead, he pulled the latex gloves out of his back pocket and snapped them on one at a time.
*****
Chapter 6
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