want to drink. I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“Don’t you think it’s a pretty funny way not to hurt me? Sniffing PAM?”
“I guess. I don’t know.”
That was how he worked it out in his mind: he bruised and bit me when he was drunk, so if he didn’t get drunk again, he knew he couldn’t do the same thing. Smoking dope didn’t fall into the same category, and neither did huffing.
I had to hand it to him. That was the idea he stuck to: he was not going to hurt me again as a result of alcohol. But because he could not or would not stop getting drunk, by the next weekend he had to add a new element to his plan: if he did decide to drink, he had to stay away from me completely. So he didn’t come home Friday after work, and I didn’t get a call from him. Nothing. He just disappeared. All that night I kept waiting to hear him come up the stairs and say, “Vangie,” but he didn’t. Part of me was scared he would never come back, and part of me was mad that he would.
On Saturday when I heard him come in, I was lying in our bed, listening to a cardinal call, over and over. I was lying on my side in the bed, facing the doorway, and I didn’t move when Del came to the doorway of the room. I let him look at me a long time, and I let myself look at him a long time.
He said, “You look surprised to see me.”
I didn’t say anything.
“Don’t ever think I’m not coming back, Vangie.”
“No?”
“No. Don’t ever think that.”
“I can’t promise what I’ll think,” I said.
“Well, don’t think I’m not coming back.”
“All I think is I don’t know you anymore,” I said. “That’s all.” I turned away from him then.
He could still see my back, though, and he could read that just like he could read any other part of me, so in a little while he said, “You know me, Vangie. No one knows me better than you.”
I did not say anything but went on listening to the cardinal’s call.
“Can I come lay with you?”
When I didn’t answer, he said, “Vangie, please. Can I come lay down with you?”
“I don’t care,” I told him. “It’s your bed, too.”
When he got into bed with me, I did not turn to kiss him and I did not move my hand over his hand when he put his arm over my belly. I lay there, and I let him lie at my back. That was all. In the end, though, it was the same as taking him back into my heart. A short trip through muscle and bone.
15
W HEN Del started staying away one or two nights a week, I had lots of time alone. Because I did not want to think about Del, I made myself think about other things and other people. Sometimes I thought of my mom, who had sent me a picture of her and her ex-Mormon. Even though my mom was smiling in the picture and wearing a turquoise ring on almost every finger, the picture worried me. I thought the ex-Mormon looked skinny and mean, and it made me sad to think of my mom being with him. It didn’t make me feel much better to think of June, but those nights when Del was gone, I mostlyended up thinking of her out there in that house with Luke and Ray.
I thought I understood some of June’s motivation. She wanted to be loved, and she wanted to be the center of attention. But I wondered what it meant to her to sleep with two brothers. What did it serve in her? Maybe she wanted cock from one brother who was full and thick in her arms and one who was thin enough to have the face of a hawk. Or maybe she really could talk to Luke. Maybe a hundred things. I knew enough about June to understand that the key for her was brothers, but there had to be something she needed from each and something she got from each. As for Luke—well, I knew from Del how two brothers could grow up together and keep hate in a trundle bed between them, pulling it out when it was needed, when there was no one else to hate.
It all made me think of the stories I heard about Kevin Keel. Everyone knew the who-what-where-when of Kevin Keel, but they never knew the why. Why
“Don’t you think it’s a pretty funny way not to hurt me? Sniffing PAM?”
“I guess. I don’t know.”
That was how he worked it out in his mind: he bruised and bit me when he was drunk, so if he didn’t get drunk again, he knew he couldn’t do the same thing. Smoking dope didn’t fall into the same category, and neither did huffing.
I had to hand it to him. That was the idea he stuck to: he was not going to hurt me again as a result of alcohol. But because he could not or would not stop getting drunk, by the next weekend he had to add a new element to his plan: if he did decide to drink, he had to stay away from me completely. So he didn’t come home Friday after work, and I didn’t get a call from him. Nothing. He just disappeared. All that night I kept waiting to hear him come up the stairs and say, “Vangie,” but he didn’t. Part of me was scared he would never come back, and part of me was mad that he would.
On Saturday when I heard him come in, I was lying in our bed, listening to a cardinal call, over and over. I was lying on my side in the bed, facing the doorway, and I didn’t move when Del came to the doorway of the room. I let him look at me a long time, and I let myself look at him a long time.
He said, “You look surprised to see me.”
I didn’t say anything.
“Don’t ever think I’m not coming back, Vangie.”
“No?”
“No. Don’t ever think that.”
“I can’t promise what I’ll think,” I said.
“Well, don’t think I’m not coming back.”
“All I think is I don’t know you anymore,” I said. “That’s all.” I turned away from him then.
He could still see my back, though, and he could read that just like he could read any other part of me, so in a little while he said, “You know me, Vangie. No one knows me better than you.”
I did not say anything but went on listening to the cardinal’s call.
“Can I come lay with you?”
When I didn’t answer, he said, “Vangie, please. Can I come lay down with you?”
“I don’t care,” I told him. “It’s your bed, too.”
When he got into bed with me, I did not turn to kiss him and I did not move my hand over his hand when he put his arm over my belly. I lay there, and I let him lie at my back. That was all. In the end, though, it was the same as taking him back into my heart. A short trip through muscle and bone.
15
W HEN Del started staying away one or two nights a week, I had lots of time alone. Because I did not want to think about Del, I made myself think about other things and other people. Sometimes I thought of my mom, who had sent me a picture of her and her ex-Mormon. Even though my mom was smiling in the picture and wearing a turquoise ring on almost every finger, the picture worried me. I thought the ex-Mormon looked skinny and mean, and it made me sad to think of my mom being with him. It didn’t make me feel much better to think of June, but those nights when Del was gone, I mostlyended up thinking of her out there in that house with Luke and Ray.
I thought I understood some of June’s motivation. She wanted to be loved, and she wanted to be the center of attention. But I wondered what it meant to her to sleep with two brothers. What did it serve in her? Maybe she wanted cock from one brother who was full and thick in her arms and one who was thin enough to have the face of a hawk. Or maybe she really could talk to Luke. Maybe a hundred things. I knew enough about June to understand that the key for her was brothers, but there had to be something she needed from each and something she got from each. As for Luke—well, I knew from Del how two brothers could grow up together and keep hate in a trundle bed between them, pulling it out when it was needed, when there was no one else to hate.
It all made me think of the stories I heard about Kevin Keel. Everyone knew the who-what-where-when of Kevin Keel, but they never knew the why. Why
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