“No.”
“She said the reason our family’s had so many problems is because we didn’t pray hard enough.”
“Well, isn’t that special.”
“It’s a sick little town,” Patty agreed.
“Hey”—Kathryn poked her head out the door—“anybody want a beer?”
They did, though until that moment they hadn’t realized. For the rest of the morning his mother and sisters kept asking him what he wanted to do. See a movie? Drive around? Go out to eat? But this was enough, just chilling on a warm Indian-summer day, a sweet abeyance in the golden tone of the light and nothing to do but sit in lawn chairs or sprawl on blankets and let the morning lazily take its course. Two years ago Billy couldn’t have done this, the very notion of family time would have sent him running down the street tearing off his clothes. I am a changed man, Billy solemnly told himself. The person you see before you is not the person you were. Maybe it’s age, he thought, leaning back on his blanket, watching the sun do its stately pinwheel through the trees. Or maybe not so much a function of calendar days as the way Iraq aged you in dog years, and how with that kind of time under your belt you could bide here in the company of your mother and sisters and somewhat hyper little nephew and be, if not exactly calm, then still. Taking it slow and letting it be what it would be. Perhaps this was what came of being a soldier in Iraq, and the farther perspective war brought to things.
He had a beer now and then, nothing major. Ray stayed inside with the TV and that was fine with everybody, though whenever he wanted something, which was often, he’d wheel to the storm door and thump the glass until Denise or Patty or Kathryn rose to serve his needs. Worse than an infant, Kathryn observed, and when Patty pointed out no diapers were involved, Kathryn said, Don’t give him any ideas. A few of the neighbors got word of Billy’s visit and dropped by with cakes and casseroles, as if there’d been a death in the family. Mr. and Mrs. Wiggins from church. Opal George from across the street. The Kruegers. We are so proud. We always knew. So brave, so blessed, so honored. Edwin! I yelled, come quick! Billy Lynn’s on TV and he’s taking out a whole mess of al-Qaedas! Nice people but they did go on, and so fierce about the war! They were transformed at such moments, talking about war — their eyes bugged out, their necks bulged, their voices grew husky with bloodlust. Billy wondered about them then, the piratical appetites in these good Christian folk, or maybe this was just their way of being polite, of showing how much they appreciated him. So he smiled his modest hero’s smile and waited for them to leave so he and his sisters could go back to drinking beer. After her third of the morning — she was keeping pace with Billy — Kathryn pranced out of the house with his Purple Heart pinned over her left breast and the Silver Star pinned over her right, the medals flopping around like stripper’s tassels. Billy and Patty howled, but their mother was not amused. “What? Oh, these?” Kathryn answered in a ditzy coo when Denise asked just what she thought she was doing. “Why, Mother, I’m merely displaying the family jewels.” Denise pronounced the whole thing indecent and ordered Kathryn to return the medals to Billy’s room, but she was still sporting the hardware when Mr. Whaley stopped by, and it was worth virtually any amount of money to see this eminence’s eyes bug out at the sight of Kathryn, not just the medals riding high on her proud perky breasts but the whole tanned, taut, leggy length of her.
Eh-hem. Ah ha. Ha ha. He was Denise’s boss so there was some awkwardness about imbibing in the A.M., but Whalers was a sport and pretended not to notice. Balding, liver-spotted, about forty pounds overweight, with a wardrobe that ran to checked blazers and stay-pressed slacks, he was what passed for money in Stovall, the founder of the moderately prosperous oilfield-services company where Denise had worked as office manager for fifteen years. “Miz Lynn’s the real boss around here,” he liked to tell visitors, laughing affectionately in her direction. “I just try to stay out of the way and let her run the place.” They served him a Diet Coke and moved the chairs into the shade just off the patio. Denise and Patty sat on either side of their guest, while Billy took a perch on the patio wall. Kathryn lolled like a lioness on a nearby beach towel. Brian was somewhere in the house, ostensibly in the care of his chain-smoking grandfather.
“Your mother tells me you’re home just for today,” said Mr. Whaley.
“That’s correct, sir.” It was a challenge, maintaining eye contact while spuming your beer-breath off to the side.
“No rest for the weary, eh.” Mr. Whaley chuckled. “Where’ve they sent you so far?”
Billy rattled off the cities. Washington, Richmond, Philadelphia, Cleveland, Minneapolis — St. Paul, Columbus, Denver, Kansas City, Raleigh-Durham, Phoenix, Pittsburgh, Tampa Bay, Miami, and practically every one, as Sergeant Dime pointed out, happened to lie in an electoral swing state. Though Billy didn’t say this.
Mr. Whaley took a dainty sip of Coke. “What’s your reception been like?”
“People’ve been really nice everywhere we go.”
“I’m not surprised. Listen, the vast majority of Americans strongly support this war.” Whenever Whaley’s gaze happened to land on Kathryn, he practically fainted with the effort of tearing his eyes away. “Nobody wants to go to war, goodness sakes, but people know sometimes it’s necessary. This terror thing, I think the only way to deal with that type of agenda is to go straight to the source and rip it out by the roots. Because that crowd’s not going away by themselves, am I right?”
“They’re extremely committed, a lot of them,” Billy replied. “They don’t back down.”
“There you go. Either we fight them over there or we fight them over here, that’s the way most Americans see it.”
Denise and Patty nodded with bovine agreeableness. Kathryn, meanwhile, had sat up straight and pulled her knees to her chest; she was following the conversation with real attention, looking from Billy to Mr. Whaley as if their talk contained a code she was trying to break. Heroes, Whaley said. Iraq. Freedoms. Gaining freedoms to make our own freedoms more secure. Then he asked about the movie deal, sagely nodding as Billy explained their progress to date.
“You’ll want a lawyer to take a look before you sign anything.”
“Yes sir.”
“I can fix you up with my firm in Fort Worth, if you like.”
“That would be great. I’d sure appreciate that, sir.”
“Son, it’s the least I can do. You’ve made us all proud, not just your family and friends but all of us here, the entire community. You’ve given this whole town a tremendous boost.”
Billy summoned his most modest chuckle. “I don’t know about that, sir.”
“Listen, everybody’s so damn proud of you, pardon my French, if word got out you were home today there’d be cars lined up from here to the airstrip. Oh yes!” he cried in a playfully ferocious voice. “Now, we didn’t know soon enough to get it together this time, but next time you’re home we want to have a parade in your honor. I already spoke with Mayor Bond and he’s on board, he talked with the city council and they’re on board. We want Stovall to honor you in the way you deserve.”
“Thank you, sir. I do appreciate that.”
“No, son, thank you. What you’ve done just says so much about who we are—”
“He has to go back,” Kathryn broke in.