“What’s going on in here?” I said.
Neither of them said anything for a second. Something in the car seemed to have changed. The stuff falling from the sky had changed, too. It was definitely snowing now, hard. The windshield wipers were on, but they couldn’t keep up. I could barely see the sky because of the snow, but from what little I could see of it, it looked black, like it was night, although it was still morning.
“What time is it anyway?” I said.
“It’s time for me to go home,” Yardley said. He put out his hand and Exley shook it, and they smiled at each other like friends, the way Harold and J. had smiled at me before I’d made them hate me. “It’s so good to finally meet you,” he said to Exley, “after all these years.” Exley nodded likewise, and then he squinted back at me through the smoke. It’s you, I told him with my eyes. Even Yardley believes it’s you. You really are Exley. It was still snowing, but the sun had broken through the darkness and was pouring through the car windows and mingling with the smoke. It made Exley look holy, like someone who really might save us.
“I think my dad would really like to meet you,” I said. My lips were dry. Mother always said that licking your dry lips only made them drier. But I always licked them anyway. “It would make him feel so much better. I think we’re finally all ready now.”
Exley didn’t say anything at first. He took a final drag off his cigarette, rolled down the window, and with his thumb and pointer finger flipped the cigarette into the snow, where it went hiss.
“‘There are certain appeals that quite startle and benumb the heart,’” Exley said. He sounded sad. I thought I knew why. Because if Exley helped my dad get better, then I wouldn’t need Exley anymore. I wouldn’t need both a dad and an Exley. Exley must have known that. Then why was he going to help me? Because maybe Yardley was right when he wrote that most of us are born with only a few arrows in our quivers. And these were two of Exley’s arrows: he could write a great book that my dad and I loved, and he could help me get my dad back, even if it meant Exley himself had to go. Even if I didn’t want him to. Don’t go, I wanted to tell him. I missed Exley so much already, just thinking about it. I almost said, Don’t do it. Don’t help me, and I would have meant it. Instead, I told him, “Thank you.” I meant that, too. Exley nodded, You’re welcome. He glanced over at Yardley. “I’ll drop you two off at the VA hospital on my way out of town,” Yardley said.
This Isn’t Who I Said It Was
My dad was lying in bed when we got there. His eyes were closed as usual. He hadn’t been shaved yet, and his gray stubble made his face look even paler and older than normal. Suddenly, I was sure that this whole visit was a terrible mistake and that meeting Exley would never make my dad feel better, because nothing would, that nothing would ever change about him except the change I didn’t want. I almost started to cry, and Exley must have noticed because he got down on his right knee, put his left hand on my right shoulder, looked me in the eye, and asked, “Are you tough?” This, of course, is exactly what Stout Steve Owen asked Exley on page 53 of his book. On page 53, Exley was about my age. But whereas Stout Steve asked the question gruffly, in italics, Exley asked it so gently. He smiled gently, too, encouraging me to give the right answer.
“I don’t know, sir,” is what Exley said to Stout Steve on page 53, ______ years before, and what I said to Exley now, too. Exley nodded once, pushed himself to his feet, and walked over to where my father was lying. And then he did something weird: he leaned over, looked at the bracelet on my dad’s wrist, nodded, and then said, “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Le Ray.” My dad didn’t say anything back. He just lay there with his eyes closed. I closed my eyes, too. Because I knew Exley would ask my dad what Stout Steve asked his dad: “Is he tough, Mr. Exley?” In the book, Exley’s dad told Stout Steve, “It’s too soon to tell.” But I knew my dad wouldn’t ever say that, because I knew he wouldn’t say anything ever again.
“Is your boy tough, Mr. Le Ray?” I heard Exley say.
My dad didn’t say anything back. I kept my eyes closed. Still my dad didn’t say anything. And then suddenly I knew what was going to happen. I could see it, even with my eyes closed. I would wait and wait for my dad to say something, until finally Exley wouldn’t want to wait anymore. So he would pretend to be my dad. He would say, Yes, he’s tough, in what he thought my dad’s voice would sound like. I would have to open my eyes then. I would know it was Exley who had said that and not my dad. And either I would have to tell him so, or I would have to say, Oh my God, did my dad say that? Either way, I would want to die. But I didn’t know how to make that not happen. So I kept standing there with my eyes closed, waiting and waiting. Finally, Exley said, “C’mon, why doncha open your eyes already?”
So I opened my eyes. My dad was lying on the bed. His eyes were still closed, but he had a smile on his face. A big smile. Exley was smiling at me, too, I think. His lips stretched in a pleased way before he stuck another cigarette between them.
“You made my dad smile!” I said, but Exley was already up and walking out of the room. I turned back to my dad. He wasn’t smiling anymore, but he was breathing deeply as he slept. He looked happy, peaceful. I put my hand on his forehead. It didn’t feel cold or slick or hot or anything. It felt like a normal person’s forehead. I took A Fan’s Notes off the bedside table and was about to start reading the end of the book, the part I hadn’t read yet. But then I didn’t. I didn’t need to read it to him anymore. My dad could read it to me when he got better. Because now I knew he would get better. Everything would be all right. Exley had shown me that everything would be all right.
Just then, I heard a woman’s voice in the hall saying, “Sir, sir, you can’t smoke in here.” And then, much louder, “Hey, did you hear what I said? You cannot do that in this hospital!”
I got up and poked my head into the hallway. I didn’t see Exley, but I did spot a nurse at the far end. You could pretty much see the fumes coming off her. I ducked back into the room and walked over to my dad. His face looked less peaceful than before, and his breathing was much shallower. Everything about the room was different. On Saturday mornings, when Mother was at work and my dad was hungover and in bed, I used to climb into bed with him. He’d say, without opening his eyes, “Tell me something.” And I’d tell him about something, something I’d done the day before or something I wanted to do later that day, something that had happened at school, something I’d read in one of my books. I did that, right then, in his hospital room. Even though I was still wet from the snow, I climbed into his bed, put my head on his chest, and told him everything. I told him I’d finally found Exley, or at least he’d found me. Then I admitted what my dad already knew: That I’d read A Fan’s Notes even though he had told me not to and that was I so sorry. That even though I thought it was the best book in the world and it had changed my life, I was so sorry I had done what I’d promised him I wouldn’t. But I also told him that while I was sorry I’d broken my promise, I wasn’t sorry I’d read the book. Because I loved it the first time I read it, and I’d loved it even more every time I’d read it since. Then I told my dad about K., how I’d eaten her cookies in my head, although that was over now; and I also told him that I knew he’d been with her, in real life, and how I hoped it was over with them, too. Also, I told him he could stop lying about teaching at JCCC. Because where or if he worked didn’t matter to me and had never mattered to me, and maybe it wouldn’t matter to Mother, either, now that she’d know he really had gone to Iraq. Then I told my dad that I was proud of him for getting off the davenport and joining the army and going to Iraq, and I also told him that I thought it was selfish and stupid and cowardly and that it was the worst thing he ever did and that I hated him for it, but that I still loved him so much. I told him that when we got home, he could read the end of A Fan’s Notes to me, that I’d been saving it for him, that I wanted us to finish the book together. I kept talking and talking for a long, long time, not getting tired, not ever wanting to stop, until I heard someone walk into the room. I picked my head off my dad’s chest and saw it was Exley.