“Then you can call me Denny.” he grinned and shook Greymore’s hand. The grip was cool and firm and Denny could feel that scaly presence of scar tissue. The package slipped from his left arm but before it could hit the ground Greymore had snatched it out of the air and was holding it out to Denny.
“Sounds like a puzzle, or maybe a model?”
Denny took the package back, “It’s an X-wing Fighter model. From Star Wars.”
Greymore nodded. “Sounds pretty cool, though I haven’t seen the movie yet.”
The two had started walking side by side down the dusty dirt road toward Billy’s house.
“Do they show movies in ja…” He caught himself too late, realizing how obnoxious his question was. To his surprise, Greymore chuckled. Denny looked up at him and saw an expression of sheer amusement on Greymore’s face.
“It’s okay, Denny. They show movies alright, but nothing you’ve ever heard of. All old black-and-white junk. Musicals mostly. Nothing violent, I guess they are afraid of getting the inmates all worked up and starting trouble. But I have heard a lot about it and sure would like to see it.”
They reached the Cummings’ driveway and heard voices coming from the backyard. Instead of going up the walk to the door, they went directly out back. The scene was exactly what Denny expected, yet it wasn’t. The yard was festooned in standard birthday fashion; balloons, streamers, gifts piled on the picnic table. Mr. Cummings was already manning the grill while Mrs. Cummings flitted around with drinks. The only thing missing was the people. Other than Billy’s family, the yard was empty. Billy spotted them—not very hard to do—and waved them over.
“Hey, Billy, happy birthday.” Denny said as he reluctantly handed over the gift. His eyes scanned the yard, quickly finding Julie. She smiled and waved; Denny’s heart almost exploded as he gave a quick wave back and looked away. Julie was wearing tight white shorts and a pink tank top. Her skin already had a mid-summer tan. She took his breath away.
This didn’t escape Billy. He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Thanks, Denny. Hi, Paul.”
“Happy birthday, Billy.” Greymore reached into his pocket and pulled out a rumpled envelope that he held out for Billy.
“Thanks. Do you guys want something to eat?” Billy put the envelope on the picnic table but his eyes kept sneaking back to Denny’s gift. Denny had been friends with Billy for long enough to know this; Billy heard the rattle of the gift and knew it was one of the Star Wars models. His goal now was to get the food requirements out of the way so he could get to the gift-opening.
“Sure, what’s your dad grilling?”
The sun slowly made its descent toward the horizon as the party began to break up. Despite the sad fact that Denny and Greymore were the only non-family to show up, Billy seemed pretty happy with the day. A few parents had dropped gifts off, expressing lame regrets for their kids, citing conflicts because of Memorial Day weekend plans, but most didn’t bother. It was plain and simple and obvious to everyone; Haven was afraid, and Paul knew it was him they were afraid of. At first he apologized profusely to Billy and his family but was quickly shushed each time. Eventually he gave up and enjoyed the day as well.
After a huge spread of barbeque, followed by the traditional cake and ice cream, Billy finally got to open presents. Unlike many boys his age, he saved his most coveted gift, the model from Denny, for last. He patiently waded through the parade of “adult gifts,” clothes and such, until Denny’s gift and the envelope from Paul were the only ones left. He opened the envelope, his face unable to hide the look of polite acceptance, the expectation that there was nothing more than a cheap Hallmark sentiment inside. When he pulled the Red Sox/Yankees tickets out of the card, it was clear Denny’s X-wing Fighter was taking second place for the day.
Billy was a huge baseball fan, as most 12… now 13-year-olds are, and had been to Fenway to see a few games. But never had he been in the stands for a game versus the arch-enemy Yankees. The rivalry had reached epic proportions after a huge bench-clearing brawl a couple of seasons earlier, and the Yankees had edged the Sox by three games last year to win the division. Hopes were high in the spring of 1978, as they are every spring in Boston, for a World Series title. The ’75 team had come oh-so-close, but that’s for horseshoes and hand grenades, his dad used to say. Nobody remembers the second place team.
Denny felt a twinge of jealousy—not so much over the fact that Billy was going to see the game—but that opening the X-wing Fighter became a formality. Billy thanked him, sure, and he would love building it, but the Red Sox tickets stole the show. Paul seemed to pick up on Denny’s disappointment. “Hey, Denny, Billy was too excited to notice, but there’s an extra ticket in there for whoever he wants to take.” His eyes twinkled a summer-sky blue and he gave Denny a wink. Suddenly Denny forgot all about the X-wing Fighter himself. He was thinking more about a Lou Piniella-Carlton Fisk rematch.
A few of Billy’s aunts and uncles from out of state called, and while Billy was on the phone Denny talked with Greymore. It was strange; no matter how nice and friendly Greymore was, Denny would occasionally feel the unmistakable twinge of fear pulling at his gut. Greymore would sometimes get a look in his eyes that made all of the horror stories told about him seem very possible. In his heart, Denny had already decided none of it was true. But those eyes, when Greymore spoke about prison or being a kid…
They talked for a long time about Paul’s workout ritual in prison and the changes it brought to his physical and mental strength. Denny was tired of his role of the 98-pound weakling. He had no father or big brother to help him at home and was bullied constantly at school. Mr. Donnelly, the school’s “cool” Spanish teacher, once told him he had “a very punchable face” and that’s why he was picked on. With a set of the rippling muscles like the ones Denny noticed stretching Paul’s shirt, things might just change. It made Denny think of the set of dumbbells collecting dust in his brother’s old room.
Feeling more comfortable with Greymore, Denny began telling the story of how he and Billy had found the burned out buildings from the old army base and from there the caves. He went into great detail about the location of the cave entrance, how Billy had found it chasing a snake, and how they had marked it with a sock. He was about to get to what he considered “the good part” of his story—what they had found inside the caves—when his thoughts were interrupted by the unmistakable growl of a glasspack muffler. Denny knew immediately that muffler was attached to Dale Crawford’s Mustang.
Dale burst through the gate and strutted into the yard like the party was in his honor. Julie must have warned him that the usual beep or revving of the engine wasn’t going to cut it to get her out of Billy’s party. He whipped off his mirrored sunglasses, probably hand-me-downs from his dad, Paul thought, and grabbed Julie. He kissed her hard then started heading back toward the gate with her in a half-hug, half-head-lock. He hadn’t said a word to anyone, hadn’t even acknowledged anyone else was there. Julie wriggled free and tried to push him away. Dale gripped her by the upper arm and started dragging her toward the gate. Joe was over there in a blur, calmly putting his hand on Dale’s chest while saying something to him. Dale looked down at the hand, looked back at Joe, then pushed the hand away and took a step closer to Joe. Greymore stood quickly and took a step in their direction. Dale saw the movement and gave Greymore an ugly look, then said something to Joe, put his sunglasses back on, and stormed out of the yard. Joe turned to Julie and put his hands on her shoulders. Incredibly, she shrugged him off and went after Dale. A minute later the Mustang roared to life and the scene was over in a screech of burning rubber. Billy’s mom watched the entire scene with a look of painful sadness and burning anger. Denny watched her and thought there might just be a hint of understanding in that expression.