Shane Dawley glanced uncomfortably at the men gathered around him, men who, up to now, he’d regarded as unfriendlies, trip-mines to be avoided much like policemen and school administrators. And he’d been happy to do just that. Sitting here amongst them, sipping lemonade in a bright corner of the rec room, made him feel uncomfortable, out of place, because the longer he sat with them, the closer he felt himself pulled toward an indefinable line. A line which divided a great many things: inclusion and exclusion, responsibility and indifference, childhood and maturity¼
He sensed that he might soon cross that line, and any hint or suggestion of participation on his part would only hurry him toward it, and that scared him.
It scared him almost as much as the reports on TV.
With all of them looking at him he felt he had to say something, yet, strangely enough, it was his father who was foremost in his thoughts — his father who should have been sitting here where he was, conversing with these men and making the difficult decisions; his father who knew them and would call them all by their first names. None of this Mr. Cheng or Mr. Hanna or Mr. Iverson shit, as if he were always at arm’s length.
He opened his mouth, unsure what would spill out, but of course, given the circumstances, it was his father. The idea that these men were busy building a barricade and his father might be standing on the wrong side of it. He told them as much, using words that came stubbornly, haltingly, as if each were a small shape he had to cut out of himself. A vein he had to jab open and bleed.
It was the most he’d said about the man in the seven months since his parent’s separation, and to men who were little better than strangers, though none of them laughed or made fun of him as he feared they might.
Rudy Cheng put a hand on his shoulder and the gesture didn’t feel weird or condescending, but sympathetic, as though he understood and wanted to help. “Would you like to call and invite your dad to the rest of the discussion?” he asked, taking his hand back to point out the phone. “I think it’s right that he should be here. God knows we could use his help.”
Shane nodded. Yes, he would like that very much.
Rudy held him back a moment. “You understand that doesn’t mean we want him instead of you, Shane. When the time comes, we’re going to need every man we can get, and young men like you especially. All right?”
Shane nodded. He broke for the phone, deciding he might have a part to play in this after all, so long as they told him what to do and didn’t call on him to make any life or death decisions.
As long as they kept it on those terms, he would be just fine.
8
After the meeting broke up, Rudy drove downtown to Jed’s Sport Shop and bought two handguns, a rifle, and a shotgun. The man behind the counter didn’t seem at all surprised, as though Rudy were the fifth or sixth customer that day to buy himself a small arsenal. With Wormwood on television, perhaps he was.
“The rifle and the shotgun you can have today, but you’re going to have to wait five days on the handguns,” he said, tapping the countertop with a fat index finger. Rudy nodded and the two of them waited while his MasterCard was run through the system. “Can I show you some accessories for those?” the clerk queried. “Scopes, cases, ammunition?”
“Cases I don’t need,” Rudy answered, “but yes, I’d like a scope for the rifle and as much ammunition as I can walk out of here with.”
The man looked at Rudy. A long, appraising gaze.
“You can buy as much as I’ve got, but hunting season is still a long way off.”
Rudy offered the man an embarrassed smile. “I need a lot of practice.”
The man smiled back. “How much practice do you think you need?”
Rudy looked at the prices posted on the shelves.
“Say about a thousand dollars worth.”
A small grunt escaped the clerk. “You must not be very good.”
“True,” Rudy agreed, “but I’m hoping to improve.”
9
Between 7:00 and 7:50 Rudy made three phone calls, all within the neighborhood. The first was to Larry who, though still sulky, told him, despite his better judgment, he had gone to the lumberyard and picked up enough plywood to fully reinforce the ground floor of his house. “As a matter of fact,” he went on, “Jan and I were just discussing that, and how we were going to tell Mark and Brian what we plan to use it for. Since it was your big idea, we were wondering if you had any suggestions?”
Rudy bit his lip and decided to let his neighbor’s resentment pass through him as if he were a ghost, already dead.
“Larry, you know your boys better than I do. I wouldn’t presume to tell you how to handle them.”
“No?” Larry seemed to smile sardonically at that. “Just how to handle myself, huh?”
“Larry…” Rudy said, taking a deep breath, “I’m not trying to tell you what to do. I just think we should be prepared. There’s no harm in that, is there?”
“Well no, but my bank account might disagree, after spending three hundred dollars on lumber today.”
Rudy laughed softly into the telephone. “Would it make you feel better to learn I spent over two thousand on guns and ammunition this afternoon?”
“You know, strangely enough, it does,” Larry laughed, his anger gone for the moment. The moment passed. “I’ll have to mention that to Jan; once she stops crying, that is. I’m sure she’ll get a real kick out of it.”
“If you really want my advice, Larry, I wouldn’t attempt to explain what’s happening to Mark and Brian. They’re too young to understand and it would only upset them.”
“True enough,” Larry agreed, “but we want them to be prepared, don’t we? I mean, that’s the important thing, isn’t it?”
Rudy put the phone down at his side for a moment, waiting for the dark clouds to lift.
“I can see that I called at a bad time,” he returned, his jaw clenched. “Maybe we ought to talk about this tomorrow?”
“Assuming we’re all still here,” Larry sneered, “and not snacking on one another.”
Rudy said good-bye and hung up before he could say something he’d later regret.
10
He closed his eyes and relaxed, clearing his mind of everything except the sound of his own breathing. He did this until his heart rate was back below 70 beats per minute and his hands were no longer clenched and knuckled at his sides. Until he felt somewhat himself again.
Then he picked up the phone and called the Dawleys.
11
“Just a minute, Mr. Cheng. Let me put my dad on.”
Sitting behind the desk in his upstairs study, Rudy raised a surprised eyebrow, though he wouldn’t have been quite so surprised if he’d gone to the window first and looked down at the Dawley’s driveway. Mike’s black Cherokee was sitting squarely on the concrete, in its old familiar space from months past, before the separation. Perhaps he and his wife had had a reconciliation, or perhaps they’d simply decided to cease hostilities until the present crisis had passed. Whatever the reason, Shane sounded absolutely thrilled about it.
“Hello, Rudy,” Mike Dawley said, sounding considerably more cordial than Larry. “What’s up?”
“Actually, I’d intended to talk to Shane about the trip the two of you made to the supermarket. I didn’t expect you’d still be there.”