American Boy - Larry Watson [56]
He slumped against the passenger door. “I told you. Fucked-up juice.”
By the time I had the car turned around and drove back to the clubhouse, Johnny had passed out again. I loaded the remaining cans of Budweiser in the trunk, and Louisa climbed in the driver’s side and slid across the seat, careful not to disturb Johnny. His slumber relieved us of the pressure of searching for something to say to each other.
I drove to my house, where I’d once again hide the beer in the garage. But before I sent them on their way, I whispered instructions to Louisa. “Sneak him into the house through the back door. Dr. Dunbar might still be up, but if he is, he’ll be in the front parlor. So take Johnny up to his room by the back stairs. If anyone sees you, make like you don’t know what happened. Tell them Johnny and I went off by ourselves. I don’t give a shit. Go ahead and tell them I’m drunk, too.”
After hiding the remaining cans of Budweiser under the tarp, I took two beers into my bedroom again. While I drank, I relived the evening, concentrating on what had occurred and what it had to do with human intimacy. These were not sexual fantasies, however. Instead, I replayed the conversation I’d had with Louisa, realizing that it might have led to something rarer than sex—friendship, which could develop further as we discovered that we really did have something in common. But, I also relived how I’d sent away a friend and let him shiver in a parked car while I tried to exploit his housemate. Maybe I could have reached some understanding, some insight into my character, from this line of thinking, but just as I approached that point, another thought obliterated all others: That second kiss—it wasn’t an act, was it? It couldn’t have been.
15.
LIKE OTHER FAMILIES OF STANDING in Willow Falls, the Dunbars breakfasted at the Heritage House’s restaurant after church services, and anyone who observed those Sunday morning gatherings might have fairly concluded that it was not the children, but rather the men, who were so restless they couldn’t sit still. Carrying their coffee cups, smoking the cigarettes or cigars they had gone without for an hour, the husbands and fathers moved from table to table, gathering others in their band as they moved through the restaurant. Dr. Dunbar barely sat with his family long enough to place his breakfast order before he was on the move. Like a politician seeking votes, he walked the length and width of the room, stopping at a booth here, a table there, and moving the length of the counter like a boy with a stick along a picket fence.
Has that antibiotic taken effect, Mrs. Richards?
The Wildcats might have won that game last night with a stouter fourth-quarter defense.
George, are you and the Missus flying to Arizona this winter or driving?
That sounds like gout, Gary; you come in and see me first thing tomorrow morning.
No, Bob, I’m not ready to trade in the Chrysler yet, but when I am, you’ll be the first to know.
Harold, when I hear a compliment like that I have to wonder if you’ve already started your campaign for state’s attorney.
Jane, Tom, when I see the poise in that daughter of yours, I say to myself, now there are parents who did more than a few things right.
No, no, I don’t think it’s croup, Mrs. Ecklin. A cold, nothing worse. It’s just settled in her chest.
It was something to behold, Dr. Dunbar and the other men too, in motion and at rest, effortlessly ruling their town with nothing but small talk and handshakes. Their easy application of power remained mysterious to me, no matter how much I studied them Sunday after Sunday.
My mother had no religion, at least none I was aware of, yet when it came to her son she must have felt she had to take extra precautions to protect my soul, should I actually have one. She saw to it that I attended church, Sunday school, and confirmation classes. By then the habit was formed, and I continued to attend church more or less regularly. I was a Presbyterian for no reason other than that the Dunbars were, and the Sunday morning