"Kid, what the fuck are you doing out here?!"
I blinked. "Tim?" I turned back to look at Kurt and Wade. The pines had vanished. They had vanished. I turned to look back at the Stovepipe, but all I saw was the smokestacks at the plant. And Tim Shepard glowering down at me.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Tim repeated, smacking my shoulder. "Jesus Christ," he muttered, looking down the street. "Did you come all the way from–" He shook his head. "Of course you did," he answered himself. "How else?"
I turned to look back again, wondering which place was real. Seemed unlikely I'd be in New Mexico if Tim was here, but–
"C'mon, kid," he said, grabbing my shoulder and shoving me into the street after looking both ways, "Let's get over to my place and call your brothers before one of them wakes up and has a damn heart attack."
My eyes didn't want to stay open. I couldn't help wondering if any second this weird dream of home was going to end with Kurt or Wade shaking me, proving that Tim had been the illusion all along. But then after what felt like half a mile we were in his tiny little apartment and he was kicking the door shut behind us. I wondered if he was gonna get his car and take me home, or if he'd just say it was a nice night for a walk. Except it wasn't. It was thundering, and it was raining. And I was tired of being wet. And walking. I was definitely tired of walking.
"Sit down," he ordered, giving me a light shove toward the ratty, sagging sofa in his little studio. Bachelor pad, they called it. Take the cushions off and there was a bed inside. But I was too tired to do all that. I just let the world spin away behind my closed eyes, distantly hearing the sound of him dialing the ugly yellow phone on the wall that tried to close off the kitchen from the living/bedroom. I was asleep before I could figure out if anybody answered.
I woke sweaty and uneasy in a lot of ways. I'd been dreaming about—
Was that the phone?
I glanced over at Ponyboy as I rolled out of bed, but his was empty. Lightning flashed at the window and a strong breeze licked at the curtain. The phone rang a second time. Oh, shit. I dove for the bedroom door and tore into the kitchen. "Darry!!" I shouted, yanking the phone almost completely off the wall. "Hello?!"
Darry skidded into the kitchen, looking as terrified as I felt. I knew he'd seen Pony's empty bed on his way past our room.
"Soda, where's–" Darry cut himself off and ripped the phone out of my hand. "Pony?" he asked, his voice tight. A second later, he rubbed his face with his free hand. "Jesus…" He listened for another second. "Yeah, okay. Thanks, Tim. We'll be there in a minute."
He hung up and scooped his keys off the kitchen counter. Then he looked down at me and me at him and we both hustled to our rooms to pull some more clothes on. Last thing we needed was the cops writing us up for indecent exposure. We hit the porch at the same time.
"Dar," I said, wincing, "I'm sorry. It was so nice out, and he was asleep, and I–"
"I knew it was open," he said, and relief poured through me. I sure didn't need him to be furious with me. He cursed as the engine stuttered and died, but then it started and I barely had the door closed on my side before he was rolling out of the drive.
"Is he okay?" I yawned, wondering how Darry could even see to drive. My own eyes were bleary and kept closing all by themselves.
"He's fine," Darry answered wearily. "Damn near got hit by a car, though. Tim pulled him out of the street just in time."
He glanced at me with that helpless look he'd been wearing a lot lately, his lips in a tight line. I knew he wondered if getting Pony a head doctor would even help. This seemed too big, somehow, even for that.
C'mon, Pony, I thought, snap out of it. I'd been wishing for it ever since he marched into camp so different than before. He still wasn't himself. Maybe Darry was right. Maybe he never would be.
Funny, though, how he looked like the same little brother I'd always known, curled up on Tim's couch with a fist tucked up under his cheek.
Darry gave him a shake. "Ponyboy!"
He tried to get his eyes open, but his lids kept sinking down again, much like my own had been doing when we first got into the truck. How he ever got the better part of two miles from home like that was beyond me. Darry tried again, sort of pulling Ponyboy up into a sitting position.
"Darry?"
"Yeah," Darry said, tugging him off the couch. "It's just me."
Pony blinked, taking in the room. "Where…?" he trailed off, obediently stumbling along as Darry steered him to the door.
"Thanks, Tim!" I called, trailing behind them. When I glanced back, he was shaking his head. I'll bet he'd sort of thought we were exaggerating about Pony. Bet he didn't think so now.
Pony fell against me and slept for the short ride home. We got him out of the truck and back into bed. Darry closed the window and latched it, then looked at Pony, already asleep again, and scrubbed his face with both hands.
"We'll call Dr. Joseph in the morning," I said, hooking one hand on his shoulder.
He nodded but didn't say anything. He stood there for a few minutes after I got back into bed.
"Night, Soda."
"Night," I agreed, rolling on my side to keep an eye on Pony. At least until I fell back asleep. It sure took a while. Every slight little creak or rustle and I was back on full alert, checking to see that Pony was still in his bed.
"Murphy, it's Darrel," I said as soon as someone picked up the phone. It was still coming down in torrents outside, so I knew there'd be no roofing work. But that didn't mean there might not be some interior jobs.
"Hey, Curtis," he grumbled. "How 'bout this rain?"
"Yeah, I know," I agreed. "Got any drywall for me? Cabinets?"
"Tucker and Johnson are already on the only one we've got that far along. I'd send you over to Brightview, but the inspector hasn't been out yet. If I think of anything, or if the inspector shows up, I'll give you a call."
I sighed. "Yeah, okay." Murphy hung up.
That's what I got for forgetting to set the alarm. It was almost eight already, and nobody wanted to miss a day's pay. Early bird gets the worm and all that. The chances of a city inspector showing up anyplace were worse than my chances of working today.
I put the phone down for a few seconds, then I picked it up and dialed Dr. Joseph's office, taking full advantage of the fact that Ponyboy wasn't up yet. I was hoping to just make my request, but when I told the receptionist who I was and that I was calling about Ponyboy, she said she'd pass a message along to Dr. Joseph to call me back. That wasn't what I'd hoped for. Now I'd probably have to have that conversation with Ponyboy listening in at the breakfast table.
It wasn't that Soda and I weren't making the right decision. Anybody would say that we were. It was just that I didn't want to add feeling betrayed to whatever else was going on with Ponyboy. I knew that's what Dr. Joseph had meant. Ponyboy needed to understand we were still—we were always—in his corner. Trouble was, he didn't like that first guy we took him to. I know he felt betrayed, being forced to share his thoughts with a total stranger because his brothers didn't know how to fix whatever was wrong. And now we were right back in the same spot.
I sighed and poured myself a cup of coffee, listening to the rain pound on the roof. And then I started worrying. Not about our roof. I'd been up there a couple months ago and it was fine. Maggie's roof. I picked up the phone again. Then I remembered the time and put it back in the cradle. She might be up. She'd complained good-naturedly about having more workshops to attend at Jonas Salk this week.
I had to know if the roof was holding. This was what I told myself, though a little something in the back of my head was eagerly hoping it would be Maggie herself that answered and not her mother, whom I still hadn't met or talked with.
"Hello?"
My heart stuttered a little in relief. "Maggie?"
"Darry?" she asked, sounding surprised to hear from me.
"Sorry about the hour," I rushed on, "I just…well, I got to thinking about all this rain and your roof. How's it holding up?"
She chuckled. "So far so good. I normally love the rain, but right now I'm just peeking at the ceilings every hour."
"I'll bet," I wanted to wrap the sound of her soft laughter around myself, carry it with me. Use it as a shield when I told Ponyboy about our plan to have him see someone again.
"You're not working today," she stated, a smile in her voice. "Lucky! I have a workshop at ten and a staff meeting at eleven. I'd rather be here curled up with a good book."
"You sound like my brother," I told her. That's just what Pony would do. He'd take that last L'Amour out on the porch and sit half reading, half watching the rain.
"Ponyboy," she guessed, apparently remembering what I'd told her about each one.
"Yeah. Soda will be driving me crazy about how there's nothing to do."
She laughed again. "Well, you should send him to the kitchen and see what he comes up with. One of these times, he's bound to hit on a winner."
This time we laughed together. I couldn't believe how she held on to all those little details, the ones that always seem to fly out of my mouth when I'm around her. Although, I'm pretty sure I remember everything she's told me about herself, come to think of it. And I wanted to know more. I wanted, I realized, to know everything.
For the first time since meeting her, I felt afraid. For the first time since we'd started talking to each other, I lost track of her words in the noise of my own thoughts.
"Darry?" she was asking.
"Sorry," I said, wondering what I'd missed. Kicking myself for whatever it was. "I, uh, thought one of my brothers was finally crawling out of bed. False alarm."
I wanted to see her. It slammed into me with such urgency that I blinked, stunned. This wasn't good. It was, of course it was. But it wasn't. It was too much. Too soon. You don't get like this over a woman you've known for all of a week. Maybe it was because I somehow managed to put everything else away when I was around Maggie. I'd never been around another woman who made that possible. Not that I didn't still think about things at home when I was with her. But things waited when I was with her. When I was with Maggie, I was with Maggie…not thinking about the bills or about any of the other thousands of things that usually paraded around in my head when I was spending time with a woman.
"Maggie?" I asked, suddenly glad to have a day off in spite of the money I'd lose, "What would you say to sitting out on your porch with me and a couple of sandwiches? We could watch the rain, if it keeps up. Take your mind off of watching the ceilings," I teased, surprised at myself.
She laughed. "I think that's a lovely idea. But I don't think I'll be back home until around two. Is that too late?"
"No," I answered. "That's fine."
"If I get held up at school, I'll call you," she offered.
"Okay," I agreed, wondering if I'd have to go to the store to get something to put between slices of bread. "I'll bring the sandwiches. Any special requests?"
"Hold the mustard," she answered after a moment's thought.
"Got it. No mustard."
After we hung up, I stood leaning against the kitchen doorway, looking out the screen door at the rain, hoping it would continue all afternoon in spite of myself.
"The key to making a great sandwich," Maggie said, pointing a butter knife at me, "is to keep it from getting soggy. You put the mayonnaise on the slice opposite from the vegetables."
I nodded, fighting a grin at her seriousness. In the end, I'd decided to bring the ingredients but to keep them separated so that she could have her sandwich exactly the way she liked it. And she was more than happy to show me just how that was.
She'd spread a moderate amount of mayo on a slice of lightly toasted rye bread, and now she was layering some of the shaved ham on top of it. Then came the Swiss cheese. Normally, I'd have put mustard on the other slice, but I didn't want it on my breath, seeing as how we'd be sitting close together on the porch swing. She skipped the mustard, of course, and put a piece of crisp lettuce and some very thinly sliced tomato on top. When it came to ham and Swiss on rye, I usually didn't put vegetables on it. Just mayo and mustard. Well, actually, sometimes a little sauerkraut. But if you wanted to talk about smells, that was even worse.
"So that's it," I joked. "The perfect sandwich."
She put a few potato chips on it and a wedge of dill pickle, and then she held the plate out at me. "See for yourself," she joked back. I took the plate. "There's some lemonade in the icebox," she said. "And the glasses are in the cupboard right over your head there. Would you mind pouring us each a glass?"
I didn't mind, though it felt a little strange to be just helping myself in someone else's kitchen like that. Even with permission I felt like someone was going to walk in and catch me like I was stealing the silverware. But in another way, it felt comfortable, too. Familiar.
When we settled on the porch swing, I felt a little kick of surprised pleasure at the way she left only enough room between us to nestle our lemonade glasses between the two of us. Otherwise, she planted herself hip to hip with me, which I didn't mind at all. Soda'd be grinning ear to ear if he happened upon us like this, I thought.
"This was a great idea, Darry," she said, poised to take a bite of her sandwich. As I nodded and bit into my own, I realized she was right. The lightly toasted bread had a satisfying crunch to it and the lettuce was crisp and cool. It was a great sandwich. And the company, even better.
We ate in silence for a few moments, both of us gently rocking the swing. I'm surprised we didn't chew in synch with one another. I'd have to thank Soda, though, for giving me the picnic on the porch idea. Maggie didn't seem to mind a bit that we weren't in a little café someplace, even if it bothered me a little. She seemed to be enjoying herself for the time being…but what about a few dates down the road? Surely she'd begin to wonder why we never went to restaurants. Surely she'd begin to mind.
I pushed that worry aside and just enjoyed the light brush of her sleeve against mine as we both reached for our lemonades.
The porch swing worked its usual magic. We set aside our empty plates and our lemonade glasses, putting them on a little wicker table within arm's reach of the swing. Maggie closed the small gap left behind by the glasses. I settled my arm on her shoulders, and she smiled up at me in that way of hers. Then she just started chatting on, and I let her words pour over me as the rain poured on the world around us.
She told me about her parents, her voice dipping from happy to sad to amused and back again. Her father wasn't doing well. She thought he'd pass any day now, and I took her right hand in my own, rubbing my thumb gently across her palm, trying to ease the sadness in her voice. She smiled, musing about how on a day like this one she might find her parents swaying to the little radio in the kitchen, all wrapped up in one another until they caught her watching them. Her dad would give her mom a kiss and let her cut in. She liked to go into their room and dust the bureau and look at the pictures of her parents so in love, tracing her fingers over the pictures of her father in his army uniform and the shadow box that held his WWII medals.
"Every year in July we go to the American Legion and there's this huge fireworks celebration," she said. I nodded. I knew the one. Steve's father belonged to that post, and Steve sometimes took Evie to events there. "They hold functions there from time to time. In fact," she said, "on the Sunday night before Labor Day, there's a social. What do you think, Darry? Are you up to a barbecue and a little dancing?"
"I think I could manage it," I nodded, silently thanking my mother for dancing me all across the living room floor and back, though at the time I'd been embarrassed. It hadn't helped that Soda and Ponyboy had been horsing around, clumsily crashing into us as Soda tried to follow along with mom's lesson with Ponyboy standing on his feet. Soda must've been about nine or ten and Pony about six or seven. They about giggled themselves to death. But I could show a girl a good time on the dance floor, and I was grateful for that.
Maggie snuggled contentedly in the crook of my arm. I was pretty happy myself, just then. Too bad the rest of the world always had to go and cut in eventually. But not just now. I sat back, my left arm around Maggie, my right hand still cupping hers, wishing that I could stop time and just glide there with her. Just glide and glide while the rest of the world fell away and took all of my problems with it.
