Part 7 (1/2)

14.

ONE night around quarter to ten the phone rang. Before I even answered, I knew it was June. When I picked up the receiver, though, I heard a lot of noise and crackling, and I thought, no, it's Del calling from a bar, wanting me to come pick him up.

”Hey, it's me,” June said.

”Where are you?”

”Eighty-one. At the rest stop.”

”What are you doing there?”

June said, ”Oh, it's a long story. I'll tell you sometime. I just called to ask a favor.”

One of the rigs picked that moment to pull on through. When the roaring was done, I said, ”What's the favor?”

”If Ray calls, tell him I just left. Tell him I just left your place. I told him I was running out to see you.”

”What for?” I said.

”Please, Vangie. I don't think he'll call, but help me out just this once.”

”No, I mean, what did you tell him you were coming out here for? What's the story?”

”I said you needed help hemming a couple uniforms. I couldn't think of anything else.”

I said, ”If I hem them much shorter, I might as well not wear a skirt at all.” Another rig pulled out then, and after the sound pa.s.sed I said, ”What are you doing up there anyway?”

”Getting cleaned up. I couldn't go home like I was.”

”Where were you before now?”

”In the woods.”

And it took me that long into the conversation to understand what the situation was and what June was asking. She and Luke weren't just s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g in the house when Ray was at work-she'd left Ray at home, waiting, so she could go f.u.c.k Luke in the woods, and she wanted to use me as a cover.

”Jesus Christ, June,” I said. ”Don't you think that's dangerous?”

”No one saw us. I'll tell you more later.”

”Okay, okay,” I said. ”Are you going home now?”

”Straight home from here.”

”Where's Luke?”

”I don't know. He'll wait a couple hours before he goes back. He's probably in a bar.”

”So you're there by yourself?”

”I have to go, Vangie. I'll tell you more later.”

”All right. I got it,” I said, and she hung up.

After I hung up, I sat there in my kitchen in Mennonite Town, picturing June was.h.i.+ng up at the rest stop on the interstate. I knew the place. There was a line of sinks-one of them with a tall, curved faucet where you could wash your hair if you needed to. I pictured June standing in a stall, was.h.i.+ng with wet fingers and paper towels.

It was crazy what June was doing, and I was crazy myself for being part of it. I wasn't doing a G.o.dd.a.m.n thing wrong, and yet here I was, caught up in a lie and worrying a liar's worry over it. It was bad enough each time I didn't tell Del the truth about what was happening to Ray, but I didn't also want to be June's alibi. To withhold information was one thing-I withheld information from Del every single day of my life when I didn't tell him about Frank-but I did not want to have to tell a lie. I did not want to put my mouth around the words.

As it turned out, all my worrying was for nothing. Ray didn't call that night or any other night, and that was the only time I ever got a phone call like that from June. Either she and Luke planned their outings better, or June took it on faith that I'd invent a story if I had to. That's how much she trusted me, but that's also how well she knew me. Because while I could resolve not to lie when I was sitting by myself in my house, when the time came I'd probably do what came most naturally. I knew myself well enough to say that. And June knew me that well, too.

THAT FRIDAY I came home early from dinner s.h.i.+ft one night because I was feeling so bad. I stayed long enough to help Lorraine serve the ”mad rush” of the dinner crowd and barely made it through, and I was sure I had some kind of fever, because nothing else would make me feel so stupid and weak. The whole drive home, I kept to forty. When I pulled up to the house, I was surprised to see Del's car. When he worked the seven-to-three s.h.i.+ft, he usually went out partying with his buddies. I was glad, though, because I figured all I had to do was make it into the house and he'd be able to take care of me if I did have the flu. When I walked in the house, though, I found Del sitting at the kitchen table, high from sniffing a can of PAM.

I couldn't even believe it. He'd sprayed PAM into a bag and inhaled the fumes-there among the breakfast dishes and crumbs, there beside the refrigerator and stove. He still had the bag in his hand when I walked in the door. When he turned to look at me, his eyes were so far gone I knew he was high, high, high.

”Vangie, get me a washcloth, just a washcloth,” was the only thing he said. I guessed he wanted to wash the grease off his face from where he had been holding the bag to his nose and mouth. He looked at me a little while, and then put his head down on the table.

I took the bag from his hand, threw it in the trash, and then just stood and watched him. I'd never seen anyone huff before. It was something I'd only ever heard of, read about. It must have been a gentle kind of high, because Del's hand had no tension in it when I took the greasy plastic from him.

In a couple seconds, he looked up at me again and said, ”Vangie, a washcloth.”

I ran the water until it got hot. I soaked a washcloth and smeared soap on part of it. I ended up was.h.i.+ng his face for him, still there in the kitchen, him sitting on a chair, me standing between his legs.

When I was done, I said, ”I'm going to bed. I'm sick.”

”Okay,” he said. ”Okay. I'll be up later.”

”I threw out the can and the bag,” I said.

”That's all right,” he said.

When he came to bed later, I felt sick-as much from what Del looked like sitting in that kitchen chair as from whatever bug was in my body. I didn't really want to touch him, but when he started moving up against me, I knew he wouldn't sleep without s.e.x. So I let him f.u.c.k me. Or I let someone f.u.c.k me-I didn't know who. He didn't talk to me at all, and he didn't touch me-except to stick his p.e.n.i.s into me. After, he slid away and fell asleep. I thought of going downstairs to sleep on the sofa, but I felt weak and hot and didn't want to move. I didn't know what difference it would have made at that point, anyway If I let him f.u.c.k me, it didn't seem like I should care about sleeping beside his body.

DEL TOLD me he huffed the PAM because he didn't want to drink and we didn't have any weed.

”I didn't know you'd be home so soon, Vangie. I heard about it, and I wanted to try it.”

”Yeah, well I heard about it, too,” I said. ”But I hear a lot of things I'd never do.”

”It was a onetime thing. I didn't want to drink. I didn't want to hurt you.”