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  We’ve been waiting behind the truck stop for twenty minutes before we get any action. First, the light brightens in the motel room, and then about five minutes later the door opens, but only one person steps out. It’s Mona, all right. Her hair’s cut different from the last time I saw her, but she still has the same bouncy walk from high school days.

  “Damn,” says Gillis. “I guess Rick’s construction money can’t buy everything.”

  Nobody walks out with her, though. I’m like, come on, dude, whoever you are, show yourself. My stomach twists into a knot. Mostly I don’t want it to be Bobby, but in some ways I do. I mean, it’d be great to have him back, but at the same time, I hate the idea that he’s been hanging around town and not getting in touch with me. I could understand that he might not tell the parents, but me and him are thick.

  Mona gets in the car, but still no one else comes out. Only after she pulls away does the door to that motel room finally close.

  Gillis is like, “I guess her dude’s going to stay and keep the bed warm.”

  “Looks like it.”

  “So, what do we do, follow her, wait to see what he does, or go home?”

  There’s no use in following her. She’d just head back to Rick Nichols and the big fancy house. For a second, I consider going over to the room and pounding on the door and yelling, “Hey, Bobby, it’s Ceejay. It’s Ceejay. Come on and open up. Let me in. I have to talk to you. I have to touch your face and prove you made it back in one piece.” But that would just be pathetic. It has to be someone else behind that stupid locked door.

  “Let’s go,” I say. “No way could that be Bobby in that room. No way.” And I keep telling myself that all the way home.

  11

  That night, I’m lying in bed, but my mind is too busy to let me sleep. I roll over onto one side, then the other. Neither is any good so I switch to lying flat on my back, staring up into the dark. The evening replays in my head. At first, I feel stupid for running all over town searching for Bobby when it doesn’t make sense that he could be anywhere but where he said he’d be—Germany. Then I feel frustrated, thinking I should have tried harder to see who was in that motel room with Mona.

  Trying for something more positive, I remember this time when we went to the lake. I was eleven, but still Bobby let me and Brianna tag along with his group of friends. At one point, Bobby decided to swim out into the lake where one of his buddies was drifting in his parents’ boat. Not wanting to be left behind, I tried to follow. I wasn’t nearly as strong as Bobby, though, and pretty soon my arms started to give out, so I turned over on my back and just kicked with my legs. Then my legs got tired and I started floating, biding time till I got back some energy. But when I looked around, I realized I was headed out into the wide part of the lake instead of toward the boat. I totally lost my sense of direction.

  I guess I panicked. I kicked my legs and splashed my arms, probably screamed like an idiot too. Then I felt it—Bobby’s arm wrapping around me. I must have kept thrashing, because he pressed his head to mine and said, very calmly, “Be still, Ceejay. Be still. Be still.”

  I did what he said and clung onto him as he took me back to the shore, one arm around me and the other paddling. When we got to dry land, we sat on the bank, quiet until we got our breath back.

  “Crap,” I said. “I thought I was going under for sure.”

  He put his arm around my shoulder. “No way,” he said. “Not while I’m around. I’ll never let you go under.”

  Lying in bed, I close my eyes against the dark and listen to those words over and over in my head, hoping they’ll lull me into a long, silent sleep. But instead of silence, a dream comes. It’s not the lake but the ocean. And I’m not swimming. I’m walking along the ocean floor, feeling like I need to get somewhere but I don’t know where. Then I see it—a huge pink octopus with a giant head and long tentacles waving up and down.

  As I get closer, I see a couple of the tentacles have hold of something. It’s Bobby! But he isn’t panicked or anything. In fact, he looks kind of bored. I try talking to him, but no words come out, and he turns away, like I’ve interrupted him in the middle of something more important, and the octopus pulls him farther and farther away.

  It’s crazy. I feel like I’m supposed to save him, but how can that be? He’s the one who’s supposed to save me.

  I start to yell at him, but just then I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn around, and there stands Bobby, his face pale gray, like a drowned man. Then all of a sudden, I’m back in my room, lying in bed, staring up.

  And this is the really, really, really strange thing. Bobby’s face is still in front of me and his hand is still on my shoulder. He’s right there—I swear—leaning over me, nothing but the small lamp on the dresser to light his face. I start to shout out his name, but he clamps his hand over my mouth.

  “Shhh, Ceejay,” he says. “Shhh. Don’t wake up the others. Nobody else knows I’m here.”

  He takes his hand away from my mouth, and I hug him as tight as I can, making sure I’m not still dreaming. “Is it really you?” I ask, my heart in my throat.

  “It’s me.” He peels my arms away and backs off, pulls the chair out from my desk and sits a few feet away.

  “How can you be here?” I ask in a barely contained whisper. “Aren’t you supposed to be in Germany?”

  “Things changed.” His voice sounds weary, old, but at the same time he’s bigger now, muscled up, his neck nearly as thick as his head. His deep brown eyes look older too. No uniform, just jeans and a black T-shirt, but that doesn’t matter. With his close-cropped hair and the way he carries himself, he still looks like a soldier. Or a hit man. I want to grab hold of him again anyway, but something about his attitude tells me to give him space.

  “But how can you just show up like this?” I ask.

  He glances around the room. It used to be his. “All my stuff’s gone, huh?”

  “It’s in the garage, boxed up.”

  “The room looks smaller somehow. Everything looks smaller, the house, the town, everything but you. Look how big you are.”

  “It’s been a while since the last time you came home on leave.”

  “Like a million years.” He scans the walls, the floor, the curtains. “So much happened in this room. Now, it’s like looking at an old friend who doesn’t know me anymore.”

  I guess I know what he means. I remember this room when it was his—jeans and T-shirts draped over the chairs, posters of rockers and rappers on the wall, a pirate flag for a curtain. So many nights I used to come in here and talk. I’d tell about what was going on in school, and he would explain what to watch out for when I got into the higher grades. Like boys. He was the one who taught me how to do the perfect head butt.

  He also told stories, made-up stories about a girl hero who traveled around to different galaxies and never took crap from anyone. Cirrilean Surreal was her name. She had her own kind of beauty. It was a magic beauty that only the most special people in the universe could see. I felt huge when I was with him in here. After he went into the army, I begged Mom and Dad to let me have his room. Now he’s back in this weird way and the feeling is all mixed up.

  “I don’t understand,” I tell him. “I can’t believe you didn’t at least call me to say you were coming home. How could you do that?”

  “Listen.” He looks down at the floor, then back at me. “I just came by because I know you were looking for me. I don’t want you telling Mom and Dad I’m back yet. I’m not ready to be here.”

  “But you are here.”

  He shakes his head. “It just looks that way. But I don’t want to talk about that. Just promise me you won’t tell the parents.”

  I promise.

  He walks over and touches my cheek. “You and me, we were always the most alike, weren’t we?”

  I nod. For some reason, it feels like tears are ready to burn into my eyes, but I can’t let that happen, not in front of Bobby.

  “You go
back to sleep, Ceejay. Come see me tomorrow at Chuck’s. Just you, nobody else.”

  “I can’t go back to sleep. I have to talk to you. I have, like, a million questions.”

  “I know. But not now. We’d wake everyone up, and I just can’t do that. You have to trust me. We’ll have plenty of time to talk later.”

  “But is anything wrong? Are you in trouble or something?”

  “Just come by Chuck’s tomorrow and we’ll talk then.”

  I chew on my bottom lip for a second, but there’s nothing to do but agree. “I’ll be there,” I tell him. “Right after work.”

  “Work?”

  “I’m working with Uncle Jimmy this summer. Tomorrow’s my first day.”

  He smiles for the first time. “Uncle Jimmy,” he says fondly, like the name by itself is some kind of private joke.

  “I can skip work if you want me to.”

  “No,” he says. “You can’t let Uncle Jimmy down. Come by afterwards.” He stands, and I expect him to lean down and wrap his big arms around me, but he doesn’t. He just says, “See you tomorrow,” then walks across the room and opens the door, careful to keep it from making a sound. Then he’s gone without even looking back. No kisses, no hugs, just the shadow of the feeling of his hand on my shoulder.

  What just happened? I ask myself. It’s like I saw a ghost, only instead of fright, I’m filled with nothing but a burning whirl of confusion.

  12

  Work! I can’t stand it. All I want to do that next morning is head straight to Chuck’s apartment. What I have to do is start my new summer job working for Uncle Jimmy just like Bobby did back when he was in high school. Ace in the Hole Home Improvements is the name of his business. He paints houses, does carpentry work, builds decks, even mows lawns and plants trees if the price is right. The work isn’t real steady during the winter, but I think Uncle Jimmy likes it that way. He’s one adult who never completely lost that wild side of himself. Every once in a while, he’ll still get in a bar fight if he has to. I guess he’s my favorite uncle.

  Up to now I’ve really been looking forward to working for him, even though I suspect the parents lined it up because they thought doing some manual labor would be good for me. The thing is, though, if I can save enough money for a down payment, Dad says he’ll cosign on a car for me at the end of the summer. It’ll be a long way from new, but at least I won’t have to depend on my friends—or worse, my parents—to take me everywhere I want to go. Still, how can I think about that after Bobby’s visit last night?

  This whole morning, while getting ready for work, I can’t quit thinking about him. What is he doing back so soon? You don’t just get out of the army without a mile of red tape, do you? And why didn’t he call so we could have a big party? I figured we’d have all our friends and relatives over for a humongous blowout, celebrating the return of our war hero. The main thing that eats at me, though, is why was Bobby so distant? Why didn’t he pick me up and whirl me around and hug me till every ounce of worry I ever had about him squeezed out into the air?

  Riding to work, I try to think of a way to bring up the situation without breaking my promise to Bobby, but it’s not an easy subject to steer my way into while Uncle Jimmy’s going on about his big weekend at Roadrunner’s Roadhouse and how he wrestled Heath Pugh in the parking lot—again. Usually, I’d enjoy a story like this, but it’s kind of annoying when I want to talk about something serious.

  “You know what?” I tell him. “Maybe you should get married and slow down a little. You might live longer.”

  “Hell, Ceejay.” He laughs. “Marriage wouldn’t slow me down any. Take this situation at your house with Diane Simmons sniffing around in her low-cut blouses.”

  Diane Simmons is this church woman who’s been bringing food by our house when Mom’s out of town at Grandma’s.

  “I’ll tell you what,” he says. “If she pranced into my house while my wife’s away, I’m afraid I’d be tempted to partake of more than just the potatoes and gravy.”

  “Really? Ms. Simmons?” Up to now, I haven’t paid much attention to her, but come to think of it, she does wear her blouses pretty low-cut for a woman all the way up in her late thirties. “Don’t you think she might be a little too churchy for you?”

  “Are you kidding me? Some of those holy rollers come with the hottest fires burning down below.”

  “I guess you’re about the only one who would notice something like that. I’m sure my dad doesn’t see anything but the hot meals she brings by.”

  “Don’t kid yourself, girl. Your old man might be married, but he’s not dead.”

  I shake my head. “No, he’s not dead, but he’s asleep on the couch by nine o’clock every night.” I’m not the least bit worried about my dad getting hot for some church woman’s freckled cleavage. He’s the most predictable person on earth. Anyway, it’s Bobby who’s still on my mind.

  We stop in front of a big two-story house where Uncle Jimmy has a painting job lined up. The house looks pretty white to me, but I guess they want it whiter. Uncle Jimmy’s hired man Jerry is already there, leaning against the side of his old clunker pickup. He’s a skinny little guy with a lopsided mustache. Uncle Jimmy warned me he was kind of slow, but at least he’s cheerful. A real morning person. Can’t wait to get our equipment unloaded so we can get to work.

  Painting, though, has never been my thing. I did paint the walls in my room, even the trim, but that’s all. It’s pretty boring, the same thing over and over, nothing artistic about it. I can see myself getting carpal tunnel by the end of the summer, but who cares? I just want the day to go by so I can do what I really want to do.

  Finally, lunchtime rolls around. While we’re scarfing our burgers at Coby’s Grill, Uncle Jimmy takes up the story of his weekend again. This time he goes into how he went home with a woman named Claire Fountain. She’s recently divorced and moved in with her crabby old mother, so when they went back to her house, Uncle Jimmy had to crawl in through the bedroom window. Then, come morning, he had to climb right back out the same window. “Made me feel like a burglar,” he says. “And she expects me to call her the next day? Ha!”

  Jerry looks flustered over the idea of someone having sex in the back room while the woman’s mother watches TV in the living room, but I think he admires Uncle Jimmy for it at the same time. Me, I love Uncle Jimmy, but stories like that just confirm my theory that, young or old, men are mostly dogs.

  Finally, we get around to the topic of Bobby when Uncle Jimmy says he’s going to hate having to turn Bobby’s motorcycle back over to him when he gets home. He’s been taking care of it ever since Bobby shipped out. Except, of course, when Bobby’s come home on leave.

  “The ladies love a man on a motorcycle,” he says.

  So here’s my opening, the perfect excuse to pick Uncle Jimmy’s brain about Bobby. I’m like, “Maybe you’ll have to give it back to him sooner than you think. I hear sometimes they let soldiers come home early.” I’m just throwing it out there like I haven’t heard a thing about him really being back.

  “I doubt that,” Uncle Jimmy says. “Probably be lucky to get home next month like he thinks. I mean, I hope he does—don’t think I don’t—but they make it pretty hard to get out of the military these days. It’s ridiculous. With that jackass Bush in the White House, you never know. He keeps sending troops back every time they think they’re going home.”

  Then I guess he realizes that might sound harsh to me, so he reaches over, pats my knee, and says, “But don’t you worry, Ceejay, I’m sure he’ll be back next month just like he said he would. You know Bobby. Nothing can get that boy down.”

  “But what if he showed up, like, tomorrow?”

  “Don’t get your hopes up about that, Ceejay. I mean, it would be great, but if he showed up tomorrow, I’d be worried that he was AWOL or something.”

  I don’t say anything back. All of a sudden, I feel like the reality of the world is about three sizes too big. Bobby AWOL? I just c
an’t believe that. Once we go back to the job, I try to put it out of my mind. Everything’s going to be all right, I tell myself. The war’s over now, at least where my brother’s concerned.

  13

  Finally, we wrap up work for the day, and I can’t wait any longer. Instead of going right home and asking Brianna or Gillis to come give me a ride, I coax Uncle Jimmy into dropping me off in front of Chuck’s apartment complex, telling him a lie about having a friend who lives there. No shower. No change of clothes, just my paint-spattered jeans, T-shirt, and sneakers. I even have paint in my hair, but that’s all right. If I put off seeing Bobby one more second, I’ll explode.

  Waiting on the porch after I ring the bell seems to take forever. I’m like, Why doesn’t Bobby rip the door open? Isn’t he as anxious to see me as I am to see him? Finally, the door swings back. It’s only Chuck. He looks stoned.

  “Uh, yeah, hi, Ceejay,” he says, rubbing his beard. “I almost forgot you were coming.”

  I look around his shoulder to see if Bobby’s behind him, but instead I see Amber Galen, the cupcake twin, standing by Chuck’s CD tower looking for some music to play.

  “Where’s Bobby?” I ask.

  “We have to go get him.” He turns around and calls to Amber, “You coming with us?”

  Her face twists into a sneer. “Are you kidding? You couldn’t get me out there for a million dollars.”

  “Well, lock the door when you leave.”

  Walking down the stairs, I ask Chuck where we’re headed, but he just goes, “Don’t worry, nowhere too weird.”

  He doesn’t give up much more information as we drive through town either. I ask if Bobby’s with Mona again, but he changes the subject. He wants to know what I think of Amber. It’s like he’s a high school kid again, trying to pry out some top-secret scoop about his girlfriend. I tell him I don’t know her all that well, but that it’s pretty surprising to see her at his place.