Staying Fat for Sarah Byrnes

  “What would you think?”

  “I’d think you and Mark would probably swim faster.”

  “Well, I think I’m going to do it.”

  “Jody have anything to say about this?”

  “She asked me first.”

  Lemry returns to her towels.

  “So what do you think? Really,” I ask.

  “I think it’s none of my business. I don’t know what’s behind it, but I’ve watched your eyes glaze over in Jody Mueller’s presence for three years. I just hope you’re not doing it to get at Mark. I’d think something about that.”

  “That’s a pretty good side benny, but it’s not why.”

  Lemry puts down the towel she’s folding. “Look, Moby, I don’t care who you go out with, but I think you and Steve should both take it a little easier on Mark.”

  I shrug, a little embarrassed because it sounds like Lemry thinks I’m mean, and though I may be sometimes, I don’t want her thinking it.

  “He keeps himself on a pretty short leash,” she says. “He has a lot of serious beliefs and almost no sense of humor. That’s not a good combination.”

  “To tell the truth, Coach, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s a good swimmer, I’d think any leash long enough to let him out of his house was too long.”

  “I know that. I’m not asking you to go to church with him. Just don’t push so hard. If you’re going out with Jody Mueller, go out with her. Just do it without a lot of fanfare, okay?”

  “No fanfare. Thanks, Coach.” I take the steps back up to the hall three at a time.

  Moments before the third period bell, I gaze down my row of lockers into the eyes of Mark Brittain. He shows no pretense of good cheer, and I figure he and Jody have talked. It’s not my fault, I think, I didn’t start this. How gallant. I dig into my locker, and a hand touches my shoulder. I turn slowly to face him. “What do you need?”

  He says, “I think you know.”

  “Manners?”

  “Jody told me she wants to start seeing other people.”

  “You must be proud.”

  “She wants to go out with you.”

  “Finally getting some taste, huh?” I say, staying casual. I don’t want to have to prove I’m no fighter.

  Mark says, “That’s low, Calhoune. It’s one thing to come after me in the pool. It’s something else to go after my girl.”

  “I didn’t go after your girl.”

  He sneers. “You’ve been sniffing around her since I can remember. Are you telling me if she wants to go out with you, you won’t go?”

  “No, I’m saying I didn’t go after her.”

  “You want me to believe it was her idea?” he asks. “That’s a laugh. What would she want with a block of lard like you?”

  “Intelligent company, maybe?” I guess. “A chance for a few laughs?” If Brittain knew me better he wouldn’t go after my physical appearance. He’d have to complete graduate work at the Harvard School of Slams to come up with a name I didn’t hear a thousand times in junior high. Block of lard? Give me a break, Brittain. I pull away to go to class, but he stands in my path, swelling his chest. I’m thinking this probably isn’t how Lemry would want me to do this.

  I tell Mark to get out of my way. I may not be a fighter, but I do have a documented history of being able to take a punch. Ask Dale Thornton.

  He doesn’t budge. “If we fight,” I say, “we go home for three days. My mother fixes me a glass of lemonade and a peanut butter sandwich and tells me to try to stay in school. Whaddaya s’pose your old man will do?” Brittain didn’t get that tight an ass growing up with Ward and June Cleaver.

  We stand toe-to-toe a few seconds more, glaring each other down as a crowd starts to gather. I push my bluff. “All that and you’re going to be embarrassed, too. This ain’t your day, buddy.”

  Mark’s not quite sure about me, and his need for decorum wins out. He steps back and I turn for my class.

  “She’s a bitch,” he blurts after me.

  I stop, turning, thinking I may go ahead and try to take him out. “What?”

  “Mueller. She’s a bitch. A pathological liar. I only stayed with her out of pity. It’s true, Calhoune. I was going to dump her, but she got to it first. She’ll tell you all kinds of wild stories, but I’m telling you because she’ll pull you in just like she did me. She’s pretty and all that, but there’s something seriously wrong with her. You’ll either believe me or you’ll find out for yourself.”

  I walk back toward him, stop inches away and say, “I’ll find out for myself.”

  He shrugs, his feathers all nicely back in place. “Suit yourself. You should hear what she’s said about you already.”

  I look at my watch. Less than thirty seconds to the bell. “Maybe we can make it a topic for discussion in Lemry’s class.”

  My butt hits the seat with the sound of the bell.

  Mr. Caldwell starts into yesterday’s homework in detail, but I’m not paying much attention, which is too bad because I didn’t do mine and if I went along with him, I could get it finished in time to hand in. That was a major encounter with Mark, and I’ll bet it won’t be the last. I’ve always thought Brittain was about a half turn of the knob from being out of control, and he’s strong. In junior high I was afraid of him, but in junior high I was afraid of everybody. Now I’m not sure if it was because of his size or the fact that he always looked like he could lose it at any minute. If I have to tangle with him, it’ll be a toss-up. He may whip me, but he’ll get hurt doing it, because I’d wage a true holy war for Jody Mueller now that I know how he treated her. And he just showed me trump; he’s a phony.

  “Isn’t this a bit coincidental?” Mom says, in response to my telling her I might be going out with Jody Mueller and I’d appreciate it if things looked a little better around here from now on, housekeeping-wise. Carver stands in a neutral corner of the kitchen.

  “What’s that?”

  “That you’re planning to go out with your worst enemy’s girlfriend?”

  “Hey, listen…”

  “You’ve been scrapping back and forth with Mark Brittain for two years at least. I’ve never heard you say one good thing about him.”

  “That comes from my unwavering commitment to the truth,” I say. “What’s the coincidence?”

  “That when you decide to start going out with someone, you choose his girl. That could appear a bit of a low blow to someone who isn’t aware of your impeccable integrity.”

  “Funny,” I say, “but Brittain said about the same thing, only you both got the order wrong. I didn’t decide to start going out and then pick the girl. The girl picked me and I decided to start going out.”

  Mom nods, thinking. “Are you sure she’s not doing it just to get even with him for something? How do you know you’re not being used?”

  I throw up my arms. “Use me. Use me.”

  “I don’t know, Eric,” she says. “You asked for my advice, and I just think you should be a little careful.”

  Carver comes a half step forward. “May I say something?”

  “Long as you’re on my side,” I say.

  “Long as you’re on my side,” Mom says right behind me.

  Carver’s getting used to us. “I think Moby has every right to take a chance with this girl. Especially considering how long he’s been attracted to her. If she’s using him, it’s a lesson he won’t forget. If not, he’s got a shot at something he’s been wanting for a long time.”

  Mom places a flat palm against her chest. “Well, Ann Landers. When did you become an expert on affairs of the heart?”

  “Well,” Carver says back, “I was a teenager once, and anyone who can remember that is an expert, but more recently I’ve had the experience of manipulating my way to being with you.”

  “Manipulating?” Uh, oh. Carver’s on thin ice. “How have you been manipulating anything?”

  “Not in front of the boy,” he says with a smile.

  “Yes,
in front of the boy,” she says back.

  “Well, who do you think sent Jack Callum out of town three weekends out of four for more than sixteen months?”

  Mom glares, looking genuinely stunned.

  “That’s right,” Carver continues. “And there was nothing fair about it. I was his boss. There were plenty of times I could have gone myself or sent other auditors.”

  “But you sent Jack.”

  “I sent Jack.”

  “You were ruining my romance.”

  Carver nods. I’m liking him better all the time. Jack Callum was a jerk of colossal proportions.

  “You were ruining my romance intentionally.”

  Carver nods again. All this time I thought he was Cream of Wheat. No way. This guy is Grape-Nuts. “Jack Callum wasn’t for you,” he says.

  Mom is incensed, truly so; past kidding around. “I guess that was for me to decide.”

  Carver doesn’t back down. “What did you decide?”

  “I decided he worked away from home too much. I decided he cared more for his job than he did for me.”

  “He did care more for his job than you,” Carver says. “He didn’t complain once when I shipped him out.”

  “But you were doing it to keep him away from me.”

  “I was doing it to let myself get closer to you. Look, the guy was a bozo. He still is. I hate to say this, but I think your head was turned a little by that body. I’ll admit, he has one of the best builds this side of the Mr. Olympia contest, but that body is in inverse proportion to his brain.” Carver is right. Jack Callum is buff, as they say in the body-building business, but he is also a poster boy for Adjustos of the Universe if I ever saw one. “I always wondered what you guys talked about over a candlelit dinner.”

  Mom says, “Carver, you need to know I don’t like people messing in my business behind my back. This really angers me.” She is quiet a minute, thinking. “In fact, this may hurt our relationship.”

  Carver shrugs. “If it does, so be it,” he says. “I was—am—in love, babe. If Jack had been a decent guy, I’d have stayed clear. But you looked way too good to me to be hanging out with the likes of him.”

  Mom still glares. It isn’t easy to get under her skin, but making her look or feel tricked will do it.

  “Anyway,” Carver says, “the point is that Eric and this girl Jody see something they like in each other, and they ought to look into it. They’re kids. There’s a lot to learn about being in a relationship.”

  “And you’re about to learn it.” Her tone is softer, and I can see Mom backing off her anger a bit, though Carver’s going to have to be awful nice to her for a while. What the hell, he’s nice most of the time anyway. I like seeing him stand up to Mom. I wouldn’t say this to her, but she can get pretty full of herself, being this big writer and all; constantly getting recognized because her picture appears next to her column in the paper.

  Mom makes Carver take her out for a nice dinner, which is like throwing Brer Rabbit in the briar patch. As they’re leaving she straightens him out some more, but it doesn’t seem to be doing much harm, and I’m thinking there’s a little piece in Mom that’s glad to have someone care about her enough to get underhanded. As they disappear, I realize I haven’t given Carver much of a chance. He’s an okay-looking guy; spends a little time at the gym himself. He doesn’t brag himself up, and he’s real gentle when it comes to my mother. I should lay off the fact that he’s intrigued by recreational vehicles and that he sometimes wears black socks with shorts. I think I’m so used to my mom telling me relationships don’t mean anything to her that I get to seeing her boyfriends as these one-dimensional boobs who won’t be around long enough to get to know me anyway. Old Carver might be different. My mother doesn’t look quite so tough when her partner doesn’t buy her line.

  I wonder if other people use their bedrooms the same way I do. When things get packed full—like they are now for me—I retreat here. Since I was very young, Mom and I have had an agreement that my room is private as long as I don’t leave anything organic here long enough to change from a solid to a liquid giving off gasses. If my clothes are within ten feet of the washing machine on wash day, they get washed. If not, they don’t unless I wash them myself. That keeps her out of my room without an invite. I can’t think of a time when I would have kept her out, but her respect for my private space has allowed me a true sanctuary. Which is exactly what I need right now.

  After workout this afternoon, I shot up to the psych ward to see Sarah Byrnes, though we never did make contact. Her dad was there, sort of hovering. From a distance I watched him talking to her, and though he whispered, he appeared pretty worked up. I couldn’t see Sarah Byrnes’s face—only the very still back of her head—but I’m sure she didn’t respond. Old Virgil smelled a rat, I think, because he was intense. He saw me, shot me a glance that felt like a fist to the chest, and went right on talking to her. The attendant watched awhile, then disappeared to get Laurel, the therapist, who watched a few seconds herself before walking over and gently laying a hand on Mr. Byrnes’s shoulder.

  He slapped it away. “This foolishness has gone far enough,” he said. “If this little girl doesn’t get herself together I’ll drag her on home and let her get better there.”

  Laurel said he’d have to get himself under control or leave, and he sprang from the couch like a predator, crowding, towering over her. I thought he’d hit her, but Laurel didn’t back down even a step.

  With my heart in my throat, I moved in their direction, hoping to hell Sacred Heart had a plan for events like this, because I knew I’d have to do something if he hit her, but tangling with Virgil Byrnes wouldn’t be like tying up with Mark Brittain, or even getting your butt kicked by Dale Thornton. This would be like getting your butt kicked permanently. I have newfound respect for his madness now that I know for sure what he did to my friend.

  To my tremendous relief, two attendants straight from “Wrestlemania Three” reached them ahead of me, one moving behind Mr. Byrnes and the other stepping between him and Laurel. The larger one said, “Sir, I’m afraid we’re going to have to ask you to leave.”

  “You can ask me all you want. This here’s my kid and if I leave, I leave with her.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible,” said Schwarzenegger Number One.

  “You have no right to keep her here against my wishes.”

  Laurel broke in. “I’m afraid that’s not true. This girl is clearly in need of help. If you take her, I’ll call Child Protection Services and report extreme emotional abuse and neglect. It’ll get decided in a shelter care hearing, and you have a completely nonresponsive child here.”

  A calmness descended over Virgil Byrnes, and when I think back, it was the most chilling part of the whole incident. His face went blank and he nodded slightly. “Very well,” he said, and turned to Sarah Byrnes. “Young lady, you get it together, or there will be hell to pay.”

  He turned abruptly and walked toward the exit. Unfortunately I was standing in front of it. In a voice so low it almost sounded like a growl, he said, “Something’s up and you know what it is, young Calhoune. Don’t make the mistake of getting mixed up in it, hear me?”

  “Yes sir,” crossed my lips before I could even think.

  He nodded. “You’re a smart boy. If my little girl is listening to you, you tell her she best get herself home. This is family business.”

  Then he was gone.

  The staff didn’t leave Sarah Byrnes and me alone long enough for any conversation after that, and I have a feeling she would have remained a statue. Words can’t describe the sense of menace that man puts out.

  So I’m lying here under the earphones, thinking if I had the hammer Peter, Paul, and Mary are singing about, I’d sneak up behind Virgil Byrnes and give him a whack; do what someone should have done a long time ago.

  It’s amazing to me how things seem always to pile up on each other. It would be enough to deal with all that’s going on with Sa
rah Byrnes, or with Jody, or even with just trying to get my times down before Regionals. But it’s all there together. All I really want to do is the right thing. But how do you ever know what that is? I mean, I know some people who could help me with Sarah Byrnes’s dilemma—Lemry for one, my mother for another—but I promised not to tell. So is it right to go for help when I’ve promised I wouldn’t, or is the right thing to keep my promise? The stakes are high. You don’t have to look into Virgil Byrnes’s eyes more than a second to know that.

  And what about Jody? Truth is, I’m scared to death to start anything up, and not because she used to go out with Brittain. It doesn’t make me proud to say this, but even with all the work I’ve done on the shimmering nerd I once was, there is a scared little fat boy inside me who is terrified of being seen. And I think if you’re going to be with somebody, you owe it to them to show yourself. High stakes there, too. I think I’ve been afraid to admit how much I wanted to be with her until it became a possibility. Maybe I should have gone ahead and had some girlfriends I wasn’t interested in; you know, a few tune-up bouts before the main event. I hate going into this not knowing what I’m doing, hate having to act cool when I ain’t. Funny thing—this is the first time in my memory I’ve wished I had a dad. It pisses me off that mine left.

  CHAPTER 11

  I’ve tried to look at Brittain from Lemry’s point of view, and I really leave him alone away from the pool now, but if I had to go cold turkey—well, life wouldn’t be worth living. He’s been such an asshole since Jody and I have been seeing each other that today Ellerby and I decided to kill him on the two-hundreds to teach him some humility, letting him lead for seven laps before eating him up on the eighth. Twenty of ’em like that. He didn’t even stay around to shower after workout, which means in an hour he’ll feel like he’s staked on an anthill from the residual chlorine.

  Things are finally looking up for Sarah Byrnes. She’s not completely out of the woods, but the cavalry is storming over the horizon. I’m glad, because I’m not strong enough or smart enough to carry this load myself.