American Rust

  Isaac was standing in the corner with his arms still crossed. Poe went over and clapped him on the shoulder. “Relax,” Poe told him, but even to him his voice sounded strained and uneven and Isaac wouldn't look at him. “You want a beer?” Isaac still wouldn't look at him. He turned back to Lee. She was dancing. She danced with a fat older man in his baggy church suit, sweat pouring down his face, it was Frankie Norton's dad, Frankie who was still away at Lehigh. Then she danced with a freckled kid who looked about fifteen and then a guy in Marine Corps dress blues who was taking it a little easier. Lee and the marine danced for a while, it seemed like a long time, he twirled her around slowly. Poe hated this song it was Faith Hill, he hated new country. The marine tried to put his white hat on Lee, being playful. Then Frankie Norton's dad came back and handed her two beers and Lee stopped dancing and pushed her way back to Poe. He could see the marine sizing him up from across the room and then the marine turned away, Poe saw he had a scar across the back of his head where the hair didn't grow, a surgery scar. They had done something inside his head. After graduation a lot of people had signed up and three kids from the Valley had been killed in the last month alone. One of them was a girl he'd fooled around with, she was a little weird, everyone thought she was a dyke. He'd fooled around with her a few times but he hadn't defended her. She was driving a truck and an IED got her, it was what got all of them over there. All she'd done was join the Reserve. He hoped the Arabs that did it were dead, hoped they'd been gutshot by some hucklebuck sniper who'd grown up with a deer rifle in his hand, hoped those Arabs thought they were safe and meanwhile that sniper was judging his windage and boom—they were holding in their guts. Christ, he thought, what happened, a second ago you were happy.

  Lee handed his beer over and said: “They wouldn't let me pay for drinks.”

  “You got that on someone's SSI,” Isaac told her. “Or their welfare.”

  Lee got a look on her face. Poe wanted to throw Isaac through the window. She opened her mouth to say something but the marine had come over next to her. He didn't look more than twenty or twenty- one, short brown hair that looked as soft as a boy's, acne on his neck and temples.

  He said: “You ain't gonna sit out long, are you.”

  “I'm finished dancing,” Lee told him.

  “Come on.”

  “I came to see my friends here.”

  He looked over Poe. Then he took her hand up lightly.

  “No, thank you,” she said.

  Poe stepped in front of her, squaring himself to the marine.

  “Husband to the rescue, huh?”

  “That's right,” said Poe.

  “Except you ain't her husband.”

  “Yes he is,” Lee said.

  “Bullshit he is.”

  “Go back to your friends,” said Poe.

  “We're leaving,” Lee said.

  The marine took a step forward but Poe was already backing away. Then the marine kept walking after him but he stumbled on something and went over hard. He was drunk. He began to shout something from the floor, just lying there shouting. Poe kept backing up. Lee and Isaac were already out the door.

  Poe backed away without taking his eye off the marine, people were starting to notice, the kid's medals were flopped awkwardly on his pressed blue coat. Poe felt bad for him, stand up, he thought, just stand up. Then he noticed something strange, one of the kid's legs was twisted and longer than his other leg, Poe saw something shiny underneath and he felt all the heat go out of him, and kept looking at the leg, where the sock didn't cover it, it was pale brown plastic with a steel bolt for the ankle and Poe couldn't stop looking at it, his head felt light, you might have hit that kid, he realized, in the old days you might have hit him and for a second he thought he'd pass out, there was a slight space in the crowd and Poe shoved people aside and pushed through to the door.

  Outside a state trooper was parked and Poe steadied himself against the wall but someone was already in the back of the car in handcuffs and the cop was writing. Christ he thought something is happening to your life, your mistakes are piling up. He wondered how he'd never seen it before. And now the thing in the factory with those bums. He had to get out of this place, away from this town. He had thought he would be okay staying here but it was the opposite, people had tried to tell him but he hadn't listened. He couldn't remember where Lee had parked, he'd only had two beers but his head was spinning. There was an ambulance at the other end of the street, its back doors wide open, bright inside, two people being treated. He saw Lee and Isaac waiting. They had Lee's car idling in the street when he got there and Poe checked as he got into the car, a half dozen men had come out of the bar looking for him.

  “Took your sweet time,” said Isaac.

  “That guy had a fake leg.”

  “You didn't punch him,” Lee asked.

  “I didn't touch him,” Poe said. “Jesus Christ.”

  “Good thing we had that drink,” said Isaac.

  “I'm sorry,” Lee said. “I shouldn't have talked to him for so long.”

  “It's not your fault.”

  “The fuck it's not,” Isaac said.

  Isaac was quiet the rest of the way home. When Lee parked he got out and went inside without looking at either of them. Poe and Lee watched Isaac go and then looked at each other and he braced himself for her to say good night. He would walk home. He needed to get his head clear.

  “Do you want to come in for a drink or something,” she said.

  He hesitated for a long time. “Alright.”

  She squeezed his arm gently. “You can't stay over, though.”

  “I won't.”

  They sat on the back porch on the couch with a blanket over them, faces cold but the rest of them warm, they could hear a stream running down to the ravine where it met the other stream and then the river. And from there, he thought. From there it met the Ohio and the Ohio met the Mississippi and then down to the Gulf of Mexico and the Atlantic, it was all connected. It's all connected, he thought. It all meant something. He drank more wine. He was just drunk.

  It was warm under the blanket, they were holding hands and he closed his eyes and let the feeling sink in. There was a dark patch where the neighbor's yard began, it was a thicket now, the empty house obscured by brush.

  “When I left, someone still lived there,” said Lee. “Pappy Cross.”

  Poe finished the bottle of wine, held it above his lips for the last drops. It was a new moon, a dark night, it seemed like anything could happen, it felt like the old days, he wondered if he was just kidding himself.

  “We might as well talk about it.”

  “I'm sorry I didn't tell you,” she said.

  “It's fine.”

  She laid her head against his shoulder.

  “It's the same one from before, isn't it?”

  “Simon.”

  “The one who was with all those other girls?”

  “I'm sorry. I'll say it as many times as you need to hear it.”

  “He changes his mind so everything's different. That's pretty much the story.” He didn't know why he was saying these things, they were having a good time, from the way it was going he guessed there was a good chance she'd sleep with him if he would just pretend it was like the old days, like he forgave her.

  She tensed and it was quiet for a while but then she said: “There's a reason I was with him in the first place, you know, he wasn't all bad. Anyway, now that we're married, they feel better about helping to take care of my father. Things are about to get easier for all of us.”

  “Hope you got that in writing.”

  “Poe.” She shook her head. “Poe, you have no idea how easy it is for you to say that.”

  “I was defending you to your brother but now I think I shouldn't have.”

  Still he didn't know why he was pushing but it seemed like she'd been prepared for it, for him to act like this, she'd always been fine with having different sorts of feelings.

  “I hope
you didn't tell him about us,” she said.

  “No, but I'm sure he knows now. After tonight.”

  She was shaking her head some more. She was not happy about it.

  “It's kind of his own fault.”

  She took her hand back.

  “I found out from your brother,” he said. “You could have called and told me and it would have been okay. You could have told me yourself but instead I find out from him and I'm guessing you would have split town again without calling me if we hadn't needed a ride tonight.”

  “Because I'm married.”

  “Well I'm glad you're happy.”

  “If it makes you feel better there are days when he and I don't even talk. I can't even remember the last time we had sex.”

  He wondered if she was making that up but he didn't care. He needed to hear it. Of course it made him feel better, and it seemed to make her feel better also, and after a minute they were holding each other again. He heard her swallow and he could feel her heart going and he thought go on and do it. She let him kiss her. She let herself be pulled into him and he smelled her warm breath and they held their heads together and he took in her smell, some girls smelled like their perfumes or the soaps they used but her it was just her skin. He would know it anywhere. In the mornings when she'd been sleeping all night he would just smell her, smell her chest, smell where the hair began at the top of her neck. They were like that for a long time, breathing in each other's hair, and then he started rubbing her back and her leg.

  “You're not being fair,” she said.

  “I love you,” he told her.

  She sighed and burrowed into him.

  “You don't have to say it. I don't care.”

  “I love you, too,” she said.

  Soon she was touching the bare skin on his stomach. He put his hand up her skirt and she pushed against it and he undid his pants and slid them down and reached for her. She let him. She rolled on top of him and he pulled her underwear over and got partway inside, it was as quick as that. She raised herself up to get it in smoothly. They were still for a minute. She grabbed his shirt and squeezed it hard and then quickly rolled to one side and took her underwear off.

  They started again and after a minute or two there was a look on her face like she was concerned with something and he pulled her mouth to his neck so she wouldn't make noise. Eventually the tension went out of her and they were going slower.

  “Do you want to be on top,” she said.

  “I think I'm done.”

  “Me too,” she said.

  After lying like that for a while they took all their clothes off, just to be touching, and she lay with her back to him, his arms around her. She had a raised mole on her back, on the one shoulderblade, and he leaned and kissed it. He knew the other one wouldn't, is why. He knew she meant something different to the other one, she did not mean as much to the other one. It didn't matter. She was not the same for him but that didn't matter, he was going to write it down, a life lesson. Shut the fuck up, he told himself.

  Then he thought she was just doing this as a favor. It was just her doing a favor for you, old times’ sake, next time she will be gone to you. He felt cold. He was considering all the possibilities but then he decided no, it wasn't from pity, it was from several different things, he was fine with it. But it was time to get going, in an hour he might be nervous or angry, he didn't want her to see that. He slipped out from behind her and began to look for where his clothes had fallen, then stood up and began dressing.

  The coldness woke her and she opened her eyes.

  “Where are you going?” she said.

  “I dunno,” he said. “I guess home.”

  “I'll drive you.” She stood up, naked. She was so small. “Jesus, I'm shitfaced,” she said. “No wonder I wanted to seduce you.” She smiled at him.

  He was slightly hurt by the implication but he smiled anyway and his head began to feel straight again, this was as good as it would get, two old friends, occasional benefits, any more and she'd take him under and then leave him there. He was glad it had happened, a good reminder of how it was supposed to be. It was supposed to mean something, it was more than just body parts. Life was long and he would feel this way again only not with her. He couldn't figure out why he was feeling so natural about it, he hoped the feeling would last, he knew this was how he should close it. The end of one book of his life. He did not want to think about it.

  “I'm glad I got to see you again,” he said. He cleared his throat and made himself lean forward to kiss her forehead. She tried to pull him back to the couch.

  “You might as well stay a while longer,” she said. “We might as well do it all night.”

  “I should get home.”

  “I meant what I said.”

  “I know,” he said. “I know you did.”

  As he was leaving, he turned to wave and saw something move in Isaac's window. He kept walking. Soon he was in the dark under the trees.

  8. Lee

  She was lying on the couch, looking around at the home she'd grown up in but had put from her mind five years now, water- stained ceilings, patches of wallpaper curled from dry plaster, Isaac's books flung everywhere. Since she'd left, the books had filled the house. Old science textbooks he'd picked up at thrift stores, copies of National Geographic, Nature, Popular Science, piles of them on every shelf, on her mother's upright piano, the stacks of books and magazines spread across the living room in unruly masses. It was a large room but still there seemed barely enough space for her father's wheelchair to pass. Obviously, Henry had decided to tolerate it. But maybe he no longer cared. A person looking in the window would have thought the house belonged to some crazy old lady and about twenty cats.

  On one hand she loved her brother for it, his curiosity, he was always teaching himself things, but she was beginning to worry about him. He was getting more isolated and eccentric. Right, she thought. You're the one who stuck him here. It didn't seem like she'd had a choice about it. She'd always thought she had escaped just in time, outrun the sense she'd had her entire childhood that with the exception of her even-stranger younger brother, she was fundamentally alone. It was not a good way to think. It had changed completely when she got to Yale, not right away, but quickly enough, her sense of aloneness, of what she would now describe as an existential isolation, had disappeared. Her entire childhood in the Valley now seemed like a past so distant it might have been another person's life. She'd found a place she belonged. It seemed impossible she'd have to give that up and come back here.

  There was a creaking from upstairs—her brother was still awake. She felt guilty. I'm working on it, she told herself. Simon's family had agreed to pay for a nurse, she'd made some phone calls, tomorrow she would start the interviews. It could not have gone any faster. Same as what they taught you as a lifeguard—you have to save yourself before you can save anyone else. That's what she was doing. She had gotten herself to solid ground and now she was coming back for her family. You sure took your time about it, she thought, but that probably wasn't true, she was just being hard on herself. She hadn't been a particularly good lifeguard, either—her body wasn't big or buoyant enough and technique only went so far. A heavy enough person would drag her under every time.

  She got up and walked around the stairs, through the small dining room, and into the kitchen. Off the kitchen, in the den which had been converted to a bedroom, she heard her father snoring, the long pauses when his breathing seemed to stop. It is him, she thought. He is the problem. Her ears and neck got very hot and she had to wash her face in the sink, it was the old feeling that there were terrible things in motion and she would only understand when it was too late, it was the feeling she associated with this house, with the entire town. She felt it every time she came home. Soon they would all be gone from it. It was a conversation she'd been planning for years, telling her father it was time for both of his kids to leave. That he could stay in the house with a nurse or move to a home, but
that the time for Isaac to stay had passed.

  She had always been the favorite. Their father treated Isaac like a foster child, because he, Henry English, was a big man from a line of big men, because Isaac had a curious mind and Henry English did not, and while those same faults, smallness and fine- mindedness, were acceptable in his wife and daughter, when they appeared in his son it was as if everything he had to offer, everything he had valued in himself, it had all been submerged under the character of his wife. Including her Mexican coloring, which both children had inherited. Their skin wasn't that dark, really, they just looked slightly tan, Isaac could have passed for someone from the hills. Not so much her, though. A little more foreign. Dark eyebrows, she thought. Meanwhile Henry English was pale and red- haired. Or had been, anyway.

  Their mother had come to the U.S. to study at Carnegie Mellon, and as far as Lee knew, she had never gone back. By the time her kids were born she had no trace of an accent and neither Lee nor Isaac had ever heard her speak Spanish. Right, she thought. As if Henry would have allowed that anyway. He wouldn't have been happy either if he knew you checked the box, called yourself Latina, on your college and law school applications. She'd thought it over many times, but when the time came she hadn't hesitated to do it. It was true and not true. She could look the part if she wanted, but she didn't know the language, not even a nursery rhyme—she was the daughter of a steelworker, it was a union family. At Yale she'd learned French. As far as college and graduate school went, she probably would have gotten in anyway, she had perfect SATs and nearly perfect LSATs but there were times she wished she could know for sure. Obviously it was a luxury to even wonder about it.

  She took a handful of vitamins for all the wine she'd had, drank a glass of water, and went back to the living room. She couldn't get over the house—it was bigger and grander than some of the houses of her professors. Built for some businessman in 1901, the date in stone over the front door. A little ostentatious, but that was the style then. Her father loved the house more than he would ever admit. They had bought it in 1980, when things were beginning to slow, when people in the Valley were much less sure about buying big houses. Later, it had been the reason he had to take the job in Indiana, after the mill downtown had closed, living in a shack while he sent back money. In hindsight it seemed stupid. But of course that was the American Dream. You weren't supposed to get laid off if you were good at your job.