Chapter Thirty

September 20, 2016, Afternoon—Comanche, Texas

Raymond leaned against Will’s truck in the Comanche High parking lot. Kids passed and whispered to each other, grinned in an embarrassed way, snapped photos with their phones in ways they probably thought subtle. They all knew what had happened: Will’s drunken P.I. uncle had ridden into town, shot up a diner, and then burned the whole place down. It must have seemed like they had missed an action movie.

Let ’em gawk. I’m just leanin against a truck.

Will approached, walking alone, the fingers of both hands tucked into his front jeans pockets. He wore his football jersey, number seventy-six—a defensive end, if Raymond remembered correctly. It had been so long since he and Rennie had spoken of such things. When the boy saw him, he raised his chin in greeting. Raymond nodded. Will leaned against the chassis near Raymond. Together they watched the other kids drive away, honking at each other, shouting across the lot.

All this shit seems silly, Will said.

Raymond picked at some dried mud caked at hip level. I reckon seein your father shot puts things into perspective.

I guess. What’s up?

We’re leavin tomorrow. I know you’re busy, what with school and the hospital, so I thought I’d swing by. In case we don’t get another chance.

Chance for what?

To talk. Or drive around with the radio turned up too loud. Or whatever you’d like.

Will shrugged. I don’t know what I’d like.

A white extended-cab Chevy blared by, too fast, its ear-splitting pipes blatting louder than half a dozen industrial machines running full-bore. Will waved. Somebody’s arm snaked out the window and gave them the finger. Will laughed.

Maybe you like duallys, Raymond said.

Will took out his phone and played with it. Naw. Not really.

Well, what do you do these days? Last we spent much time together, you was catchin up on Harry Potter and Star Wars.

I watch a lot of Longhorns ball games. Momma keeps askin me who I’m datin. I keep tellin her nobody. She don’t believe me.

Mommas are born suspicious. It’s what keeps us alive long enough to grow up.

The boy laughed again. Sweat trickled from his hairline. He wiped it away. Soon the breeze would grow cooler. The leaves would turn brown and fall, covering yards all over America. The grass would die. The air would turn bitter and sharp, and rains would freeze into sleet or snow, and the world would turn and turn.

Well, anyway, Will said.

Raymond pushed himself off the truck and kicked a rock. Look. When your aunt Marie died, I was a mess. You wouldn’t have wanted to hang out with me.

Will brushed a lock of hair from his eye. And now?

I’m still a mess. But a little less so, I hope.

Seems like you made a couple new friends. Maybe between them and Darrell you’ll make it.

That’s the plan. And when you’re ready, I’d like to catch up. Come over here and go fishin, like we used to.

Or I could come see you. I ain’t been to New Orleans in years, and I’m almost old enough to do all the fun stuff.

Raymond smiled. I’d like that. If you’re serious.

The boy looked at the ground. Maybe. After graduation, though. If you’re still okay.

I’ll make up the spare room.

They stood for a while, each looking toward nothing in particular. More traffic on the road. A faint siren. Birdsong, and the buzzing of some insect. Soon Raymond would have to get back in his rental and drive out to the Thornapple place, right into the teeth of Red’s grief and all that quiet. For now, though, he stood beside his nephew, who was almost a man, and listened to life’s score swelling and ebbing, swelling and ebbing. The days were still warm, the sun bright, and so much seemed possible.