“C’mon, I’ll drive you home. You can lie on the floor if you’re too embarrassed to be seen with me.”
He is making tracks, and she rushes to keep up. Uninvited, I follow.
It’s a pretty silent ride, and I can feel Pauly pulling away from us. Down down down the old hill we go until he kicks her—and me, go figure—out of his truck which isn’t even his, right outside the church. She tries to speak, but he pays no attention.
“What the hell?” is all Lilly can say as we stand there watching the pickup tear down the street.
“He’s convinced this time.” I shrug.
“I almost wish he wouldn’t even try….”
The sound of that bottoms me out so badly, I can’t muster the muscles to shrug. Then the two of us, Lilly and me, me and Lilly, which I normally love to hear myself think in either direction but now feels so fractured, we sit right there on the curb waiting for the inevitable. “Inevitable,” it occurs to me, is a good word for events in Whitechurch.
It takes roughly ninety seconds to drive the length of Main Street, turn left, come up the same length of Middle Street, and wind up back here at the church.
“He thinks he’s really got it for sure this time, huh, Oakley?”
“He thinks so. I don’t know what Dizzy told him, but Pauly’s long-gone sold.”
Lilly leans into me with her shoulder, and ever so ever so slightly I let the weight of me fall into her. “Ah, Oakley,” she says, and she sounds exhausted.
“Ya,” I say.
It’s been just about ninety seconds.
He pulls to the curb. No, he creeps to the curb. Rolls down the window.
“You gotta baby-sit tonight?” Lonely, he asks.
She nods.
“Can’t I, you think, this once?”
She shakes her head.
“Oh, go on, ask him. Whatsit hurt?”
“The Rev hates your guts, Pauly. There’s no way.”
He looks at me, looks and sounds genuinely angry with me. “Get your shoulder off my girlfriend.”
I don’t.
“See me later, then,” Pauly says. Strong. A statement.
Lilly waits. Not a flutter.
“See me later, then?” Pauly asks. Soft. A request. More than a request, really.
“Sure,” she says. “Love to.”
He is so excited, smiling goofy like a child. Also like a child, he seems like maybe he shouldn’t be allowed to drive a truck. He races the engine, accidentally lets it roll. Puts it in reverse to return to the conversation. Gone, he is, off to Lovelillyland. Like she has said yes for the first time right here right now instead of right here four years ago. Gone, like he is every time. First time every time.
“I’ll come get you here, at nine then, is it?”
“Nine it is.” Lilly stands. She is smiling, no longer tired. She has made Pauly happy, or whatever it is Pauly gets when the rest of us would get happy. All she wanted to do in the first place. All right now. All nice.
“And you, bird-dog girlfriend-stealing skinny bastard. Get in the truck. I’m gonna take you someplace secluded. Kick yo’ ass. Teach ya not to be messin’ with my old lady.”
I stand, look slowly up, then slowly down, the street. I brush off the seat of my pants. “Might as well, I guess. Nothin’ else doing around here around now. Kick my ass, then we’ll get back to work.”
He’s up again, Power Pauly. I love to see him this way. And I worry.
“First, lemme buy you a Coke. And while we’re drinkin’ I’m gonna lay out the Plan.”
“We got time?” I ask.
“Get in the truck,” he says.
I climb in the truck.
Then he’s buying me the Coke, at the fountain at the counter in the drugstore where they still have fountain drinks. I realize in lots of places this just isn’t so anymore, but Whitechurch simply couldn’t be, without the drugstore with the fountain where you can get a vanilla or cherry Coke and it may be too flat and so syrupy you’re happy you’re drinking in a place that also sells mouthwash, toothpaste, and floss. The cell phone rings but Pauly ignores it. He’s talk talk talking, about the
He is making tracks, and she rushes to keep up. Uninvited, I follow.
It’s a pretty silent ride, and I can feel Pauly pulling away from us. Down down down the old hill we go until he kicks her—and me, go figure—out of his truck which isn’t even his, right outside the church. She tries to speak, but he pays no attention.
“What the hell?” is all Lilly can say as we stand there watching the pickup tear down the street.
“He’s convinced this time.” I shrug.
“I almost wish he wouldn’t even try….”
The sound of that bottoms me out so badly, I can’t muster the muscles to shrug. Then the two of us, Lilly and me, me and Lilly, which I normally love to hear myself think in either direction but now feels so fractured, we sit right there on the curb waiting for the inevitable. “Inevitable,” it occurs to me, is a good word for events in Whitechurch.
It takes roughly ninety seconds to drive the length of Main Street, turn left, come up the same length of Middle Street, and wind up back here at the church.
“He thinks he’s really got it for sure this time, huh, Oakley?”
“He thinks so. I don’t know what Dizzy told him, but Pauly’s long-gone sold.”
Lilly leans into me with her shoulder, and ever so ever so slightly I let the weight of me fall into her. “Ah, Oakley,” she says, and she sounds exhausted.
“Ya,” I say.
It’s been just about ninety seconds.
He pulls to the curb. No, he creeps to the curb. Rolls down the window.
“You gotta baby-sit tonight?” Lonely, he asks.
She nods.
“Can’t I, you think, this once?”
She shakes her head.
“Oh, go on, ask him. Whatsit hurt?”
“The Rev hates your guts, Pauly. There’s no way.”
He looks at me, looks and sounds genuinely angry with me. “Get your shoulder off my girlfriend.”
I don’t.
“See me later, then,” Pauly says. Strong. A statement.
Lilly waits. Not a flutter.
“See me later, then?” Pauly asks. Soft. A request. More than a request, really.
“Sure,” she says. “Love to.”
He is so excited, smiling goofy like a child. Also like a child, he seems like maybe he shouldn’t be allowed to drive a truck. He races the engine, accidentally lets it roll. Puts it in reverse to return to the conversation. Gone, he is, off to Lovelillyland. Like she has said yes for the first time right here right now instead of right here four years ago. Gone, like he is every time. First time every time.
“I’ll come get you here, at nine then, is it?”
“Nine it is.” Lilly stands. She is smiling, no longer tired. She has made Pauly happy, or whatever it is Pauly gets when the rest of us would get happy. All she wanted to do in the first place. All right now. All nice.
“And you, bird-dog girlfriend-stealing skinny bastard. Get in the truck. I’m gonna take you someplace secluded. Kick yo’ ass. Teach ya not to be messin’ with my old lady.”
I stand, look slowly up, then slowly down, the street. I brush off the seat of my pants. “Might as well, I guess. Nothin’ else doing around here around now. Kick my ass, then we’ll get back to work.”
He’s up again, Power Pauly. I love to see him this way. And I worry.
“First, lemme buy you a Coke. And while we’re drinkin’ I’m gonna lay out the Plan.”
“We got time?” I ask.
“Get in the truck,” he says.
I climb in the truck.
Then he’s buying me the Coke, at the fountain at the counter in the drugstore where they still have fountain drinks. I realize in lots of places this just isn’t so anymore, but Whitechurch simply couldn’t be, without the drugstore with the fountain where you can get a vanilla or cherry Coke and it may be too flat and so syrupy you’re happy you’re drinking in a place that also sells mouthwash, toothpaste, and floss. The cell phone rings but Pauly ignores it. He’s talk talk talking, about the
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