what? Two? Three hours? Ray looks at his watch. “You probably need to get home and get some sleep, brother.”
“What he needs to do is go get his damn truck,” Sinclair says. Wayne hits him. “What? It’s just sitting out there. A man doesn’t leave his truck behind.”
“What’s that mean?” Phil asks. “Where’s your truck?”
“Stuck in some Sherrills Ford trailer park,” Sinclair says, before I can make up an answer. I don’t want them to know the hows and the whys of our being there.
Phil turns to me, his eyes on me like spotlights, the way my dad looks at me when he wants an answer. But unlike my dad, whose eyes are always filled with accusations and limits, Phil’s are gentle but wild. As if he knows something. Even when Sinclair tells the story, Phil only nods. When he gets to how they cut the tires, it’s Ray who turns to me.
“They cut your tires? Why?”
I hesitate. “I don’t know.”
“And what did you guys do?” Phil asks, looking at Jake.
When Jake doesn’t answer, every bit of life draining from him once again, I speak.
“He pulled a knife on us,” I say. “We couldn’t do anything.”
They don’t ask why we were there, but I can tell Phil wants to know. He looks from me to Jake and then finally back to Ray, who nods.
“Let’s get that truck back,” Ray says to him. They slap hands and then the tailgate of Wayne’s truck, making plans and building up steam, as Jake continues to fade away.
“We don’t have any tires,” I say.
“I can get you tires,” Ray says dismissively.
“It’s five in the morning,” I say.
“His dad owns Ray’s Tire downtown,” Phil tells me. “Next to the Chinese buffet?”
And then it hits me: I know who Ray is. His picture is on every wall of that place, and when I was growing up, whenever Dad needed to get the tires rotated or replaced, he and Ray senior would talk and boast. I wanted my dad to talk me up the way Ray senior would. I’d stare at those pictures of Ray, young and serious, and just wish. The Ray in front of me rubbing his eyes is a ghost of the kid on that wall. But back then he looked like he could walk through a building.
“I mean, you’ll have to pay for them eventually,” Ray says, pulling a key out of his pocket. “But seeing as it’s an emergency, I’m sure we can get you rolling.”
Wayne steps forward, like he’s afraid to ruin the good times. “They’re not telling you the whole story. These guys are—” I shoot him a look, shake my head. He sighs. “They’re not good dudes.”
“Well, they sound like a bunch of fuckups to me,” Phil says, turning to Ray. “Go get the truck. We’re doing this.”
Wayne turns to me. “I can get your truck tomorrow. They sleep half the day. I’ll go around ten and get it. I’ll bring it back to your house, and it will be there when you get back from basic. But man, you know we can’t go there.” He looks over at Jake, who’s fiddling with the straps on his damn backpack.
“As I live and breathe,” Phil says. “Is there a sack among you boys? This is what’s wrong with your generation. You’re off watching videos on the damn computer and not getting out there and kicking ass. Fuck that. We’re going.”
Wayne groans, but Sinclair, despite everything, actually looks excited. Phil turns to Jake and says, “What do you think? You ready to see how a marine handles his business?”
“I’m not going,” Jake says, flat. Still playing with the backpack.
“What do you mean you’re not going?” Phil asks.
“I’ve got something to do,” he says, glancing at me.
“Something to—this is your brother, man! Hell if you’re not going.” When Jake shakes his head again, Phil says, “A bunch of damn pansies, as I live and breathe.”
Jake’s leaning against Wayne’s truck like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. I don’t care if he comes, but I have no idea how to explain that to Phil and Ray. How to be indifferent to what should be an absolute. And I understand his not wanting to go back to Clem’s, especially with Phil. The questions would come. Why were we in a sketchy trailer park? Who are these guys? But I need my truck, and right or wrong, I’m not going to let covering for him ruin this, too.
“We don’t need him.” As I say