Billy Summers

She gets in and he gets in next to her. They lie on their backs. The bed is narrow and their hips touch. He looks up at the ceiling and thinks, I am not going to get an erection. Which is like telling a dog not to chase a cat. Their legs are also touching. Hers is warm and firm through the cotton. He hasn’t been with a woman since Phil and he doesn’t want to be with this one, but oh God.

‘Can I help you?’ Her voice is quiet but not timid. ‘I can’t make love to you … you know, the real way … but I could help you. I’d be glad to help you.’

‘No, Alice. Thank you, but no.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes.’

‘All right.’ She rolls on her side, away from him and toward the wall.

Billy waits until her breathing grows long and mild and steady. Then he goes in the bathroom and helps himself.

9

Days go by, just a few, almost like a vacation, and then it’s almost time. There’s a Target down the road, and after breakfast they shop there. Alice buys a big plastic jug of moisturizer and a spray bottle. Also bathing suits. Hers is a modest blue tank. His are billowy trunks with tropical fish on them. She also buys him a pair of pre-washed bib overalls, yellow work gloves, a denim barn coat, and a T-shirt with a very Vegas slogan on it.

They swim in the motel pool, which they discover is the best part of their current accommodation. Alice plays water volleyball with some kids while Billy lies on a chaise, watching. It all feels natural. They could be a father and daughter on their way to Los Angeles, maybe looking for work, maybe looking for relatives they can touch up for a long-term loan or a place to stay.

The motel clerk was right about the buffet – it’s heavy on mac and cheese and prehistoric roast beef au jus – but after almost two hours in the pool, Alice eats everything on her heaped plate and goes back for more. Billy can’t keep up with her, although there was a time – basic training, for instance – when he could have eaten her under the table. After lunch, she says she wants a nap. Billy isn’t surprised.

Around four o’clock they go shopping again, this time at a farm-and-garden store called Grow Baby Grow. Alice’s great mood of the morning has darkened, but she makes no effort to change his mind about the next day. Billy is grateful. Persuasion might lead to argument and arguing with Alice is the last thing he wants. Not on what could be their last day together.

When they park at the motel, Billy reaches into his back pocket and brings out a folded piece of paper. He unfolds it, smooths it gently, and then attaches it to the dashboard with Scotch tape from Target. Alice looks at the little girl hugging the pink flamingo.

‘Who is that?’

Shanice’s careful crayon work has blurred a little, but the hearts rising from the flamingo’s noddy head to Shanice’s are still clear enough. Billy touches one of them. ‘The little girl who lived next door to me in Midwood. But tomorrow she’s going to be my daughter. If I need her to be.’

10

Billy trusts people not to steal, but only so far. The old tools and dirty barrels are safe enough, but someone might see the stuff they bought at Grow Baby Grow and decide to filch some, so they carry the bags inside and store them in Billy’s bathroom. There are four 50-pound sacks of Miracle-Gro potting soil, five 10-pound sacks of Buckaroo Worm Castings, and a 25-pound sack of Black Kow fertilizer.

Alice lets Billy tote the Black Kow. She wrinkles her nose and says she can smell it even through the bag.

They watch TV in her room and she asks him if he will stay the night with her. Billy says it would be better if he didn’t.

‘I don’t think I can sleep alone,’ Alice says.

‘I don’t think I can, either, but we’re both going to try. Come here. Give me a hug.’

She gives him a good one. He can feel her trembling, not because she’s afraid of him but because she’s afraid for him. She doesn’t deserve to be afraid at all, but if she has to be, Billy thinks, this way is better. A lot.

‘Set your phone alarm for six,’ he says when he lets her go.

‘I won’t have to.’

He smiles. ‘Do it anyway. You might surprise yourself.’

In his room next door, he texts Bucky: Have you heard anything about N?

Bucky’s reply is immediate. No. He’s probably there but I don’t know for sure. Sorry.

It’s okay, Billy texts back, then sets his own phone alarm for five. He doesn’t expect to sleep, either, but he might surprise himself.

He does, a little, and dreams of Shanice. She’s tearing up the picture of Dave the Flamingo and saying I hate you I hate you I hate you.

He wakes up at four, and when he goes outside with the new gloves in one hand, Alice is sitting in the eternal motel lawn chair, bundled up in an I LOVE LAS VEGAS sweatshirt and looking up at a rind of moon.

‘Hey,’ Billy says.

‘Hey.’