Hometown (17 page)

“It’s a holiday, Border, and there’s a picnic later. Get rid of the tie, at least.”

“Maybe
you
should wear it. You have to get on stage when you hand over that check.”

“I refuse to wear a tie on a holiday. Dana, let’s go, it’s late! Where’s the check?”

“You put it behind the sofa.” Border lifted a large rectangular piece of cardboard and turned it around. “Hospital Nurses Association, Crosby Baker, president. Wow, two thousand bucks!”

“Wasn’t my idea. I wanted to give the money to the battered women’s shelter. Dana, hurry up!”

They had to park several blocks away from the courthouse, and the crowd there was already so heavy that the three were quickly separated. Border used his height to look around and used his size to edge toward the front. There was a stage on the lawn, with two rows of chairs. Connie and Mrs. Zipoti were in the front row. The Gold Star moms, guests of honor. Connie saw him and waved both hands. Mrs. Zipoti looked stern. Border saw his dad climb to the stage and sit with other people who were holding big fake checks. Mrs. McQuillan saw Border and lifted her cardboard to give it a shake.

Loudspeakers crackled and the speeches began. Connie and Mrs. Zipoti were given plaques. They stood to receive them, and the applause went on and on. Maybe forever, it seemed to Border, but just then Mrs. Zipoti raised her hand and it stopped.

Yes, Mrs. Zipoti.

She nodded approval. The women sat down. Border saw Connie run her hands slowly over the plaque, touching the letters.

More speeches, a few tunes from the school band. Border took off his tie. The sun was high overhead, and he was too warm. Wished he’d worn something else.

“We have a wonderful surprise,” he heard the mayor say. “Two of our own have just returned from the Gulf!” A couple of guys in uniform ran up on the stage, each waving a flag. The crowd went wild, worse than before. The high school band played two more pieces, while the soldiers soaked up the applause. Border clapped for a while, then looked at his watch. One more hour at least, then they’d picnic at Connie and Paul’s. Man, he was hungry.

The soldiers were given chairs on stage. Another tune from the band. Border tapped on his thighs.

“On to our next order of business,” said the mayor, and the program moved along. Border looked around, saw Dana and Jacob. Then he spotted Paul, standing with Connie’s son Jeff and Jeff’s family, all eyes on the stage.

Presentation of checks. “These will be on display for the next month in the courthouse atrium,” said the mayor. There was the old man, waiting his turn. Mrs. McQuillan went forward, handed over her cardboard, shook the mayor’s hand. “Representing the hospital nurses, Crosby Baker.”

Right away Border heard grumbling, a low, troubled swell. It caught him by surprise. But why, why be surprised?

Out of the grumbling, clear voices.

“Get the traitor off the stage!”

“Dumbo Gumbo, go back to Canada!”

“Who let him up there? Get him off, get him off!”

“He shouldn’t be on the same stage as real soldiers!”

“Shouldn’t be on the same planet!”

The grumbling got louder, rolled into a snowball of boos, hisses, and shouts.

The old man stepped forward with his check.

Splat! Someone threw a snow cone. Purple ice hit his shoulder and splashed up on his face. People cheered at that. The mayor froze; time for a leader. What to do?

Border’s dad stood smiling while the calls continued. Stood there, taking it. Just taking it. His eyes looked over the crowd; at last he found Border. Bigger smile, eyebrows raised.

Border got the message: Now it’s my turn.

The old man took a breath and straightened his shoulders. A clump of grape ice fell out of his hair and slid down his face. People laughed—now he was a traitor
and
a fool. He wiped his face, wiped his shirt, wiped his hands.

A single clear voice: “It’s coward’s blood on his shirt!” Border pushed forward. Good to be big; people got out of the way.

Straight to the stage. “What’s this?” said the mayor.

“Excuse me, sir,” said Border. “Hey, Dad,” he called and took off his suit coat, unbuttoned his shirt, handed them both to his father. “Here, take mine.”

Standing bare-chested, he heard the first whistle, then there were more. Catcalls, yoo-hooing. Finally, his name: “Yeah, Border!” He looked at the crowd. Did he dare?

Yes.

Border lifted his arms and flexed.

Almost a riot. Cheers and applause exploded into a roar. Border grinned, looked around.

Hey, miracles happen: Mrs. Zipoti and Connie—struck dumb.

The noise continued until the shirts were exchanged and rebuttoned. Border leaned and whispered to his father. “They love us, Dad.”

The old man shook his head and smiled. “They love you.”

Family Picture
—

Party at Connie and Paul’s. Border’s the last one there. It was hard leaving the courthouse because so many people wanted to talk, shake his hand, slap his back. Ha, ha, kid, you shut up those bums. Then he had to go home to change. Jeans and a T-shirt. It’s a holiday, after all.

In the kitchen, the phone machine blinks, a message from Mom. He’ll call back later, share the story. Okay, so you no longer love him, he’ll tell her, but the way he just took it—you would have been proud.

Across the street, the yard is crowded. Music playing, people dancing. Border’s stomach growls. Where’s the food?

He sees Paul and Dana putting platters on a table. She turns, gives an order to Jacob, who’s right there. Liz leads her sisters through the crowd and deposits them with her parents before walking away. Mrs. McQuillan hugs one of the girls. Border sees his father standing against a tree, talking to Connie’s kid, who has his arms around his wife. The old man slips a hand into Maggie’s.

The music gets louder. Border grins. Connie’s favorite tape, her traveling songs. Everyone laughs, the mob in the yard shifts, and for a moment he sees Connie and Mrs. Zipoti dancing. Arms raised, hips rocking, while Aretha sings on.

“There you are,” Dana says. “You took so long. Everyone’s here. We were going to take a family picture, but the coals were ready and we couldn’t wait. Oh, Jacob, we need the cooler!” She rushes off, Jacob follows.

Family picture? And who’s in it? Border frowns. He’s never agreed with his mother and her friends, who preach that a family is born any time people live together. Leave one, start another. Too easy, Mom.

All these friends, though. It’s something.

There’s a crash and all eyes turn to the house. An embarrassed face grimaces behind the door’s glass.

“Open it first!” someone shouts.

“Just like my dog,” someone else says.

Border laughs in agreement. Just like old Pooch. Catches his breath. Yeah, that’s it. That’s what it is. Everyone here, okay, they aren’t his family. Take any picture you want, but don’t call it a family picture. Still, it’s something. Something like Pooch must have felt, what went through her mind, her little dog brain, when she heard everyone come home at the end of a day. Charge the door, welcome them back.
Woof woof, woof woof, ah-rooo.

That’s it. Thanks, Pooch.

Woof woof, woof woof, my people.