The Last Karankawas(36)

She goes on. “You wanted to join the Army, that’s fine. Wanted to do three tours, I didn’t say a thing. But now you’re home, and you could be with us, people who love you, people who’ve built a life with you, but you leave.”

He says nothing. In truth, he doesn’t know what he could say.

She keeps her eyes on his, waves her hand to the Cig. “Did you tell them about us? That we are waiting? That you ignore our calls and keep going away, further and further every time?” If she feels the tears sliding down her cheeks, she ignores them. “Your family will wait forever. But I won’t. Not anymore. That’s what I decided to tell you.”

Vinh and Rey have not budged; Rey still holds the rope of a buoy he is lashing down. Beside him, Jess shifts, a slight movement. Away from Schafer.

“Okay,” Schafer says. Even he wants to flinch at the dead sound of his voice. So dry, so brittle.

Laurie nods, as if she has expected this. She wipes her face and takes a deep breath. “And here, of all places, Adam. Why here? The coast, in hurricane season? You know they’re saying this will be another Katrina, turn into New Orleans again.”

“I’m evacuating.”

“And then you’ll keep going. Some other coast, maybe. Some labor job. Just when these people have gotten used to you.”

“Or maybe I’ll stay,” he interrupts her, his voice thick with annoyance, defiance. She doesn’t know him, not anymore. He could stay here, in Jess’s apartment, sipping warm beers on the Seawall, pulling half-hitches on the Cig with these men. “Maybe I like it here, Lore. I’m happy here.”

“Liar,” she replies in a weary voice. And he can see now that the fight has gone out of her. “You’re not happy anywhere. I don’t know if you know how to be happy anymore.” When she raises a hand, gestures limply at him, he sees himself as she must. Sun-bleached, bearded, toughened. Years and miles away from the running back she dated, lost her virginity to, accepted a ring from. Both of them strangers.

“I’m sorry,” he hears himself say as she turns away. This lie offering false closure they could work with, pretend to move on.



* * *



It takes two days to finish storm prep on the boat. They lash it firmly, with extra lines, to the surrounding pilings and dock cleats. They wrap the machinery, lock up or tie down everything that can move. On the first day, after Laurie left, Vinh and Rey pester him about her, asking about Iraq, about his life, where he’s been. He gives blunt answers about Iraq and moving around; the questions about his family or Laurie, he doesn’t answer, and eventually they stop asking. Meanwhile, Jess stays silent, speaking only to give directions or respond to a command. If any of them notice Schafer drawing in ragged breaths or swiping at his eyes beneath his sunglasses, they say nothing of it.

He and Jess are the only ones there to finish up the last morning. Ike, the news says, will make landfall in a few days. The evacuation order has come down from the mayor. On the pier, they rinse salt and sweat from their faces and hands in the freshwater hose. Jess swishes water around in his mouth, spits. Schafer lifts the hose over his head. Beside him lie the Cig’s nets, crumpled and shriveled in the sun, reeking of salt and dead fish.

“You’ve got someplace to ride out Ike?” Jess asks. It’s one of the first times he’s spoken to him since Laurie.

Schafer shakes water from his eyes and nods. “Yeah. My buddy up in Conroe. I’m heading up there now. Already storm-prepped your place last night.”

“Good.” Jess rinses off his sunglasses. “Carly and me are going to Sealy tomorrow. You could come, if you need to.”

“Thanks. I’m okay. Cab will let me crash as long as I need.”

“Cab?”

“That’s what our unit called him, because Caballero was too long.”

Jess cracks a smile this time. “And I thought my name was rough. So, will you be back? When all this is over?”

“Sure,” Schafer says. “I’ll come back.”

Like Laurie, Jess recognizes the lie. Unlike her, he looks past it. He shuts off the water and coils up the hose. Shrugs. “Guess I’ll see you on the other side of this shit.”

They shake hands, and in a sudden move, Jess leans in and claps him on the back with his free hand.

Schafer pulls away and smiles. “On the other side, brother.”

He follows Jess’s truck out of the parking lot, back to Harborside; where Jess cuts east, toward Fish Village, Schafer heads west. His duffel bag, stuffed neatly once again, rests in the backseat. He merges with the already swelling traffic on Broadway and turns on the radio, flipping stations. Everything is either commercials or Christian, so he turns it back off.

Broadway becomes I-45. I-45 becomes the causeway. He drives high above the bay and watches flecks of sunlight dance across the brown water. It looks like a calm day, but he has learned that this can change in a heartbeat. The traffic moves slowly on the road, and he pauses for long moments to sweep his eyes over the shipping channel. A shrimping boat is coming in from the bay, its arms wide, the nets cast down. The nets. If he squints hard enough, he thinks he can see them billowing, beautiful and open in their element, dazzling with fulfilled purpose, reaching out.





CABALLEROS


Kristin