Page 48 of The Burning
But then, it was none of my fucking business, so after my initial surprise, I kept my mouth shut.
“Uhm, Jerry Seinfeld is one of the best and most successful comedians in American history . . .” I heard Fischer say to Elodie.
Elodie looked happy, content, and nothing like she had in the emergency room. I had texted her after I saw Karina and Austin leaving and stopped by her room. I really wanted her to be okay; she had a tough road ahead.
“I’m not saying he’snotgreat. But the humor inFriendsis the best. It never gets old, it tells a story with each episode! It helped me a lot with my English, actually.” Her French accent made me immediately agree with her, even though I otherwise knewSeinfeldwas the superior comedy.
“And Jerry Seinfeld has nothing on Adam Sandler. He’s America’s—” Elodie began to say. I turned back to Mendoza as she entertained Fischer, explaining what on earth Adam Sandler had to do with the argument.
Mendoza looked impatiently at me.
“Yeah. I still go there. I usually stay on the supplies side, but today I ran into Ms. Rosa. She asked about you,” I told him.
Mendoza’s eyes were cloudy from the dark liquor in his hand. His jaw tightened. I was either pushing a hot button or he would at least feign being chill about me still going to the market even though he couldn’t. I knew he cared about her.
“How’s she doing? I can’t believe Randy won’t let me back in. I thought he would get over that shit by now, man.”
“Yeah, one normally just gets over you driving through their fence and booths,” I said, lightly, like it was funny.
But when it had happened it was terrifying, and Mendoza was so hammered that day that I thought he was going to continue on and drive right onto the highway after demolishing the fence. Mendoza had been chopping wood for Randy, Rosa’s husband, and had almost cut his own fingers off, which made him get pissed and go to leave. He shifted into the wrong gear when he tried to back up, ramming his van into multiple stalls of home-building materials. And it didn’t stop there—when he panicked, he drove straight toward the trees, barely missing Randy’s car, and going straight through the fence. It was a miracle the insurance covered it. A miracle and some lies.
And that happened before the second tour to Afghanistan and all the shit we saw.
And the shit we did.
Mendoza took a long sip from the bottle. “Yeah, but I told him I’d work for free, cleaning shit up there. So I don’t get it.”
I shrugged. “Give him time. It’s only been a few weeks we’ve been back.”
Chapter Twenty
An hour into my time at the cookout masked as a baby shower, a few more people had taken off, leaving only a handful of us in Tharpe’s backyard. All of the kids were long gone, save Mendoza’s.
The pack of young privates were taking shots of Maker’s Mark straight from the bottle. Jack Daniel’s and Maker’s Mark: two things you could always find at a gathering of soldiers. The red wax seal of the Maker’s bottle had been tossed into the grass. Mendoza’s son Julien grabbed it with his little hand. Gloria, while also holding a sleeping Viviana on her lap, picked it up before he could put it in his mouth. She reminded me of my ma, never sitting down or clocking out of her maternal shift. She always did so many things at once. I had even seen Gloria eat lunch while breastfeedingandtelling a guy off who’d complained about her feeding her baby in the restaurant. Gloria spoke her piece while sipping her iced teaandfeeding Julien, and the man reddened and scrambled away before she even raised her voice. Personally, I was more grossed out by him talking with a mouthful of rare steak, his saliva flying out of his big-ass mouth than by her covered feeding—but, sure, go off, sir. She got to him before Mendoza or I could even start.
“Be careful, my love,” she told Julien, tossing the top into a bowl full of mostly broken pretzel sticks.
“And y’all need to be careful. This is supposed to be a baby shower. If my kid chokes on anything you throw on the ground, I will be choking you.” She looked around at all of us, even me, who was completely innocent.
I watched as she looked for her husband and sighed when she spotted him taking another drink. He had moved on to Coke and bourbon and was shooting the shit with the privates. I knew a few were tankers from another platoon in the company, but didn’t know them by name. He was far from ready to leave, even though his wife looked beyond exhausted.
“Gloria.” I waved to get her attention. “You can go. I’ll make sure he gets home. It’s late, and I know the kids have school in the morning.”
She looked at him and then to Julien sitting next to her, little Manny standing nearby, and Vivi in her arms. While he shared his father’s name and was undoubtedly his mini-me, little Manny’s nickname also came from his parents calling him “little man” and somehow it changed to little Manny and stuck, despite him being the oldest child.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. You know I’m more than capable of getting his ass in bed.” I smiled, though we both knew it was usually far from funny when I dragged him in after a hard night.
Tharpe’s wife was sitting at the table, trying to keep her husband from getting another beer out of the cooler. As he leaned forward, the plastic chair wobbling under his weight, she pulled on his shirt to bring its legs back to the ground. She huffed and puffed but didn’t say anything. I was pretty sure she was embarrassed by Tharpe’s behavior. I sure as hell would be.
“Would you stop? The kids are asleep, and we’re at home. Chill out,” he told her, swiping at where her hand held his shirt.
By the look on her face, I thought she was going to backhand him, but she just pulled her arm away and stormed off into the house. She slammed the door as he lifted the cooler top and shoved his hand into the melting ice and freezing water.
Gloria looked from the back door right at her husband. “You know what, Martin? I’m going to take you up on that offer.”
She stood, shifting her daughter on her hip. Vivi woke up and wrapped her legs and arms around Gloria’s body.
