Seely had an old drive-in movie theater that was still a main attraction in the summertime. People drove a couple of hours just to enjoy a movie lying in the backs of their trucks or sitting in the front seats of their cars.
It would be dark. Nobody would see him. It sounded . . . fun. He could just hear the guys laughing at him. He was hanging out with Bailey and Fern. Oh, how the mighty had fallen.
Ambrose found he couldn't keep his attention on the screen. The sound was tinny and the speaker was closer to his bad ear, making it hard for him to tell what was being said. He should have spoken up when they'd arranged the chairs, but he had wanted to sit to Fern's right so his left side would be facing her, and he'd said nothing. She sat between him and Bailey and made sure Bailey had everything he needed, holding his drink up to his mouth so he could sip through the straw, and keeping a steady stream of popcorn coming. Ambrose finally gave up on the movie and just focused on the way it felt to sit outside, the wind ruffling Fern's hair, the smell of popcorn wafting around him, summer in the air. Last summer he'd been in the hospital. The summer before that, Iraq. He didn't want to think about Iraq. Not now. He pushed the thought away and focused on the pair beside him.
Bailey and Fern enjoyed themselves thoroughly, laughing and listening intently. Ambrose marveled at their innocence and their simple appreciation of the littlest things. Fern got laughing so hard at one part that she snorted. Bailey howled, snorting every once in a while throughout the rest of the film just to tease her. She turned to Ambrose and grimaced, rolling her eyes as if she needed moral support to combat the lunatic to her left.
The clouds rolled in toward the end of the first show and the second feature was canceled due to the gathering storm. Fern rushed around picking up chairs and trash, pushing Bailey up the ramp into the vehicle as the thunder cracked and the first drops plopped heavily against the windshield.
They pulled into a gas station on the outskirts of Hannah Lake after midnight, and before Ambrose could offer, Fern was jumping out of the van and slamming the door against the driving rain, running inside to pay for the gas. She was a bundle of efficiency, and Ambrose wondered if Fern thought she needed to take care of him like she took care of Bailey. The thought made him feel sick. Was that the image he projected?
“Fern has Ugly Girl Syndrome.” Bailey said, out of the blue. “Also known as UGS.”
“Fern's not ugly,” Ambrose said, his eyebrows sinking low over his dark eyes, distracted momentarily from his depressing thoughts.
“Not now. But she was.” Bailey said matter-of-factly. “She had those gnarly teeth and those inch-thick glasses. And she was always so skinny and pasty. Not good looking. At all.”
Ambrose shot a look of disgust over his shoulder at Fern's cousin and Bailey surprised him by laughing.
“You can't punch a man in a wheelchair, Ambrose. And I'm kidding. I just wanted to see what you'd say. She wasn't that bad. But she grew up thinking she was ugly. She doesn't realize that she shed the ugly a long time ago. She's beautiful now. And she's just as pretty on the inside, which is a side benny of UGS. See, ugly girls actually have to work on their personalities and their brains because they can't get by on their looks, not like you and me, you know, the beautiful people.” Bailey smiled impishly and waggled his eyebrows.
“Fern doesn't have a clue how pretty she is. That makes her priceless. Make sure you snatch her up before she clues in to her good looks, Brosey.”
Ambrose eyed Bailey balefully. Ambrose wasn't interested in being manipulated, even by Bailey Sheen. He stepped out of the van without responding to Bailey's commentary and rounded the vehicle to the side with the gas tank, not wanting Fern to stand out in the rain putting gas in the car while he sat in the passenger seat being waited on. It was early June and the rain wasn't cold, but it was coming down hard, and he was soaked almost instantly. Fern ran out of the station and saw him waiting by the pumps.
“I can do it, Ambrose. Get back in! You're getting soaked!” She squealed, dodging puddles as she made her way back to him.
He saw the credit appear on the gas tank display and immediately removed the gas cap and shoved the nozzle home. Fern huddled nearby, water streaming down her face, obviously not wanting to let him get wet alone. Unfortunately, with Bailey's condition, she was obviously used to being the one who did the grunt work. But he wasn't Bailey.
“Get in the van, Fern. I know how to pump gas,” he growled. Her shirt was sticking to her, and Ambrose was getting a delightful eyeful. He gritted his teeth and squeezed the nozzle tighter. It felt like whenever he was close to her he spent all his time trying not to look at her.
An old truck slid up to the other side of the pump, and Ambrose ducked his head instinctively. A door slammed and a familiar voice spoke up behind him.
“Ambrose Young. That you?”
Ambrose turned reluctantly.
“It is you! Well, I'll be damned. How ya doin' lad?” It was Seamus O'Toole, Beans's dad.
“Mr. O'Toole.” Ambrose nodded stiffly, extending the hand that wasn't pumping gas.