Bailey's wheelchair sat lower than the benches of the booth, and it made him look small and hunched, younger than his twenty-one years. He wore a Hoosiers jersey and a backwards baseball cap over his light brown hair. Fern was wearing her hair in two loose ponytails that hung over her shoulders and curled against her breasts. Her lemon-yellow T-shirt was snug and claimed that she wasn't short, she was fun-sized. Ambrose found himself agreeing wholeheartedly with the T-shirt, and wondered briefly just how fun it would be to kiss her smiling mouth and wrap his arms around her little body. She looked like MaryAnne on Gilligan's Island, except with Ginger's hair color. It was a very appealing combination. Ambrose gave himself a mental slap and pushed the thought away. They were eating pancakes with Bailey. This was not a date. There would be no goodnight kiss at the end of it. Not now. Not ever.
“I can't wait to eat.” Fern sighed, smiling happily after the waitress left with their orders. I'm starving.” The soft lighting swinging above his head wasn't going to allow him to hide anything from Fern, who now faced him, but there was nothing he could do about that. He could spend the meal staring out the window, giving her a view of his unscathed cheek. But he was hungry too . . . and he was weary of giving a damn.
Ambrose hadn't been to Larry's since the night after he'd taken state, senior year. That night he'd been surrounded by his friends and they had eaten themselves sick. Any wrestler knows that nothing feels as good as eating without fear of the morning scales. The season was officially over and most of them would never weigh in again. The reality of the end would hit soon enough, but that night they celebrated. Like Bailey, he didn't need to look at the menu.
When his pancakes came he toasted his friends silently, letting the thick syrup baptize the memory. The butter followed the syrup over the side, and he scooped it up and placed it back on top of the stack, watching it lose its shape and cascade down the sides once more. He ate without contributing to the conversation, but Bailey spoke enough for the three of them, and Fern seemed content to carry her end when Bailey had to swallow. Bailey did pretty well feeding himself, although his arms would slip now and again and Fern would have to prop them back up. When he was finished, Fern helped him place his hands back on the armrests of his chair, only to be informed of a new problem.
“Fern, my nose itches something fierce.” Bailey was trying to wiggle his nose to alleviate his discomfort.
Fern lifted Bailey's arm, supporting his elbow and placing his hand on his nose so that he could scratch to his heart's content. Then she placed his hand back in his lap.
She caught Ambrose watching and explained needlessly, “If I scratch it for him, I never seem to get it. It's better if I just help him do it himself.”
“Yep. It's our version of 'a hand up not a hand out,'“ Bailey said.
“I must have had syrup on my fingers. Now my nose is sticky!” Bailey laughed and Fern rolled her eyes. She wetted the tip of her napkin in her water glass and dabbed at his nose. “Better?”
Bailey wiggled it, testing for syrup residue. “I think you got it. Ambrose, I've been trying for many years to lick my nose, but I was not blessed with a particularly long tongue.” Bailey proceeded to show Ambrose how close he could come to sticking the tip of his tongue in his left nostril. Ambrose found himself smiling at Bailey's efforts and the way his eyes crossed as he focused his attention on his nose.
“So Ambrose, you coming with us tomorrow? We're going to head over to Seely to hit the double-feature at the drive in. Fern will bring the lawn chairs and snacks and I'll bring my adorable self. Whaddaya say?”
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.