“For a moolie,” Enzo added.
They laughed. Slapped each other’s backs. High-fived. Like it was a bit they’d rehearsed on their way over.
“What’s a moolie?” Penny asked innocently.
All the West boys were laughing now, Carla too. Maddie was about to tell them to fuck off when the music changed. Brooks slipped in a few discs for the West kids. Metallica’s “One” came on and her cousins and their two friends roared, charging into the center of the ballroom, whipping their heads around, knocking shoulders. Rolo, who was blitzed on ecstasy, catapulted into the whole lot. John joined in, and Ricky and Gerritt, and even Brooks, until all the boys were headbanging, sweat spraying, jerking their heads back and forth so hard that by the time the lyrics cut out and the guitar started pounding in time with the drums, like the rat-a-tat-tat of a machine gun, Maddie was scared they’d hurt themselves.
When the song ended, the floor under the pack of sweat-drenched boys was slick. First Rolo went down, then Vinny, and then one after another, the boys started falling on purpose. Like little kids on a Slip’n Slide in the sprinklers. Except, Maddie thought, this one was made of sweat and spilled beer and cigarette ash.
It was after midnight when Brooks took his place behind the turntables and the electronic beat pumped out of the speakers, filled the ballroom with a rhythm that felt more reliable than anything she’d ever known. The ballroom became a temple. Brooks’s tables an altar. The steady throb—pa-da-boom, pa-da-boom—filled Maddie, and she danced. There was so much room. She stretched out her arms and whirled in a circle. She let her head loll side to side, her long hair whipping at her face. She arched her back so her shoulder blades touched and her chest opened. She imagined she was wearing a glittering diamond necklace, just as her old ballet teacher Ms. Posey had instructed.
This was when summer started. She was free. From the caterpillars and her mother’s snoring, her father’s slaps, even Dom’s sad face. She stopped dancing only to take a hit off a joint passing around. She wished she could stay, never go home. What was the point? No one cared where she was. Her mom was in another universe, high on her pills. Her dad, who knew where he was—either working at her uncle’s garage or, if her hunch was right-on, screwing Rosemary Dutton, who waited tables at Sonny’s Diner on the west side.
She felt Enzo’s dark eyes watching. Who did he think he was? Her brother? Her father? She already had one of each, and they were plenty useless. Penny was making out with her cousins’ silent friend on one of the beanbags in a dark corner of the ballroom. Gabrielle was in full rave mode after downing the rest of the mushrooms, even licking the inside of the plastic baggie. Maddie had watched her dance in front of the speakers, her breasts bouncing under a tight tee, and then she’d stomped over to a sulking Spencer and led him to the antique sofa where they were now sucking face. Maddie wanted to cheer, thank Gabrielle, forget everything that had happened with Spencer.
She wished she could crawl inside Brooks’s head as he spun records. His eyes were trained on the spinning discs, his head bobbing as he mixed hip-hop and house, a little riff here and there of something surprising, all of it seamless so the beats matched like the two records were dancing arm in arm. A velvet voice broke apart a manic techno beat, slowing and smoothing out time as it pleaded Cupid, draw back your bow, and Brooks found her eyes and she knew she was the most sober person in that room and also the happiest.
Then Brooks’s expression changed. Grew serious, maybe even annoyed, and she followed his eyes to the ballroom door. It was his mother standing under the archway, and the sight of the golden-headed woman, whom her grandmother had made her promise to watch, made Maddie take a step toward the door. But Vinny and Enzo were talking to her, their heads bowed so they could hear over the music. Her delicate arms were crossed over a baggy sweatshirt. Even in sweats, Maddie thought she looked elegant. When her lips stopped moving, the boys nodded and she shook each of their hands. Like they’d made a deal.
Maddie had to pull Penny away from the mute West boy—Paulie—when it was time to go.
“But he’s my lover,” Penny slurred.
“Okay,” Maddie said trying to be patient. “You can hang with your lover another time.”
Brooks helped her get Penny through the woods, although it was hard work. Maddie’s ankles were torn up by prickers and mosquitos and they arrived on the lawn of White Eagle covered in caterpillars and spattered with black goo, but none of that mattered. Because she was with Brooks. She put Penny on the couch in the cottage and left a trash can nearby in case she had to barf. She hurried back to the front door. Finally, they would be alone.
He was gone.
A small square of paper rested on the welcome mat.
She unfolded it. It was his list of words. For her. He had nice handwriting. For a boy. Her boy.
Wildinger—a feeling so strong it makes you want to tear your hair out
Grateship—the symbiotic friendship between two people grateful for each other
17.
Veronica
She looked past the caterpillars slithering across the window and spotted Bob trudging across the wide sea of lawn. Champ loped at his side, Bob’s hand absentmindedly stroking the dog’s thick brown coat. It comforted her, knowing Bob wasn’t alone. His binoculars bounced against his paunch and she tried to remember a younger version of him, all muscle and bone and a full head of hair. The dog tags Admiral Marshall had specially made for him tangled on his naked chest when they’d made love for the first time after a long business trip. Veronica had known right away he hadn’t been faithful to her while away—there just wasn’t enough desperation in the act. The knowledge had stung and she’d made fun of herself—you na?ve little twit—for believing he’d have chosen solitude. For her.