40. Chip
CHIP
Chip finds Hawk downstairs in the lounge on the sofa, his stuff in a neat pile by the black-and-white television. “Big day today,” he says.
Hawk rolls his eyes. He hums the wedding march song. “I hate weddings.”
Chip dismisses the thought that comes to him, the realization that he’ll never wait at the altar for a bride, that he’ll never dance in a reception hall, or ride in a limo to a honeymoon place like this.
He’ll never build a life with someone, squabble over bills, watch the flowers they plant in the backyard grow. He feels his body stiffen.
“They need all hands on deck.” He looks down, and Hawk seems exhausted. “Phil said he’s cool if you come back to the room. He knows it was just a fluke, and he’s sorry for startling you.”
“You’re so full of shit you stink, man.” He folds his pillow and sits up a little. “He came down this morning and we talked, but he didn’t say any of that. You’re such a goddamn politician. Senator Bishop.”
Chip can’t help but laugh. “Well, maybe he didn’t say those exact words, but I know it’s what he’s thinking.”
Hawk rolls to the side and puts his feet on the floor. “Good news is the boss has other plans for me, an idea for somewhere else I can stay. I’ll just crash here ’til then.” He runs his hand through his hair. “And you two can go back to doing your naked push-ups or whatever.”
“Eat shit.”
“Seriously though, you feeling okay?”
“Getting by. I have to head back home soon.”
“See your parents?”
Chip nods. “Yeah, and my sister. Grandparents.” He tries not to look sad. “My dog, too.”
“Most important.” They stare into each other’s faces for a second.
“How about you?”
Hawk raises his eyebrows. “Oh, just fantastic. But I feel like a dick complaining in front of you.”
Chip plops down on the couch next to him. His legs feel tired already. “Can I try something?”
Hawk looks at him warily. “I suppose?”
Chip clears his throat. “It’s going to be a busy day, Elliot.” He looks for how it’s being received, but Hawk’s face is relaxed. “I sure hope you’ll share some of your famous herb with me tonight, Elliot.”
“What is this accomplishing?”
“I think it’s a cool name.”
“I mean, it’s not Chip.”
“No, it’s certainly not.” Chip turns to him. “I think you need to remember the person who didn’t go to combat, and Hawk’s a badass nickname, and maybe you were proud of it when they gave it to you there, but it might carry some baggage.”
“I got more baggage than a Manhattan bellboy.”
“Well, try putting some of it down.” Chip stands. “I have to help Phil put the stage together. See you up there?”
Hawk rests his head in his hands. “I’m sure I’ll bump into you fools soon enough.”
Chip laughs. “Later, Elliot.”
It is a perfect August day. No humidity, no mosquitos, the air smelling like honeysuckle.
It is around four o’clock when they serve the cake and come around with coffee, clearing away the bread baskets and anything extraneous, refreshing water glasses, and Chip feels like he can finally breathe.
The band plays “Embraceable You,” which he recognizes from a musical his high school did, and he stands in the background and watches the bride dance with her father.
Nancy walks up beside him. “What a day,” she says. She holds her arms out. “Perfect for them.”
“It’s really nice.” Chip watches the father’s and daughter’s feet waltz across the dance floor, the lights strung across the big white tent.
The groom is bending down and holding hands with the flower girl, and the late-afternoon sky is bright and barely threaded with clouds.
“To think some people get this, and some never even get the chance.” He swallows.
Nancy picks up a rose petal, and she looks sad.
“I think happiness comes in a lot of different shapes, like individual holes in a beehive. The hive might fall and break into pieces, but when you pick it up, there are still some perfectly assembled areas.” She looks over at Chip and pauses.
“I know you’re done with me, Chip. I was always good at knowing that, but can I tell you I really hope these days were good ones for you. ” She takes a shaky breath.
“I’m sorry, Nancy.”
She swats his hand. “Stop.” She smiles. “You don’t have time to waste pretending or feeling bad.
” She looks out at the wedding scene. “I looked at you in that hospital bed, Chip, and I feel like I grew up.” She wipes a tear.
“I realized how brave you are, and how selfless, and I vowed that I would do whatever I could to let these days of yours be good ones.” She blinks, and her voice cracks.
“So no hard feelings, okay? We had a good time.”
He looks into her eyes. They are so beautiful he could almost follow her like he did so many other nights and forget about everything else.
“We had a great time,” he says. There are white balloons in bunches, and he thinks of that balloon on the roof of the gym when they first ballroom danced.
“Thanks for making this easier on me, Nance.”
She kisses his hand. The band shifts to something instrumental, and for a second he thinks it’s that Glenn Miller song from Nancy’s record, but it’s something else.
Maybe Duke Ellington or Count Basie. He looks over, and the champagne fountain is still flowing.
Elliot has assumed bartending duties and Chip watches him dispense cocktails and pour wine.
“Chip,” Nancy says now. “If you love that Vicky girl, you shouldn’t be wasting your time here.” She smiles at his look of surprise. “I could see it on your faces.”
He doesn’t say anything. He realizes he’s still holding an empty glass he cleared from a table. “I wish I had my life to live over,” he says finally and frowns.
“You know, some people live to be a hundred and five, and that doesn’t guarantee they get what they want. People waste their time. Maybe you haven’t wasted any.”
He thinks of Catcher in the Rye, remembering Holden saying that when he leaves a place he likes to know he’s leaving.
For a second, he supposes he’s glad to know he’s leaving, that, knock on wood, he’s lucky he won’t die here.
He has been able to plan this. I did it my way, he thinks, imagining his grandfather singing Sinatra.
“Nancy,” he says. “You’ve made my heart feel better. ”
Her eyes look both happy and sad. She presses both her hands to his cheeks, shakes her head, and walks away.
He watches different couples take each other’s hands and make their way to the dance floor.
He watches Elliot tilt two mixers together and slide a drink to a customer.
Bridget joins the band and plays the keyboard.
Chip watches Nancy walk toward the main building, and he feels light and heavy, drowned and rescued.
He reaches into his pocket and feels some loose change.
He straightens a fallen chair and makes his way to the recreation building.
He passes the still indoor pool, the empty gymnasium, the closed-down snack bar, the sign for the rifle range and bowling alley.
He walks past the coat closet and slides the door open to the pay phone.
He drops his dime in, and he dials each number with care.
When she answers, he can barely contain the glee in his voice.
“You’re my last wish.” He takes a gulp of air. “Marry me, Vicky.”
After he says the words, he pauses. He’s not sure if it was her voice or if maybe someone else had picked up. But then he hears a laugh or a cry, and she takes a breath. “When?” she says. “Just tell me when and I’ll be there.”