CHIP
Hawk has his hands on his hips, looking at the massive tent with a satisfied grin. There is a sea of tables under the tent, with white folding chairs around each one. Hawk turns to Phil with something on his face that looks like pity. “Why don’t you just tell them your dick fell off?”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Hawk says and motions for Phil to follow.
“Well, a couple a beers and you’ll be slammin’, my friend.”
But everything hurts. He could lie down in the grass like a shot deer and never get up. He’s a time bomb. One day his body will just implode.
Hawk squeezes Chip’s shoulders. “You enjoy the sunset, buddy.” Something flickers across his eyes. He motions to Phil, who pauses for a second.
“Nice night,” Phil finally says as they walk away. “If I weren’t sweating in places I didn’t know I had.”
Chip crosses his arms and watches them leave.
The sky almost seems gray, and he imagines darkness coming and what the fireworks will look like tomorrow night as they light up Red Maple in a wash of color.
He imagines the guests’ delighted faces, and standing in the background with his coworkers taking it all in.
He puts his feet up on another chair and knows he has to schedule another transfusion at Pocono General.
He has to get Vicky to take him. He thinks he should probably ask the doctor for something for the pain.
Nothing that will mess him up but just take the edge off.
What is the plan though? Does he need to go home and back to his regular doctors?
He hears a noise from the woods, probably a squirrel. If he doesn’t move at all, if he doesn’t think about it, he’s okay. And he loves the quiet here. Dead quiet, he thinks, and he wants to tell that awful part of his brain to shut up.
His mouth is dry. He wishes they’d bring one of those beers to him.
Or just water. A whole bucket of cold water.
He looks at the resort, and everything is pleasant.
He sees a couple walking from the main building toward the honeymoon cottages.
He sees someone in housekeeping pushing her cart to do turndown service in the bigger chalet.
He sees room service driving one of the golf carts with buckets of champagne in the back to deliver.
He feels drowsy. His chin sinks down, and he thinks he might just sleep here for a while.
Then something catches his eye, and it’s Rhonda again, walking up the hill to Proposal Point, where he and Vicky found her purse.
He watches her, shoulders slumped, the charms on her bracelet shimmering as she walks.
What is her deal? He wonders if she’s sick, too, if she’s also trying to hide the pain.
He watches her disappear as she walks up the incline, and he feels some comfort knowing she might be able to say, “Yes, I know what you’re going through. Yes, that’s what I’m hiding, too.” She seems so competent, so brave, that she could probably cure them both.
He sees two deer at the edge of the woods and wants to call to them. He watches their tails flick, their worried eyes, as they walk, and all of a sudden he sees a shadow from the corner of his eye and jumps.
Nancy smiles down at him, and her long hair sways. She wears a green dress that fits her perfectly and gold sandals. He sits up, and in that second, his pain seems to melt. He thinks of their ballroom dancing, how she taught him so quickly.
“We just finished setting up,” he says.
She’s holding a clipboard, and she smiles.
“I know. I saw your colleagues going on a beer run. I told them they should shower and change before setting foot in the main building, and that guy Screech or Eagle or whatever the hell his name is put his finger to his lips like he was shushing me.” She shakes her head.
“Nobody shushes me. I told him I’d pour the beer right down his back if he did that again.
” She shakes her head once more and laughs as she holds her pencil to a chart on the clipboard.
“I’m trying to figure out the table plans, and I thought it would make more sense if I was actually down here. ”
Chip stands. “I’ll leave you to it.”
She marks down a few things and then turns the pencil upside down and erases.
“Wait,” she says. She looks at him, and her eyes are so pretty he forgets his own name for a second.
He wonders what her story is and why she cares so much about this job.
She doesn’t have the same energy as the seasonal workers.
He wishes he were showered, not so filthy, but she doesn’t seem to notice.
She points. “You think it makes sense to have the bar there so the guests can see the sunset while they’re getting their drinks? ”
Chip looks, tries to imagine this whole tent filled with people. “That’s a good idea,” he says, and she nods.
“Super.” She makes a few notes, and he notices she wears a ring that looks like it has small emeralds on it.
He feels disappointed for a second, wondering if she has a boyfriend who gave it to her.
“I’m glad you’re here, Chip.” She stops writing to put her hand on his shoulder, and he imagines her warm touch rebuilding his blood, the music box playing its notes again.
He thinks of The Velveteen Rabbit, and a line comes back to him: Of what use was it to be loved and lose one’s beauty and become Real if it all ended like this?
Nancy looks at him now like she can hear that line in his head. “Do you want to go for a walk?” she says, putting the pencil behind her ear.
He stands up and feels like she has healed him. She has this way about her that drives the pain away. “I’d like that.”