21
Dan had the morning of the wedding to himself.
Mara was off with Charles somewhere preparing the final touches, finding something borrowed and something blue and something frumpy and something glued, or whatever the saying is. She’d been in a rush to leave, a whirlwind of eager chaos like most mornings, a vigor in her that Dan never understood. His mornings were slow, morose little things, but hers were set afire, from the bed to the shower to the sink to the coffee maker to the closet to the car, all one unstoppable bolt of activity, God help whatever’s in the way. Dan barely had a chance to tell her about his detour with Dr. Shae other than to confirm again that yes, he was alive, as was Alan, and yes, he would still very much like to get married if she would.
Dan sat quietly under a quilt on the balcony, breath rising from him like train exhaust. He didn’t feel the cold after a while, instead focused on Julio’s plot in the dark garden below and the five others dug alongside it. Someone had whittled crosses from driftwood for each of them, stabbed them in the dirt almost like a proper cemetery. Others had laid flowers, though those were beginning to show their age after a week without the sun. Whole island was, really. Every so often there’d be a thud on the roof, another bird fallen from the sky. Fish washed ashore too, according to the guy who delivered Dan’s finished tux. Dan wasn’t exactly sure how the sun impacted fish, but it made sense that they needed it somewhere along the chain.
Everything did.
Despite death washing ashore and raining from the sky, people seemed in good spirits, relatively speaking. Lilyanna announced mandatory work assignments were canceled for the day and that everyone would receive full rations in celebration of the upcoming nuptials. She made this announcement while straddled between the seat backs of a Jeep driven aggressively through the resort by Rico. Behind the Jeep, empty cans tied with string popped against the pool deck. Her plan was working. There was a buzz about Tizoc like vacation was back on, even if just for a few hours, and Dan heard laughter from the surrounding rooms for the first time in days, watched as others indulged from the beer cart making rounds. No talks of mutiny, or rebellion, or 1776. Someone, somewhere, was singing the theme song from The Jeffersons while folks clapped. She sounded great.
Dan should’ve been happy too. Well—part of him was, obviously. It wasn’t an ideal scenario, but in a few hours he’d marry the love of his life, a woman so far out of his league she was playing a different sport altogether.
What was she thinking?
He was charming, for sure, and funny, and that alone can get you really far with a girl. But he couldn’t coast on charm forever. He was almost thirty, for God’s sake, and at some point it’s not cute to be poor or aimless or sad. Was she only marrying him because he was the guy around at the end of the world? And if they did somehow survive this thing, if there was some sort of postsun civilization developing back in the States, an underground society of mole people or something, what then? Would Mara expect Dan to reach his full potential under those circumstances? And what if his potential had been a lie the whole time, or a mistake at least, and she was stuck forever with the man she married today, this lump of self-doubt, this near-empty bank account, this Marvel Maids marketing specialist? What if, in a few years, she realized her mistake because Dan never started writing, and he couldn’t afford an underground mole person mortgage, and they stop texting on their lunch breaks or drinking wine with ice in it or watching Disappearance Report on Netflix together? What then?
Yeah. Best-case scenario: they get married, she gets on the plane, and he dies alone on the island, a memory of untapped potential. That’ll have to do.
Dan tried to shake the miserable thoughts loose, to fling them from his ears like drops of water, but they clung. Okay. Screw you, brain. He’d think of something else instead. Dan pulled the Polaroid from his pant pocket, the one he’d found in Dr. Shae’s lab after Rico wrecked the place. Her. There she was again—the woman with bushy black hair. Who was she? Dan was positive he knew that face, the rise of the tip of her nose, the small scar on her chin. He focused hard on her. The rest of the world melted away.
She said, You know me.
I know you.
Then who am I?
Tell me. Just tell me. I’m getting married today.
I was married too.
Yes! You were. Who were you married to?
She said, Getting married today, and already looking at other women? Christ.
Except she didn’t say that last part. That sounded like Alan’s voice, and Dan pulled himself from his haze and spun around on the balcony, and sure enough, there was Alan Ferris, by God, and he was dressed in a suit made from beach towels, and he smirked. Dan rushed to hug him, forgot how he wanted Alan to think of him as a man, as a tough guy, forgot all that because sometimes you just need to wrap your arms around a person to make sure they really are there.
“Whoa-ho, now,” Alan said, patting Dan’s back. “Good to see you too, kid.”
Dan pulled back. “I’m so sorry I didn’t come to the hangar, man. Really, I am. I tried. The first night I was in jail for inciting a riot. And then last night I got turned around in the storm—ended up at Dr. Shae’s place and—”
Alan lit a cigarette, shook his head. “Charles told me everything. Don’t sweat it. He’s pissed about that Bloomingdale’s coat though.”
God, Dan almost forgot how effortlessly cool Alan was. Every little flick of his hand, every steady footstep, every subtle crease in his face. Big Tobacco’s wet dream. When he smoked, smoking was cool , man, didn’t matter how many after-school programs told you otherwise. Alan strolled to the balcony railing, peered down at the gardens.
“Those the Brits next to Julio?”
Dan nodded.
Alan took a long pull. “Fuck this place.”
Dan wasn’t sure where to start. It’d been a week, and there’d been so many times he’d needed Alan for guidance, or advice, or a reassuring nod— something —and here he was. He started with the obvious.
“Is the plane ready?”
Alan grinned. “Maybe.”
Hold up.
“What do you mean, maybe? Don’t play with me right now, Alan. If it’s ready, then what are you—”
“Lilyanna wanted me here. Said it’d mean a lot to you.”
It did, actually. For a homicidal empress, Lilyanna could sometimes be downright thoughtful.
“Hold on. Are you telling me the plane can fly right now? Is that what you’re telling me?”
“Keep your voice down.”
Dan whispered, “Alan. Is that what you’re saying?”
Alan peered over his back into the empty room, then scanned the garden. He leaned a bit closer to Dan. “ Yes .”
Dan laughed, clutched Alan’s terry cloth lapels, and shook him. “ What? Then what the hell are we doing? I’ve got Mara a guaranteed seat on that plane, dude. You have to go! Right now! What time is it? You could be to Florida in, like, what? A few hours? Right? Clear skies too. Holy shit.”
“You’re being loud again . ” Alan seized Dan’s wrists and removed them, the hot end of his cigarette almost a relief in all this cold. “Lilyanna thinks I need another day. At least.”
Dan’s eyes widened.
Alan nodded. “We need to be smart about this. We get you married this afternoon, get everyone feeling real nice and boozed up, then sneak the fuck out of here. They’ve got one guard on the plane—Hunter. He’s a moron. We’re in Florida by midnight.”
Dan could’ve wept. “All of us?”
“Me and Charles, you and Mara, Lenny and Gloria. It’s a six-seater, kid. Works out perfect.”
Dan was flabbergasted. They could all go! Maybe Dan could see his parents again. Maybe he was overreacting on the mole people thing, maybe they had things under control on the mainland, had warming stations, and food supplies, and some sort of infrastructure to maintain the—
Wait.
“Wait. Alan, shit. Lenny’s planning something today. It was my idea, it was stupid. I tried to backtrack, but he kept calling me boss and saying he’s got everything under control. Had these elaborate plans drawn up. If he does that, then—”
Alan blew smoke from the side of his mouth. “Yeah. Charles mentioned it. I’ll talk to Lenny. He’s a good guy to have around in a scrap, but he’s not the thinker he thinks he is. Where is he?”
Dan shrugged. Burrowing under Building A, for all he knew.
“Okay. Well, get changed. We’ll find him.”
Dan turned to enter the room—he’d literally follow any directions Alan gave him right now—but someone hollered from below, in the garden. Others joined.
“Is that Alan?”
“Hey, Alan Ferris! Where you been, man?”
“We thought you were dead!”
Five or six guys from Buildings B and C, dressed in winter clothing and holding Frisbees, on their way to the Great Lawn. Who plays frisbee in the dark?
“Hey, fellas,” Alan said with a nod. “I’ve had a wonderful vacation, how’s yours?”
Laughter.
Dan popped his head over the railing.
Cheers.
“The man of the hour!”
“You lucky son of a bitch, you!”
“Drinks are on you tonight!”
Alan waved at the men. “Drink up tonight, boys!”
More cheers. Dan watched them saunter away until they were swallowed by the dark.
Dressing up is just the absolute worst. Dan tugged at the collar against his neck, tried to breathe. He’d asked Mrs. Betty to loosen it a bit, but it felt tighter than ever. A noose.
“Hey, looking sharp.”
Alan leaned against the doorframe separating their rooms. “Just—hang on.” He approached Dan, brushed his shoulders off, fixed the jacket so it would line up properly with the shirt in the back. “What’d she make yours out of?”
“I know it features elements of a shower curtain.”
“You have to admit, the old girl has talent.”
Whatever. Dan smelled a little like mildew.
“Alright. Clean up nice, Dan. You ready to do this?”
Dan sat on the edge of the bed.
Alan signaled toward the door. “Party’s that way.”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“I don’t know.”
“Kind of late for I don’t know s, kid.”
How could it be late for I don’t know s? Dan had been saying I don’t know his entire life, and when he wasn’t saying it, he was thinking it, because he never knew anything. He buried his face in his hands.
Alan sighed, took off his coat, sat on the bed next to Dan. “What is it?”
Dan waved his hand over his entire body, like, Isn’t that obvious?
Alan grew quiet, uncomfortable. He wasn’t the guy for pep talks, for relationship advice. He was the get-shit-done guy, the take-action guy, not the cross-your-legs-and-reflect-on-how-that-makes-you-feel guy. But he was the only one there.
“Well…hm.” Alan cleared his throat. “She loves you.”
Dan considered that. “Yeah?”
“Definitely. It’s obvious.”
“Okay.”
“You love her?”
“Yes.”
“Alright. How do you know?”
Dan remembered the answer he gave Pete Collins. “Mara is just always…Mara. She’s so unafraid to be herself, to express exactly—”
Alan shook his head. “Didn’t ask what you loved about her. Any idiot could see that. I asked how do you know you love her?”
“How do I know ?”
“Yeah.”
Dan thought about it. “I want her to be happy.”
“Bet you want most people to be happy. You want a dog on the street to be happy. How do you know you love her ?”
What kind of riddle was this? “I don’t know. I just know.”
“You don’t know but you just know,” Alan repeated.
“Yeah.”
He stood. “Well, there you go. You’ll be fine.”
Dan raised an eyebrow. What? That was it? He wasn’t expecting a heart-to-heart with Mr. Rogers or anything, but Alan really sucked at this.
“That’s all you got? How do you know you love Charles?”
Alan turned, placed his hands in his pockets.
Yeah. I went there, old man.
Alan licked his teeth, shuffled a foot. Looked at the ceiling like his answer might be written there. It was a wonder that a guy like Alan could make it work with Charles, a man whose every flamboyant thought sat only a breath away.
His eyes fell. “I didn’t come out till I was your age.”
“Oh.” Then, after a pause, “That must’ve been hard.”
“I come from a Mormon family out of Idaho. Dad was really involved in the church. His dad too. Generations of LDS. That’s not the point. Point is, my brothers, my dad, my mom…they weren’t the progressive type. Weren’t marching in any parades. So I buried that part of me. For a long time. I was already on thin ice with the church when I ‘abandoned my mission’ and enlisted instead. A closet queer in the United States Air Force in the 1980s. That was a lot of fun.” He rubbed his neck. “After Desert Shield came ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.’ Wasn’t long before I met Charles.”
Dan leaned in.
“And now I got a choice to make. My family wasn’t going to change. I wasn’t either, as much as I fought it sometimes. I could be open about the man I love, but I risk losing my career, my family, my childhood home, the only people I ever had.”
“They’d disown you?” Dan asked. “It was that bad?”
Alan laughed. “Couldn’t exactly bring Charles home for Sunday dinner. And the Air Force—back then, they were serious about that shit.”
“So what’d you do?”
“Told ’em.”
“You told them?”
“My family, yeah. Went about as well as you’d expect.”
“And the Air Force?”
“That took a few years. Word got around though, and one day I get the call from my company commander. Discharged under ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.’ Nothing I can do.”
“Fuck,” Dan said. Because what else do you say to that?
“Yeah. Moved to Michigan with Charles, started my career up there, haven’t spoken to most of my family in twenty-five years.”
“ Twenty-five years? They haven’t gotten over the fact that you’re gay in twenty-five years ?”
Dan thought he should hug him again, pat his back, at least, but he didn’t. They stayed quiet for a minute.
Mara was right. Dan had no reason to be so miserable.
“That’s how I know I love Charles,” Alan finally said. “I set fire to my entire life to be with him. I’m willing to sacrifice everything—everyone—to do what’s best for him, what’s best for us and our boys.” He stuck an arm in his coat. “You willing to do that for Mara?”
Dan didn’t think. Didn’t need to. “Yes.”
“Then fix your collar. Let’s go find Lenny before he fucks it all up.”