The two rooms upstairs were being used for storage. It was hot up there, and he went down again quickly. To the right of the staircase was a door that opened to their bedroom. It was sparsely furnished, very airy, with a gleaming oak floor. He turned and walked through the living room again, past a wall of photographs: Carmela and Manny in Mexico on their honeymoon, them standing with a number of her extended family, a candid wedding shot, Carmela’s parents in their youth, snapshots of her nieces and nephews. Among all the pictures displayed there was none of Manny’s family.
Manny and his mother, Olivia, had moved here from Chicago when he was eight, a year after his father was killed in an industrial accident. Russell had been to their house a few times, but only briefly. Olivia did not welcome visitors, especially Manny’s friends, none of whom she liked. Manny himself more often than not fell short of her expectations. But she was not without a sense of humor, expressed in an acerbic sarcasm that was hard to laugh off. Manny inherited her sharp tongue.
Workbenches in the basement were piled high with all manner of electronic component: stacks of circuitry, spools of wire, miscellaneous hardware. Pegboards held specialized tools whose functions mystified Russell. He walked back upstairs. Above the clothes washer in the utility room hung a Door Prairie poster like the one Carmela had sent him. This one showed a beauty on the beach, in full-body suit and cap, someone he’d surely enjoy spending a day at the beach with. He walked past the guest room, then by Carmela’s sewing room. Noting that the lights were still on, he switched them off and went into the kitchen. A cool breeze blew through the open windows, calling him out to the porch.
Milky clouds smeared the sky. Water lilies shimmered on the lake. An image of the house swirled around the surface of a blue reflecting ball on a concrete pedestal in the front yard. Russell stretched out on the porch swing, closed his eyes, and let the birds sing him away.
He was roused by the sound of car tires on gravel. The engine shut off, a door opened then closed. Russell willed himself upright, groggy and stiff. Manny was startled at first when he saw someone sitting and stretching on his porch. It took him a moment to recognize his old friend, then he ran to the stairs.
He came to a dead stop and assumed a wild fighting posture. His lips moved rapidly and soundlessly, mimicking a poorly dubbed film, then he blurted out, “I told you if you ever returned you would die!” He stood locked in his stance while his lips continued moving a few seconds more.
Years before, when Russell and Manny were getting to know each other, they were amused to learn that they had independently developed the same parlor trick of speaking while moving their lips in a way that produced the effect of being overdubbed. They had both spent too many hours of their youth watching low-budget martial-arts movies and learning to do things like throw their lips out of synch with what they were saying. So this was the game they played now, a display of their peculiar bond.
With a whoop, Russell nimbly leaped onto the porch railing, adopted a similarly exaggerated position and dubbed over himself, saying, “Listen to me! We need to form an alliance!”
Manny chopped at the air, crazily kicking and flailing his arms about. Then he stopped, spit on the ground and said, “Do you think your Kung Fu is better than mine?”
“Why do you want to forfeit your life?” Russell responded, feverishly moving his mouth. “If we band together we will never be defeated.”
Manny drew himself up, squared his legs and placed his fists on his hips, like a warrior at ease, then announced, “Today we are friends. Tomorrow, we fight to the death.”
Russell laughed and hopped off the railing. Manny climbed the stairs and greeted him with a casual, “Hey, man,” as if they saw each other every day. He patted Russell’s shoulder as he walked past him and sent the door to his kitchen flying open.
“I’m hungry,” he bellowed. “You hungry?” He turned to Russell briefly, then stepped into the kitchen and called out, “Get me some food, woman.” He stood in the middle of the kitchen, thumbs in his belt loops, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. Then he slumped and drawled, “Oh, that’s right. Got to get it myself.”
Russell sat at the table while Manny rummaged through the refrigerator, his pants creeping down as he bent over. He yelled, “Meat!” and tossed a packet of ham over his shoulder. It slid across the table and Russell prevented it from slipping off. “Lettuce!” came the next cry, and half a head landed on the table. With a shout of “Tomato!” Manny turned around and fast-pitched one right at Russell, who ducked. It splattered on the counter.
“Dude,” Manny berated him, “What did you have to go and do that for?”
“What? You threw it.”
“You were supposed to catch it.”
“You hurl the thing at me and I’m supposed to let it explode on me? No thanks.”
Manny picked a chunk of tomato off the floor and examined it. “Nah,” he muttered, “I don’t even like tomatoes.” He ran a dishrag over the mess, then turned and began to assemble his sandwich.
“Help yourself,” he offered the food to Russell. “There’s soda in the fridge, and some filtered water, too. The shit out of the tap’s nasty—don’t drink it.”
“Tasted all right to me,” Russell said, spreading mustard on a slice of bread.
“Loaded with a hundred years of factory waste,” Manny responded. “Drink enough of it and it’ll kill you dead, and that’s no joke.” He crunched a pickle, then ran his tongue along the trimmed mustache he’d taken to wearing. His hairline was definitely receding, a fact he accentuated by wearing his hair longer in the back.
“Got everything there OK?” Manny nodded toward Russell’s plate. “Want some chips?” He pushed a bag toward him. Russell took a handful.
“Let’s go eat on the porch,” Manny suggested. “It’s stuffy in here. One of these days I’m going to install central air, when I get the time and the money.”
They sat together on the porch and ate from the plates on their laps.
“So, where are you working now?” Russell asked. “You past being a journeyman or whatever it was last I knew?”
Manny finished chewing before replying. “Oh, you bet. IBEW, certified commercial and residential electrician. Working for Charlie Jenner. You know, the big contractor?”
Russell didn’t know.
“Well, he pulls in all the big contracts around here. We built these condos on Long Lake, part of the big marina renovation down there. I’ll take you by it.”
After a bite of sandwich, Russell told him, “I’ve already seen it.”
“Oh yeah?” Manny replied. “What were you doing down there?”
“Hanging out. I got in early, didn’t want to wake you.”
“Don’t have to worry about that now. I’ve got to be on site at dawn.”
“What site is that?” Russell wanted to know, finishing the last of his sandwich.
“Big, big site. Warehouse store outside of town. City wouldn’t let them put it in town, so it’s just over the line. Pretty funny. We’ve got an election coming up this fall. I hope we vote in some realists who aren’t afraid of progress.”
Russell crunched a chip and raised an eyebrow. “Warehouse store?”
“Yeah, ‘Mega Cart’ it’s called. There’s one in South Bend. It’s wild. They, like, rent