Chapter Text
August 21, 1979. Ray Garraty driving his old blue Ford down Interstate 78, windows rolled halfway. Jan sitting in the passenger seat, clutching a map in her slender hand, smoke rings whisking away in the breeze. Her hair blew about her face, and she was drumming her fingers on the center console. They were hovering above the speed limit, just a tick, a paradigm of youth together.
In truth he was a bit irritated. They were coming back to Maine from their weekend trip to New York; neither of them had ever left the state before, and he should probably have been keeping a better eye on the signs and Jan’s map, but they’d edged into New Jersey somehow, and now he was driving without knowing where he was going. Jan was looking out at the river they were crossing with a sort of uneasy admiration. She had seemed both intimidated and impressed by the city, or maybe just every way in which it wasn’t Pownal. At least the novelty hadn’t worn off yet.
“Enjoying the view?” Garraty asked as lightly as he could manage.
“It’s pretty,” she said, exhaling smoke out the window, and laughed. It was a little funny to watch her, though he guessed she had told him a million times that nothing in the Bible talked about tobacco specifically. He wasn’t one for it, personally – but he wouldn’t hold her to it, and anyway he privately thought she looked nice when she smoked, like some modestly jingoistic model in a calendar, all long blonde hair and big blue eyes. America! It was nearly enough to forgive her for not having glanced at the map for the last however many miles.
“We’ll be home late,” he said. The water was dark and the sky was starting to fade from the late afternoon’s whitish blue to a darker, almost hesitant shade, falling into night. He had told Jan’s parents – and his mother, though he didn’t feel so strongly about that one – that they would be back by the next day, but they were still hours out even before this.
Jan wasn’t really paying any attention to him. He fought back the urge to say something else, because he knew it would probably come out snappish and irritable. Would you quit staring out the window and look at that stupid map? He wasn’t angry exactly that she had failed to warn him before they’d drifted off course. They had only been in the wrong lane for a few seconds before being funneled into an oddly intimidating tunnel. It was a comedy of errors he could respect. He was sort of amused; mostly just tired.
He looked over at her when she didn’t respond. She shrugged. “My parents won’t mind. They know we aren’t in trouble or anything.”
Even so, Garraty pressed on the gas a little harder. The car responded jerkily. He still wasn’t entirely comfortable with the highest speeds, especially on these bigger roads where he had to keep an eye on the rearview mirror in a way he never needed to in Pownal. He’d gotten his license on his birthday earlier that year, though really he’d been driving since he was thirteen; technically illegal but with a father who drives (drove) a truck for a living, what can you do? The late Garraty patriarch had never been one to strictly obey any kind of laws, least of all traffic safety, of course.
“Are you watching the signs?” he asked.
“Trying to,” she said, although it didn’t seem that she was making any concentrated effort. “I don’t recognize any of them. We’re going in the wrong direction, so we’ll have to turn around soon.”
Garraty was unsure what to make of this. His mother had seemed pleased when he proposed this trip; asked for permission, really, though he would have been very surprised if she had said no. He was a good and responsible son. It was a ridiculous drive but he had planned it all out carefully: the hours needed, the cost of gas and a hotel, whatever else. Jan’s parents had been a little more cautious. It was why he was so nervous about the whole ordeal.
It felt like an eventuality that something would turn out wrong, because the day had actually gone quite nicely up until then. They had done their sightseeing in New York City and he had initially been quite pleased with himself for showing Jan a good time. They saw a movie, some horror film about evil aliens, and Jan had buried her face in his shoulder during the bloody parts though he suspected she wasn’t really scared; then they went shopping. His meager savings and her limited allowance didn’t seem to go so far here, but it got them a necklace with a gold flower pendant that wouldn’t have been the thing to wear in Pownal but seemed okay under the veil of anonymity in another city. They had walked through Central Park and shared a pretzel. It all felt very touristy, very romantic, sure. The crowds were overwhelming, and they were both a little uncomfortable in the massive city, but it was nothing that couldn’t be overcome for the sake of adventure. How many podunk Pownal natives had walked where they were? It was the kind of thing you remember long after a relationship ends – if it does. The goal of this, he thought, was to ensure that theirs did not.
He chanced a look out the window for a second and caught a glimpse of thickly overgrown marsh beneath a jagged skyline of gray buildings. “Not too scenic, is it?”
“Not really,” Jan said, pushing her blonde hair behind her ear. She looked especially pretty that day – fresh-faced and young in the wind billowing through the windows, and here and there Garraty caught little glimpses of the woman she would be in ten or so years. He wondered vaguely whether he’d see her turn into that woman, or if the metamorphosis would happen out of his line of sight. “Would you want to live here?”
“Don’t think so,” Garraty said. Privately he thought perhaps he could. Someday maybe he would stand up and stretch and see that Pownal had, overnight, become a little small for his tastes – but that day had not yet come. He considered changing lanes, began to drift a little, and then narrowly avoided being killed by a truck that apparently couldn’t see him.
“Me neither,” Jan said, and failed to blow a smoke ring in his face. She began to laugh again, a clear, light sound, like a bell.
The signs were whipping by at a pace that was difficult to follow. Garraty observed that he didn’t know where he was going, that Jan was still not looking at her map, and that he was starting to panic; thus he made an executive decision to pull quickly off the highway at the next exit.
“I’m pulling off,” he said unnecessarily. They were already slowing.
Jan straightened: business again. “Oh, good idea. Why don’t you park somewhere and I’ll get reoriented.”
He did just that. They found themselves near a bridge overlooking the river. He managed to get a spot along the street; the parking job was a bit troubling, but nothing he’d get a ticket for. Jan settled back in her car seat, holding her cigarette lazily and unfolding the map.
Garraty looked out the window. They hadn’t been driving for very long at all, but it was already starting to feel awfully claustrophobic. “I’m going to take a walk and ask someone for directions,” he said, patting her on the arm and rolling the windows down. “Too much smoke in here.”
“Sorry,” Jan said absently. She was holding the map closely now with one hand, examining it in a scrutinizing way. She was very sensible when she wanted to be. “Take your time.”
He got out of the car and strolled around for a few minutes. The sun was still visible, and it was a pretty, fairly scenic sunset, streaked with color, though he felt the effect was slightly diminished by the industrial skyline. Garraty’s grandfather, when he was alive, had liked to wax poetic about the mythical green flash. All summer long he’d drag them all outside each night to try and see it. Garraty never did. Then the man had died of old age, and Garraty’s father had followed soon after – slightly less natural causes, in his case. After that Garraty had not spent another evening sitting on the porch with his eyes on the horizon.
It was busy for being so late in the day, and he had to remind himself that this was what it was like in a city where people weren’t expected to be home for dinner at six thirty and usually not a minute later. People carrying briefcases and walking at a steady clip; small children chattering to their parents as they passed by. In the distance, down below on the riverbank, Garraty thought maybe he spotted a girl being proposed to, but it was too far away to make out clearly. An exciting day for all, to be sure.
He looked back and saw through the windshield that Jan was still pondering over the map. He didn’t think they had gotten that off track, but it was true that up until now she had been doing all the navigating. He could handle time and money, but, put on the spot, he wasn’t much for directions.
He had the thought that maybe he’d actually ask someone for help and looked around for a moment. On the bridge, there was a dark-haired boy, around five foot ten – maybe a little taller – leaning against the railing and staring out into the skyline of the city. Seventeen, eighteen. He would probably have been unremarkable if it weren’t for the gauze and bandages plastered over his face. They were too far away for Garraty to make out his expression or his features, but he could see that he was wearing a backpack and a faded jacket with patches in the elbows.
For no reason at all, Garraty suddenly wanted very badly to speak to him.
He crossed to start across the bridge and settled against the railing beside him. When the boy didn’t look up, Garraty said, quick and a little embarrassed, “Hey.”
The boy glanced at him, then at the water, then back at him again. “Hey.” His voice was slightly deeper than Garraty would have expected. If questioned he would not be able to explain why he had this thought.
“About where are we?”
Now the boy was looking at him properly, eyebrows raised. He had an angular face; he was handsome in a curious, boyish way, though the rings beneath his eyes were dark as bruises. In fact, Garraty could see the fading remnants of a black eye on one side. “You’re serious?”
“As anything.”
“Just outside Newark,” he said, and raised one hand unthinkingly to swipe at his nose, wincing as he grazed the mass of gauze. Garraty considered asking what had happened, but decided it would be impolite. “This is the Passaic River.”
“Ah,” Garraty said. They had gotten further off track than he had thought.
“You’re not from around here?”
“No, not really. I’m sort of lost, actually.” Garraty cleared his throat. “I’m Ray. Ray Garraty.”
“I’m Peter McVries.”
They shook hands, a little awkwardly. Garraty felt strongly that he was playacting at being an adult. He could feel calluses on McVries’s palm, and as he drew his hand back, Garraty saw that there were also blisters – raised and painful-looking.
“Where’re you from, then?” McVries asked.
“Pownal.” At the look he received, he elaborated, “Downstate Maine.”
“Is that right?” McVries said, dryly amused. He shifted his weight to face Garraty directly. “Come all this way to see the Passaic? Hope it’s not too bad.”
Garraty tried not to smile. “I haven’t been in the state long enough to form an opinion about anything.”
“I can tell you I think we’ve got better than Maine.”
“You’ve got nothing on Maine,” Garraty said, with loyalty unearned by the landscapes of his hometown. “Everything’s too big here.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. And the air’s polluted, there’s no trees… ” Though truly Garraty didn’t feel too much about Newark one way or the other, he turned to look out over the water and saw that it was murky and slow-moving, and he had the sudden, unkind thought that it was probably the sort of water which contained three-eyed fish and caused birth defects if you were to wade in it while pregnant. He was very glad that he did not live in New Jersey. Yes, he was. “You like it?”
McVries laughed for the first time – a loud, oddly charming sound that reminded Garraty inexplicably of a talk show host he’d heard on the radio a long time ago, or perhaps a voice from the other end of the telephone his father was always whispering into. “What, Newark? No. It’s a shithole, isn’t it?”
“You don’t live here either?” Garraty asked, surprised.
“No,” McVries said. “Just passing through, it turns out. Though even if I did I don’t think I’d disagree. Why’re you out here, anyway? Come to enjoy the sunset?”
He didn’t even think of Jan when he answered. “If that was all, I would’ve stayed in Maine.”
“Uh-huh, they’re probably nicer there. All that clean air… ”
Garraty knew vaguely that he was being teased. “That’s right,” he said anyway. “You ought to see it. Clear as anything.”
“Guess I didn’t know what I was missing,” McVries said, balancing his chin on his hand, half smiling into his palm and peering sideways at Garraty. “Maybe I’ll visit sometime.”
“Maybe you will,” Garraty said, unable to bite back a smile, and then felt wholly ridiculous at the flush that rose to his face and the tips of his ears when McVries grinned back. He was certain suddenly that McVries could see it; the thought was simultaneously terribly frightening and – something else that he couldn’t put into words. He pushed it away.
“Where are you from?” he said, smoothly enough, though it was a bit higher-pitched than usual at first.
“Passaic,” McVries said. “The river crosses through it, obviously. It’s just a half hour away. I’m on my way home.”
“Why’d you stop?”
McVries considered this and was seemingly unable to produce a proper answer; he shrugged. “Didn’t feel like driving any longer.”
Though he could sense the questions were probably irritating, Garraty couldn’t stop himself from asking, “How come?”
“Man, take a guess,” McVries said, laughing a little. He leaned down, folding his elbows over the railing and sighing. “Jesus, my back hurts. I just got out of the hospital, I mean, I ought to have called my parents, I guess… or something… ”
Drifting off and seemingly losing himself in thought, he pressed his chin into his forearms, looking straight down at the water. This position was hard to ignore. He was shorter now, so close to Garraty’s face he could make out his eyelashes, and then that there were threads in his hair: brown and green and a pale, dusty baby blue. It was soft-looking, cheap material, falling in loops. It looked to be fraying. He wondered how it had gotten there.
Without thinking, Garraty said, “You’ve got something in your hair,” and reached to pick it out – as if he was smoothing down one of Jan’s cowlicks – or reaching for her face.
His fingers brushed against McVries’s forehead, and the feeling was horrifically electric, like touching a live wire.
“Hey, you – ”
McVries caught his wrist. His eyes were bright and sharply surprised, and there was something else beneath it, and though his grip wasn’t especially tight, it was strangely painful; that same shock. He and Garraty stared at each other for an unbearably long moment that could have really only been half a second. There was no way to tell.
It felt ridiculously difficult but finally Garraty managed to get his tongue to work right and forced out, “Sorry.” At the same time, McVries stammered, “Oh, it’s just – I worked in a pajama factory, you know. Just pieces of – ”
“Cloth,” Garraty said, still clutching the knotted threads. “Right.”
“Yeah.” McVries blinked quickly. “I was on the, uh, the bagging line.”
Now Garraty was lost for words again. There was another beat, in which he could tell that he was turning red and went through a brief but tremendous agony with the knowledge that he couldn’t do anything about it. McVries was staring at him. His face was unreadable aside from widened eyes – and he was still holding Garraty’s wrist.
They both seemed to notice at the same time. When he released it, dropping his hand to his side with a grimace, Garraty felt the absence of his touch almost more painfully than it had been in the first place.
“Sorry,” Garraty said again, guiltily. “I didn’t – ”
“It’s okay,” McVries said. “Thanks. I – I was never able to get it all out.”
The sunset was behind him. It was coming to an end, and brought with it a flood of color that lit his hair gold and red and softened his features. He was smiling again; it was crooked, made further so by the gauze on his cheek, and it might have been disconcerting, but his eyes were glinting just a bit. There was a gentle, light amusement there that was shockingly disarming. Something tightened in Garraty’s chest.
“Did you ever see the green flash?” Garraty said hurriedly, gesturing at the sun, nonsensical, trying to hide the heat in his face, trying not to feel it at all. “You know, the – the thing where it turns green for a second. Before it disappears.”
McVries’s eyebrows went up and he grinned wider, tilting his head. “Yeah. Sure. Lots of times.”
“Really?” He hadn’t been seriously asking. For a moment his surprise distracted him from the issue at hand.
“Uh-huh.”
“I never have,” Garraty said. “My grandpa used to talk about it all the time. I didn’t think it was real.”
“Oh, it’s real,” McVries said. “You just have to be lucky. Are you a lucky guy, Ray?”
His name sounded so strange coming from McVries. He was unable to answer. In the interim, the sun began to say its final goodbyes. They both turned to watch it go. A breeze washed by and whipped Garraty’s hair into his eyes; when it had passed, it was dark.
Garraty didn’t know what to think. Somehow it felt easier to breathe now that they were both more of silhouettes, but then there was a newfound tension, like some kind of anonymity that meant anything could happen now. It must be late, he thought in the back of his mind, for the sun to have set, what with it being the middle of August – and yet any sense of urgency to get home had left him entirely. Even in the panic of just a few moments before, it had still been like his feet were rooted to the ground. He couldn’t move even if he wanted to.
“So why were you down here again?” McVries asked. In the dim light Garraty could still make out a bit of his expression, slightly quizzical, still more relaxed than Garraty felt. “Just taking a vacation, or what? Are you with anyone?”
“Yeah, I… ”
Garraty hesitated. There was an invisible line that he had sensed them both treading on throughout the conversation, and now it was making itself as clear as it could be with this question. Maybe for McVries there existed nothing of the sort – and yet there was something about the look in his eye, appraising and sort of slyly interested, that said otherwise. It should have been an innocuous question, and yet. To invoke Jan’s name felt like crossing that line with the express purpose of destroying the ambiguity filling the air between them; to acknowledge her seemed, somehow, wrong.
For a moment he thought maybe he would lie – though what would be accomplished by doing so? What was the reason not to tell McVries the truth? This rational thought didn’t prevent him from beginning to speak. Whatever it was, that denial was forming on his tongue already.
But then, from behind: “Ray?”
Garraty hated himself, slightly, for the way that his heart sank.
Jan was looking at him sideways when he turned, her pale blue eyes puzzled but still amiable enough as she touched his shoulder, stepping to stand beside him. “What’s taken you so long? I think we ought to head home now.”
McVries looked at her. He blinked once, and then so quickly Garraty might have imagined it, his expression seemed to shutter. A polite blankness came into his eyes. “Is this your girl?”
Garraty swallowed. “That’s right,” he said. “This is Jan. Jan, this is Pete… ”
“Peter,” McVries said, putting out his hand again. “McVries.”
“Nice to meet you,” Jan said, and shook his hand, though her confusion was evident. For what it was worth, Garraty was also confused, and a little upset by that confusion. He had only meant to ask directions, hadn’t he? Now why had he been standing here for so long?
“You came up with him?” McVries asked.
“Yes. It was a trip for our first anniversary.”
McVries bobbed his head. “Oh, sure. Congratulations.”
Garraty’s heart was pounding. His fists were clenched at his sides, and his fingers felt numb. He didn’t know why. “Did you figure out the map?” he said to Jan. “I didn’t – ”
Jan nodded. “A little while ago. It should be easy to get back on track. I thought I’d wait for you.”
Garraty dragged a hand through his hair. “Sorry, I guess I lost track of time.”
“It’s fine.” Jan tilted her head. “Are you ready to go?”
Though he’d think later that he shouldn’t have, Garraty hesitated and looked back at McVries. “Well… shouldn’t we ask him? For directions, I mean?”
“Did you not already?” Jan said. She followed his line of sight and for the first time seemed to take in McVries in his entirety. He was looking back at her with a flat, uninterested expression, and he had shifted his stance again; now he was leaning his hip against the railing and had straightened to his full height, taller than either of them.
“Must’ve forgotten,” Garraty mumbled.
Jan’s brow furrowed. “I think it’s fine,” she said, more insistent, and then, directed towards McVries, “Sorry. It’s just, it’s already dark, and I don’t want to worry my parents.”
Garraty felt an entirely unfair stab of irritation at her tone. She hadn’t cared what her parents would think earlier, had she? But he forced that annoyance down, and then he looked again and saw McVries the way Jan was probably seeing him – lean and sharp-looking with dusty, messy hair, gauze covering his face, and that oddly indifferent, insolent expression – and he wondered why he was making such an effort, and again why the conversation had gone on so long. She was right: it was late, later than he had wanted to stay out. She was so reasonable. And McVries was someone he didn’t know. McVries shouldn’t have been the reason he was hesitating anyway. He shouldn’t have been anyone at all.
“Don’t mind it,” McVries said. “Go on home, Garraty.”
It was just Garraty now.
He nodded and stepped away toward Jan with a small degree of difficulty that was still alarming. Then without thinking, he said, “Are you all right getting home?”
“Hm?” McVries didn’t look at him. He was watching the water. “It’s only half an hour.”
“Right,” Garraty said, off balance. “You said… ”
“Yeah.”
Jan’s hand was on his forearm, tugging gently. “Let’s go, Ray.”
They went. None of them said goodbye. Immediately he wished that he had, but by then it was too late to turn back.
Jan had unfolded the map so that it fanned across her seat. Garraty glanced at it as he was sitting down. He didn’t realize until he put his hands on the steering wheel that the threads were still wrapped around his fingers, so tightly they had started to go numb; when he flicked them away, some of the feeling flooded back. Pins and needles. It was nice to have something to focus on, at least.
“Do you need me to direct you back onto the freeway?” Jan said.
“No, I remember.”
Garraty steered them back onto the main road and towards the on-ramp. Jan had rolled the windows up before she’d come to get him, leaving the heat to fill the car, though it lessened slightly with the onset of night. She rolled them down again now and let the wind in. Garraty glanced back for a moment, over her head and through the window, and saw the outline of McVries still standing on the bridge. He was maybe waving. Garraty looked forward again before he could make it out.
They were on the freeway again before Jan spoke. “Who was that?” she asked. Her voice was perfectly even, and she might have been asking how the weather looked for the next morning; or she might have been asking something else entirely.
“I don’t know him,” Garraty said. It was true, but he understood by the way she pressed her lips together that it was the wrong thing to say. No, he did not know McVries, but there was something about him that had thrown Garraty, something about the whole conversation that had gotten under his skin. He couldn’t stop remembering how it had felt when his fingers had brushed his face. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Jan said. “It’s fine.”
“No, really.”
“I’m just tired,” she said. When he looked over again, she touched his arm and smiled, though he wasn’t quite sure if it reached her eyes. “It was really nice today. I’m happy we went.”
“Yeah,” Garraty said, a beat too late. “Me too.”
Jan looked at him a moment longer, then away. “I’m going to sleep for a little while. Wake me up when we’re home?”
“Sure. Do you mind if I turn on the radio?”
“Go ahead.” She rolled the window up and slumped against it, eyes closed, her long hair falling over her face in a curtain. She was beautiful – as she had been earlier – but there was something different about it this time. It was as though he was looking at a picture someone had taken. Sacrosanct. He couldn’t have touched her any more than he could have become part of the photo.
Without reason, Garraty thought again of McVries. He knew he shouldn’t have. It was painful, every part of it. It felt like – the moment just after you wake up from a pleasant dream, right when you understand it didn’t really happen. He couldn’t remember the last time he had cried, but he felt the unfamiliar sting of tears then. He tried to tell himself he didn’t know why.
He took one hand off the wheel to rub the blurriness from his eyes and drove them on into the dark. The radio was playing a quiet song he couldn’t make out. Over it, he could hear Jan’s breathing.
They didn’t get home until long past midnight. He woke Jan up to drop her off at her house – she kissed him on the cheek goodnight, and he said groggily that he loved her – and then went home. He fell asleep quickly. He dreamed about something he wouldn’t remember.