buddies.â
âYouâre still in Phoenix, right?â
âYeah, but I gave up the apartment. I need a change. Thought I might settle somewhere in the North Country. Clean air. Clean water. Clean living.â
âRight,â said Randy. âThatâll be the day.â
Larry had been bartending for the last few years, not a particularly smart choice for a guy with a drinking and drug problem. Heâd fought the good fight against his demons trying to getclean, attending AA meetings, doing an occasional stint in rehab, but nothing seemed to work. In the early nineties, heâd served four years in Douglas State Prison for aggravated assault. He had a temper that he didnât control very well, especially when he was high.
But none of that mattered to Randy. The blast-furnace pressure of war had formed powerful bonds. When he returned home from his tour in Vietnam, Randy was no longer a friendless loner. His new buddies might not have been the kind of guys he would have chosen under normal circumstances, but Nam had been a time in his life when none of the old rules mattered and nothing made sense except staying alive.
âDelâs on his way over.â
âNo shit?â said Larry with a crooked grin. âThatâs cool.â
They both leaned against the railing, looking out across the meadow. Larry lit a cigarette and offered the pack to Randy, but Randy shook his head.
âQuit.â
âYeah, I should, too, but I gotta have some vices or it wouldnât be me.â
âWhere are you staying?â
âWith you.â
âPerfect,â said Randy, looking back at the house looming above them. âTake two or three bedrooms. I got nothing but space.â
âOneâ11 be fine,â said Larry, blowing smoke circles into the twilight air. âHonest, I needed a break bad. Thereâs a woman down in Phoenix thinks Iâm gonna marry her. You and I both know that ainât gonna happen.â
Randy laughed. âYouâre running from a marriage ceremony?â âDamn straight, I am. No shame in that.â As his eyes pannedmore carefully across the meadow, he took a deep hit off the cigarette. âWhatâs it been? Three years since we last seen each other?â
âSounds about right.â
He fell silent, staring at the glowing tip of his smoke. âYouâre gonna think old Larryâs gone soft, but I missed you, man. You and Del. I know this seems weird, but I miss the old daysâour time in Nam. You ever go back there in your mind?â
âIt still wakes me up at night.â
âYeah. I hear you.â
âMy wife told me Iâm stuck in the past. Makes me awfully quiet sometimes. I guess Iâm not much fun to be around.â
âHell, youâre a hoot. Best drinking buddy I ever had.â
Randy looked away.
âWe were the lucky ones,â said Larry. âWe came back. We survived.â
They both turned at the sound of a car motor.
Del was pulling his black Highlander up next to Randyâs Volvo. As he opened the door to get out, the automatic floodlight on the side of the garage came on.
âI donât believe it,â whispered Larry. âHis hairâs almost as gray as mine. Weâre gettinâ old, man. I hate it. I wanna live forever.â
As Del trudged up the steps to the deck, Larry pressed his fingers around the lit end of the cigarette, pocketing what was left of it. âHey there, my brutha,â he said, opening his arms wide.
Del took one look at him and broke into a hearty laugh. âYou old piece of dog meat, what are you doinâ here?â
They did some backslapping, some hand shaking.
âJust passinâ through,â said Larry. âJust passinâ through.â
âAnybody hungry?â asked Randy. âI could order us a pizza. Seems like we should celebrate.â
âYou mean somebody actually delivers way out
Ellen Kottler, Jeffrey A. Kottler, Cary J. Kottler