Free Badd by Tim Tharp Page A

person on earth. Anyway, it’s Bobby who’s still on my mind.
    We stop in front of a big two-story house where Uncle Jimmy has a painting job lined up. The house looks pretty white to me, but I guess they want it whiter. Uncle Jimmy’s hired man Jerry is already there, leaning against the side of his old clunker pickup. He’s a skinny little guy with a lopsided mustache. Uncle Jimmy warned me he was kind of slow, but at least he’s cheerful. A real morning person. Can’t wait to get our equipment unloaded so we can get to work.
    Painting, though, has never been my thing. I did paint the walls in my room, even the trim, but that’s all. It’s pretty boring, the same thing over and over, nothing artistic about it. I can see myself getting carpal tunnel by the end of the summer, but who cares? I just want the day to go by so I can do what I really want to do.
    Finally, lunchtime rolls around. While we’re scarfing ourburgers at Coby’s Grill, Uncle Jimmy takes up the story of his weekend again. This time he goes into how he went home with a woman named Claire Fountain. She’s recently divorced and moved in with her crabby old mother, so when they went back to her house, Uncle Jimmy had to crawl in through the bedroom window. Then, come morning, he had to climb right back out the same window. “Made me feel like a burglar,” he says. “And she expects me to call her the next day? Ha!”
    Jerry looks flustered over the idea of someone having sex in the back room while the woman’s mother watches TV in the living room, but I think he admires Uncle Jimmy for it at the same time. Me, I love Uncle Jimmy, but stories like that just confirm my theory that, young or old, men are mostly dogs.
    Finally, we get around to the topic of Bobby when Uncle Jimmy says he’s going to hate having to turn Bobby’s motorcycle back over to him when he gets home. He’s been taking care of it ever since Bobby shipped out. Except, of course, when Bobby’s come home on leave.
    “The ladies love a man on a motorcycle,” he says.
    So here’s my opening, the perfect excuse to pick Uncle Jimmy’s brain about Bobby. I’m like, “Maybe you’ll have to give it back to him sooner than you think. I hear sometimes they let soldiers come home early.” I’m just throwing it out there like I haven’t heard a thing about him really being back.
    “I doubt that,” Uncle Jimmy says. “Probably be lucky to get home next month like he thinks. I mean, I hope he does—don’t think I don’t—but they make it pretty hard to get out of the military these days. It’s ridiculous. With that jackass Bush in the White House, you never know. He keeps sending troops back every time they think they’re going home.”
    Then I guess he realizes that might sound harsh to me, so he reaches over, pats my knee, and says, “But don’t you worry,Ceejay, I’m sure he’ll be back next month just like he said he would. You know Bobby. Nothing can get that boy down.”
    “But what if he showed up, like, tomorrow?”
    “Don’t get your hopes up about that, Ceejay. I mean, it would be great, but if he showed up tomorrow, I’d be worried that he was AWOL or something.”
    I don’t say anything back. All of a sudden, I feel like the reality of the world is about three sizes too big. Bobby AWOL? I just can’t believe that. Once we go back to the job, I try to put it out of my mind. Everything’s going to be all right, I tell myself. The war’s over now, at least where my brother’s concerned.

13
    Finally, we wrap up work for the day, and I can’t wait any longer. Instead of going right home and asking Brianna or Gillis to come give me a ride, I coax Uncle Jimmy into dropping me off in front of Chuck’s apartment complex, telling him a lie about having a friend who lives there. No shower. No change of clothes, just my paint-spattered jeans, T-shirt, and sneakers. I even have paint in my hair, but that’s all right. If I put off seeing Bobby one more