Get in Trouble: Stories (27 page)

There isn’t.

Thanh and Harper fight about whether or not Thanh should go back to check messages, to call Han and Naomi. Whether they should stay on the mainland. We could have a real bed, Thanh says. Fleur will understand. I want to stay here, Harper says. And we are not going to say one word about this to Fleur. It’s her wedding! Do you think she wants to have to pretend to feel worried about something that probably isn’t even going to be an issue? Fine. Then I’ll go in the boat the next time it’s bringing people over, Thanh says. Call and make sure everything is okay,
and then come right back. No, Harper says. I’ll go. We’ll tell Fleur it’s a work thing.

It turns out that Harper can swim/wade back to the mainland. The tide will be in later on, though, so he’ll get a ride back on the boat. He puts his cell phone, with a couple of twenties, inside two plastic baggies. Fleur takes Thanh aside as soon as Harper is in the water. What’s up? she says. Everything okay? We’re fine, Thanh says. Really. Fine. Okay, Fleur says. Come help me mix drinks and tell me stuff. I need a quick crash course in marriage. What’s sex like? Well, to start with, Thanh says, you need good lube and a lot of preparation. I also recommend two or three trapeze artists. And a marching band. The marching band is essential. They make drinks. People gather on the porch. Someone plays Leonard Cohen songs on a guitar. There are oysters and hot dogs and cold tomato halves filled with spinach and cheese. More drinks. Thanh says to Fleur, Tell me about David. He’s a good guy? How am I supposed to answer that, Fleur says. She’s gotten some sun. There are lines on her face that Thanh doesn’t remember. She’s doing what she used to do, back in the old days. Picking up abandoned drinks, finishing them. David has a terrible job. Did you know they had me vetted when we moved in together? To see if I was a security risk. We’re at different ends of the political spectrum. But he’s good to me. And he’s rich. That doesn’t hurt. And I love him. Well, Thanh says. He takes the empty glass from her hand.

It’s nine at night by the time Harper gets back. People are playing Truth or Dare. Or, as Fleur calls it, Security Risk or Do
Something Stupid Because It’s Fun. There are other people on the boat with Harper. Thank God, Fleur says. He’s here. But it isn’t David. It’s three men and a woman, all in knife-pleated pants, white shirts. Are those the caterers? someone asks. Fleur shshes them. Friends of David, she says, and goes down to the dock to meet them. No kisses this time. Thanh, Harper says. Let’s go somewhere and talk.

They’re at the top of the stairs when Thanh sees a plastic bowl, rainwater in it, on the landing. Hold on, he tells Harper, and pukes into it. Takes the bowl into the bathroom, dumps the vomit and rainwater into the toilet. Rinses it. Rinses his mouth. Okay. He’s okay. Harper is in their room, sitting on the little bed. They’re okay, he says. They’re in the hospital. She was having contractions. They’ve given her something to stop the contractions. And something else, uh, Dexamethasone. I looked it up on the phone. It’s a steroid. It increases surfactants in the lungs. Whatever those are. So if he’s born, he’ll have a better chance. He, Thanh says. Oh, Harper says. Yeah. Naomi spilled the beans. Sorry about that. We need to go back, Thanh says. Thanh, Harper says. We can’t. There are no flights. No seats. Not tomorrow anyway. I called. Han’s there. The contractions have stopped. Tomorrow morning, first thing, you can go over to the mainland and talk to them. Thanh lies down on the bed. He doesn’t undress. There’s sand between his toes. He’s cold. Harper lies down beside him. Harper says, It’ll be okay. They’ll be okay. They’re almost asleep when Thanh says, I don’t know about this David guy. I rode over with some of his work friends, Harper says. Bad news, those guys. I asked what exactly David did, and they started talking about the lesson of 9/11. Thanh says, Someone asked if
they were the caterers. Caterers, Harper says. Like you’d want to eat anything they served you.

There are noises in the night. Thanh, Harper says. Do you hear that? Hear what? Thanh says. But then he hears it, too. Little rustling noises, dry leaves’ noises. Little scratchings. Harper gets out of bed, turns on the light. The noises stop. Harper turns off the light. Almost immediately the noises start up again. Harper gets up, the light is turned on, the noises stop. When it happens a third time, Harper leaves the light on. The taxidermied Bad Claw watches them with its glassy eyes, lips forever lifted in a sneer. There is nothing in the room except for Harper and Thanh and the Bad Claw, the table and the bed and their suitcases. Thanh checks his phone. There are no messages, no signal. The bed is too small. Harper begins to snore. He didn’t used to snore. There are no other noises. Thanh only falls back asleep as the sun is coming up.

In the morning, Fleur and a bunch of other people are making a lot of noise on the porch. There’s yelling. Little cries of delight. Has David arrived? They make their way down. Go on, Fleur is saying. Try them on. Everyone gets one. Everyone’s a bride today. She is taking wedding dresses out of a set of oversized luggage. Remember these? she says to Thanh and Harper. Remember when I won all that money at the poker game in Somerville? She tells everyone else, I didn’t know what to do with it. The next week was the wedding dress sale, Filene’s Basement. It’s
famous, she tells her California friends. Everyone used to go. Even if you never, ever planned to get married. You went to watch grown women fight over dresses, and then there you are, buying a dress, too. So I went and I got kind of fascinated with the dresses that no one else wanted. All of the really horrible dresses. At the end of the day they’re practically paying you to take them. I spent all my poker money on wedding dresses. I’ve been saving them ever since. For a party. Or a wedding. Something. Here, she says to Harper. This one will look good on you. I was saving it just for you.

So Harper takes off his shirt. He steps into the dress, yanks it up over his chest. There are cap sleeves. Fake seed pearls. Fake buttons up the back. Was there really a time when women wore dresses like this and no one thought it was strange and everyone pretended that they looked beautiful and cried? How much did Fleur pay? There’s a tag still attached. $3,000. A line through that. More prices, all crossed out. Fleur sees Thanh looking. You
know
I didn’t pay more than fifty bucks for any of them, she says. Harper and Thanh were married in a courthouse office. They wore good suits. Red boxers, because red is lucky. Luck is necessary. Here’s marriage advice Thanh could give Fleur. Be lucky.

How are the yurts? Thanh asks the woman from the van. Marianne? Or Laura. Whatever. The yurts? Really nice, the woman says. I’ve always wanted to stay in a yurt. Me, too, Thanh says. He’s never entertained a single thought about a yurt in his entire life. Here, the woman says, will you zip me up? He zips her up. You look nice, he says. Really, she says. Yes, he says. It suits you somehow. But she doesn’t seem pleased by this, the way she was pleased about the yurt. Maybe because it’s such an awful dress. The (un)caterers are playing Hearts on the steps. Harper
says to Fleur, I need to go back over to the mainland again. Work. Fleur says, Tide’s in. I don’t know when the boat is back over. It’s already come once this morning, with groceries. Maybe after lunch? First we’re going to go on an expedition. Put on a dress. (This to Thanh.) You guys, too. (This to the caterers.) Think of it as information gathering in field settings. Everybody needs coffee, grab coffee.

Everyone is amenable. Wedding guests in wedding dresses grab coffee and fruit and premade breakfast sandwiches. They put on sunblock, or hats, and troop off after Fleur. Thanh and Harper go along. Everyone goes. Even the caterers.

The center of the island, at least Thanh assumes it’s the center of the island, is uphill. Laurel and pine. Loamy soil flecked with sand. There’s a sort of path, pocketed with roots, and Fleur tells them to stay on it. Poison oak, she says. Sinkholes. Pines crowd in until the procession must go single file. Thanh has to hold up the train of his awful borrowed dress. The path becomes slippery with old needles. There’s no breeze, just the medicinal smell of pine and salt. No one talks. The caterers are just in front of Thanh, Harper behind. He bets the caterers have a working phone. If the boat doesn’t come soon, he’ll figure out how to get it. Why did they sleep so late? Han will be no use to Naomi if things go wrong. She will be no use to Thanh and Harper. But then, what use would Thanh and Harper be? Nevertheless, they shouldn’t be here. Here is of no use to anyone. The wedding party emerges into a clearing. At the center is an indentation, a sunken pocket of what Thanh realizes is water. A pond? Hardly big enough to be a pond. There’s an algae bloom, bright as an
egg yolk. So, Fleur says. We’re here! This is where David’s family comes every year, so they can each make a wish. Right, Sheila, Robert? She is addressing an older couple. Thanh hasn’t even noticed them until now, although they are the only people in the clearing who aren’t wearing wedding dresses. This should make them stand out, he thinks. They don’t. They could set themselves on fire, and you still probably wouldn’t notice them. There’s a cairn of pebbles and shells and bits of broken pottery. Fleur picks up a pebble, says, You make a wish and you throw something in. Come on, everyone gets a wish. Come on, come on. She tosses her pebble. Wedding guests gather around the mucky hole. Is it very deep? someone asks Fleur. She shrugs. Maybe, she says. Probably not. I don’t know. Someone picks up a shell and drops it in. People make wishes. Harper rolls his eyes at Thanh. Shrugs. Picks up a pebble. People are making all sorts of wishes. A man in a watered silk dress with a mandarin collar, really it’s the best of the awful dresses, wishes for a new job. Fair enough. The caterers make wishes, secret wishes. Even caterers get to make wishes. Marianne thinks, Let my mother die. Let her die soon. And Fleur? What did she wish? Fleur wishes with all of her heart, Please let him get here soon. Let him get here safely. Please let him love me. Please let this work. Thanh doesn’t want to make a wish. He is suspicious of wishes. Go on, Fleur says. She puts a piece of shell in Thanh’s hand. And then she waits. Should he wish that the baby inside Naomi stays inside a little longer? What would be the cost of that wish? Should he wish that the baby will live? If he lives, let him be healthy and strong and happy? He could wish that Naomi will not wish to keep the baby. He could wish to be a good father. That Harper would be a good father. Would that be a good wish? A safe wish? It seems
dangerous to Thanh to make demands of God, of the universe, of a muddy hole. How can he anticipate the thing that he ought to wish for? Fleur is waiting. So Thanh throws the bit of shell in, and tries with all his heart not to make any wish at all. Even as he tries, he feels something—that wish, what is it, what is it?—rising up from his stomach, his lungs, his heart, spilling out. Too late! Down goes Thanh’s bit of shell with all the other pebbles and bits, the other wishes. Harper sees Thanh’s face. He wants that look to go away. What can be done? He wants to get back and see if the boat has come in. He’ll go over to the mainland again if Thanh will let him. Harper doesn’t believe in wishes, but he drops his pebble anyway. He thinks, I wonder what was making the noise last night? He holds Thanh’s hand all the way back down the trail. The dresses are ridiculous. The kind of fun that they used to have is no longer fun. Now it seems more like work. David’s parents are just in front of Harper and Thanh. They didn’t make any wishes, but perhaps they have everything they want already. Thanh wonders. What kinds of things did they wish for their son? Harper decides that if the boat isn’t back, he’ll swim over in the ridiculous dress. What a great story that will make. He isn’t thinking about Naomi and the baby. He is making every effort not to think about them at all. What a waste it will all be, what a disaster it will be if things go wrong at this stage. Will Thanh want to try again? They won’t be able to afford it. Somehow all of this will be Harper’s fault. They shouldn’t have come to the wedding.

A baby born at twenty-four weeks may weigh just over a pound. The boat is at the dock. David has not come in on it. Thanh says, I should go this time. No, Harper says. You stay. I’ll go. You should stay. Have some lunch. Take a nap. Really, Thanh
should go, but Harper goes instead. He doesn’t wear the dress. Before you are allowed to enter the NICU you must wash your hands and forearms up to the elbows for no less than two minutes each time. There is a clock and you watch the minute hand. This is to keep the babies safe from infection. Fleur suggests various games. Frisbee, Capture the Flag, Marco Polo in the water. The caterers play all of these games as if they are not playing games at all. Your wedding ring will fit around the wrist of a twenty-four-week baby. All of the wedding dresses have been bundled up in a pile on the beach with some driftwood. There will be a bonfire tonight. Lunch has been delivered on the boat. Thanh doesn’t want any lunch. In a male baby born at twenty-four weeks, the scrotum and the glans of the penis have not yet developed. The skin cannot hold heat or moisture in. They have no fat. No reserves. They are stuck with needles, tubes, wires, monitors. Astronauts in the smallest diapers you have ever seen. Their ears don’t resemble ears yet. They are placed in nests of artificial lambswool. Pink like cotton candy. Thanh doesn’t want to play Capture the Flag. Fleur has made pitchers and pitchers of Bad Claw Island Ice Tea, and Thanh downs drink after drink after drink. He sits on the sand and drinks. Fleur sits with him for a while, and they talk about things that don’t matter to either one of them. Fleur drinks, but not as much as Thanh. She must wonder. Does she wonder why he is drinking like this? She doesn’t ask. David’s mother sits down beside them. She says, I always wanted to write a book about this place. A book for children. It was going to be about the Bad Claws, before people ever lived here. But I couldn’t figure out what the lesson would be. Children’s books should have a lesson, don’t you think? You should always learn something when you read a story. That’s
important. Premature baby girls have better outcomes than premature baby boys. Caucasian boys fare worst of all. Nurses have a name for this: Wimpy White Boys. Fleur says, I’m getting married tomorrow. If David doesn’t show up, I’ll marry the Bad Claw. The one in your room. Put that ring right around that poisonous little dewclaw. That would be funny, wouldn’t it? Just watch. I’ll do it. Eventually Thanh is sitting by himself, and then, later, someone is standing over him. Harper. Hey there, Harper is saying. Hey there, buddy. Thanh? What? Thanh says. What. He thinks this is what he says. He is asking a question, but he isn’t sure what he is asking. Harper is telling him something about someone whose name is William. The eyes of a twenty-four-week baby will still be fused shut. He can be given around five grams of breast milk a day through a gastro-nasal tube. Every diaper must be weighed. Urine output is monitored. Heart rate. Weight gain. Growth of the blood vessels in the retina. Lungs will not fully develop until the thirty-seventh week. Oxygen saturation of the blood is monitored. Everything noted in a binder book. Parents may look at the book. May ask questions. A high-speed oscillating ventilator may be required. Sometimes a tracheotomy is required. Supplemental oxygen. Blood transfusions. There is a price for all of these interventions. There is a cost. Cerebral palsy is a risk. Brain bleeds. Scarring of the lungs. Loss of vision. Necrotizing enterocolitis. The business of staying alive is hard work. Nurses say, He’s so feisty. He’s a fighter. That’s a good thing. Harper goes away. Eventually he comes back with Fleur. The bonfire has been lit. It’s dark. You have to eat something, Fleur says. Thanh? Here. She opens a packet of crackers. Thanh obediently eats cracker after cracker. Sips water. The crackers are sweetish. Dry. Nurses don’t necessarily call the
premature babies by their names. Why not? Maybe it makes it easier. They call the babies Peanut. Muffin. What an adorable muffin. What a little peanut. Parents may visit the NICU at any hour, day or night. Some parents find it hard to visit. Their presence is not essential. There is no vital task. Their child may die. There is no privacy. Every morning and every evening the doctors make rounds. Parents may listen in. They may ask questions. Parents may ask questions. There will not always be answers. There are motivational posters. Social workers. Financial counselors. A baby born at twenty-four weeks is expensive! Who knew a baby could cost so much? Fleur and Harper help Thanh up the stairs and into bed. Harper is saying, In the morning. We have standby seats. Turn him on his side. In case he pukes. There. The first twenty-four hours are the most critical.