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Pretty soon people start packing into the house and backyard. They’re everywhere. Our place really isn’t big enough for a crowd like this—uncles, aunts, cousins, church people,
Grandma and Grandpa McDermott. My parents have all their friends there, and so do my big sister Colleen, her husband, and Drew. Tillman, Gillis, and Brianna all show up together. But out of everyone there, Chuck is the only one Bobby asked to come.

Before Iraq, a party like this wouldn’t have fazed Bobby. He would’ve had his whole rowdy bunch here with him. Probably would’ve pulled some crazy stunt just to see the looks on the church people’s faces. Like the time he and his buddies painted themselves red and ran through the middle of a church picnic wearing only their underwear. Now, as one person after the next comes at him with their fat smiles and handshakes, he just stands there like a dazed boxer soaking up punches.

Me, I don’t get much of a chance to talk to him, so I’m glad to have my close circle with me. Otherwise it’d be easy to feel very, very purple in an all-yellow world. Of course, I’m always glad to see Uncle Jimmy. He’s having a great time. Bobby and Chuck have been generous in sharing their beer with him. He sidles up to me by the backyard flowerbed and nudges my arm. “So,” he says, “I guess your little sister is still in Davenport taking care of your Grandma Brinker, huh?”

I tell him that she is, and he goes, “That’s good. That way your mom can stay down here and keep your dad away from Diane Simmons.”

This is the second time Uncle Jimmy has hinted that Diane Simmons, the church lady who comes by with food while Mom visits Grandma, has her sights set on Dad. And this is the second time I tell him he’s crazy for thinking that.

“Really?” he says. “Well, check that out.” He nods toward where my dad is standing. Ms. Simmons is about two inches away from him, waving her boobs around. Dad says something
and she laughs and touches his arm. I look around for Mom. She must be in the house.

“I tried a little flirting with her myself a while ago,” Uncle Jimmy says. “And I’ve been known to work a lot of magic in that department over the years, but not this time. I’m thinking your dad’s already put a spell on her.”

“I can’t see my dad having anything to do with any spells.”

“You didn’t know him back in the day.”

“Yeah, but I know him now. She can flash her cleavage all she wants, and he’s probably not thinking of anything but the next joke he’s planning to tell.”

“You’re probably right,” Uncle Jimmy says, but you can tell he doesn’t mean it.

Across the lawn, Ms. Simmons laughs again. Dad’s smiling like he’s running for office. “Of course I’m right,” I say, but I’m not so convinced this time.

As the afternoon unwinds, I’m surprised Bobby’s hands don’t turn blue from frostbite after reaching into the ice chest for so many beers. Drinking doesn’t seem to do him a whole lot of good, though, not like it does for Chuck, who is practically glowing. You’d think this party is for him. He’s flirting with the middle-aged ladies, talking football with the middle-aged men, making children giggle, and he still has time to wrap his arm around Bobby’s neck every once in a while and say how glad he is to have his old buddy back in town.

I can see why girls fall for him. He may be the most irresponsible guy on the planet, but responsibility is beside the point when you’re around him. There’s nothing in the world to worry about. Life is shiny. It’s as weightless as an astronaut. No wonder Bobby chose to stay with him instead of here at home.

Finally, Bobby has all he can take of the cheery faces,
nagging questions, and happy backslaps. He disappears. Mom asks me to go see if he’s upstairs and get him to come back down. “I’m sure he’s pretty tired,” she says.
Tired
being her way of saying
drunk
. “But it’s almost time to put the food on. He’ll feel better with a little something in his stomach.”

Upstairs, I find him lying on my bed listening to one of his old CDs. I’ve kept it on the shelf while he was away and played it every once in a while to remember him by. He opens his eyes and, seeing it’s only me, he smiles. “Ceejay,” he says. “My super-stupendous best sister. Have you come to rescue me from myself?”

“Mom sent me.” I sit on the side of the bed. “She wants you to come back down. It’s almost time to eat.”

“Okay,” he says. “I knew I couldn’t get away with hiding for long, but it’s so damn weird down there. Just let me listen to this next song.”

The song he’s talking about is called “Emerald Soul.” It’s loud, the kind of song that scrapes all the negative feelings out of your shoulder blades. He listens to it with his eyes closed and his hands folded across his stomach. When it winds down, he sits up and looks at me.

“That’s my favorite song,” he says. “I remember one time Mona and I were walking down the street, and we heard that song playing out of someone’s open window. It was perfect—like the soundtrack for how bright the sun was and the sound of the breeze shaking in the leaves. It was playing just for me. I was in the exact right place at the right time.” He looks toward the window as if maybe he could see that moment again if he tried hard enough. “Man,” he says, looking back at the floor. “Where did moments like that go? They’re gone. You can’t get them back. Now it’s like I’m always in the wrong place at the wrong time, and there isn’t any right place to be anyway.”

“You’ll get them back,” I tell him.

“I just want to turn off the radar. I just want to drown it out.”

“The radar?”

“That’s what it feels like over there. Like you’ve always got to have your radar on. You have to watch everything every second. You have to listen for it. You have to feel it with your whole body. If you don’t, the fucking universe will cave in on you. Even with the people here you feel like you have to look at every face, every movement. I just want to turn it off.”

I put my hand on his arm. “There won’t be stupid parties like this every weekend. Just wait. You’ll get settled in and then everything will go back to normal. Maybe you could get your own little rent house and I could come and live with you.”

“Maybe.” He smiles at me, but it’s the smile an old man might give a little kid for saying something sweet and naive. “Okay,” he says, clapping his hands, “time to stop my sorry bullshit and go back down to work the coal mine.”

Once we’re in the backyard again, he seems almost rejuvenated, even manages a smile here and there. Mom comes over, clasps his arm and leans her head onto his shoulder. She’s beaming. Uncle Jimmy takes a picture of them with his cell-phone camera, and at the last second Chuck jumps in and kisses my mom on the cheek. She swats him on the arm, but you can tell she loves him if for no other reason than that she knows he loves Bobby.

Finally, the time comes to fire up the backyard grill. This is really Dad’s chance to play the star. His red cap says
COOKOUT KING
across the front and his apron reads
HOT DOG
! The grill is a stainless steel Weber with all sorts of accessories. Top of the line. Dad takes a couple of spatulas and a set of tongs and juggles them before he starts slapping the food on. There’s trays of
meat next to him—burger patties, hot links, chicken breasts. I guarantee none of the men will touch the chicken.

Mom’s in the kitchen working on side dishes, so who do you think decides to play assistant chef? Ms. Simmons. I’m starting to believe Uncle Jimmy isn’t crazy after all. Not that I think Dad’s up to anything with those giant boobs of hers, but it’s all too obvious she’s ready to serve them up whenever he’s ready.

I’m standing in my little group with Bobby, Brianna, Gillis, and Tillman, who’s made it clear he’s bent out of shape because we had to cancel our paintball game for the party.

“Look at old Ms. Simmons flashing her girls at Dad,” I say. “Think she’s horny much?”

Gillis stares at her. “I don’t care how old she is,” he says. “I’d stick my face down in the middle of those things and not come up for air for a week.”

“You’re sick,” says Brianna.

A worried expression crosses Bobby’s face, but it doesn’t have anything to do with Ms. Simmons’ boobs. “Jesus,” he says. “What is that?”

“What?” I say.

“That smell. What’s that goddamn smell?”

I’m like, “I don’t know. You mean the burgers grilling?”

“Get me out of here,” he says. It’s not worry on his face now. It’s that same mix of panic and rage he had that night the captain’s hammer pounding startled him.

“Turn that smell off,” he cries. “Turn it off. I think I’m gonna puke.”

He heads toward the house, shoving guests out of the way as he goes. “Turn that smell off!”

I’m chasing after him and everyone’s staring like we’re both
crazy. He has trouble getting the patio door open and when he finally does, he lunges inside, and then it’s like his legs melt and he collapses onto his knees.

I’m at his side. “What’s wrong, Bobby?”

“Shut the door,” he says, his face pale and his lips sagging like he really might puke. “Shut the fucking door, so I don’t have to smell that.”

Everyone inside is gaping at him. Someone mutters, “Looks like he drank a little bit too much.”

I pull on his arm. “Let me help you up. We’ll get you upstairs.”

His arm trembles as I help him upstairs and he gulps for air. “I want to lie down,” he says. “I want to lock the goddamn door.”

I no sooner get him into my room than Mom and Dad follow us in.

“What’s wrong?” Mom asks. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” I say, helping Bobby sit on the bed. “He’s just worn out.”

“Too many beers,” Dad says. He looks Bobby over like he’s sizing up some kind of repair job he’s getting ready to work on. “We’ll get a burger into him and he’ll be all right. Ceejay, go get some aspirin.”

I look at Bobby to see if that’s what he wants, but he’s like, “I don’t need any aspirin. And I sure as hell don’t need any of that burning meat.”

Mom says, “Maybe a chicken breast would be better.” And Bobby goes, “No, I don’t want a chicken breast either. I don’t even want to get near anything off that grill.”

“Hey,” says Dad, “that grill’s practically new.”

Mom’s like, “Just a nice chicken breast and maybe some cold fruit.”

I can’t believe it—the parents can be so dense. They have no idea they should just let me and Bobby alone right now.

“Aren’t you listening?” Bobby pleads. And then he says something really strange. “I don’t want any of that stuff. It smells like you’re burning human flesh down there.”

Dad laughs. He actually laughs. “Don’t worry,” he says, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Those burger patties are from good old American cows. We’re not cooking any humans around here.”

Bobby stares at Dad for a moment, his face drained of color. “You don’t get it,” he says. “You haven’t smelled burning human flesh before, but I have. It gets in you. It smokes your lungs and your brain and you can cough and cough and you can’t get the ashes out.”

That’s something I’ve never thought of—the way a burning person would smell. It’s almost enough to make you sick just thinking about it.

Mom sits on the bed next to him and pats his back. “All right, honey,” she says. “You don’t have to go back outside. Just come down to the kitchen and we’ll fix you up a cold-cut sandwich.”

“No, we won’t,” Dad says. He’s all serious and take-command now, trying too hard at being a big tough-love dad. “Listen, son, I know you’ve been through some bad things, but there’s a lot of people who have come to see you down there. Now, I didn’t say anything when you started putting beers away one after the next—I liked my beer when I was a young man too—but I’m not going to let you disappoint your family and friends because of the way something smells. So get off your butt and come back down there and be the hometown hero these folks came to see.”

“Hometown hero, huh?” Bobby glares at Dad. “Is that what
I’m supposed to be? Well, let me tell you what kind of hometown hero I am.”

He stands and looks Dad in the eye. There’s something in Bobby’s face, something in his voice, that makes me dread what he’s going to say.

“You want to know why I’m home early?” he asks without waiting for an answer. “It’s because the army kicked me out, that’s why. They don’t want me, don’t want a single thing to do with me. That’s how much of a hero I am.”

My legs suddenly go weak. Bobby kicked out of the army? How could that be? Something has to be wrong. Somebody has to have made a mistake. I mean, look at him—his shoulders are so broad, his arms so big around. No one in their right mind could kick him out of the army.

“What are you talking about?” Dad asks, his look of command starting to crack.

“I’m talking about the army throwing me out on my ass, Dad, that’s what I’m talking about.” Bobby looks at Mom, who is still sitting on the bed. “I’m sorry I’m not a hero, but that’s the way it is.”

“But you got an honorable discharge, right?” asks Dad.

Bobby shakes his head. “Of course it wasn’t honorable. Do I look honorable? It was a general discharge—no benefits, no GI Bill, no VA hospital, no nothing. I don’t exist to them anymore.”

“You can’t be serious,” says Dad. “How could they give you a general discharge?”

“It’s not that hard,” Bobby says. “All you have to do is get caught by the German police with a couple hundred dollars’ worth of hash on you.”

Dad looks stunned, but in a way I’m relieved. Bobby was just being Bobby, I tell myself, out for a wild time, and the
uptight military types couldn’t understand that was just part of what makes him the baddest soldier to ever come out of Knowles. Of course, Mom doesn’t see it that way.

“Hash?” she says, wide-eyed, like hash is something that comes straight from Satan.

“Yeah,” Bobby says. “Hashish. It’s a kind of drug. You smoke it.”

“I know what it is,” Mom says. “I just don’t know why you’d want to have it. I thought you put all that kind of thing behind you when you went in the army.”

“I didn’t
want
to have it. I
had
to have it.”

That, I’m not sure I understand. It just doesn’t sound like Bobby.

Dad acts like it’s a total lie. “That’s a load of crap and you know it. You don’t
have
to have drugs. You choose to.”