4. Reed

4

REED

“BLACK BETTY” – RAM JAM

C harlie Dunn’s parents live in a two-story house in the western suburbs of Chicago, a few blocks from the tracks of the BNSF line. So I can work on my laptop during the trip, I ride the Metra from Union Station out to La Grange, then walk the couple blocks to his place. I keep my shirt and tie on just in case I have to jump on an impromptu zoom call.

When I arrive, I knock on the door and have a look around their porch. I still remember the spot in the street that was the finish line for Charlie and me when we would go on runs together and sprint to the end.

After a few moments, Mrs. Dunn answers the door. She has glasses, medium-length brown hair, and always a half smile. “Well, if it isn’t little Reedy the Reedster.”

I laugh. The nickname has no meaning. But Mrs. Dunn gave me and all of Charlie’s high school friends nicknames. I hug her, and she invites me in.

“Hey, Mr. Dunn!” I call as I enter the living room. The old man is in his seventies, and he likes sitting in his easy chair, watching movies, and talking politics.

“Reed! What a great surprise.”

He stands to shake my hand, and I join him when he sits back down. He’s watching Saving Private Ryan .

“Charlie should be down in a few minutes. He’s just upstairs with Wendy.”

I nod. Wendy is Charlie’s wife as of last summer. “How many months along is she?”

“Eight months and a day.”

“Well, damn. The baby is due soon then.”

“You bet.”

I hear loud talking upstairs, and then a few moments later, footsteps on the stairs.

“Hey, Reed!” Wendy says as she comes down, holding her belly.

“Wendy!”

I stayed with Charlie and Wendy for a week last summer when I got back from the Peace Corps and they were on base in Louisiana. They’re my favorite couple of all time.

“What’s up y’all?” I grin and give Wendy a light hug, careful around the baby. “You know who took your parents out to dinner and got them drunk so they had a baby? Yes, you do!” I address her belly in my best baby-friendly voice.

“What?” Wendy looks surprised.

“What do you mean, what?” I laugh. “I took you guys out early last October when you visited. You said you hadn’t had a drink all fall. It’s eight months later. So I’m expecting you’ll name him after me?”

Dunn appears and gives me the kind of big bear hug only old high school best friends give each other. “You son of a bitch. Did you guys sleep together?” He looks between me and Wendy.

Wendy’s eyes go wide. I just chuckle. Dunn’s always had a weird sense of humor. He gets away with it because he’s the most solid guy you’ll ever meet. And we both know that if I did sleep with Wendy, he has ten ways to murder me in my sleep.

“You know I’ve never been into blondes,” I say. “Sorry, Wen.”

“That’s right. That was a trick question. And you passed.” He glances at Wendy. “You, however…”

He kisses her on the cheek, and she cradles her stomach.

“This baby kinda feels like a Reed, now that you mention it,” Wendy deadpans, looking over at me. “Or maybe a Walker.”

“Woman.” He shakes his head. “It’s a girl.”

“Obviously it’s a girl. Those could be girl names. I’ve met a girl named Reed before.”

Dunn clears his throat loudly. “So, beers? Railfest? You ready to party this weekend? It's my last weekend of freedom before, well, you know—my eighteen-year sentence.”

Wendy rolls her eyes.

“Kidding, babe. Not really, though.”

“Dude, I told you. I can’t go this weekend.”

“We leave tomorrow morning.”

“I have work tomorrow. They’re bringing us back into the office.”

“What do you even do? Email nonsense?”

“Something like that.”

“Call in sick. Pull some Ferris Bueller’s Day Off shit. I’ll pretend I’m your dad.”

I shake my head as I follow Dunn to the kitchen. He hands me a Miller Lite from the fridge.

“I told you I can’t go.”

“And I told you that’s bullshit.”

We cheers, clinking our beers together.

“I don’t even like country music.”

“How many times do I have to tell you, this isn’t country music. It’s Zach fucking Bryan. And the goddamn Red Lemons are playing.”

I laugh, thinking how well he and Jay would get along. “That’s what my friend at work said, too. I’m just not sure what it means.”

“It means that Zach Bryan transcends the genre.”

I google his name. “The first three recommendations that come up are from country-music blogs. Sorry, man. I just don’t like country.”

“You’ve never lived in the south, have you? You need to visit us in Louisiana again so you can become more cultured.”

“Does South America count? That’s south. And I lived on a farm in Bolivia. That’s the country lifestyle.”

We move out on to his back patio, facing the train across the street.

“No, you crazy Peace Corps volunteer. I’m talking about the American south, obviously. You really didn’t get anything out of it when you visited me down at Fort Polk, did you?”

“Look, I don’t even know what we’re talking about anymore. I can’t go to a music festival tomorrow. I have a job. I have responsibilities. And that’s the end of it.”

“Wait, you have a job? How’d you get here at four p.m., then?”

“I have some flexibility.”

“So be flexible tomorrow.”

“Can’t. Tomorrow is an in-office day, and my boss made a big deal out of it. I really wish I could, man. Sorry.”

He grins harder. “Is there anything I can, you know, do?” He wiggles his eyebrows and licks his lips. “A sexual favor, maybe?”

Right as he’s saying that—of course—Wendy presses the door open and walks outside.

“Uh, what are y’all talking about?”

“My wife,” Dunn says, using a Russian accent. “I offer my wife to you. We must go to this festival. We must go.”

“I wish I could go,” Wendy says, sitting down. “You want to feel her? She’s kicking.”

I put my hand on her belly, tentatively. I can feel a little movement. “Wild.”

“The miracle of life,” Dunn says. “When are you and Sam gonna start?”

I laugh. “With babies, or the wedding?”

“Both. You gotta get on that, man. I’ve already got a head start. I’m going to make it to five. The Dunn dynasty will be epic.”

Wendy laughs. “Six, hon.”

“See? This is why I fucking love this woman. So…how is Sam anyway?”

“She gets back here from grad school in two months. And…” I shouldn’t be revealing it. But I do. “I bought a ring.”

Wendy’s mouth drops open.

“Don’t say a thing to anyone. I haven’t told a soul yet.”

“That’s great, man,” Charlie says. “So you’re gonna be tied down for life. All the more reason to go to this festival.”

“When are you getting sent to…”

“Ukraine,” he says, filling in the word I didn’t want to say. Wendy looks down. “Twelve weeks after the due date.”

“When’s the due date?”

“In about four weeks,” he says. There’s a slight pause, but not too long, before Charlie adds, “Grabbing more beers from inside. I’ll be back. You want one, Wen?”

She shakes her head. “The day this pregnancy is over, I’m drinking a full bottle of wine.”

Charlie laughs. “She’s a real alcoholic, this one.”

After a minute he comes back out with cracked open Miller Lites and his dad’s guitar.

“Play us a song, minstrel.” He hands me the guitar.

“Eh, I don’t know…”

“Come on, man. I know you’ve been working on something. You always are. Give me one of the originals—like the old days when we would drink out here and you’d play.”

I think for a moment. “All right, fine. Here’s one I wrote. It’s called ‘Marry Bacardi’.”

It’s a soft, acoustic song, a special song. I’m saving it to surprise Sam. I’ll play it for her when she moves back to Chicago.

When she wears that dress

Man you know the one

Light blue with the curves on it

Yeah you know it’s on

When she wears that dress

Looks like a Goddess

Waits for you to put the moves on her

Man go get some

You know how it started

Levis with Bacardi

Showed her how to dance

Yeah you brought the romance-ing

She gets a little naughty

When she’s drinkin’ Bacardi

And she’s kissin’ on you

Past 1 a.m.

“Oh my God,” Wendy says, a hand over her heart. “That’s so beautiful. I’m actually crying.”

“Yeah, I just wish I could sing well. And play.”

“I think you’ve got something there. Seriously. That was damn good. You wrote that? You didn’t steal it?” Wendy asks.

“I wrote it.”

“Where do you come up with this shit?” Dunn asks.

“No idea.” I shrug. “Just started writing and thought it was a funny pun to ‘Marry Bacardi.’”

“That is so sweet.” Wendy wipes a tear from her eye. “You better be careful with this one. I might actually fall in love with him.”

“Okay, Reedy, you heard the woman.” Dunn takes another swig of his beer. “Her hormones are extra active when pregnant. That’s enough of that. We better bounce.”

He finishes his beer, and we stand. “We’re heading downtown. I want to see this place you’ve been living in, meet this roommate of yours. What’s his name?”

“Mason. And I don’t live downtown. I live in Old Town.”

“Downtown, Old Town, whatever. It’s a big city, and it’s all the same to me, bro. Let’s roll. Bye, babe.” He gives her a peck on the lips.

“What time will you be back?”

Charlie shrugs. “I don’t know. Monday, probably. Or Sunday. Maybe in a week if we have a big adventure. You never know when me and Walker get into something.”

She cocks her head. “Good one. So, tonight?”

“Babe, we’re going to the music festival.”

“No, we’re not going. I can’t go,” I interject. “I have work tomorrow. Are you deaf, bro?”

“Yes. Work .” Dunn makes air quotes. “What do you do again?”

“I work in cybersecurity sales.”

“Riiiight. Like that’s a real thing. Securing invisible attacks that happen through the ‘internet?’ It’s made up.”

I say goodbye to his parents and then wait in the living room while Dunn shares a tender moment with Wendy. He brushes her hair back with his hand on her stomach. He kisses her stomach, then kisses her. He’s got a hard outer shell, but I swear he’s a softie at heart.

“Ready?” he says when he walks out, rattling his keys.

“Absolutely.”

We step out to the front porch, and Dunn calls back, “Dad, we’re taking your car. I’ll see ya later.”

I’m not sure if Mr. Dunn heard Charlie or not, but I follow him down the outside concrete steps and into the driveway, where Mr. Dunn’s bright red 1969 Pontiac Firebird is waiting. Dunn runs his hand over the front hood, and we get in. I toss my work backpack in the backseat, and he revs the engine.

“This festival is going to be awesome. Thanks again for going with me. You’re welcome for the free ticket.”

“Dude, there’s just no way. I’m not driving to Lexington tomorrow. Maybe we can go Saturday or something, if you’re hell bent on it.”

“Saturday? What? So we drive all day and then see Zach Bryan? No. If I’m seeing my favorite band of all time, I’m going to get a good night’s sleep and enjoy the performance.”

“Bro. C’mon.”

“You’re going to love it,” he says as he backs down the driveway.

The thing about Charlie is sometimes you can’t tell when he’s joking about kidnapping you.

“Even if I didn’t have to work tomorrow, I don’t like country music, like I fucking said. It’s claptrap.”

“It’s not country music.” He gives me a dirty look as we wait to pull out into the street. “It’s Zach Bryan.”

I just sigh. “Whatever. Let’s go get drunk in the city.”

“Boys!” Mr. Dunn yells from the porch, drink in hand. “Take care of that car now, ya hear?”

“Dad, I’m a professional!” Charlie yells through the open window.

“A professional what?” I mumble, and we both crack up.

Charlie cranks up the radio—an old alternative station playing “Black Betty”—and we peel out down the street.