Chapter 6

I read my book, And Be a Villain just then, one of the Nero Wolfe mysteries I'd been bragging to Max about. After a while I got up and turned on the radio. I'd found three or four stations in Albuquerque that I liked, and found one playing a song I liked – but just as I found it, the song finished. I stayed by the radio, waiting to see what the next song was. It turned out to be Toto's "Africa," and since I liked it I left the dial where it was and turned to go back to my chair. And here came Max out of the kitchen.

"I love that song," she said. "Let's dance."

So we slow danced. It's a soft rock song, probably not really made for dancing, but one you can slow dance to. She put her arms around me and her hands on my shoulder blades, while I wrapped my arms around her and put my hands on her waist. She leaned her head on my shoulder, and we swayed to the music, not moving our feet much, for slow dancing isn't really a dance, but a way for people to be close to each other. When the last chorus came on, Max began singing, her voice sad and low to match the song, and I joined in, singing softly to match her.

When the song was over she straightened up and moved her hands from my shoulder blades around to the front, and put them on my shoulders. "I love that song," she said again. "And when I was singing I felt like it was my heart speaking to you."

"You know that's a sort of love song, right?"

"Yes, I know. But still..."

I moved my hands up from her waist to her shoulder blades, my fingers gently, on their own, massaging the muscles there. "I know what you mean, I think. I've never had a friend like you, Max. You're the one friend who I can say, and know it's true, that I will never ever forget and never ever leave."

"Sometimes friendships end."

"Yes."

"But not ours?" Her hazel eyes were directly at mine, and I thought that this was an important question for her.

"I've had friends who I cared a lot about, and then they moved, or I moved, or things changed, and we drifted apart, and now I couldn't even tell you where they live. But we won't be that way. I'll remember you till the day I die, and if we ever lose touch with each other it won't be my fault."

"Nor mine."

The radio had played a bunch of commercials after "Africa," but now the commercials ended and another slow song came on, Boston's "A Man I'll Never Be." Max slipped her hands around to my shoulder blades again, and leaned her head on my shoulder, and we danced again. It felt so good holding her, so right, so sweet and comfortable, so pure, that for the song's duration I forgot all about how wrong it really was. I forgot the regulations, and the punishments that we might face, and I even forgot what the Bible says about obeying the law.

When the song was over, and something harder began to play, Max raised her head, and amazed me by having tears on her cheeks. "Are you all right?" I asked her.

"It's a sad song, Derek, that's all."

"It is, but I didn't think it was that sad."

"I guess I was just thinking that as far as I'm concerned, you're all the man you ought to be, and wondering how you see yourself."

I laughed a little. "Not like the guy in the song. I don't have anyone idolizing me to begin with, and I think I've got a pretty accurate view of myself. I'm a good person, more or less, as far as society's standards go. I'm a very good jet engine mechanic, and a good airman, and I serve God to the best of my ability. What more is there?"

Max wiped her cheeks, and there were no more tears, so I took her account of her sadness at face value. "You know what, Derek?" she said. "At the risk of doing what the narrator of that song accuses whoever he's speaking to of doing, I think you're all those things – and a very sweet, wonderful, kind, gentle man besides. You remind me in some ways of Roddy – my brother."

"Will he be here for Christmas?"

"No," she said, finally releasing me from our embrace. "He lives in Anadarko, and my parents visited him for Thanksgiving. They alternate visits, and we go see them whenever we can."

"Anadarko – that's in Oklahoma?"

"Yes. There's an Indian museum there, and the name is some sort of Indian. You probably know that a lot of Oklahoma was once the Indian Territory, where the government put eastern Indians and Plains Indians they'd conquered."

"That sounds familiar," I said. "I probably learned it in US history somewhere."

"That could be. I know that the only place I've ever seen so many Indians as I do here, is in Oklahoma. They're everywhere back there. It's mostly Cherokee, or Seminole, or Creek, or Osage, or whatever there, whereas here you've got Navajo and various Pueblo people."

"Isn't an Indian an Indian?" I asked.

She turned and went to the window, looking out for a minute before turning back to me with her arms crossed. "I'm not an expert, but they tell me there are something like 500 different Indian tribes, and many of them have languages and cultures and religions and customs that are totally different from the rest."

I shrugged. "I know there are Indians in New England, in Massachusetts even, but I don't know if I ever saw an Indian until I was in the Air Force."

"Well, look at it this way. You're Portuguese. Does that mean you're just like someone from Scotland, or a German, or a Pole?"

"Yeah, I see what you mean."

"I'm glad," Max said with a laugh, "because I'm about at my limit when it comes to knowing about Indians. Growing up around them doesn't make anyone an expert." She unfolded her arms and walked back to me. "I need to get back to the dishes – I'm nearly done, but not quite."

"Okay then," I said, and brushed a finger over her cheek. It was dry, now.

"You're blushing again," she said, and pecked me on the cheek – not quite as demurely as my sisters kissed me – and went back to the kitchen.

It wasn't much longer before Max came back from the kitchen and sat down beside me. "So," she said without preamble, "what do your parents do?"

I grinned. "You're being subtle, right, about wanting to learn things about me?"

"As subtle as a Sidewinder up the tailpipe."

I laughed. "Well, my dad's an assistant manager at the Wal-Mart in Ware, and my mom keeps house. She used to work as a waitress, but after she broke a leg falling on the ice two or three years ago she says it hurts too much to be on her feet all day."

Max nodded. "Well, it's your turn."

"Okay, lady, what do your parents do?"

Now she laughed. "My mom's a housewife too, and my dad runs an electrical supply company. It's one of the biggest in the OKC area – now, anyway. I can remember when he sometimes struggled to make payroll."

"OKC?"

"Oklahoma City. People all across the state just call it 'the City, ' but those of us who live there know that Oklahoma City isn't the same as Midwest City, or Del City, or Moore, or Nicoma Park, or Bethany, or any of the other suburbs."

"Probably everyone's like that about cities that are only somewhat close. When I was at George I learned that Los Angeles is part of LA."

"Aren't they the same thing?"

"Not at all. LA is the whole metropolis, while Los Angeles is actually a fairly small part of it all. In LA you've also got places like San Dimas, Azusa, the City of Industry, Bellflower, Alhambra, and Covina. I never did learn my way around – I took one trip to LA, and decided that if I wanted to get that confused I could do it just as well in Boston."

Max leaned back, putting her feet up on my coffee table. She was barefoot, I realized, but glanced at me to see if I objected before she continued. "Did you like the desert?" George is near Victorville, on the western edge of the Mojave Desert.

"I hated it. I'm from a place where it rains, and it's green, and you can walk without stubbing your toe on a rock or stepping on a scorpion. Give me green country every time."

"So what's on your dream sheet?"

"Stuff in the northeast – Loring, Dover, places like that. I've also got a couple of northwestern bases. Believe it or not, I included Minot and Eielson." Those are bases in North Dakota and Alaska, famous for their cold winters.

"You couldn't pay me to put places like that on my dream sheet. But I've had Tinker on there forever, even though they don't have any fighter units there. It's a dream sheet, right?" She smiled. "There are times when I'd almost agree to pass gas in order to get an assignment there. I could live with my parents then."

"There aren't any bases close to Ware, so I just have to try for similar climates. This kind of thing—" I waved my hand at the Albuquerque outdoors, which except for imported vegetation and water is dry "—just isn't what I want or like."

"On the other hand," Max said, looking at me, "if we'd gotten what we wanted, we wouldn't be sitting here now."

"We did get lucky that way."

"If you want to call it luck."

"What would you call it, Max?"

She looked at me steadily. "I'd call it providence – the hand of God. He's in charge, not random fluctuations in the sunspots or the amount of bounce in the felt on a table in Vegas."

"Okay, sure, I don't disagree. God's in charge." As I said it I thought of the sermons and Sunday School lessons at the church I was attending. My schedule hadn't let me be there on a regular basis, but it seemed like divine sovereignty was a primary feature of their teaching. "Whatever you call it, it's a good thing."

"It's a very good thing," she said, and took my hand.

I looked down at our joined hands, but didn't pull mine away. "I guess friends can do things when they're male and female that they can't do when they're both male."

"Female friends can do this too, Derek."

"Yeah." I had to clear my throat, for my voice was suddenly hoarse. "I've seen women doing things men can't do, hugging and kissing and all that. Either our culture supports lesbianism, or it's got a double standard."

"Probably the latter, though these days if it's immoral, our society will probably endorse it."

"Well, I don't!" I said, and then realized that I'd spoken more loudly than I'd intended.

"I didn't think you did, Derek," Max said, with a smile on her face. "I think you're a very upright, godly man, who is uncomfortable with me holding you hand not just because of the regulations, but because you've committed yourself to purity before marriage."