by Pete Fromm
He says, “Hey,” almost a sigh, but it’s Lauren who says hello, who says she knew she wouldn’t be waking him. She says that she saw that he called, that she’s been wondering about coming out, just a few days. It’s been so long.
He pushes the computer lid open, sits staring at the lighted blip of his parents’ Skype, until Lauren goes quiet, says, finally, “Ted?”
“Yeah?”
“So, what do you think? Would now be a good time?”
“Yeah, it would,” he says. “It’d be great.”
DAY 452
Elmo stays in Helena. Just a single text one morning. “Still hanging on?”
He sits in the dark, texts, “Fingernail stuff.” Then, “You’re up early.”
“School,” she answers.
“Ever coming back?”
She says she’s got seven weeks left, as if that explains everything. Then she texts, “Got to run,” and everything goes quiet. He sits in the dark and waits for Lauren. For Rudy. For Midge to wake up. The day starting one way or the other.
He pulls over the computer, brings up a New Zealand government page. It actually does look possible. As far as the government’s concerned anyway. The antipodes. Marnie’s word. He’s about to click over to Skype when Lauren knocks, peeks in the door, saves him. Taz gets up, says hello, asks about the flights, tells her Midge is still asleep, but adding, “She’s going to be so excited.” He carries her grocery sacks back to the kitchen, saying, “You know, I actually do eat when you’re not here.”
“I don’t even want to think about that menu,” she says, and before Taz can say, “Coffee?” she holds up her Starbucks cup, and behind her Alisha slips through the door, stops, looks as if maybe she’s gotten the wrong house.
Taz leaps, makes the introductions, apologizes, then apologizes again, telling her she can take some time off. He writes a check, saying that she’s been great, taking on all the extra.
Alisha looks at his check, at Lauren, says, “Is this severance?”
“No, just a break, till Grandma’s gone.”
“That’ll be?”
She stands back by the kitchen, watching.
“I’ll let you know,” he says.
When he closes the door behind Alisha, Lauren says, “That’s not the same girl as last time.”
“She had to move. Work.”
“Well, you could have called her, saved her the trip.”
“Spaced it,” he says. “My head these days. But, had to give her the check anyway.” He starts for the kitchen, says, “Coffee?”
She holds up her Starbucks cup again. “Ted, are you okay?”
“Just tired,” Taz says. “Burning it on all ends.”
“Maybe you should have called earlier. Maybe a vacation’s in order.”
“Work comes when it comes.”
“Yeah, but there’s more to life, right?”
“It’s not something that’s really crossed my mind.”
She lifts her cup, tips it toward him. “What does then, cross your mind?”
He almost smiles. “Mostly nothing,” he says, something Marnie would swear to. “And when it’s not nothing, I’m usually wishing it was.”
“She’s still here then? All the time?”
He nods. “Of course.”
“And you wish she wasn’t,” she starts, but then, fast, says, “No, not like that. I know. I know. But, you’ve got—” She turns away, starts to shelve her groceries. “You’ve got your whole life,” she says. She holds a potato that’s escaped the bag. “Mine,” she says, “mine went with her. But you—”
“Mine, too, Lauren.”
“I know, I know,” she says. “But you’ve got Midge, and, and you’re not even thirty.”
Taz blows out a breath. “You ever get the feeling that taking one single step forward is just, I don’t know, wrong? Betraying her or something?”
“I haven’t taken a step.”
“Me either, but hell, there’s Marn, egging me on, pushing me toward anything.”
“Marnie?”
“You know how she is.”
She almost laughs. “Boy, do I.”
Taz smiles. “But, still, you know, even when she’s pushing me forward, she’s still always there.”
There’s a tap on the door, the gentle push open. Rudy still in never-wake-Midge mode.
Taz crosses the kitchen, on his way to the back step, his boots.
And, as if she’s ready to start her workday, too, Midge begins her crib babble. He’s lacing his boots, and before he can make a move, Lauren’s gone for her. He hears Rudy’s, “Oh. Hey, Mrs. H. Laurie. Looking good.”
“It’s Lauren, sweetheart,” Taz hears, and nearly drops his teeth.
Lauren comes back, smiling, Midge rubbing her eyes, looking around, wondering if any other new people have dropped out of the blue while she was asleep. Still looking for Elmo, probably.
“All her food’s in the fridge,” Taz says. “Naps around one.”
“All right.”
“Loves the park. The swings.”
“Perfect.”
He tugs his laces tight. “You know where it is?”
“Yes. Of course.”
“Good.”
“Taz, I . . .”
He stands, starts into the living room, Lauren following, Midge still trying to get her wits about her. “She’s got toys all over,” Taz says. “Her favorite thing in the world is pulling them out of the toy box. You can just load it, let her unload it. Over and over.”
“I know. I’ve been here before, Ted. But, really, I think you should take that step. See where it goes.”
Rudy moves to the door, puts a hand on the knob. “You’re welcome to come along,” he tells Lauren. “Watch me in action.” He flexes a bicep, gives her a wink, and Taz blinks, wonders about all the other, easier ways to commit suicide.
Lauren looks straight at Rudy, considers him, slides her hair back behind her ear, a slick, practiced move. “Maybe when you’re finished,” she says, “you and I should get a drink, see what develops.”
It’s like hearing Marnie, but Taz hears the slap of her palm against her forehead, her gasp of disbelief, her amazed Oh, my, god, Taz. Then, Wait, that was a joke, right? Then, That better have been a joke.
Rudy swallows, works on breathing. Taz knows he’s thinking, hard, wishing he’d showered this morning. Then wondering, getting suspicious. “The Rude,” he says, “is forever at your service,” and maybe does a little bow thing before slipping out the door.
Lauren turns back to Taz, dusting off her hands, barely holding in a laugh. “But seriously,” she says, “that step. She’d want you to.”
“I know,” he says, then, quick, getting out of the house, he says, “We’ll be late. I’ll do my best.”
“So will I.”
It takes him a few seconds, but he gets out, “I mean, you know, to get Rudy back to you as early as I can.”
She does laugh then, so much like Marnie he can’t help but smile. She says, “Take him through the car wash beforehand. Please.”
Midge leans toward the floor, putting the strain on, one of her oldest tricks. Lauren sets her down and she heads straight for the door.
“She’s kind of used to going with us,” Taz says. “You might have to hang on to her for a few. Distract her with something. She’ll still use the Jump-Up some. Not supposed to, but. Always the toy box.”
“She goes to work with you?”
He says, “Haven’t had a lot of options.”
“What about your babysitter?”
“She moved to Helena,” Taz says.
“The new one?”
“She does what she can.” Taz pushes through the door. “See you two later.”
When Taz gets in behind the wheel, Rudy is still breathless. He turns to Taz. “The Rude cannot control his powers.”
“She never stood a chance, did she?”
Rudy shakes his head. “They never do. But, I don’t know. Ma
rnie. What would she think?”
“Well, she always liked you. I’m guessing she’s going to feel sorry for you. Same as ever.”
Rudy looks at him. “She wasn’t serious, was she?” he says, sounding relieved and disappointed at the same time.
Taz just turns the key, starts it up.
“The Rude will never understand them. Not if he lives forever.”
Taz puts the truck into gear, starts down the drive. “And they will never understand the Rude.”
“Yep,” Rudy says. He pushes his cap back on his head, slides down in the seat. “Where does she want you to go?”
“Go?”
“Take that step.”
“Oh, who knows?”
Rudy gives him a sidelong. “The Rude understands some things.”
Taz smiles. “Just, you know, forward or something.”
“To infinity and beyond?”
“Yeah, like that.”
Rudy takes a sip from his keg of coffee, rests it back on his belly. “Poor Mo,” he says.
DAY 454
October deepening to scraping frost off the windshields, crackling it off the tarp when he scrounges through the salvage wood beside the shop, Taz and Lauren fall back into the routine, the switch-off every morning, Lauren shaking out of her coat, her gloves, and every evening like summer again, but the light low and golden, already chilling down toward the stars and moon. Taz spends all day with wainscoting, picture rails, corner cabinets, buffets, doors, windows, whatever. Rudy mostly stays in the truck rather than face Lauren, and only once does he ask about Elmo, mentioning that he hasn’t seen her around.
“She’s teaching, Rudy. In Helena. Remember?”
“Yeah, but she did that weekend once and—”
“And how are things in the friend-zone?” Taz says, derailing Rudy completely. For the rest of the day Taz listens to tales of injustice and woe.
Then, at last, they’re caught up in just the punch-list details, hardly any real reason for Taz to bring Rudy along, but he does anyway. He drops him off at his house every night, turning down the offers of beer, then gets home, lets Lauren go back to her motel, carries Midge around the kitchen, if she isn’t already asleep, while he finds something to eat. More often than not, Lauren’s left him something. She even, last week, left him a microwave, after he’d admitted he just ate what was there, peeled off the plastic wrap, shoveled it in, hot, warm, or cold.
Then, one night, as he peeks into the microwave, the ring of the doorbell stops him dead. He’s grinning before he gets there, just a feeling it’s got to be Elmo, already picturing Midge losing her mind, lunging from his arms for her, as if she could fly.
Midge calls, “Do, do, do,” as they charge over, and when he swings it open, he’s staggered by two little ghosts on his doorstep, a one-eyed pirate standing behind them, reaching out with his bag. They sing out, “Trick or treat!”
Taz manages, “Just a second,” and turns inside, searches through the house, bootlaces dragging. He’s a dead man. Forget Halloween? Marn will slaughter him. He can’t believe Lauren didn’t make a single mention, bring in some sort of cute costume for Midge. Pumpkins at least.
He finds Rudy’s little bags of chips. Things he buys for his lunch box, then throws at Taz, says he can’t eat, that he’s getting fat. “Well, quit buying them,” he says. “It’s a willpower exercise,” Rudy tells him.
Taz drops one in each pillowcase. The pirate says, “Yo ho ho.”
Taz turns off the porch light. The living room light. The kitchen. Sits in the dark with Midge. Reads her the rest of Sleep Book, no need anymore to see the words.
No way, Marnie says. Not a chance. I will make you walk the plank myself. Hiding on Halloween. All those kids out there. Simply not allowed. All her costumes. The pregnant mermaid. Pregnant skeleton. All those bones. He can even hear Elmo getting after him. Midge? No costume? Unbelievable.
He pushes up, tells Midge they’ve got a store run to make.
The girl at the checkout bags his candy, raises her pierced eyebrow, says, “It’s all half off tomorrow, you know?”
At home he turns on the lights, toddles Midge out to the porch to drop the candy into every bag, but the first mask scares the hell out of her and Taz has to wonder if he’s ever had an actual thought in his life. He apologizes to the goblin or serial killer, whatever he is, the mother waiting down on the walk, picks up Midge, pats her back, drops a wicked big handful of tiny candy bars into the kid’s bag, shocking him into a breathless “Thanks!”
He sits with Midge, her cries easing into a few hiccupped breaths. “Don’t worry,” he says. “Pretty soon you’ll be out there with them. Won’t be able to believe the shit people give to you, for free.”
He holds her for the next few groups of kids, but she’s rattled, cranky, and he leaves the candy on the porch until he gets her to sleep.
He steps out of the bedroom, thinking he’ll just leave the candy out there all night, but Marnie loved handing it out, seeing the costumes, showing off hers, and he can’t quite shut them down. He pulls a chair up to the door, so he can see them coming, so they won’t ring the bell, and he stays until the last two show up, nine thirty, a pair of teenaged boys in shoulder pads, football jerseys, barely even pretending to try, only one bothering with a helmet, but neither able to let go of what used to be so great. He tilts the bowl upside down over their bags, gets a last gasped “Whoa!” then shuts the door, finds a whole other bag of candy he’d missed. He calls them back, but they don’t hear, and, afraid to raise his voice, he leaves the bag on the porch for any pumpkin smashers, and turns off the lights, eases back onto the couch and smiles. He hasn’t been up this late in ages.
DAY 455
“Seriously, dude?” Rudy says.
Taz stirs, shifts, opens an eye. He sits up with a groan, looks around the living room, down at the couch he’s slumped into. Rudy unwraps a tiny Snickers, chews with his mouth open. “You’ve got beds, you know.”
Taz looks for his boots.
“The head witch not here yet?” Rudy asks.
Taz has to clear his throat. “Guess not,” he says. “The little witch isn’t even awake yet.”
“Long night?”
Taz almost smiles, marveling. “I forgot it was Halloween.”
Rudy stops chewing. “For real?” he says.
Taz says something. An uh-huh, maybe, he’s not sure what.
“The costume party? I didn’t tell you about that? Me and Alisha got screwed, second place.”
“Only second? What were you?”
“I wanted to be a horse to her Lady Godiva, but she wouldn’t go for that.”
“Surprise.”
“She stuck with the livestock theme, though. I was a cow. She was a cowgirl.”
Taz holds up his hand before Rudy can elaborate.
Rudy reaches his mug out to him. “Here. You look like you need this worse than me, which is something, when I got up this morning, I would not have believed possible.”
“I had to go to the store last night, for candy.”
“Marnie make you?” Rudy says.
“Yep.”
“Good girl,” Rudy says, and unwraps another Snickers. “Least you got the good stuff.”
A car door thunks shut in the street, and they glance at each other. “Ready?” Rudy says, and Taz nods, though he isn’t even close. A toothbrush would feel great. But he heads for the door behind Rudy, is there when he swings it open, sees Lauren’s face, stricken looking.
He thinks maybe it’s only walking into Rudy so early on, but she says, “Ted, we forgot Halloween.”
“We did,” he says.
“How could I have missed all the decorations? The pumpkins?”
“Entranced,” Taz says. “Midge’s mad powers.”
Rudy holds out a Snickers for her.
“Marnie would kill us,” she says.
“Pretty much already did,” Taz answers. He steps back so she can come in, says, “Midge had
a rough one, too many ghosts and goblins. She’s still out cold.”
His phone chimes in his pocket, the double, a text, and he says, “Already late, we’ll catch you tonight.”
“Another long one?”
“Just punch-list stuff. Should be short. And then, who knows?”
“I suppose I ought to start thinking of a return flight,” Lauren says. “Get home and knock down the cobwebs.”
“We can talk about it tonight.”
He follows Rudy to the truck, tosses him the keys, says, “Coffee first.” He’s pulling out his phone, looking for the text, collapses in the passenger seat as Rudy climbs behind the wheel, saying, “If you saw my night, you might be rethinking this driver decision.”
But Taz only sits staring at the phone, until Rudy starts up the truck, pulls out, takes a sip from his giant mug, and says, “What?”
Taz says, “Elmo.”
“She coming back?”
Taz reaches up, pats down the tangle of his hair. “It’s, I, she doesn’t sound like Elmo.”
“What do you mean?”
“She wants to know if we’re nearly done. If maybe I could come up to Helena.”
“Whoa ho!”
“No, says she needs help.”
“With what?”
“Doesn’t say.”
“Well, call her.”
“Coffee,” Taz says, still staring at his phone.
At the cart, he doesn’t answer when Rudy asks what he wants. Rudy orders an XXL. Four shots. He studies Taz, says, “So, I couldn’t believe it, but Alisha did it, full-on nude for Lady Godiva.”
Taz says, “What?”
“She just doesn’t have enough hair for the role, you know?”
“Who?”
Rudy hands him the coffee, says, “Never mind,” says, “No power tools for you today.”
She doesn’t call. All day, he checks his phone, Rudy raising an eyebrow. He texts. Leaves one voicemail. Another. Resists, barely, a third.
He and Rudy finish the house. The owner pads the check a little, something he wants to wave in Marnie’s face. It’s Midge who’s earned it, he guesses, but still.
