by Larry Watson
FROM WHERE HE has parked down the street, Gary has a perfect view of Roy and Carla’s front porch. He’s watched the red Celica pull into the driveway and winced when one of the men had such difficulty getting out of the car that he had to be helped.
“The dying son of a bitch,” Gary says softly.
Then the two women come out onto the porch to see what assistance they might offer, and Gary says, his voice even softer, “My wife.”
ROY STANDS UP. “Anyone else thirsty? I’m getting myself a beer.”
Carla points to Edie and back to herself. “We’d drink a glass of white wine, wouldn’t we?”
Edie nods.
“I’ll have a beer,” Dean says to his brother.
“You sure? You haven’t even had any supper.”
“I didn’t want supper. I want a beer.”
“You’re the boss.” Roy leaves the room.
“Your brother,” Carla says to Dean, “is just trying to look out for your health.”
“A little late for that. So I might as well drink a beer.”
Edie says to Carla, “I’m looking forward to meeting your sons.”
“They’ll probably terrorize your daughter. That’s their specialty.” Carla stands up. “You know what? I’m going to have something stronger than wine. How about you?” she asks Edie. “Vodka? Do you drink vodka?”
“I’ll stay with the wine.”
Carla walks out to the kitchen.
“When did you move out of the apartment?” Edie asks Dean.
“Above the bakery? I stayed there until I was sure you weren’t coming back. Don’t laugh. I kept thinking, what if you came back and I wasn’t there. You wouldn’t know where to look for me.”
“Oh, Dean.”
“No. Really. I thought it could happen. When you were gone I changed. Oh, not all at once. But I could feel it happening. I’d tell myself, ‘Well, you’re not the same guy she left, so maybe . . .’ Oh hell. Maybe I didn’t change all that much. I just got older.”
Edie nods. “Age changes us.”
Roy and Carla return with the drinks, and he too has decided on something stronger.
“A toast!” Roy says, holding his whiskey aloft. But Roy has nothing more to say, and they all simply raise their glasses and drink.
Footsteps thud on the front porch. The doorknob rattles and turns, the door opens, and into the house pour Carla’s sons, gangly towheaded teenagers who look more like twins than the twins already in the room.
Indeed, Roy hails them with, “It’s the Trouble Twins!”
The boys drop heavy canvas duffel bags on the floor.
Carla stands up and asks, “Why are you coming in the front door?”
The boys’ father follows them and answers Carla. “I parked on the street,” he says. “Didn’t want to block Roy’s car.”
“Why the hell not?” Roy says. “I live here, you know, Jay.”
Jay smiles. Despite having forty pounds and almost as many years on his sons, his resemblance to them is startling—the round face, the ruddy cheeks, the broad piggish nose, the thin flaxen hair. And there’s something of an adolescent’s pleasure in his voice when he replies to Roy: “I keep forgetting.”
“Take your dirty clothes right down to the laundry room,” Carla says. “And be careful you don’t let the cat out.”
“We got a cat?” one of the boy says.
“No, we don’t have a cat. It’s hers. Now come in here so I can introduce you.”
The boys step forward. They’re all arms, legs, knees, and elbows, and they seem to be jockeying for space even when they’re standing still.
“The taller one,” says Carla, “is the baby. That’s Troy. And his big brother is the little one, Brad. Don’t ask me how that happened. Boys, say hello to—” She turns to Edie. “Why do I keep forgetting your last name?”
“Dunn,” says Edie.
“Mrs. Dunn.”
They both say hello, and then Troy steps forward to shake her hand.
“Mrs. Dunn used to live in Gladstone,” Carla says. “We were in high school together. And Mrs. Dunn’s daughter, Jennifer, is downstairs. They’re going to sleep in the bedroom down there. And she’s our guest, so don’t you two start hassling her.”
The boys look conspiratorially at each other. Then they pick up their duffel bags, but before they can leave the room, Carla asks them, “Do you have baseball tomorrow?”
“Jesus, Mom,” Brad says. “Have another drink, why don’t you. You don’t even know what day it is.”
“Hey!” Jay gives his son a shove in the shoulder. “You don’t talk to your mother like that.”
“Can I get you a drink?” Roy asks Jay.
“I’ll have a beer,” Jay replies, then he heads for the couch and a seat beside Edie. “Where’d you come here from, Mrs. Dunn?”
JENNIFER SITS CROSS-LEGGED on the laundry room’s cement floor. Mickey is curled on her lap, purring as evenly as a tuned engine.
Then at the sound of footsteps pounding down the stairs and coming closer, Mickey comes fully awake and sits up at attention.
The boys burst through the door, heedless of their mother’s caution about the cat. But Mickey bolts the other way, going deeper into the laundry room and hiding behind the steel shelves that hold laundry and cleaning products.
Brad laughs at the sight of the cat running for cover, but his brother shuts the laundry room door behind them.
Jennifer pushes herself awkwardly to her feet. She can’t seem to decide if she should follow Mickey and find cover.
“Is that your mom upstairs?” Troy asks.
“Hey, stupid,” Brad says to his brother. “Who else would it be?” He heaves his duffel bag in the direction of the washing machine, and the heavy bag clangs against the appliance.
“She’s kind of a babe,” Troy says. “Anybody ever tell you that?”
“Only every boy who ever came over to our house.”
“Just like this friend of ours keeps saying Carla—that’s what he calls her, which is so fucking weird—is the hottest mom.”
“Except she’s our fucking mother,” Troy says. He sets his bag down gently. He unzips it and takes out two sweating bottles of Budweiser.
“I didn’t even see you take those!” his brother says.
Troy smiles. “You got to be quick.” He holds one out to Jennifer. “You want one?”
“How old are you anyway?” she asks.
Brad points at his brother and pretends to pull the trigger of a pistol. “He’s thirteen. I’ll be fifteen in three weeks.”
Jennifer leans against the dryer. “So you’re fourteen.”
“How old are you?” Troy asks.
“I’ll be a senior in the fall.”
Brad says to Jennifer, “You want the beer or don’t you?”
“No thanks.”
“We ain’t going to get caught. They’re getting blitzed upstairs, so they won’t be able to smell it on our breath.”
“And they sure as hell won’t miss a couple beers,” Troy adds.
Jennifer shakes her head.
“You probably don’t even drink,” says Brad.
Troy meanwhile has begun to unload his duffel bag, tossing out one wadded, wrinkled ball after another of T-shirts, socks, briefs, shorts, and jeans.
“Hey,” Brad says, “she don’t want to see your dirty underwear.”
“We were at a ranch,” Troy says. “But we were mostly swimming and fishing.”
“And waterskiing,” adds Brad.
“We should ask her,” Troy says to his brother. “You know, what Clint said.”
“Ask me what?” Jennifer says.
“Never mind,” Brad replies.
Troy has pulled a Swiss Army Knife from his pocket, and he levers the cap from one of the bottles of beer. Brad grabs the other bottle from him and says, “It’s a twist-off, you dumb shit.”
Both brothers drink, and Brad belches.
Troy moves toward the sh
elving unit that Mickey is hunched behind. “Here kitty-kitty.” He asks Jennifer, “What’s your cat’s name?”
“Mickey.”
“Like Mickey Mouse?”
“Sure. Like Mickey Mouse.”
“Only Mickey Cat, right?”
“Right.”
Troy squats on the cement floor. “Here Mickey-Mickey. Nice kitty.”
Brad hoists himself up on the washing machine. He asks Jennifer, “How long are you staying anyway?”
She shrugs. “I’m not sure.”
“Like a day?” Brad asks. “Or a month?”
“I think it depends on how Dean’s doing.”
“How come?” Troy asks.
“That’s who we came to see.”
Brad says, “I thought my mom said she went to school with your mom.”
“My mom was married to him.”
Brad jumps off the washing machine. “To Dean? No shit?”
Troy says, “So Dean’s your stepdad?”
“Jesus Christ,” Brad says to his brother. “Don’t you know anything? Since her mom and Dean got divorced, he and Jennifer aren’t connected.” He turns to Jennifer. “Where’s your real dad?”
“He couldn’t come with us,” she says. “He had to work.”
“Maybe you’ll stay until Dean kicks then?” Brad asks. “My mom says that won’t be long.”
“But,” Troy says, “we’re not supposed to say so in front of Roy.”
“He better not die here,” Brad says. “That’d be too weird.”
“YOU’RE THINKING OF moving back here?” Jay asks Edie. “I’d give you a deal on rent. A brand-new three-bedroom, two-bath unit. A luxury unit. And don’t listen to Carla. She’ll want you to buy, but renting’s the smart way to go in this market. This place I’m talking about, all the space and convenience of a house but none of the headaches. You know, the mowing, the shoveling.”
Edie leans back and holds up her hands in surrender. She laughs nervously. “I’m not in the market.”
“If you change your mind, let me know.”
“Listen to Mr. Welcome Wagon,” Carla says.
BRAD AND JENNIFER are now seated on the couch in the rec room, while Troy sits on the floor in front of the television, clicking through the channels with metronomic regularity.
“Christ,” Brad says to his brother, “you’re making me sick. Pick a station.”
“I’m looking for MTV.”
“It’s channel forty-five. God, how many times do I have to tell you?”
Jennifer surveys the room just as her mother did earlier. “Are your mom and stepdad rich?” she asks Brad.
Troy turns away from the television screen just long enough to interject, “Mom makes more than Roy.”
“You have nicer furniture in your basement,” says Jennifer, “than we have in our living room.”
THE TELEPHONE RINGS and Carla gets up to answer it. A moment later she returns and says to Roy, “It’s your mother.”
With a sigh Roy stands and heads into the kitchen. Before he picks up the receiver he lights a cigarette and inhales deeply. “Hey, Mom. What’s on your mind?”
“Is he asleep?”
“Mom. It’s not even ten o’clock.”
“He’s usually asleep by this time.”
“Well, this is a special occasion. I guess he feels like staying up.”
“It’s no good if he gets overtired.”
“The bed’s all ready for him. If he’s tired, he can turn in anytime.”
“Is she spending the night there?”
“You mean Edie? I told you. She and her daughter are staying here. Carla’s idea.”
“Huh. If you say so. Have you checked his temperature?”
“His temperature is fine, Mom.”
“You might have to help him to the bathroom during the night. Even if he goes before bed. And he should probably stop drinking anything after—”
“Mom, Mom. I’ll take care of him. You relax tonight. Get yourself a good night’s sleep.”
“And you’ll call if—”
“If anything comes up. Yes. I’ll call you.”
“And if you have to take him back to the hospital, you’ll come get me?”
“Yeah, Ma. I’ll come get you.”
GARY DUNN LOOKS at his watch, at the house, and then back at his watch. The street lights have come on, and in their cones of pale blue light insects circle and drift.
“Well, hell,” Gary says, then gets out of his car and steps into the street, jingling his keys and whistling an unrecognizable tune.
He steps onto the porch and rings the doorbell.
The inner door swings open, and Gary takes it upon himself to open the screen door so there’s nothing between him and the tall blond woman who says, “Yes?” It’s only a single syllable, but it’s probably enough to make most men take a step back.
“I’m here to see Mrs. Edie Dunn,” he says.
Carla turns to look into the living room and ask Edie if she wishes to receive visitors. But it’s enough to allow Gary Dunn to walk into the house.
“Hey!” Carla says.
Gary is already past her, scanning the room for his wife. “Edie?” he calls out. “Are you in here?”
Edie gets up from the couch. “Gary? Oh my God. Gary?” She moves away from the man walking toward her and stands, of all places, between Roy’s chair and Dean’s.
“What the hell!” Roy says. “Is this—?”
And Dean finishes the question: “Your husband?”
In his profession as insurance salesman, Gary is accustomed to entering rooms where he’s not known, and he smiles now and steps forward and begins to introduce himself. He shakes Carla’s hand and Jay’s and Roy’s.
“Hello, I’m Gary Dunn.” When he comes to Dean he says, “You must be Dean. I’ve heard a lot of good things about you. Gary Dunn. I’m pleased to meet you.”
They shake hands.
Gary turns and extends his hand to Edie as well. “How do you do? I’m Gary Dunn.”
Dean reaches up between Gary Dunn and his wife. “Careful,” Dean says. “She’s got a bad wrist.”
Gary leans forward as though he needs to see Edie’s right wrist clearly. “Oh jeez, Edie. Did I do that? I’m so sorry.”
“You want him out of here?” Dean asks Edie. “Just say the word.”
Gary looks down at Dean. “Careful,” he says. “This is me and my wife here.”
Roy stands and hitches his trousers. “How’d you find her?” he asks.
Gary jabs his finger in Roy’s direction. “I found you,” he says cheerfully.
“You shouldn’t be here,” says Edie.
“I might say the same about you.”
Carla raises her arms and says, “Hey, can we get organized here?”
“Where’s Jen?” Gary asks as he looks around the room. “I know she’s with you.”
“Why are you here?” Edie asks.
Gary lifts his palms, smiles, and shrugs. “I came here to be with you, honey. You and Jen.”
Dean struggles to his feet. “She doesn’t want to be with you.”
Gary’s smile does not waver. “That’s not really for you to say, is it?”
“You weren’t invited here,” Roy says to Gary.
Gary ignores the brothers and says quietly to Edie, “Why don’t you get Jennifer and we’ll hit the road?”
Roy steps forward. “She’s not going with you.”
Carla’s sons and Jennifer have come upstairs, and from the kitchen they peer cautiously into the living room. Then Jennifer sees her father and runs toward him. “Dad!”
Gary opens his arms wide. “There she is! How are you doing, pumpkin?”
“How’d you know where to find us?” Jennifer asks. “Did Mom finally call you?”
“Oh, I had a pretty good idea where your mother was headed.” Gary has his arms around his daughter, but he keeps his gaze fixed on his wife. “So why don’t you two get your things to
gether and we’ll head back.”
Seconds pass but no one moves. Gary gives his daughter a playful push. “Go on,” he says.
Jennifer takes a few stumbling steps away from him and stares expectantly at her mother.
“I’m not ready to go back,” Edie says.
“Well, do you what you have to do and get yourself ready.” He nods toward Dean. “Kiss him good-bye or whatever the hell you came here to do.”
Edie shakes her head slowly.
“Come on, Edie.” Gary says. “This isn’t where you belong. We can still put a few miles behind us but we have to get a move on.”
Jay says, “Hey, Carla, have you got any plans for supper? Your sons haven’t eaten a thing since lunch.” He looks around the room. “Has anyone eaten?”
“I guess I’m not much of a hostess,” Carla says.
Jay beckons his sons and then reaches into his wallet. He takes out three twenty-dollar bills and hands them to Brad. “You guys go to KFC.” To Jennifer he says, “Do you have a driver’s license?”
She nods.
“Brad here has got his permit,” says Jay, taking his car keys from his pocket and tossing them to his son. “He can drive as long as a licensed driver is in the car with him. That’s you, sugar. So the three of you go get us a couple buckets of chicken and the fixings.”
Jennifer looks to her mother once again and Edie nods. Then the three young people head eagerly out the door.
“Well, well,” Carla says to Jay. “Mr. Take Charge.”
“Someone has to,” Jay says. He takes a long swallow of his beer. “Now maybe you ought to put the breakables up high.”
“I didn’t come here for trouble,” says Gary. “I just came to take my wife and daughter back home.”
“The home she left,” Roy says.
“And you with it,” adds Dean.
“She left you too,” Gary says. “She told me the whole story. You think you can do a better job now of giving her what she needs?”
“Don’t, Gary,” says Edie.
“Maybe we should hear it from you,” Gary says to Edie. “Come on. Tell everybody what your marriage to this guy was like.”
Roy steps toward Gary. “You weren’t invited here.”
