The Sweet Spot

by Joan Livingston

  Edie watched her father eat. His thick white hair fell in front of his eyes. She needed to cut it again.

  “What’d you do today?” she asked.

  Pop ran a hand over his whiskers. He grunted.

  “I straightened up the place,” he said.

  “That so?”

  Edie laughed because the room was filled tightly with junk. The kitchen sink was stacked high with dirty dishes. She and Amber would have to wash them tomorrow.

  “When I got sick of that, I got the mower started and tried to cut the grass, but it’s gotten so goddamned high. I’ll have to use the weed whacker from the highway garage.”

  Pop cut two short rows in the grass before he left the mower next to the old doghouse filled with gas cans. Edie wasn’t surprised. The closest distance between two points for her father was usually a crooked line.

  Edie planted a hand on her hip.

  “I saw how far you got. It couldn’t have taken very long,” she said.

  Pop ignored her.

  “I tried to take a nap on the porch, but there was too much hammering next door. Bang, bang, bang, that’s all I could hear.”

  “At Aunt Leona’s?”

  “Nah, the other side. Doyle’s.”

  The Doyle place was located at the bottom of their dead-end road, closed up after the last Doyle, Elmira, died, and the family who lived elsewhere couldn’t decide what to do with the property. It must have been three years ago, and Pop got a few bucks keeping an eye on the place.

  “Somebody moved in? Elmira’s house has gotten really rundown.”

  Pop glanced up from his plate.

  “I went over to see what’s what and met the fella. Damnedest face I ever seen. Scars up and down like somethin’ clawed him. He walked with an awful bad limp.”

  “What clawed him?” Amber asked.

  “Didn’t bring it up. It’s not polite, honey. I’ll let your Aunt Leona do it.” Pop grinned at his crack. “Friendly guy though. Name’s Harlan Doyle. His father, Aldrich, grew up next door. Elmira’s boy. He went to Japan in the war, and when he came back, he married a woman and moved south to be with her people. They used to visit the old folks here once in a while. Says he remembers me.”

  “I saw a man at the ceremony today,” Edie said. “He wore sunglasses, but they didn’t cover the bad scars on his face. He’s tall, but his body was crooked like somethin’ wasn’t holding him up.”

  “That’s him.”

  “He says he’s gonna fix up the place?” Edie asked. “Is he really planning to live there?”

  “That’s what he says. Maybe I’ll get me some work out of it.”

  Pop made smacking noises with his mouth. He pointed toward the hutch.

  “I almost forgot. I got a present for you, Amber. Go see over there.”

  Amber went to the hutch. She held a wooden box when she twirled around.

  “This it?” she asked.

  “Yup, darlin’, bring it here.”

  Pop’s eyes grew bigger as he told Amber to twist the crank on the box’s bottom, and after she did, the workings produced a tiny, tinny tune. Edie shifted in her chair to give her daughter room. Amber opened and shut the lid. She smiled at the gift and at Pop.

  “Thanks, Poppy.”

  Edie hoped her daughter would never be ashamed of her grandfather. Even though Ma got mad at Pop, she always defended him for working hard for his family. “Somebody has to take care of the dump,” her mother said when her sisters complained how horrible their father smelled.

  When Ma got sick and after she died, Pop took Edie to the dump when Leona was not available to babysit. She stayed close to her father, or if the weather was bad, she waited in his attendant’s shack when he went outside to help a customer. Some people stared, wondering why Benny Sweet brought his youngest to such a place. Afterward, Pop told her about a treasure he salvaged from their load of trash. “People don’t realize what great stuff they throw away” was his motto. Or he’d reveal an observation, say, “How the widow living near the store was dumping a lot of vodka bottles lately.”

  Pop chuckled.

  “Do you like the box?” he asked Amber, and after she said yes, he pulled himself upright. “By the way, next time you see Marie, you can tell her for me the chicken was a little dry this year. I’m gonna need a coupla beers to wash it down.”

  A Familiar Song

  Edie stood on the front porch of the Conwell General Store, her arms crossed as she watched her daughter get on the school bus. Amber was up the steps and drifting down the aisle to an empty seat. Her girl’s somber face peered through the window. Edie smiled when Amber smiled. The bus rumbled away.

  She hooked the outer door to the wall and carried the bundle of newspapers left on the porch to the rack near the checkout counter. She walked through the center aisle, the hem of her skirt swinging against her legs as she passed the shallow rows of cans and boxed food. Her shoes pushed into the soft floorboards. This building has always been the town’s only store, and a St. Claire has always owned it.

  Her father-in-law without fail was first in the store, an hour before Edie and Amber arrived. When Fred unlocked the back door, the early-risers joined him, waiting at the tables near the deli counter while he made a pot of coffee. Walker was often among them, and sometimes Pop, if he had to get to the dump early, or more rarely, if he had an odd job in town. Edie and Amber usually showed up when most were leaving. Marie was in later.

  Now the retirees were settled in. Edie brought a wet rag to wipe the tabletops.

  “Edie, your new neighbor was in this morning,” one of the men said. “Says he’s fixing up the old Doyle place.”

  “That’s what Pop told me. What’s he like?”

  Another man lifted his cup.

  “He’s kinda tall and skinny,” he said. “He’s got brownish hair hanging to his shoulders. He didn’t look too old, but it’s hard to tell with the scars on his face.”

  The first man nodded.

  “He had a soft, slow way of talking like he was from the South or something,” he said.

  Her father-in-law spoke.

  “Real quiet guy. Odd name.” Fred’s brows creased as he tried to recall more. “Shoot, he said he used to come here as a kid.”

  “Pop said his name’s Harlan,” Edie said. “Harlan Doyle.”

  “That’s it. You meet him, Edie?” Fred asked.

  “Not yet. I have to go over and welcome him to the neighborhood,” she said.

  “Did Benny tell you about his face?” Fred asked.

  “He said it was scarred badly.”

  Fred’s eyes shot up and down.

  “You’re telling me,” he said. “I didn’t know where to look. No one did.”

  Edie held the rag.

  “I think I saw him at the Memorial Day ceremony when we were at the stone for Gil,” she said. “A man stopped to see what was going on. He had a limp, too.”

  “I wonder what he’s doing here. His grandmother’s place can’t be in any shape to live in,” Fred said.

  “He told Pop he’s gonna fix it up.” She shrugged. “Maybe he’ll sell it.”

  The screen door swung open, and Edie gave a hello to the new arrival. She went about her routine getting the store ready. She had done it so long she could manage the small chores without thinking, each one like a note in a familiar song. She went in the back room to get more milk for the coffee. The front door slapped against the jamb. Two men talked with Fred. She recognized their voices, two guys on their way to work, plumbers who had pickup trucks with metal toolboxes attached to the beds and roof racks for piping.

  Working men and women would visit the store during the next couple of hours. Edie knew all their names, except for the people passing through. The Conwell General Store was located on a state-numbered route, a busy en
ough road for those who lived and worked in the hilltowns east of the Berkshires.

  Edie cleaned spilled sugar near the coffee area. Water gurgled through the machine. She greeted a man who worked on the town’s highway crew.

  “When are you guys gonna grade my road? I swear I’m gonna bite my tongue some day driving over that washboard,” she said.

  The man grinned and tipped his head. His big hand reached for a muffin on the deli counter.

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to take it up with the boss,” he said. “He’s the one who makes the schedule.”

  Edie frowned. Her father and the town’s road boss had a longstanding feud because Pop kept taking stuff from the highway garage without asking. Once when Pop borrowed a truck, the two men almost came to blows at the dump, and the board of selectmen reprimanded the road boss for going after an old man. Now the road boss gets his revenge every spring by grading their dirt road last. During the winter, it’s the final one plowed.

  “Forget it,” she said.

  “I’m sorry, Edie. You know how it is.”

  “Sure. See if I dance slow with you anymore at the Do.” She pressed a finger to his chest. “Or anything else.”

  “Edie, don’t be like that. You know what a prick he can be.”

  “So you say.”

  Her eyes followed the man to the front door. Another one quickly replaced him at the table of retirees. The old-timers would nurse their coffees while they talked over business about the town and beyond.

  Edie carried a coffee pot to the table and offered to refill the men’s cups.

  “What’s in the paper?” she asked.

  “Check this out.” One man pointed to the front page. “This story says a man killed all of his family then himself. Damn country’s gone nuts.”

  “Seems like it.”

  Edie stationed herself behind the deli counter. This was her spot, making sandwiches and cutting lunchmeat and cheese to order until Amber returned on the bus this afternoon. Then Vera, who worked part-time, or some other woman from town, took over.

  Marie showed up mid-morning. Her mouth twitched when she saw Edie, and after a few words to Fred, she went into the office. She didn’t come to the store yesterday, the day after Memorial Day. Fred said she was under the weather. Edie knew she was hung over and still grieving for Gil.

  She waved Fred over.

  “Yes, Edie?” he said.

  “Could you watch the counter? I wanna talk with Marie.”

  Fred nodded.

  “That’d be nice of you, Edie.” He took an apron from its hook behind the counter. “It hasn’t been easy lately. It never is after Memorial Day. She gets so worked up.”

  “I understand.”

  The office door was slightly ajar. Marie was at her desk. Her hands were folded on its top. She stared at nothing.

  Edie knocked.

  “Yes?” Marie asked.

  Edie stepped inside.

  “How’re you doing, Marie?”

  Marie’s head shook slightly.

  “You’d think it’d get easier after these years, but it doesn’t. I hope I didn’t act too foolish the other day.”

  “You were fine, Marie.”

  “Fine.” She squeezed her hands, one over the other. “That’s a relief.”

  Edie jabbed her thumb toward the door.

  “I gotta get going. I left Fred in charge.”

  She was nearly out the door when Marie said her name.

  “Thank you for asking.”

  “Sure, Marie.”

  When Edie returned, the retirees were gone, and workers followed them on their morning break. Mothers with small children and the lunch crowd would be next. Deliverymen would come and go. The day typically passed in a pleasant pace, no surprises, no ups or downs.

  Edie bent over the store’s sink, scrubbing the cutting board in its deep tub. She peeked over her shoulder when she heard boot heels chop hard against the floor. She recognized Walker’s step.

  Walker poured himself a cup of coffee before he came to the deli counter. Edie glanced around the store. Usually, he kept a respectable brother-in-law distance, so as not to raise suspicion with his parents or Vera, his wife’s sister, and worse, one of the town’s real talents for gossip. Walker stood before her.

  “Edie, give me a hunk of the cheddar cheese,” he said.

  “How much, Walker?”

  “How about five pounds?”

  Her mouth quivered.

  “Five pounds is an awful lot of cheese.”

  “Is it? Just give me a piece.”

  Edie cut a thin wedge off the wheel.

  Walker peeked at his mother, who talked with a customer in front of the store.

  “I tried calling you last night,” he said so only she could hear.

  Edie placed a square of white paper on the scale and weighed the cheese.

  “I was at Aunt Leona’s playing cards. Was there something you wanted to tell me?”

  “I wanna see you tonight. I believe we have some unfinished business from the other day.”

  Edie didn’t look directly at him, but she smiled.

  “Amber’s home,” she said.

  “Why don’t you find someone to watch her? We’ll go somewhere. Just you and me.”

  She couldn’t get away from his eyes.

  “How about seven?” she said. “We can meet behind the store.”

  He nodded as Edie wrapped the cheese in paper, taping the ends, so the package was tight enough to mail. She handed it to Walker, who gave her a quick smile before he left. He stopped to joke with his mother on his way out. Edie made him a satisfied man.

  Moments later, the front door slammed hard, and Pop strutted, all-smiles, down the aisle as if he won first prize. He said her name, then helped himself to coffee, and as usual, didn’t bother to leave any money in the jar beside the machine. He continued behind the counter.

  “Got a little something back there to put in this coffee?” he joked. “Guess what I got in the back of the truck? Let me just say the yard’ll be lookin’ pretty spiffy by time you get home, thanks to the Conwell Highway Department.”

  “Shit, Pop, if the road boss finds out, we’ll never get our road graded.”

  Pop snorted.

  “Don’t you worry none. I’ll get it back to the highway garage before the little bastard even misses it.”

  “No, you won’t, Pop, and it’ll never get done.”

  “Jesus, girl, you gotta have more faith in me.”

  “I know better.” She handed him a sandwich she had made for herself. “This is for you,” she said, and Pop licked his lips as he took it to a table. She sat beside him. “Do you mind watching Amber tonight? I gotta go some place.”

  Pop chewed hard on his sandwich.

  “Maybe I got some place to go, too.”

  “I’ll drop off a six-pack.”

  Her father grinned so hard she could see the ground food in his mouth.

  “All right, now we’re talkin’. Just tell the li’l darlin’ to come right over.”

  A Soft Roll

  Edie let her car idle behind her in-laws’ store, now closed, while she listened to an old country tune about love lost between a man and a woman. She tipped her head back as she followed its sad lyrics. She sighed. The man was so lonesome for the woman he didn’t think he could go on.

  She stared at the wooden stairs that rose to the store’s second floor, where she and Gil lived before he left for Vietnam. She shut the car’s engine and found the key for the lock in her purse.

  The apartment was empty, except for the furniture she left behind when she moved next door to Pop. She walked toward the couch. She remembered how she sat here, yelling and slapping the air as if she could fight off the bad news about Gil. Fred, the soldi
er, and Marie, who stomped shrieking upstairs, stood there unable to do a thing she needed. Walker was the one who sat beside her and spoke in a low rumble while he tried to comfort her. Only one other time she cried as hard, when her mother died, but then it was a child’s grief. She clung to Walker, feeling he and Gil’s baby were the only ones who kept her from throwing herself down the stairs.

  Edie went to a window when she heard Walker’s pickup. He was out, searching for her. She tapped the window’s glass, and Walker nodded before he took the stairs. She opened the door.

  He came toward her for a kiss. His smooth cheek smelled of aftershave.

  “What are you doing up here, sweetheart?” he asked.

  “Just looking around. I haven’t been here in a while. I was just remembering things.”

  He smoothed his hair behind his ears.

  “We don’t have to go anywhere. We can stay here.”

  “Walker.”

  “You scared of getting’ caught? No one can see we’re parked behind the store. Nobody’s downstairs.” He touched her skin above the neckline of her dress. “Is this dress new? I like the way it fits you tight around your waist like that.”

  If she shut her eyes, he sounded just like Gil.

  “I dunno, Walker.”

  He chuckled.

  “You dunno if the dress is new, or you dunno if you want to do it here?”

  She didn’t have to answer. He came on strong, kissing her hard, backing her toward the bedroom. He bunched the fabric of her dress in his hands, lifting the skirt up and over her head. They tumbled onto the bare mattress as she helped him out of his clothes, and he undid what was left of hers. His boots thumped to the floor.

  “Baby, I can’t wait,” he groaned.

  When they were done, Edie stared up at the ceiling. Walker slept beside her. The only light in the room came from what the moon cast inside. She and Gil slept in this bed. They loved each other and made a baby here. She cried herself to sleep after he died.

  For years after, Edie stuck to being a grieving, lonely widow. She took care of Amber, seeing only Pop, Leona, or an old school friend. Eventually, Walker stopped coming. She had no time for him. Then he and Sharon got married. They had their twins.