The Sweet Spot

by Joan Livingston

  “Shit, you boys stay right here and don’t touch a goddamn thing.”

  His sons’ eyes lit up.

  Walker stormed the front steps and tried opening the aluminum door, but his wife had locked it. He banged with his fist until she appeared behind the door’s screen.

  “Let me in.” His pointed boots made deep dents in the aluminum panel when he kicked at the door, and he kept at it until its bottom caved in. “I’m gonna break this fuckin’ door down.”

  “No, you’ll hurt me,” she whined.

  “If you don’t open the door, I sure as hell will.”

  The door shook as he gave it two hard kicks. He heard a click, and Sharon slipped outside to the cement stoop. She wore a blue, flowered housecoat that gaped at her breasts. Her head chopped forward like an old hen pecking worms. She backed to the door when Walker poked the lit end of his cigarette near her nose.

  “What are you tryin’ to do? Fuckin’ ruin me? I just lost work because of you.” He tapped a finger to his temple. “Get it through your thick, fuckin’ head, if I don’t work, I don’t make money. I know that’s something you might understand.”

  He flicked the butt into the bushes near the door. Sharon’s lips flapped open, but nothing came out.

  “Anybody needing to talk or see me, you call me at Dean’s until I say different. You have the fuckin’ number?” Walker got close enough to feel her belly against his belt. His wife whimpered. “Got it now? Good.”

  Walker charged back to the truck, driving it at a reckless speed through town. His boys clung to each other, sliding around the front seat until finally one pleaded with him to slow down. He glared. Both were on the verge of crying. He let up on the gas.

  “What does she say about me?”

  “Ma?” the closer one asked as he checked his brother. “Ma says you’ve got yourself in a lot of trouble. Uncle Buddy took you to court for being mean. She said Uncle Dean says you’ve gone crazy.”

  The blue light of a cruiser flashed ahead as a cop directed traffic. He took a hard right onto a dirt road.

  “He did, did he? Some friend that asshole is.”

  Hick Parade

  Edie found a spot in the shade for Aunt Leona, who relented last minute to go to the hick parade, as she called it, but only because Amber begged. She wanted her great-aunt to see Pop’s surprise, and Leona said, “Huh,” in the back of her throat.

  “You must be the only person left in this world who isn’t disappointed in anything that man does,” Leona told her.

  “Disappointed?” Amber said as if she had never heard the word before.

  Leona let Edie fuss over her, making sure she had enough space in front of her chair, so Amber could sit on the grassy shoulder. Her aunt’s head chopped forward. She glanced at Amber sitting on the curb.

  “Tell me, Edie.” Her voice was low and even. “What’s Walker St. Claire still doing on our road at night? I hear his truck go by.”

  Edie shook her off.

  “Maybe it belongs to Harlan coming home late.”

  Leona made a choking laugh.

  “I know the sound of his truck’s engine by now. Don’t you give me that look, Edie. Nothing good is going to come of this.”

  “I told you I don’t wanna talk about it.”

  “Maybe you should.”

  Edie nodded at a couple, super-regulars at her in-laws’ store. Her aunt waited.

  “He parks there at night. He must be watching my house, seeing what I will do. I could call the cops, but they’re not gonna do a thing.” Edie shook a finger. “Remember that girl I went to school with, the one who married a beater? You know who I’m talkin’ about, Melanie.”

  “Yeah.”

  “She used to shop at the store all banged up somethin’ awful,” Edie said. “She told me the cops said they had to catch her husband in the act. He nearly killed her one time. Then she and her kids were gone. They left town. It was the only way.” She sighed deeply. “I can hear the chief saying Walker’s only parking on the side of the road. There’s no harm in that.”

  “What if he comes inside your house?”

  “He’s not gonna.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Cause if he wanted, he would’ve already done it.”

  “Shoot, if I were ten years younger, I’d go out there myself and tell him off.” Leona’s hair shook. “I just hope Alban doesn’t.”

  Edie held a finger to her lips.

  “I’m figuring he’ll get tired of it and move on. Please, don’t tell Pop, please.”

  “All right, I won’t. For now.”

  “Thanks.”

  Two men were setting up the PA system on a flatbed trailer decorated with red, white, and blue bunting parked across the road in front of the veterans’ memorial. The roadsides were filled with people, most from town, but many from elsewhere, because Conwell was the only one around to have a Fourth of July parade. The town put on a chicken barbecue, and the Conwell Women’s Softball Team had a game, the first she’d miss since she came back after Amber was a baby. There would be fireworks tonight at the ball field.

  Edie kept saying hello to people she knew, and her aunt, in her fashion, made wise cracks, especially about the men.

  “I wouldn’t mind some fireworks tonight,” Leona said with a dirty cackle. “Yup, fireworks, the kind that makes you feel like there’s an explosion going off inside you.” Leona pointed across the street. “There’s our neighbor. I bet he’s got all the right equipment. Maybe a little banged up, but still working. What do you say, Edie?”

  “Aunt Leona, shh.”

  “Don’t mind me. I’m feeling a little extra something today.”

  Harlan made his lumbering way behind the row of people staked out across the street.

  “I see him over there,” Edie said.

  Leona slapped her arm.

  “Go get him, will you? I bet he doesn’t know a soul here.” She slapped Edie again. “What are you waiting for?”

  “Maybe he wants to be alone.”

  “Nobody wants to be alone. Besides, I got a feeling about Harlan. He’s a decent man. You don’t see many of them in Conwell. You might want to give it some thought, Edie.”

  “You sound like Pop.”

  “Yeah? For once, I agree with my brother. Get going.”

  “Okay, okay. Amber, you wanna come?”

  She crossed the street with Amber. It didn’t take long to catch up with Harlan, and he stopped when she called his name.

  “I see you made it to the parade. My aunt wants you to join us.”

  He closed one eye.

  “What about you?”

  “You don’t have to be so shy around me, Harlan. Besides we’ve got the shady part of the street and room for one more.”

  He grinned.

  “All right. I’ll join you then.”

  As they walked across the street, Harlan stopped the man selling parade souvenirs.

  “What would you like?” he asked Amber.

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you, Amber.”

  After weighing her choices, Amber picked a stuffed, purple snake, and because Harlan insisted, a red balloon larger than her head. Edie took the balloon from Harlan, so she could tie it to Amber’s wrist. She touched his hand, the skin warm and roughed up from work. She got a feeling, like Harlan could be a hard-working man spending his day off with his family and liking it.

  “What do you say?” she told Amber.

  Amber smiled.

  “Thank you very much, Mr. Doyle.”

  “You’re very welcome, Amber. But you may call me Harlan,” he said. “So, Amber, what can you tell me about this parade? I’m new in town.”

  Her girl jabbered about the parade, moving quickly in small arcs around Harlan as he walked in large, ho
bbling steps. Leona watched with a satisfied smile. Edie knew what her aunt was thinking. This is what their girl needed.

  Amber sat on the grass shoulder. Leona offered Harlan a chair, but he declined. He stood instead beside Edie.

  People were settling along the parade route. Her in-laws waved to Amber from across the street. Edie was listening to Harlan talk with Aunt Leona when she spotted Walker hike down the center of the road, rushing his two boys toward the start. He smoked a cigarette. His head was down as he barked at his boys, “It’s your goddamn fault if you’re late. Move it.”

  Edie held her breath and let her eyes pass over Walker as if he were a stranger. But he turned her way briefly, and she caught the expression in his eyes. His body went forward, but his heart stayed with her. Finally, she saw only the back of him.

  Everything began to swirl: her family, the town gathered for this silly parade, Walker’s dark love for her.

  She glanced up at Harlan.

  “Don’t blink, or you’ll miss the whole thing,” she heard herself say.

  “That’s what everyone keeps saying,” he said, and then he whispered, “What’s wrong, Edie?”

  “Nothing, Harlan.”

  Down the road, the American Legion Band played a raggedy rendition of “Stars and Stripes Forever” to get the procession going. The color guard of flag-holding veterans was first, followed by the usual waddling lineup of town officials. Teams of baseball players, guarded by their coaches, marched in uneven, bumping lines. Harlan laughed about the kid who nearly poked a teammate in the head with a baseball bat and the spooked pony that tried to make a run for it.

  “This is great stuff,” he said close to her ear.

  Edie nearly cried, searching for Walker. She closed her eyes as she listened to the noise made by the rolling wheels, the marching feet, and clapping people.

  “Yeah,” she said faintly.

  Amber tugged at her arm.

  “Ma, Ma, here comes Poppy. Wait till you see what we did.”

  The laughter started farther down the road, and when Edie bent, a DPW truck lurched forward. She began to laugh with the crowd. The hood of the red dump truck was trimmed with strings of triangle-shaped flags, bouquets of dirty, plastic flowers, and a hand-painted sign that read: 35 YEARS WORKING AT YOUR DUMP. One of Pop’s drinking buddies was at the wheel, tooting the horn and smiling as if he were set for life.

  The truck towed a small trailer holding an outhouse, with the door open, so everyone could see Pop sitting in his red union suit on a toilet. Around the outhouse was an assortment of junk, from wagon wheels to dressmaker’s mannequins, to make it resemble the town dump. At one point, Pop stood. The back seat of his long johns hung open, and he saluted the howling crowd as he let loose a roll of toilet paper.

  Amber waved to her grandfather when the truck inched past.

  “Li’l darlin’, how are you?” Pop shouted to Amber. “Hey, Leona, lookin’ mighty fine today.”

  Leona puffed up in her chair.

  “Jesus, Alban, what in the hell are you doing?”

  But from the crowd’s operatic roar, Leona was clearly outnumbered. A photographer from the local paper took Pop’s picture, and one of the emcees joked over the PA system, “I don’t know about you, but I’m grateful Benny isn’t the town’s gravedigger.”

  “Pop sure outdid himself,” Edie said, laughing with her father’s fans.

  Harlan bent over with happy tears in his eyes. Leona reached up to yank his arm.

  “You think this is so funny? Enjoy it now, Mr. Harlan Doyle, but if my brother didn’t ask the road boss to use that stuff, we can forget about having a highway truck on our road for a long, long while.”

  Stand Up And Say It

  Walker kicked Dean’s boots as he napped in a lawn chair in front of his singlewide. The man snorted and glanced around.

  “Shithead, whose side are you on anyway?” Walker growled. “You told that fat bitch I’m going crazy.”

  He kicked the chair again, this time hard enough that Dean almost fell.

  “Jesus, Walker, what’re you doin’?”

  “You saying you didn’t tell Sharon I’m going nuts?”

  The ball in Dean’s throat moved up and down. He exhaled hard through his nose.

  Walker glared.

  “I can tell what kind of mood you’re in, but I’m gonna say it anyway,” Dean said. “This thing with Edie is outta control. You’re scaring her, and I’m worried about you. Sharon asked, so I told her. She’s worried about you, too.”

  “Since when?”

  One of Dean’s eyes dropped shut.

  “We’ve been friends, how long? All our lives, right? You have it in your head you gotta have Edie, and shit, Walker, she don’t want you. Why don’t you face up to it?”

  Walker saw Edie at the parade, but after he dropped off his boys, people jammed the roadsides. By time he found her, she was helping her aunt into her car. Her girl was close by.

  “Stand up and say it,” Walker said.

  Dean got to his feet. He studied Walker.

  “I’m saying this cause I’m your friend. Back off. Edie’s been through enough.”

  Walker’s right fist glanced across Dean’s jaw as soon as the man went silent. But Dean stayed upright. He withstood a second punch, then another. He wasn’t even fighting back. Dean took a few steps to get his balance. He waited for the next. It made Walker hotter.

  “You never stuck up for yourself,” he told Dean. “It’s pure luck you wasn’t killed in Vietnam.” His next punch sent Dean sprawling to the ground. “You’re wrong. You’re all wrong about her.”

  On The Run

  Edie’s car was parked in her driveway, but she wasn’t home. Neither was her foolish old man, Walker was relieved to see. An orange cat kept sentry on a couch at the other end of the porch. It could keep the smelly thing.

  Walker hated cats anyway. Give him a dog that stuck by you no matter what. He hadn’t had a hound in years, but maybe he’d get one of Dean’s puppies when he moved into his own place. The boys would like that. He could take them all hunting at his camp. Maybe Edie’s little girl would want a puppy, too.

  “Git,” he snarled at the cat, but the animal stayed in its spot, its green eyes winking.

  The door to Edie’s house was unlocked, naturally. Nobody locked their doors in Conwell, except maybe his parents since they owned valuable things, and newcomers, of course, because they’re afraid of the locals taking their stuff.

  Walker went inside to use the toilet, and afterward he wandered into her bedroom. He opened her dresser drawers, fingering her clothing, the lacy things, and the packets of rubbers. He held one of her black panties to his lips before he stuffed it in his shirt pocket.

  He searched her closet, taking a shoebox covered by wrapping paper off the shelf. Inside, he found blue envelopes, airmail from overseas, all from Gil, and snapshots of his brother and Edie. He slid the box back into place.

  Walker stood still, scanning her room, eyeing her bed before he left.

  He kept the heels of his boots on the porch’s railing as he tipped the rocker slowly. He lit another cigarette while he worked it out again. He’d tell her he’d be a free although poorer man. He would promise never to hurt her again. She would say, “I forgive you.” He’d say no one else could love her as much as him, and Edie would tell him, “Of course, Walker.”

  He stopped rocking. He swore he heard her voice in the distance. It was definitely Edie, but she sounded farther down the road. He ran his thumb along his smooth chin. There she was again.

  Walker remembered the place on the river where they used to swim. When they were kids, they parked their cars and pickups near Edie’s house, and then hiked quietly down the road, so old lady Doyle wouldn’t call the cops. Lots of fun went on there during the summer. He hadn’t been back
in years, but Edie told him she went swimming with her daughter when the weather got hot.

  The back of the rocker hit the house’s clapboards as he got to his feet, startling the cat, which leaped to the porch’s floorboards and flew over the steps. Walker strolled down the road, using Edie’s voice as a target until he found the path’s opening, across the street from Harlan Doyle’s house. Walker used to be able to drive his truck through here, but now the way was overgrown with pucker brush and saplings. The air was rich with swirling bugs. New growth shined bright green on the tips of the trees.

  He stepped quietly toward the river’s edge, where he heard Edie sing. He stayed within the trees, wanting to spy on her first.

  Walker swore. Edie wasn’t alone. She was with her daughter and Harlan Doyle. The girl was on the shore, stacking river stones into towers. Edie and Harlan Doyle treaded water while they talked. He didn’t hear what they said. But she laughed. He laughed. Walker saw Edie’s happy face, and once again, everything good slipped fast from him. He saw them together at the parade. He wanted to rush to the river and yell at the ugly cripple, “She’s mine!” He wanted to drag him to the shore and beat him.

  His eyes filled with tears as he leaned against a tree. He banged the back of his head, cursing. How stupid he was. He wanted to hurt him and hurt her. Anyone. Anything. He headed off, thrashing through the underbrush like a wild thing on the run, his boots kicking, until he reached the road.

  Clearer View

  “Edie, it’s Dean. Did I wake ya? Sorry. I know it’s late, but is Walker there?”

  She held the phone. Dean’s voice was rough and halting like a stalling engine. Finally, she said, “No, he’s not here. I’m not going with him anymore.”

  Dean blew into the mouthpiece.

  “Shit, Edie, I’m worried about Walker. He’s getting himself in trouble. We got into a fight today. He accused me of stuff, and he’s been talking crazy about you. I just wanna make sure you’re all right.”

  “Crazy?”

  “You hear he got arrested after Sharon threw him out.”