by A N Sandra
Bud had felt the sting of Kenny’s betrayal himself. They had been friends for years. Not the kind who confide secrets, but the kind who go to the river together on sunny days and help their kids catch fish. They’d been hunting buddies and spent many holidays together playing cards and making sports bets. Danica’s father worked constantly at his fish hatchery. At seventy-eight he was still working and was always tired at the few family functions he attended. Kenny and Bud had held their own as the active fathers on Danica’s side of the family until Kenny had run off, leaving all of them.
Bud sighed as he got ready to leave his truck and go in the store to change the ice maker. Rhoda’s car was parked beside Joyce’s. Almost without thinking Bud reached into his glove compartment and took out the small ivory box to tuck it in his shirt pocket before he got his work gloves and toolbox. Wouldn’t want some weirdo in a hijab to steal it, Bud heard Katy say in his mind. Bud looked around but didn’t see any would-be criminals coming near, hijab or not.
“Good morning,” Bud greeted Rhoda behind the counter. She was surrounded by boxes of condoms and it appeared she was sorting them with her thin lips pursed in aggravation.
“You must be kidding,” Rhoda answered. It was a charming greeting, for Rhoda. Bud was pretty sure she had never had a good morning in her entire life. “Some of these have expired and we never noticed. I don’t know how many children have come into this world and it’s really the store’s fault.”
Bud ignored her disturbing problem. She’d been inventing problems since he’d known her. He moved to the back of the store where Joyce had a small office behind a storage area.
“I understand you are responsible for the next baby boom in Blythe,” Bud said.
“We need the customers now that Urban Relocation is in full swing,” Joyce said. She turned and looked at Bud through her bifocals. “Did you bring your tools?”
Bud lifted his toolbox for her approval and followed her back to the storage room where she showed him the new ice maker in a thick brown box next to the old ice maker, which looked like something from a bad science fiction movie.
“This is the manual,” Joyce said, handing a huge glossy book to Bud.
“I think Manhattan has a smaller phone book.” Bud took it from her pretending to stagger under the weight of it. “My tool box is lighter than this.”
Joyce shrugged and went back to her office. The diagrams in the manual were actually quite easy to understand and before long Bud had it unpacked. The new ice maker was smaller than the old one, but with the aid of superior technology, or possibly black magic, made more ice using less electricity. Somehow Rhoda was helping him, handing him the correct tools as he attached it to the plumbing with the newfound deftness that had enveloped the quarry previously.
“All done!” Bud stood up.
The Pepsi clock in the corner showed he had accomplished this in twenty-two minutes, which was not as surprising as the fact that he had managed to work with Rhoda and they had not traded a bad word.
Somehow it just seemed natural to start taking the old ice maker apart, even though Joyce had never asked him to. Rhoda helped, and the two of them dismantled the old ice machine into a pile of sheet metal and inner workings that were ready to recycle. By the time they were done the first ice was falling into the bin of the new ice machine and Bud hadn’t been at the store an entire hour. In no time at all Bud managed to fix some shelving in the storage area that wasn’t properly adjusted for lack of parts. He used parts from the old ice maker to fix it better than it had been when it was new.
“I’d better let you take care of your customers,” Bud said to Rhoda as he put his tools away.
“I’ve been helping customers while I helped you,” Rhoda said. “I’ve done two hundred dollars of business while I’ve been handing you tools. I finished sorting the condoms and restocked all the cigarettes too.”
That didn’t seem like it could be right, but Bud didn’t see why he should argue with the first positive thing he’d heard Rhoda say since he’d known her. Also, Rhoda never “helped” customers. She argued with them, corrected them, scolded them, but never served them. If she had been efficiently helping customers without petty meltdowns, it was the first time in her working life.
“Thanks for your help,” Bud said, shocked at the sincerity he felt as he said it.
“It was easy,” Rhoda replied with a gracious smile. Bud hadn’t even known Rhoda could smile. With slight shock he noticed that she had none of the “smile lines” that a woman of over forty should have.
“I’m going,” Bud called over his shoulder to Joyce before she could find more projects for him. “See you later.”
“Let me buy you some lunch.” Joyce appeared from the office looking more chipper than she had in a long time. “I got all my accounting done early. Usually it takes me all day.”
“I better get back home,” Bud said. “But thanks.”
He was halfway home before he internally processed how well the morning had gone. Keeping the box in his pocket was working out well for everyone. He would be home less than two hours after leaving and not only had he installed the new ice maker he had broken down the old one and fixed some shelving in the back area of the store.
Bud parked in the back of the carport. Walking forward, he could hear Twilight in the chicken coop turned screen printing shop, working away.
“I can’t believe you’re home so soon!” Danica was in the kitchen covered in flour like a preschooler as she stirred ingredients in a huge ceramic yellow bowl. There were muffin tins on the counter and that always looked hopeful to Bud. “I was trying to figure out what to do. Joshua called and needs a different cord for his new amp. He somehow packed the cord for his old one instead, but I didn’t want to leave in the middle of this…”
“So, you would like me to take him the cord?” Bud supplied the rest of the question.
“I know you already did a good deed on your only day off,” Danica said, looking sheepish. “But if I leave now—”
“I’ll do it,” Bud told her. The threat of unfinished treats still motivated him as if he were a teenager. “The wedding is just at Bald Peak Campground, isn’t it?”
“Exactly. Twenty minutes each way.”
Bud went to the garage and took the whole storage box full of cords to make sure he would have the right one, even though he felt that he knew just which one Joshua wanted. He wondered if Joshua hadn’t really forgotten the cord, but hoped Bud would bring it. Which didn’t make any sense at all because it could have just as easily been Danica bringing the cord. And why would Joshua, who was quite independent, want his father around anyway?
After making sure that Danica knew he really was done for the day after this errand, Bud left to take Joshua the cords.
“Dad!” the look on Joshua’s face told Bud that Joshua cared more about Bud turning up than the actual cord in the box. Joshua hadn’t been that interested in his presence since Bud turned up with the baking soda to make his volcano work in the third grade at Blythe Elementary.
“Want me to stay and help set up?” Bud asked. He knew he was wanted, it was easy to be gracious.
“We do it without you all the time,” Joshua said easily, “but you could just hang out for a bit. And stay for the sound check.”
So, Bud did. BJ got him a beer, which he drank at a shady picnic table while the band set up their gear. In the background he could see the gazebo where the couple would get married and the tables set up for the dinner they would enjoy after the ceremony. When all the food had been consumed and cake had been smeared, everyone would come to dance on the hardwood dance floor set up in front of the small stage the band was on. There were several keg meisters next to the band and Bud knew the party would go on all night.
“Let’s do it!” Joshua picked up his guitar, strung it around his tanned neck (Joshua’s neck was never actually red no matter how much blue collar work he did at the quarry), and strummed a chord.
Wit
h amazing speed and dexterity, the other band members were right behind him. Bud had never seen them move so quickly, and the whole band was playing a song, while Mark, the sound guy, a surprisingly competent nephew of Donovan’s, made adjustments to the sound board.
Several young women drifted over from the wedding chaos to listen to the end of the song.
“That was perfect,” Bud caught himself saying.
“Damn near.” Joshua shook his head with disbelief. He hated to be overconfident, it wasn’t good for the cool image he strove for but saying anything less would have been dishonest.
“That was the best ever,” BJ grinned.
“We’re gonna score tonight,” Evan laughed. Even Perkins never thought of anything other than scoring. It was his most noticeable quality besides the mean second guitar he managed to play behind Joshua.
“I’m gonna go home to get fresh muffins,” Bud told Joshua while the band was leaning back trying to look cool for the dressed up young women in the area.
“Thanks for bringing the cord, Dad,” Joshua said. He looked Bud in the eye with deeper purpose.
Bud smiled but let it go. Joshua didn’t know why he had wanted Bud, but the box had arrived for the sound check, and everything had gone perfectly. He had somehow known that it would. Even though Bud hadn’t ever timed Back Pasture running a setup and sound check he was sure this particular time was extra efficient.
There was still plenty of time left in Bud’s day and he went home with a smile on his face. He wasn’t grumpy at all even though he had spent the morning that should have been restful on his only day off helping others. It hadn’t been stressful at all.
The kitchen smelled like fresh blueberry muffins when Bud came in the back door. Danica wasn’t in the kitchen, but Twilight was. She had thick schoolbooks spread across the kitchen table and her Chromebook was open. It was unlike Twilight to put off school work until Sunday afternoon. She never procrastinated. In fact, it was unlike Twilight to have much homework at all.
“Are you all right, honey?” Bud asked, slightly concerned. He still helped himself to an oversized muffin. Streusel topping fell across the clean counter as he raised it to his mouth and he swept it into the sink, delighted with its abundance.
“No,” Twilight sounded like she was going to cry. “I just read my email and found out I got a D on my Urban Studies paper. I need to redo it and have it emailed to Mrs. Wright by midnight if I want to get a better grade. That paper is almost the whole grade for the term. If I don’t get an A on it, Sierra Welsh will be the valedictorian.”
“Can I see the paper that got a D?” Bud had a hard time imagining Twilight getting a D. It must have been Mrs. Wright’s mistake. It was cute that as a freshman Twilight was already worried about being valedictorian, but it was hard to watch her obvious distress.
Without words Twilight handed him several printed sheets that Bud read through while he finished his muffin.
“I’ll help fix it,” Bud told her, pleased with himself. He wasn’t sure how he would. He liked the paper she had written, and really couldn’t see why it hadn’t gotten a perfect grade, but he had unfounded confidence in himself after the last few days.
“I wish I thought so,” Twilight said. She was drinking coffee from a huge blue mug as if it was a magic elixir that would provide necessary mental sustenance for the hard task ahead. “I didn’t understand what she really wanted, but now I do, and I have a lot more research to do—”
“I’m good at research,” Bud announced. Not that he had researched much recently, but he had faith in his abilities, especially lately.
Twilight looked at him as though his very existence was a personal cross that she was currently bearing. All of Bud’s teens had looked at him like that. He tried to remember Twilight in her red ladybug footie jammies, wanting a kiss goodbye before he left for work.
“Just because you never see me do it, doesn’t mean I don’t know how.” Bud smiled.
“It’s a free country… and you pay the bills,” was Twilight’s only answer. “Whatever.”
Bud looked over the whole situation carefully, realizing along the way that he was reading much faster than he usually did. He read the emails from the teacher, he read the class outline, he read the chapter headings in the textbook as well as in the reference books.
“The trouble is the conclusion of your paper,” Bud observed. “You were supposed to say that people are meant to live in cities, that rural life is backward, and that the future involves urbanization on an even bigger scale. This is a Common Core class. Mrs. Wright has to grade your paper from a rubric she didn’t make.”
“That’s what I can see…” Twilight was still distressed, judging by the tone of her voice. “But none of the things we studied makes that point conclusively. Mrs. Wright made it seem like we could draw our own conclusions, but clearly we can’t—”
“We’ll write the paper they want, you’ll get an A, and you can make an inflammatory speech about the whole thing when you’re the valedictorian.”
Twilight’s face lit up like a Christmas bulb.
“Really?” she grinned.
“Really,” Bud promised.
“If Sierra writes a great paper and gets a D because she said what she really thinks, I’ll feel bad,” Twilight’s face fell a little. Sometimes she still looked like the little girl in ladybug jammies.
“Mrs. Wright gave you the heads up because she knew it wasn’t fair,” Bud said wisely. “There are only two more days of school this year. Good thing you’re taking your chance seriously.”
Twilight began the next part of her project-driven life after taking another huge drink of coffee and setting her face like a statue. Bud worked beside her. Four muffins later, the project was done and in Mrs. Wright’s email inbox.
“I can’t believe we got it done so fast,” Twilight smiled, and her eyes twinkled with relief.
“Less than forty-five minutes,” Bud noted. “I’m going to check on your mom—”
“She’s taking a nap,” Twilight said.
Bud realized he had been doing things for other people all day, and that a midafternoon nap sounded just fine. He didn’t say anything else, just went to his room. Danica was curled up under a fluffy blue afghan on top of their bed, snoring just a little. Bud wasn’t really tired, but it was his day off and he had put everyone else first. He took off his shoes and the pants that were slightly dirty from being on the floor to install the new ice maker. He also carefully folded his button up shirt after he took it off and set it under the bed where Danica wouldn’t move it if she got up before him. The box was still in the shirt because Bud had forgotten to take it out of his pocket and lock it in the glove box.
The bed was soft, and the sound of Danica’s regular breathing usually put Bud right to sleep, but his mind went over recent events in a strange loop. The box was making everything he did better, not just for himself but for everyone around him. Within quite an impressive radius, too. Somehow, when the box was in his pocket (and Bud could not even think why he had ever thought to put it in his pocket other than to keep Joshua from accidentally discovering it, which he could have accomplished many other ways), the whole unseen atmosphere hummed with cooperation. Bad feelings, selfishness, and power trips were just not part of anything that happened around the box. But also, more than that, equipment worked better, people understood instructions better. It made no sense. It was almost too scary to think about…
Thinking about Twilight’s paper didn’t help him sleep either. They had fixed the paper and Twilight was happy with him, but Bud felt it was not right that Twilight had been forced to conclude that people must live in cities to pass. To be valedictorian Twilight had been forced to write a paper that said her own rural way of life wasn’t the best one for her. Bud didn’t like it. His ancestors had homesteaded and settled the American West, and he himself had wished to go to college in an urban area, but it hadn’t happened. He was a self-educated man, without the help of col
lege.
By refusing to pay for it and refusing to fill out a FAFSA form Katy had thwarted the easiest opportunities for Bud to go to college. Katy was sure college would ruin Bud’s mind and salvation. She had sent him to private Christian school and would have paid for him to go to a Bible college, but that wasn’t what Bud wanted. He attended community college to become a heavy equipment operator and then began working at the quarry to save money to go on his own. Katy then began charging him rent to make it harder for him to save. Bud had moved out then, but he had never saved enough for a good state college.
Falling in love with Danica gave his life new purpose. Bud had taken what money he had saved for college to pay for the rehearsal dinner of their wedding and a honeymoon cruise to Hawaii. Katy hadn’t paid for anything to do with their wedding either. She hadn’t approved. Not of Danica, the devout Catholic, or of the wedding venue, St. Christopher’s, the Catholic Church in Blythe, or of anything Bud wanted to do as an adult. Bud loved her anyway. She was doing what she thought was best, she wasn’t being unloving and selfish. Katy simply believed that life was meant to be suffered through and she believed in helping Bud suffer.
Unable to sleep, Bud got up, annoyed that there was no football to watch and no basketball on either. Watching sports would have been the perfect passive activity for the restless undercurrent bothering him. There were small tasks that could be done in the yard, but Bud wanted to relax a little on his only day off. He took a science fiction book from the shelf in the family room, one he had read a dozen times before, and sat reading it while sipping cold iced tea.
The book made Bud restless also. It kept reminding him of the box. A mysterious artifact that changed everything around it was not an uncommon fantasy theme. Like a ring that demanded to be worn, or a compass that carried secret messages, or a sword that had to belong to just the right owner. The box changed everything around it, making Bud the center of all happenings. Bud had no guesses as to what was really going on. He had never wanted an ordinary life, and yet he had one. Six children had kept his life from being dull, but it was still an ordinary life.
