by Tom Reilly
“She’ll come home with us for a few days,” Leslie said.
“Thank you, dear. You’re so good to me. I don’t want to impose.”
“I shut down the furnace when I was there and opened a few windows. You may want to go by and close the windows tonight, Tim. It should have cleared enough by now to go in there to do that.”
“Thanks, Ike,” Timothy said.
“Aren’t I lucky to have a family like this, Doctor Hanson?”
“Yes, ma’am, you are. Now, just think about getting better, and I’ll be in tomorrow to check on you.”
Timothy felt responsible for this. Mom had asked him to look at the furnace a few days earlier, but he didn’t see any problems. He thought, Thank God she had her wits about her to call Leslie, or who knows what could have happened?
“Timothy, I don’t know how we’re going to pay for this.”
“For what, Mom?” he asked.
“The hospital, the furnace—”
“You let me take care of that, Mom,” Timothy said.
Timothy knew she did not have the money to pay for a new furnace, so he mentally reviewed his finances to figure out where to get it.
“You’re a good boy too, Timmy. Where will you stay tonight?” Mom said.
“I’ll call Cheryl. I’m sure I can stay in her brother’s room. He went back to school today.”
“Oh, you don’t want to impose on her family. I imagine your sister could make some room for you.”
“I’m fine, Mom.”
“He’ll be okay, Mom,” Leslie said.
“All right, do what you think is best. I’m sure your friend’s family won’t mind too much. Her parents will be there, right?”
Even in her condition, Mom still had enough strength to comment on Cheryl, the other woman. Timothy shook his head and grinned at Ike.
“What will you do about the furnace?” Mom said.
“In the morning, I’ll call the repair service and see when they can come out. I’m sure they will understand it’s an emergency.”
“Do they offer financing? I only have a few hundred dollars in my savings account and fifty dollars in my checking account.”
“Mom, I told you not to worry about this. I’ll take care of it,” Timothy said.
“Okay, but if you get over to your friend’s house and there’s no room for you, go to Leslie’s house, and she’ll make room for you. Family takes care of blood.”
“Like Ike took care of you, right Mom?” Leslie said.
“Yes, dear. Ike knows what I mean.”
Timothy released a deep breath full of anxiety and leaned over and kissed Mom on the forehead.
She grabbed his hand tightly. “Timmy, I feel bad you have to work so hard. I don’t know what I would do without you. I don’t want you to feel guilty about the furnace.”
“Okay, Mom. I’ll see you guys tomorrow. Bye.”
In the hallway, Timothy paused to collect his thoughts. It’s just life. Things like this happen all the time to everyone; just one more thing. Cheryl is always reminding me bad things happen, then good things happen, to everyone, not just me.
Self-talk helped him bounce back, especially during his recovery from his injuries.
He stopped at the first-floor telephone bank and dropped a dime to call Cheryl. He told her what happened and asked if he could spend the night. She had a lot of questions, and he told her he would answer them when he got to her house. First, he had to go by his house, close the windows, and lock up.
Timothy felt the cold air on his face and hands. The temperature dropped below freezing after dark. Gotta get home and close those windows. His car started on the third attempt, but the heater did not cooperate on the ride home. Probably the damn thermostat.
CHAPTER TEN
AFTER SPENDING THE night at Cheryl’s, Timothy called the furnace company first thing on Saturday. The owner of the company promised to meet him at his mom’s house in a few minutes. Timothy told Cheryl his plans and thanked her parents for letting him spend the night.
The thirty-degree morning made the house feel more like a refrigerator. Even with the heat shut off overnight, he still smelled pungent fumes. He wondered how Mom could have stayed there with the fumes. Maybe she got confused. Maybe the fumes were so insidious she couldn’t tell what was happening. It reminded him of an article he read in biology class by William Sedgwick, educator and scientist. Sedgwick experimented with frogs in boiling water. The temperature of the water changed so gradually the frog never noticed. The frogs boiled to death.
The doorbell broke his train of thought. Timothy opened the front door.
“Morning, sir. I’m Fred, the furnace guy.”
“Hi, come on in,” Timothy said.
“Man, this place stinks.”
“You can smell it, huh?” Timothy said.
“You bet. This beak can sniff sulfur a mile away.”
“It’s been off since yesterday afternoon,” Timothy said.
“The hang time on sulfur fumes is high. This stuff sticks around for a while. That’s one reason people hate coal furnaces. The stink gets on the walls, in the upholstery, and on the carpet. It sticks around longer than a pesky relative. The other reason is . . . uh, coal. It’s messy. Where’s the stoker?”
“Follow me.” Timothy limped down the steps to the basement where the moribund furnace waited for them.
“Man, this is an old beast. Haven’t seen one of these in a while. They don’t make them like this anymore. Thank God. You can’t believe how many of these old things we’ve replaced in the past five years. Be glad it went bad, otherwise you’d end up with black lung disease,” Fred said.
“Really?”
“No, you’d croak long before that happened because of carbon monoxide and sulfur fumes.”
“That’s why you’re here. The fumes put my mom in the hospital.”
“Sorry to hear that, but I’m not surprised. Happens all the time.”
“So what are we talking about?” Timothy said.
“Replacement, not repair. You can’t get parts for these old coal burners anymore. The manufacturer doesn’t make parts, and you can’t scavenge any because when they break the whole damn thing craps out. I don’t even need to look any further to tell you what’s wrong or what to do. See all that soot buildup? That means you replace it.”
“What are we looking at for replacement?”
“You want gas. It burns cheap, clean, and hot. Ever had trouble getting this place warm?”
“Only in the morning before I could stoke it. I would see my mom standing in front by the dining room register to get warm.”
“Closest to the furnace, I bet,” Fred said.
“Yeah, the warmest place in the house.”
“You won’t have that problem with the new unit. The whole house will be warm.”
“Man, that sounds good,” Timothy said. “What size unit?”
“How big is the house?”
“About sixteen hundred square feet,” Timothy said.
“Sixty thousand BTUs will do it.”
“Is that a common size?”
“Common as a sedan. For this size house, it’s perfect.”
“Okay. How much and how soon?”
“We can be back Monday morning first thing. It’s a two-day job. On the first day, we will tear out the old system, inspect, and clean the ductwork. Then, we do the make-ready for the new unit. It’ll take the gas company until Monday to get out here and hook up a line. They move pretty quick on a job like this. I’ll call them this afternoon on their emergency line, and they will be here early on Monday. Tuesday, we install the new unit. You’ll have heat by dinnertime.”
“That sounds good. Okay, how much?”
“For the tear down, haul away, new furnace and install, we’re talking somewhere in the neighborhood of twelve hundred.”
Timothy took a long breath and let it out slowly, delaying the decision as long as possible.
“That’
s a pretty ritzy neighborhood. Do you guys offer financing?”
“Nope. We gotta deal going with the banks. We don’t lend money, and they don’t sell furnaces.”
Timothy wanted to laugh but didn’t have it in him. Fred didn’t laugh either.
“Okay, how do you want to be paid?” Timothy asked.
“Full amount due when you have heat. Check’s fine because I know where you live. We leave Tuesday with the money and leave you with the heat.”
“Is that your best deal?”
“We always give our best deal. Is the money going to be a problem for you?” Fred asked.
“No, I can move some funds around on Monday.”
Fred stuck out his hand. Timothy liked a handshake to seal a deal. It meant the other person made a personal commitment.
“I need to take some measurements and fill out some paperwork for you to sign. It’ll take a few minutes,” Fred said.
“All right, I’ll be upstairs in the dining room. Come up when you’re done.”
“Okay, boss,” said Fred.
Timothy labored up the stairs one at a time. His leg hurt, and Fred watched him struggle. Timothy sat at the dining room table and spread out his financial reality—a passbook for his modest savings account, an anemic checking account statement, and a tax bill for the house due in four weeks. He had a little more than 1,300 in his savings, 122 bucks in his checking, and a tax bill for almost 600. The tax bill plus the cost of replacing a furnace left him short and without money for next semester’s tuition.
I can pay for the furnace out of my savings. That gives us heat. But I still have a tax bill and a thousand-dollar tuition payment due next month. I wonder if I could get an extension on the tax bill. Maybe I could work out something with tuition. His VA check and disability barely covered tuition, books, and fees. They still had a small mortgage payment, groceries, insurance, and Mom’s hospital bills. This depended on his car lasting for a while. He had to forget about getting Cheryl the engagement ring he wanted to give her for Christmas. How can someone with so little money have so many financial problems? Being broke should be simple. No money. No options.
Fred entered the room. “Here’s the paperwork. I need your signature here.”
Timothy read the contract and played with the pen. He didn’t want to make this decision.
“A check on Tuesday, right?” Fred said.
“Right, I pay when we have heat.”
“We’ll be here early on Monday morning to get rid of that old oven. The new one is in stock at the warehouse, so there will be no delay getting it. The only hitch may be the old ductwork. We won’t know until we can look inside them and see how bad the soot is caked on there. Since it just happened, I don’t see any issues there.”
“Would that cost extra? I’m already tapped out.”
“Don’t worry about that. Let’s get some heat turned on in here.”
“Deal. Where do I sign?”
Fred pointed to a blank line on the contract. “Here.”
They shook hands again and walked to the door. The cold in the house stiffened Timothy’s leg. He limped until it loosened up.
“So where’d you get that?” Fred said, pointing to Timothy’s bad leg.
“A crash.”
“Motorcycle?”
“Not the kind of chopper you’re thinking about,” Timothy said.
“Nam?” Fred asked. Timothy nodded.
Fred paused.
“Tell you what, pay me in cash instead of a check, and I’ll knock off a hundred bucks.”
“I can do that, thanks.”
“See you Monday.” Fred left and Timothy retreated to the kitchen.
Timothy sat at the kitchen table, which had been the scene of a lot of living over the years. On the wall next to him hung the blackboard he drew on as a child. Mom used it these days to keep her A&P grocery shopping list—coffee, milk, corn, flour, and Ajax. As he sat there thinking about his financial situation, he found himself banging his head softly against the wall.
His father did the same thing years ago when he came home for lunch to tell Mom he lost his job and they might lose the car. Timothy remembered how the old man looked doing this. Defeated. Frustrated. Lost. Old before his time. Timothy understood this fully. Timothy channeled the old man’s angst. The metaphor of his banging his head against the wall did not escape Timothy either. School? Work? Car? Engagement ring? Taxes? Furnace? I am banging my head against the same damn wall.
An idea occurred to him. Mom kept her address book on the shelf next to the kitchen table. Timothy opened it and looked for Uncle Bill’s phone number. He and Timothy had a good relationship, though Bill lived in Tennessee.
On the fourth ring, Uncle Bill answered.
“Uncle Bill?” Timothy said.
“Hey, Tim. How are you, son?”
“I’ve had better days.” Timothy told him about the recent events. He held back nothing.
After a long pause, Bill said, “Tim, I’d like to help you out. Heck, she’s my sister, and you’re my nephew, but things are not good for us this year. Business is way down. It’s that oil embargo thing. The Arabs are screwing us, and Nixon’s letting it happen. It’s killing small business. I haven’t taken a paycheck in six months. Everything I have is tied up in cash flow to keep the business afloat. I wish I could do something, son, but I can’t.”
“I understand, Uncle Bill. Things are tight everywhere these days. Things are tight for Sis and Ike, too. They’re making ends meet. I’ll figure out something. You know what they say—what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”
“That’s my boy. You always were a positive young fella. How’s school going?”
“Going well. Finals in a couple of weeks.”
“You know the advice I gave your cousins. Study an hour longer than you think you need to and drink one less beer than you want to,” Bill laughed.
“Not much time for beer drinking now, Uncle Bill. Well, I better get going. Thanks for listening.”
“Anytime, son. My ears are always open. Tell your mom I’m thinking about her.”
“Will do.”
Why don’t you call her yourself and tell her you’re thinking about her if you’re that concerned? Timothy felt like Sisyphus pushing that bolder up the hill. Man, this is familiar ground. On my own. Again. No safety net. It’ll probably be like this my whole life. What now? Frank.
Timothy had not talked to his older brother, Frank, since last Christmas. They never got closer than the ten years that separated them. As the oldest, Frank thought too much had been heaped on him. He received a 4-F medical exemption for poor eyesight and never had to serve in the military. Timothy’s service and Frank’s exemption widened the gap between them.
Frank disconnected from his family after divorcing his first wife after just one year. He moved to Seattle, remarried, and had twins with his new wife. Frank called it a new life with a new wife. Frank hadn’t seen the family in five years. He didn’t even attend his father’s funeral.
Frank worked in a dead-end management position for a banking company. Expecting Frank to help financially was a fool’s folly, but Timothy needed to ask.
Frank answered the phone on the first ring. “Yeah?”
“Frank?”
“Tim, is that you?”
“Yes, how are you?” Timothy asked.
“Fine. Is she dead?”
“Who?”
“Mom. Isn’t that why you’re calling?”
Timothy told him what happened. He laid it all out there—the furnace, taxes, hospital bills, everything. He held back on his tuition bills, car situation and Cheryl’s ring because he knew Frank didn’t care anyway.
“Yeah, sounds tough. Wish I could help, but things are not good here. Mary has been laid up for the past six months. She got hurt at work, and they put her on pain pills, which she got hooked on, so now we’re dealing with that while we’re waiting for a settlement from her company. We enrolled the twins in public
school because we couldn’t afford to send them to a private school. Mary is real upset over that. Yeah, things are tough here, too. Did you call Uncle Bill?”
“Yes, and he can’t do anything. It seems there’s a whole lot of tough going around,” Timothy said.
“Isn’t that like the old goat? He never was much of an uncle to us, was he?” Frank continued with his tirade on Bill. Timothy recognized the tactic. Anytime he asked Frank for something, Frank redirected the conversation to some other obscure topic. In military terms, Frank used a diversionary tactic.
“Like I told ya, I’d like to help out, but we’re already way into our emergency funds to pay the bills. The lawyer told us it might be another year before the company settles. Just can’t do it. It’s up to you, little brother. You’ve got to pull that wagon yourself. I know Leslie and Ike can’t help. Too many kids and all. It’s tough when you have a family depending on you.”
“All right, Frank, but why don’t you call her in the hospital?”
“Too much going on right now. By the way, how’s your leg?”
“It depends on the day,” Timothy said.
“You never had a problem with those painkillers, did you?” Frank said.
Just like Frank. He faked an interest in me to talk about Mary’s addiction. “No, Frank. I did not have a problem with painkillers, just the pain.”
“See, that’s the way Mary got hooked. The pain wouldn’t go away. Now, all she can do is sit in her chair and watch TV. It’s tough, Brother.”
“Sorry to hear it, Frank. I’ve got to go. Take care.”
Pull that wagon yourself. What else is new, Frank?
Timothy knew the only place to find help was in the mirror. He returned to the dining room table and reviewed his scratch pad with the numbers on it. He wanted to sit there longer, hoping the numbers would change, but he was already late for work. He changed into his work clothes and left for the tree lot.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
TIMOTHY’S CAR STARTED immediately in spite of the temperature. This and light traffic made the drive to Schoen’s easier. He thought, Thank God for small blessings. Maybe the powers that be are conspiring to give me a break. He pulled into the lot and saw Dez waiting.
