The Handyman's Dream

by Nick Poff

  He thought of the movie the night before, and the things Harold’s mother had said when he told her he planned to marry Maude.

  “I wonder if Mom would be happier if I showed up for dinner with an eighty-year-old woman instead of Rick?” he said to himself, shuffling through his old records, looking for something to give him courage. He turned over “Give Us Your Blessings” by the Shangri-Las. His hand moved toward the turntable, then he remembered the song ended with the teenage couple dead in a car wreck after they ran off to get married against their parents’ wishes. “That’s not quite what I had in mind.” He shoved it back in the cabinet.

  Rick arrived, appropriately dressed for the occasion, and soon they were back in Ed’s truck, heading to his childhood home on East Walnut Street.

  “I’ve been dealing with cranky postal customers for almost ten years,” Rick said, turning the radio volume down. “And there’s no reason for her to think there’s anything weird about our friendship. We’re just a couple of guys hanging out together. What’s wrong with that?”

  Ed was pretty sure Norma would come up with something. He turned the volume back up. Stephanie Mills was singing “Never Knew Love Like This Before.”

  “Don’t turn this one down. It reminds me of us.”

  Rick reached for Ed’s hand, shaking his head. “Oh, baby, you’re so queer. And I truly do love you for it.”

  They both laughed, and Ed was pleased to relieve some of his tension. “Did you wear your bulletproof vest?”

  “Oh, Ed,” Rick scolded him. “If your old lady was really the battle-ax you make her out to be, I don’t think you’d have turned out so good. Calm down already.”

  Ed pulled up in front of the house and parked. Rick looked at the comfortable, old two-story house with interest.

  “Now remember,” Ed told him. “Don’t mention the election. She’s still pissed as hell that Reagan won. And if it does come up, for God’s sake, don’t tell her you decided to vote for John Anderson instead of Jimmy Carter.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Rick said as they made their way up the front walk. “You gonna show me your room? Maybe we can sneak upstairs and make out while she’s washing the dishes. Just kidding,” he said, seeing the look on Ed’s face. “Shit! I’ll behave, I promise.”

  Ed pulled open the storm door and reached for the knob on the inside door. “Mom?”

  “Oh, come on in,” she hollered from the kitchen. “Don’t just stand there, letting all the heat out.”

  Ed rolled his eyes at Rick, who smirked at him. They walked to the kitchen, toward the sound of her voice. Ed noticed, as they passed through the dining room, that the table was laid with the good china.

  Norma was at the stove, stirring a steaming pot. Her Merle Norman makeup was perfectly applied, and she was wearing her company apron. Ed’s eyebrows rose, surprised that she seemed to be turning the meal into an occasion.

  She looked up. “Well! This must the Rick I keep hearing about.” She slammed a pot lid and turned to face them.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Stephens.” Rick smiled at her.

  “Oh, just plain Norma will do. Don’t even try any of that Eddie Haskell nonsense on me. I always hated that kid. ‘How lovely you look today, Mrs. Cleaver.’ June didn’t fall for it and neither do I.” She narrowed her eyes, looking Rick over. “So. Ed tells me you’re a mailman. Probably been on your feet all day. Go sit down. This’ll be a while. Ed, get him something to drink. I’m too busy.” She looked at Ed’s empty hands. “Didn’t you bring anything? What did I tell you? Well, that’s that. You’re stuck with water. Ed, get the man a glass of water. Pour yourself one, too. Honestly.”

  Rick retreated to the living room. Ed moved over to the refrigerator.

  “Edward,” Norma whispered, catching his arm. “He has a beard.”

  Ed sighed. It was going to be a long night.

  * * * * *

  Once they were seated at the dining room table, Ed reflected on how many meals he had eaten at that very table in his life, Laurie sitting across from him, his father at the head of the table, his mother at the foot. Now he sat in his usual chair, and Rick sat across from him in Laurie’s old place. After Tim Stephens had died, Norma had moved herself to the head of the table, which was only appropriate, as she’d always considered herself the head of the family anyway.

  Norma was giving Rick the third degree, and Rick was performing beautifully, giving pleasant and polite answers to her questions. He was even eating the lima beans, and Ed happened to know that Rick hated lima beans.

  “So, Rick,” she said, spooning more mashed potatoes for herself. “What do you think of Reagan winning the election?”

  It was a trap, Ed thought, glad he had warned Rick.

  “It’s a damned shame, Norma. God only knows where we’ll be in four years.”

  “Well, if that isn’t the truth.” Norma snorted. “Probably halfway to hell in a handcart.”

  “I understand you’re a big Dallas fan,” Rick said, pushing lima beans around on his plate. “Ed told me you predicted it was Kristin who shot J. R. That’s pretty good. I thought it was Alan.”

  “Any fool would have figured that out,” Norma huffed. Her eyes narrowed at Rick. “Why on earth do you have all that hair on your face? Gillette invented razors for a reason, you know.”

  Ed almost choked on his pork chop. Rick blushed.

  “Well, I like it,” Rick mumbled, then regained his composure. “Actually my mother likes it, too.”

  “Oh, she does not. She’s just saying that to spare your feelings and her own embarrassment. No mother wants to see a beard on her son. Why, that mustache of Ed’s is bad enough. If he grew a beard, I’d cut him out of the will.”

  “Mom,” Ed said. “A lot of men have been growing facial hair in the last ten years or so. There’s not a thing wrong with it.”

  “Fools, all of them.” Norma shook her head. She looked at Rick and changed the subject. Again. “So, Rick, I understand you’re in Porterfield with your sister. She married that worthless Hank Romanowski? Is that right?”

  “Yes,” said Rick warily.

  “That’s a shame, just a shame.” She shook her head. “Well, I guess there are those who make those kind of mistakes. I’m sure your sister is a good woman in spite of it. I just feel bad for those poor kids. I just hope we don’t see their faces on ‘wanted’ posters in that post office of yours someday.”

  Rick put his fork down, color once again rising in his cheeks. Ed held his breath. He suspected Norma had really stepped on a landmine this time.

  “Now look here,” Rick said calmly. “If you are trying to imply that my nieces and nephew are going to turn out to be criminals because their worthless, son of a bitch of a father ran out on them, you’ve got another think coming, lady.” He glared at her. “My sister is doing her best in a bad situation, and I’m doing my best to help her raise three good kids. And they’re going to turn out just fine, if I have anything to say about it.”

  Norma drew back a bit. “Well, you don’t have to get so huffy about it.”

  “I think maybe I do,” Rick said, calm voice restored. “I’ve been doing my best to be nice, avoiding the potshots you’ve been taking at me all evening.” He looked at his plate. “I’m even eating these damned lima beans. And I hate ’em!”

  Rick glared at Norma, and she glared back at him. Finally a smile twitched at Norma’s lips. “Well,” she said. “Nothing wrong with a man standing up for his family.” She smiled full-out at Rick. “Oh, scrape those beans off your plate, Rick. For Pete’s sake, you don’t have to eat them on my account. Do you want some more potatoes?” She offered the bowl to him.

  Rick looked at her in surprise. Then he smiled as well. “Thanks. Yes, I’d like some more.”

  Ed stared at them both. I don’t believe it, he thought. I just don’t believe it. “Well,” he finally said, wracking his brain for something to say. “Think it’ll snow before Thanksgiving?”

  “O
h, Ed,” his mother scolded. “Calm down. There’s nothing wrong over here—is there, Rick?”

  “Not a thing,” Rick said, smiling back at her.

  Ed noticed the respect growing between them, and perhaps even a friendship as well.

  “Eat up, boys,” Norma commanded. “There’s certainly plenty. I like to see a man with a healthy appetite, except for that Ted Gillis who used to hang around here. That boy had a little too much appetite. What ever did happen to him? Oh, who cares. I never liked him anyway. So, you two. I suppose Rick will be moving into that house of yours, Ed. Do I need to put him on my Christmas list?”

  This time they both choked on their pork chops.

  “Mom!” Ed sputtered. “Whatever makes you say a thing like that? Geez.”

  Norma Stephens rose from the table. Hands on hips, she looked right at Ed. “Edward Stephens. You’re twenty-eight years old. You haven’t had a girlfriend since high school. I may be a big pain in your bee-hind, but I’m not stupid.” Another smile twitched her face. “Now. Who wants coffee?” she asked as she headed for the kitchen.

  Ed and Rick stared at each other across the table, open-mouthed.

  “How ’bout that,” Rick finally said, taking a sip of water. “She may be a big pain in your bee-hind, but she’s certainly full of surprises.”

  “I said, who wants coffee?” Norma barked from the kitchen.

  “I do,” Rick called back. He looked at Ed, gesturing for him to go to the kitchen.

  Ed slowly got to his feet. Feeling empty-handed, he grabbed the lima bean bowl and carried it to the kitchen.

  “I don’t want any. You know I don’t drink coffee, Mom.”

  Norma, her back to him, was plugging in her old coffeepot. “It’s about time you did,” she grumbled. “It’s time you grew up and drank what adults drink.”

  “Okay then. Pour a cup for me, too,” he said, clutching the lima bean bowl.

  She turned to look at him. “Oh, honestly. Put that bowl down somewhere before you break it.”

  Ed placed it on the counter. “I’m sorry.”

  “I know,” she said, her back to him once again.

  “You mean you know I’m sorry about the lima beans, or I’m sorry about—”

  “I know what you’re sorry about, Ed. Don’t waste your time.” She turned around to face him, a scowl on her face. “I knew this day was coming, so there’s no reason for you to get all upset.”

  Ed put one hand on the counter for support. “How’d you know, Mom?”

  Norma sighed, the scowl disappearing, replaced with a look of sadness. She put the lid back on the coffee jar, twisting it tight with great care.

  “Eddie,” she said, using his father’s name for him, “your father and I had a talk about you not long before he died. I kept wondering when you were going to find a girl and get married, and your father finally told me he didn’t think you would ever get married. I didn’t know what he meant, then he told me what he’d begun to think about you. I was furious with him for even suggesting such a thing, but he reminded me, as he always did with you kids, that it wasn’t our place to judge, but our job to stand behind you.”

  Ed clutched the counter. He felt unable to move. “You mean, Dad knew?”

  “He suspected. After I calmed down, I began to think about it, and what he also said around that time, that he didn’t care if we had any more grandchildren, as long as you were happy. He said that if you were . . . were different, his only hope was that you’d find someone who would make you happy and take care of you, so he wouldn’t have to worry about you being alone.”

  Ed felt tears come to his eyes. “Dad really said that?”

  “Yes, he did. After he died so sudden, I knew it would be up to me to face whatever happened with you.” She paused, looking at the coffee jar. “I don’t know, Ed. I was raised to believe this isn’t right, but then I look at some of the so-called righteous in this town, sinning left and right, and I remember what your father said. It’s not up to me to judge. I just need to be your mother and support you. That’s what your father would do if he was here. And I’ve no doubt that he would like Rick. A part of me wants to throw him out of the house, but another part of me wants to thank him, because it looks like he’s making you happy.”

  “He is, Mom,” Ed whispered.

  Norma opened a cabinet door to put away the coffee jar. “I’m still not quite comfortable with this, you know. I can only imagine what some people in this town would say, but I guess they don’t have to know what’s what. But I’m your mother, and you’re my son. Despite what I might say, you’re a good son, and you always have been. If this is what you want, I’ll stand by you.

  “That Rick better watch his step, though,” she added, sounding more like herself. “I’ll be watching him!”

  Ed felt relieved laughter bubbling up in his chest. “Oh, I think he knows that, Mom, believe me.”

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake, get out my kitchen,” she barked. “You know I can’t stand to see a grown man cry. Go tell Rick his coffee will be ready in a minute. And, Ed, you don’t have to drink any if you don’t want to.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” he said, looking at her through blurry eyes.

  * * * * *

  Norma walked them both to the door an hour later. “Shoo, shoo.” She waved her hands toward the door. “I might as well turn on the TV and see who’s on that fool love boat this week.”

  Rick paused in putting on his jacket. “Thanks again, Norma. I really enjoyed it, even the lima beans.” He laughed, but then added solemnly, “I want you to know I care about your son very much, and I’ll do whatever I need to make sure he, and you, both know that.”

  Ed blushed bright red, wondering how Norma would react to that. “Aw, Rick.”

  “Oh, hush up, Ed,” Norma commanded. “He’s just saying what any good potential son-in-law would say.” She shook her head. “Another son-in-law. And with a beard, too! Your father may not be turning in his grave, but the ground where mine’ll be is churning. Oh, well. At least I’ve got someone else to cook for now.”

  “You can cook for me anytime, Norma,” Rick said, his “warm and tender special” on his face.

  Ed looked at them both, wondering just who was in charge of miracles and why they’d screwed up and given him two in such a short period of time. Whoever it was, he thought, he owed them one hell of a thank-you note.

  Chapter Ten

  Ed was riding the Ferris wheel at the Stratton County fair, although the fair seemed to be taking place in his backyard instead of the fairgrounds. A cotton candy stand was near the garage, and his oak tree had been replaced by the Rock-o-Planes. He thought about going on the Rock-o-Planes, but it appeared people were falling out when the egg-shaped cars flipped upside down. He thought he saw his mother pitching hoops at the cigarette game, and his dad was eating a foot-long hotdog, talking with Don Hoffmeyer, the Porterfield postmaster.

  He looked for Rick, but didn’t see him. Suddenly his dad appeared on the Ferris wheel, in the seat above him, shouting to get his attention. He told Ed he had been talking to Don, and Don had told him Rick was going to Bulgaria as part of a postal exchange program behind the Iron Curtain.

  “Does that mean I get a Bulgarian boyfriend?” Ed hollered up at him, but his dad opened his seat’s safety bar, then climbed down the side of the wheel to finish his conversation with Don.

  Ed shouted at the ride operator that he wanted to get off, but the ride guy said he couldn’t find Ed’s ticket. The wheel began to revolve, and Ed thought he saw Rick standing in line for the Octopus, but it turned out to be Kenny Rogers singing “Lady.” Ed, blinking in surprise, suddenly found himself in his bedroom, looking at his chest of drawers, while Kenny Rogers blared from the clock radio.

  “Geez,” Ed muttered, reaching out to silence Kenny. He shook his head, trying to shake the remnants of the dream out of his head. “Dr. Freud, wherever you are, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know what that was all about.”

&
nbsp; He yawned, scratching his head. “What a way to start the day.” He pushed back the covers. “Kenny Rogers instead of Rick. Yuck.”

  It was the Tuesday after Thanksgiving, and he had set the alarm to remind himself to stop by Hilda Penfield’s before his usual Tuesday morning with Mrs. Heston. Mrs. Penfield had called late the night before, apologizing for bothering him, but she had a bit of a problem with her refrigerator, and could he come take a look at it?

  Ed sighed his way through breakfast, groaned and cussed in the shower, and scowled at his face while shaving. He was in a piss-poor mood and wanted to get the worst of it out before he saw anyone. He knew what the trouble was. He was going through Rick withdrawal.

  He had intended to spend Thanksgiving being properly grateful for his recent blessings, but the Fates that had been so kind recently seemed to withdraw their support. While Rick had spent the holiday in Indianapolis with his parents, Claire, and her children, Ed passed a dull and rather uncomfortable afternoon at Laurie’s, keeping an eye on his mother and making feeble attempts at conversation with Todd’s parents and younger brother. Norma had little use for Eunice Ames, Todd’s mother, who had subtly inferred on past occasions that she felt her son had married beneath his social station. Ed didn’t much like her either, but at Laurie’s anxious request, he’d done his best to run interference between the two women while the other men watched football.

  The rest of the weekend had been equally uninspiring. Rick, with no seniority at the post office, had to work Friday and Saturday, and the time they could have spent together was preempted by plans made before they met each other, including another round trip to Indianapolis for Rick to attend a holiday party with his parents, and Ed’s job to act as chauffeur for Mrs. Heston, who was visiting family in South Bend. When Rick was available, he was tired from work and driving and wanted little more than uninterrupted sleep. Ed had understood, but pessimistically wondered if a pattern was being set for the holidays to come.