by Sandi Ward
“Oooh,” Karen coos, tipping her head so her ponytail falls to one side. “You’re so cute, Charlie.”
Hmm. “Cute” is not the word I had in mind.
Fearsome, perhaps. Charlie looks ready to scare off predators. Like a deranged human. Or a fierce raccoon.
“Wow,” Candice gushes, taking a photo with her phone. “You look hot. I’m putting this online.”
“Wait,” Charlie jumps in. “I haven’t even seen it yet.”
He is too nervous to look into the mirror. The girls push and prod him until he finally does. When he looks at his reflection, Charlie turns his head left and right, and laughs heartily. He tells them he loves it, that they did a great job, and the girls beam with pride.
“Do you really like it?”
“Yeah. Thanks.” He reaches up and gently moves a strand of his hair out of his eyes. “It’s cool.”
Candice unplugs a cord from the wall. “Now you owe us big time. I want snacks.”
“Can we order a pizza?” Karen asks.
“Sure. You guys got any money with you? Maybe we could all chip in. Or maybe my mom will buy it for us. I’ll ask her.”
The three leave everything where it is, tools strewn about the bathroom. A burning smell hovers in the air from the small machines they’ve been using, but they don’t seem worried about it, and hustle down the stairs. I decide to follow.
I can tell Charlie feels carefree tonight. He offers his friends a drink and they start to make popcorn in the microwave. It makes a terrible racket as it cooks. The scent of butter soon fills the kitchen.
There is a knock at the front door, and I run to see who it is. Gretel has beat me to the door, her tail wagging forcefully.
Dad enters, wiping his feet on the mat. He wears a light coat. It has cooled off a little since the sun has started to set. He seems distracted, his eyes moving although he doesn’t focus on anything. Even when he reaches down to pet Gretel, he doesn’t say anything, and barely looks at her.
When Mom appears at the top of the stairs, he slowly turns his head toward her. Dad’s eyes relax, as if he suddenly recognizes an old friend.
“I’m sorry about the confusion this weekend,” she says. “Everyone is just so busy.”
“It’s okay.” Dad shrugs. “I like it when everyone can come, but . . .” He looks away, down at the floor.
Mom lingers at the bottom of the stairs, her hand on the bannister. “Kevin will be down in a minute.”
“Did Victoria already leave?”
“Yes. Aidan drove her to a party. I guess they probably went to get a bite to eat first.”
Dad’s eyes narrow. “That kid has his driver’s license now?”
Mom nods.
“Great.” His mouth screws up in frustration. Aidan started coming around the house right about the time Dad moved out. I don’t think Dad likes Aidan very much, although I have never heard him say so out loud.
There is a pause. We hear laughter from the kitchen.
“Charlie has some friends over,” Mom explains.
Dad takes in a deep breath. “You doing okay?”
But there is no time for Mom to respond, because Charlie’s friend Karen suddenly appears at the end of the hall and walks toward them. I can see the curiosity on her face. Although Karen has been Charlie’s best friend for a few years, I don’t think she has ever met Dad before. Dad has always worked long hours, and he keeps to himself. When Dad looks up, he freezes.
“Hi,” he says tentatively. “I’m Mr. Anderson. Are you one of Charlie’s friends?”
“Yes, I’m Karen,” she answers brightly. There is a pause where no one speaks, and Karen’s smile fades a bit. “We were going to order pizza.”
When Karen glances back to see what is holding up her friends, I watch Dad give Karen the once-over, checking her out from head to toe. Karen turns back, and his face softens. “So, you guys are hanging out tonight?” He sounds hopeful.
I suppose Dad might think that Karen could be why Charlie decided not to go with him this weekend. Dad might think that hanging out with Karen is a very good excuse for his son to stay home. Charlie is, after all, at the age where he might want to attract a mate, and perhaps Dad thinks Karen would be a good choice.
I agree with Dad. Karen makes Charlie very happy. They are only friends at this point, but Charlie is still very young. I think that soon he will start to look at her in a different way.
It hasn’t happened yet. But it will, any day now. I am sure of it.
Just then Charlie comes down the hall with Candice, both talking loudly. Candice holds a big red bowl, full of the popcorn they made.
I watch, hoping they spill a few kernels. I love playing with popcorn that people drop on the floor. It’s so light and fluffy and fun.
“Dad,” Charlie exclaims. His eyes open wide. The two make eye contact.
Dad does a double take. And then squints, as if he has no idea who this young man is.
“What . . . ?” Dad stops himself. And then seems to have no idea what to say.
Why are you surprised? They were just playing around. You know Charlie likes to dress up. The girls had fun drawing on Charlie. It’s not a big deal.
Charlie has clear green eyes. Just like his dad. They flutter when he blinks.
“Uhhh, Dad.” I can almost feel Charlie’s heart start racing from where I sit. His face goes pale, and he puts his head down. But there is nowhere to hide. “We were just going up to my room.”
It seems unfair. Just moments ago, Charlie was happy. And now, he’s miserable again.
“Hi,” Candice says, with a friendly smile. “Nice to meet you.” She holds the bowl with one arm and sticks out her other to shake Dad’s hand.
It’s enough of a diversion that Charlie slips past his parents and starts climbing the stairs to where Karen is waiting. “Bye, Dad,” Charlie calls quickly over his shoulder. He sounds tense. Karen puts a hand on Charlie’s back and they keep walking up the stairs.
Candice smiles at Dad again, and follows her friends.
Dad doesn’t say a word. Or smile back. He just watches.
He keeps his eyes on the stairs long after the kids are gone. Looking worried. “Is Charlie doing okay?” he whispers to Mom.
Mom nods. “Yes. He had a better week.” She sighs. “He stayed in school every day, as far as I know.”
Dad puts his hands in the pockets of his jacket and bites his lip, as if trying to solve a puzzle. “He’s hanging around with good kids, though, right? These girls seem okay.”
“Well, it’s usually just Karen. But she’s always great with him.”
Gretel gets up on all four paws, turns around, and then sits back down. She’s aching for attention. But she will have to wait.
Mom puts her hand on Dad’s arm. “How are you doing?” The way her eyes search his face, I know she really wants to know.
Dad is just about to answer her, but then Kevin comes hustling down the stairs, duffel bag slung over his back. “Oh my God,” he gushes. “I just saw Charlie.” When he reaches the bottom of the stairs, he looks from parent to parent. “What is that crap all over his face? I didn’t know he was doing that. I can talk to him about it. I mean, I guess as long as he’s just staying in the house tonight it’s okay, but can you imagine if he went out like that—?”
“Don’t.” Mom reaches out to hug Kevin, and gives him a squeeze. “Leave him alone. It’s fine. He’s fine.”
“Go put your stuff in the car,” Dad says. “Say good-bye to Gretel.”
Once Kevin has pet Gretel and gone out the door, Dad looks down at Mom, and takes the tips of her fingers in his hand. She lets him do this for a moment. Her eyes close briefly, and she looks tired.
“Kate. I don’t know if Charlie . . .” He takes a quick glance up at the top of the stairs, but the kids have disappeared into Charlie’s bedroom and shut the door. “I should’ve said something when he came down the hall. I should have told him it’s okay. He needs me here. I wa
nt to come home.”
Dad does not sound like he is begging. He is just stating a simple fact.
And I realize, once the words come out of his mouth, that I want Dad to come home too. I believe it’s the right time.
I know that Dad and Charlie might not be getting along as well as they should. But that is not a good enough reason to hope that Dad never returns. I have always felt, in my heart, that Dad and Charlie will reconcile one day.
I think they will say quiet words of peace. And they will embrace.
It will be a satisfying day. No one will be happier than me!
Mom looks away, down at the floor, and I imagine there are things she could reply to Dad’s request, but she is biting her tongue. There is a long pause, too long perhaps, and Dad pulls his hand away.
Mom crosses her arms, and hugs herself tightly. “You know what needs to happen if you want to come home.”
I walk over to Mom and rub hard against her leg. No, no, no, I try to communicate to her. I smash my face into her calf to try and get her attention. Just tell him it’s okay for him to come home. Don’t make demands.
I know what “needs to happen.” Dad must promise to stop drinking. I tip my head to look up at Dad. I guess he must also know what Mom is talking about, because he doesn’t ask what she means. He only stares down at his shoes. Then he closes his eyes and rubs his forehead, as if she’s giving him a headache.
“I can’t—” He stops himself. Apparently, that’s all he can say. “Kate. You know I can’t.”
“Jeremy,” she says quietly. She scrunches up her nose, and I know she is fighting off tears. “You mean you don’t want to. I thought that once you’d moved out, and saw how serious I was, you’d change your mind. But obviously your mind is made up, which I find very sad.”
Dad opens his mouth, but then shuts it.
He nods and walks out the door. Dad doesn’t bother to look back.
I feel more and more disappointed every time Dad comes and goes. It makes my heart hurt. And I suspect it makes Mom’s heart hurt too. I slink off to hide under a chair and think about it.
Chapter 7
Making a Terrible Mess
On the day Dad is supposed to bring Kevin home, Mom gets up early and goes for a long walk. She takes Gretel with her, since Gretel needs the exercise. I wait for Mom under my favorite holly bush, near the driveway. The day warms up as the sun moves higher in the sky.
I don’t “walk” with humans. I’m never on a leash. I don’t understand why Gretel enjoys it so much. It seems like torture.
I suppose Gretel is proud to be paraded around with her human. She trots alongside Mom, growling at other dogs and keeping a close eye on cars and people. I don’t know what the point is of getting so worked up.
Dogs are strange.
There is a dense fog rolling in off the river. It makes it hard for me to watch the birds. Our spring can be cold and wet, not my favorite type of weather. But I enjoy the tremendous explosion of birds returning to the area. They are hungry, which makes them foolish. The birds take unnecessary risks, which makes them easier to catch.
I kill a small bird and leave it at the back door. I don’t wait around for praise. An experienced hunter does her job and doesn’t require thanks. I just leave it as a surprise for my humans to stumble upon later. I hope they know it is a token of my devotion.
When Mom gets back, the salty aroma of the river has seeped into her skin. I smell it when she bends to pet me in the driveway. “Hi, Lily,” she coos, her mouth puckered as she makes kissing sounds at me.
Kiss, kiss to you too!
I follow her inside. I settle down for a nap as Mom runs out to do her errands and takes Charlie and Victoria with her.
* * *
When I hear a key in the lock of the front door and Gretel lifts her head, I realize we’re going to get a chance to see the new man again. How unexpected! I had no idea he was coming over today.
There is something about him that I like. It’s hard to pin down what it is exactly. Maybe it’s because he is relaxed, and everyone in our house seems tense most of the time.
Vincent and the new man let themselves in the house, already in conversation, laughing at something. I watch from upstairs, through the rails of the balcony. I keep one ear open and listen as they go to study at the back of the house, talking the whole time.
But almost immediately I hear Vincent’s phone jingle, and after he takes the call, he hurries back out the front door. I run down the stairs so I can look out the big picture window. I see Vincent walking down the street, headed toward home. I hope it is not more bad news.
The new man stays behind. I hear him go out to the garage through the kitchen.
A little while later, I hear a horrific grinding sound. I head back toward the kitchen to see if I can figure out what’s going on. I’m puzzled.
The high-pitched buzzing continues, coming from the garage. It makes Gretel pace with anxiety. Finally, the man comes in from the garage and stands there, his head tipped, staring at the back wall of the study. Gretel sits right behind him, as if she’s waiting to assist him in some way. I jump up to the couch, and the man turns his head.
“Hey, gorgeous,” he says to me.
I stare at him. Gorgeous? I know what that means.
Hello, yourself.
I flick my big bushy tail because I love praise. And I can be a bit of a show-off sometimes.
He folds his arms and frowns. “Don’t look at me like that, sweetheart. I’m doing the best I can. I’ll figure it out. Eventually.”
Does he think I look skeptical?
Hmm. Perhaps I am skeptical. I don’t see any evidence of work being done, and this man always seems slightly confused.
This time, when the man goes out to the garage, I follow. Ah! The fine dust in the air and on the floor smells sharp, and makes me sneeze. It feels strange and soft under my paw pads. What a huge mess the man has made already!
There are two sawhorses set up in the garage, supporting a long board that has been set across them. More boards, of uneven lengths, lie on the floor. I see a machine with a long cord sitting on the cement floor. The man picks this up with both hands.
He sighs when he sees me. “I know what you’re thinking. I’ll get the hang of it.”
Will you, though? This doesn’t seem to be going very well, my friend.
The droning of the saw is piercing to my ears when he turns it on. Since the garage doors are wide open, I scamper out into the yard. I duck under my favorite bush as the machine whirs on and off.
He works for a few minutes, and I watch the birds flying in flocks overhead. But then—a strange noise catches my attention. I know that sound. It is a human sound. The man has growled in pain.
I look to see he is holding his hand and inspecting it. Perhaps he has cut himself on the blade. I step silently forward to take a look.
Sure enough, when he lifts his hand, I see a bright red scar across the palm of his hand. He is injured. The cut is bleeding.
The man looks around our garage and shakes his head. He glances at the door to the house, perhaps unsure if he should try to clean his wound in our kitchen. But, of course, he doesn’t know where we keep our bandages.
He finally decides to leave, I assume to take care of his injury at home. When he lets go of his hand to punch buttons on the side of the garage and lower the doors, I see drops of blood roll down the side of his hand and fall onto the driveway. The palm of his opposite hand is smeared red from trying to stop the bleeding. He gets in his truck, wincing, and drives away.
Finally I see Mom’s car coming down the street. I sit under my bush and wait.
Mom parks in the driveway. The garage doors glide up as she approaches, as if the doors know she is coming.
I’ve never figured out how those doors know when to open as she drives up.
It’s a mystery.
She slams the car door shut, staring at the inside of the garage. Her jaw drops as she survey
s the scene: tools everywhere. And, of course, there is the sawdust. It has settled like a fine powder on the rake, the bikes, the snow sleds, the trash can—on everything.
Charlie looks around. Victoria appears confused.
Mom turns, as there is the roar of another car pulling into the driveway. It lurches to a stop, and the engine turns off. Kevin gets out of the driver’s seat, dragging his duffel bag after him. Dad climbs out of the passenger side, and he walks right up to the garage, hands on his hips.
Dad surveys the scene. “Jesus. There is shit everywhere.”
Mom frowns. I don’t know if she is angry at the mess or at Dad’s cursing. Probably both.
Mom doesn’t like it when Dad “uses the Lord’s name in vain” and “swears like a Gloucester fisherman.” Both of which I believe he has just done.
Mom doesn’t approve of cursing. She once said that swearing means the speaker is too lazy to find better words. Mom makes the children put a coin in a jar in the kitchen if she hears them say certain words. She doesn’t demand that Dad do the same, although he swears more than anyone else.
I suppose that also makes him the laziest, in Mom’s eyes.
Kevin stands right next to his Dad, and also puts his hands on his hips, mimicking his father’s body language. “This is Vincent’s stuff,” he says slowly, as if trying to solve a puzzle.
“Who’s Vincent?” Dad demands, eyes narrowing. He never did pay much attention to Mom’s friends.
“He’s the guy . . .” Kevin trails off. His eyes dart right and left. I’m not sure he knows how to define Vincent. I also suspect he’s trying to figure out how to explain it in a way that will not upset Dad. “You know, the guy who fixes and builds stuff for us. The construction guy.”
“Well, he’s doing a crap job of it.” Dad turns to Mom. “Do you want me to talk to him for you?”
“No. He’s a friend of mine.” She is firm about this. “Don’t you remember? He’s our neighbor. No. Just—Please, no.”
Dad throws his hand out toward the tools, glaring at Mom like he’s about to explode. “THIS IS A MESS.”
Kevin takes a step forward so he’s standing between his parents. He’s the same height as Dad, and stares him down, eye to eye. “Dad. Shut the hell up. Just knock it off.”
