Jerkwater

by Jamie Zerndt

  “That’s nice of you, Marty, but I’m okay. Do you know where Douglas went by any chance?”

  “He didn’t say.” Marty paused, like he was debating whether or not to say something. Then, “I’m pretty sure it has something to do with a girl. He tends to get secretive when he’s seeing someone. Don’t ask me why. It’s not like anybody cares.”

  “Any guesses as to who?”

  Marty shrugged. “Couldn’t really say. I haven’t been getting out all that much lately.”

  Kay knew that Marty’s own father had abandoned him at a fairly young age. She’d heard about it from Douglas mostly, although she still didn’t know all that much about it. And she knew that his father’s absence was in no small way responsible for the bond he’d developed with her husband. Norm had given him the job, mentored him, so to speak. And she knew Marty had never forgotten that. She looked at Marty now, at his torn flannel, the smudges of grease along his cheek, and she saw pain. Kindness and pain and loss. She recognized this so clearly because it was how she felt, too. “You’re a good kid, Marty. You know that, right? Norm thought the world of you.”

  Marty nodded, looked away the way men will do when they’re trying not to get emotional. “I miss him,” he said, staring at some tools hanging from a pegboard over the workbench. There were mason jars filled with nuts and bolts and washers, their lids bolted to the underside of the shelf because that was Norm. “I like being here, though. At the shop, I mean. It’s almost like he’s still here.”

  Kay was going to tell him that she understood. She was going to tell him about how she talked to Norm sometimes at home, that she was glad the shop was that kind of place for him, but the phone in the office started ringing and Marty left to answer it. Which, for a few moments anyway, left Kay alone in the shop to stare blankly at the wall of tools. It reminded her of an article she’d read once where Julia Child was explaining the best way to organize a kitchen. This, in a way, had been Norm’s kitchen. There was even a soup-ladle-looking thing. And beside that some whisk-like something or other. She squinted her eyes so the tools blurred and blended together, the workbench transforming into the dirty Parisian kitchen of an absent chef. Even the deep smell of gasoline and WD40 now seemed like the workings of some mysterious broth brewing just out of sight. Kay stopped squinting, though, when she noticed something square and shiny on the top shelf.

  “Sorry about that,” Marty said from behind her, startling her. “Mrs. Cummings can’t get her car started again. Doesn’t want to pay for another tow either.”

  “Can’t really blame her. You going to go get it?”

  “Yeah, but not until later. She can wait.”

  Kay looked up at the hanging utensils again. “Do you know what that silver box is?”

  “That? Not sure. It’s just sort of always been there.” Marty, without Kay having to ask, placed a stool in front of the workbench and climbed up. After wrestling the box out from under some old withered boxes and wiping some dust off, he handed it to Kay. “I bet it’s sandpaper. He was always complaining about the sandpaper getting oily. He kept things like that in weird places, so Douglas and I couldn’t get at them.”

  There was no handle to the box, no markings at all. Even the hinges seemed to blend in so as to be barely noticeable.

  “Are we not opening it for some reason?”

  Kay turned the box around so the tiny keyhole was facing Marty. “Not unless you have a key.”

  Marty looked at the box, then at the keys he kept on an old carabiner clipped to his jeans. “Hmm, I don’t have anything that small. Douglas has Norm’s old set of keys on him, I think. You could try those once he gets back.”

  “We’ll see. It’s probably just sandpaper like you said. I’ll take it with me, though, just in case.”

  “If it’s filled with gold you’ll let me know, right? I could use a new sled.”

  “You’ll be the first I call if I find any lightweight gold. I promise, Marty.”

  Back home, Kay set the silver box on the kitchen table and took the key from her coat pocket. It fit perfectly and when she turned it, the box made a little clicking sound before the top popped open. There was a messy stack of papers inside with an old photo sitting on top. The photo was the kind from her childhood with the white border along the outside, square, the size of the sticky notes she used for grocery lists. And there was Norm, standing outside the Louvre in his uniform, his hand wrapped around the waist of a woman. For a second, because of the black hair the woman had, Kay thought maybe it was her, that she had forgotten what she once looked like as a young woman. But it wasn’t her. And even though the woman wasn’t smiling, she seemed immeasurably happy. It was almost as if she were staring right at Kay, knowing someday she’d find her there, waiting, inside this stupid box.

  Kay’s hand was trembling. She went to the sink and rinsed out a glass. When she went to twist the cubes from the ice tray, the plastic cracked in a sharp, jagged line. That had never happened before, not once in thousands of ice cubes over the years. She dumped the cubes into the glass, pouring the whiskey in first, measuring it out like she used to do Norm’s. Then the sweet vermouth. She was all out of bitters. She didn’t care about bitters, though. She had enough bitters. Kay fished out a maraschino cherry from the jar and dropped it in the glass, using her finger to stir. Norm used to give Douglas a cherry now and then after he’d finished his drink. It used to bother her, but she’d never said anything. A lot used to bother Kay that she never said anything about.

  She sat back down at the table and stared at the box and drank. She could lock it back up and swallow the key. One big gulp of her drink and it would be down the gullet. But then there’d be the bathroom to worry about later. It was a small key but not that small. She remembered the time Douglas swallowed a penny as a boy. He had been tilting his head back, balancing it on his nose when it slid down into his open mouth, and he accidentally gulped it down. At the time Kay hadn’t known how serious a swallowed penny was and when Douglas had seen the look of horror on her face he immediately started screaming. She drove Douglas to the hospital where they took some x-rays. The relief she’d felt when she saw that white circle resting in his stomach and not somewhere up near his sternum was enough to bring tears of relief. Which, of course, made poor Douglas think something was terribly wrong and so he’d started crying again. It was almost as if there were a direct conduit running between the two of them. Her happiness was his happiness, her pain, his pain, and so on. But things weren’t like that anymore. Christ, she didn’t even know where he was at the moment. Kay twisted the key in the lock absently. What if they were love letters to this woman in the photo? What if he’d had some secret life all this time she didn’t know about? The lake. She could toss the key in the lake. She could toss the entire box in the lake and keep the key. She took another drink and felt the box softening at the edges, fading a little like the image in the old photo. That’s when she got the nerve up to pull out the stack of papers and read the first poem.

  My Heart Is Not a Flame

  And you are not water

  Or gasoline

  My heart is the branch

  Of a dark tree

  A child’s legs cycling

  In the air like a sheet billowing

  From an old clothesline

  The Mercer sun fading the two of us

  Second by wonderful

  Second

  Somewhere halfway into her fourteenth poem and her third Manhattan it started to rain. Kay wanted to go for a walk. How the idea got into her head, she wasn’t exactly sure. But, once it had, it had taken root. She put on her Sorrels and her jacket, then remembered the raincoat Norm had gotten her that she’d never worn. It was one of those you could fold up to the size of a napkin and pack in a survival kit. Norm was always buying ridiculous things like that for her. She was certain there was a bunch of rich, old men living in mansions
behind security gates somewhere who had made a fortune off selling these things to people like her husband. But, seeing as she couldn’t find her real raincoat, Kay opted to drape the thin silver sheet around herself which, with the hood up, made her look like a walking bowl of Jiffy Pop.

  Before heading outside, Kay made sure to pour the remainder of her Manhattan into the flask Norm thought he’d been hiding behind the cushion of the couch. There was still some whiskey left in it which tasted like fire. And fire was how she felt. Her head was one giant flame. And my brain is the popcorn, she muttered to herself and laughed as she went out the back door and into the rain. All those little and not-so-little aches and pains that followed her around during the day like needy children were gone now. She was free, if only temporarily. She patted the flask in her pocket as she walked. It was like a little portable gas tank. Maybe she’d walk down to the flowage area. It was one of the places she and Douglas used to go together, back when he’d go on walks with her and they’d talk. She’d have to ask him to go on another with her. He was getting farther and farther away from her. Which was as it should be, but that didn’t mean she had to like it much. She hoped he had a girlfriend, someone to talk to about his father. What was that old saying about two divorced people trying to date? Like two burn victims trying to hug. That’s what she and Douglas were now. Two burn victims.

  As she passed by Shawna’s place, Kay saw Seven out in his pen, his great head lifting and snorting as she came into view. Kay walked right up to him so her face was even with his. She wasn’t afraid now. Which was either due to her getting used to the horse or the whiskey burning in her belly. Either way, she reached out now and placed her hand on his nose the way she’d seen Shawna do. When the horse didn’t startle, Kay eyed the house, noting that there were no cars in the driveway, no lights on. She lifted the latch on the gate and entered the pen, Seven side-stepping a little as she did. Want to go for a walk? Want an old lady on your back? Seven snorted and pawed at the ground a little. I’ll take that as a yes. Okay, okay, hold your horses. Let me see if I can manage this somehow. Kay grabbed the plastic chair from outside the pen and set it as close to the horse as she could. That’s it. C’mon now. You just stand put, and I’ll climb up here and... Seven seemed both to understand what Kay was going to attempt and that it was a horrible idea, but he remained in place as she climbed up onto the chair and placed a hand on his mane and the other on his bare back. Do you believe in God, Seven? Do animals believe in God? Is there some kind of horse God? Or is that a stupid idea? Kay noted the flare of Seven’s nostrils, the slight bulge in his eyes. She gave a pat to the flask in her jacket and then, as delicately as she could, laid herself across Seven’s back while sliding her leg over. As she did this, the chair gave way, toppling into the mud below, which caused Seven to whinny and sidestep. Am I too heavy for you? Seven, as if to answer her question, took a few graceful steps around the pen once she righted herself. Good. Good boy. Now that we’ve got that settled, have you even been to church? No? Well, you’re aren’t missing out on much. Maybe some toes. Do you like toes? Me neither. Not God’s best design if you ask me. But then you know all about that. Kay gripped Seven’s mane and gave a kick to his side like she’d seen Shawna do. The horse snorted and made his way through the gate and a few seconds later, Kay found herself heading down her street in the rain, drunk, on the back of a horse.

  Chapter Nine:

  Paris

  Douglas had been working on a new sketch to show Jenna when Marty called. “What, the liquor store closed?”

  “You need to meet me at the church as soon as you can. I need some help getting your mom and this horse back home.”

  “Horse? You sure you aren’t drunk?”

  “Sober as a church mouse. Just get here.”

  When Douglas got to the church, Kay was still sitting on top of Seven, though it looked like at any moment she was going to topple off.

  “Mom? You okay?”

  “Dougie? Oh, thank God. Will you please tell this young man that I’m perfectly capable of finding my way around Paris on my own and that I don’t need a chaperone.”

  Douglas had seen his mom drunk before, but this wasn’t that. She sounded like a different person. Deciding to ignore the Paris comment for the time being, Douglas slowly approached the horse and rider like one might a potential bridge-jumper.

  “Marty’s just trying to help. You know Marty. Do you think you might want to come down off the horse so we can get you home?”

  He’d hoped mentioning Marty by name might help bring her around a bit, but no such luck. “I have to get to the Louvre. I’m meeting my Norman there.”

  Douglas and Marty exchanged glances. There was no amount of liquor in the world that could turn Mercer into Paris. “I’m afraid the Louvre is closed for the day. You could always go in the morning. I’m sure Norman will understand.”

  Seven seemed to be getting tired of the situation, too, moving sideways as he was now.

  “It can’t be closed. I’m sorry, but I don’t believe you. I have to go now. Thank you for the concern, both of you, but true love waits for no woman.”

  With that, Kay gave a stern kick to Seven’s side, but the horse, again seeming to sense that something wasn’t right, refused to do anything more than turn around in a circle. Kay tried once more, using both feet this time, and Seven promptly spun back around in the other direction. “The museum isn’t far from here. If this horse won’t cooperate, I suppose I’ll just have to walk.”

  Douglas felt his stomach drop as he watched his mom lean back and swing her leg over. Predictably, she over-swung and her butt came sliding off, slamming her down right into Marty’s arms, toppling them both onto the pavement.

  “Whoa there, big guy,” Douglas said to Seven, trying to keep him from bolting. “We just want to get you back home.” But Seven wasn’t paying much attention to Douglas. He had started to back away from their sorry group, toward the steps of the church.

  Once Kay got to her feet, she and Marty both seeming to have escaped the fall without major injuries, she approached the horse as matter-of-factly as one might a small dog. “What’s the matter, sweetie? You hungry? Want another croissant?”

  Douglas and Marty again exchanged glances. The closest croissants Douglas knew of were at the Burger King about forty miles from town. “Shouldn’t we put a rope around him or something?”

  “He wouldn’t like a rope,” Kay said. “Would you like a rope around your neck?”

  Right about now? Yeah, that actually doesn’t sound too bad.

  “You have anything in your truck, Marty?”

  “I might. Let me see.”

  While they waited, Kay cooed to the horse in something that sounded like made-up French. Douglas didn’t know a whole lot of French, so he couldn’t be sure.

  “Zere, zere, mon ami. Pelu pelu a fromage. Oui? Oui. Come tale zoo? Merde, merde, merde. Zha ten. Oooo la la.”

  Marty returned holding a yellow tie-down that he’d made a sort of noose with by cinching it at the ratchet. “What do you think?”

  Douglas was surprised he didn’t suggest using the winch on the back of his truck. “I think that’ll strangle him.”

  Marty pulled it taut, the noose closing in on itself. “We could use the other end.”

  The other end wasn’t much better, with its rubber-coated grapple hook, but there weren’t any other options.

  “Go ahead then,” Marty said, handing it to Douglas.

  “Me? I don’t know anything about horses.”

  “And I do?”

  Douglas let the tie-down hang by his side as he approached Seven. His mom was still mumbling French gibberish as she stroked the horse’s neck.

  “Par lay do zhan-may a vec mwha.”

  All Douglas could think about was how he was going to explain this to Shawna. Would she even believe him? Maybe best just to leav
e the French stuff out. “Mom, do you think you might be able to put this around his neck? So I can walk him home?”

  Douglas held the tie-down out to her, but his mom just stared at it with this lost look on her face. “I’m sorry, but I have a date.” She then started to walk off like she’d forgotten about the horse altogether, which seemed to be enough to break whatever invisible thing was holding them all there together. Seven shook his head from side to side, then, without much hurry, trotted off toward the church and down a path before disappearing into the woods.

  “Welp,” Kay said, stopping and digging a flask out from her jacket pocket. “I guess that’s that.”

  “Whoa there.” Marty eased the flask from her hand before she could manage a drink. “That’s not going to help anything. Trust me, I know.”

  Kay looked Marty up and down and, somewhat haughtily, said, “I don’t doubt that you do.” Which Douglas somewhat loved. “I don’t suppose you’d mind dropping me off at the Louvre since my friend has apparently abandoned me on the church steps.”

  Not one part of Douglas liked playing along with whatever this was, but if he wanted to get his mom safely back home, he didn’t have much choice. “I can take you there. Ready to go then?”

  “I just don’t know what would happen if I didn’t make it. I’d probably break the poor man’s heart. He was a soldier in the war, you know, and has a very fragile heart because of it. That’s what makes him such a wonderful poet. We’re planning on settling down in Paris one day.”

  “He’s a lucky man,” Marty said and opened the door as Kay lifted up her silver raincoat like the hem of a dress and climbed in. Marty followed after, sitting as close to the passenger-side door as possible. Douglas had planned on keeping quiet until they got her safely back home, but then, just as they made it out onto the main road, he heard a long, somewhat tortured, “Ohhhhh...” It reminded him of how sometimes people in movies will wake up and groan after they’ve been knocked out with the butt of a pistol.