The Dominant Hand

by Charles Martin

  “How can you do that and not pass out?” Ashley asked, as she walked by and brushed her fingers on his toes.

  “Ah!” he said, flinching away and tumbling down onto the textured carpet.

  Ashley smiled as she made her way to the kitchen. She started on the coffee first. She sniffed at the bag of coffee beans, and then poured them into the grinder.

  “Do you want some pancakes, hon?” she called back to Sean.

  “Yeah, did you have fun last night?”

  “Not really. How was your night?”

  “It was okay,” he responded, his voice distant.

  She finished pouring water into the coffee maker, put in the coffee grains and clicked it on. She then walked back out into the living room.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” Sean said, pushing himself up to his feet and walking to her. Ashley could tell by the tone of his voice, the turn of his face and the droop of his shoulders that he’d done something stupid.

  “I found this box in your bedroom,” Sean said, freezing the blood in Ashley’s veins. She’d thought she’d cleaned all that out when she went clean, but maybe she had missed something.

  “I sold it to this guy.”

  Ashley’s face paled and she began to perspire.

  “Um,” she began. “What did the box look like?”

  “It was this little blue box; it was way back in your closet,” Sean said.

  “Oh,” Ashley sighed, relief rushing through her body. “Okay. A little, blue box, huh? I don’t remember having a box like that. What was in it?”

  “A razor blade.”

  Ashley’s relief vanished and her eyes widened. She ran upstairs to the bedroom. She threw open the closet door, crawled deep into the closet and grabbed a wooden box. It had been opened and the blue box she’d forgotten about containing the razor she’d never wanted was gone.

  A heaving cry tumbled out of her. She was panicking; she’d never thought Sean would look through there. Rage started to boil in her stomach, but she stifled it.

  “He didn’t know,” she repeated to herself over and over again until her face paled.

  She punched the carpet three times and took a few deep breathes.

  “It was my fault,” she murmured.

  She stood up, went to the bathroom and sat on the toilet with her head in her hands.

  “Okay.”

  She stood, checked herself in the mirror and then walked back downstairs where Sean was staring up at her, crying silently.

  “I’m sorry,” he warbled.

  “It’s okay,” she answered, stiffly. She reached down to give him a hug. There wasn’t much warmth in the hug, though; cold was the best she could manage at this point.

  “Thank you for telling me the truth,” she whispered. “Who bought it?”

  “It was this guy.”

  “Describe him.”

  Sean snorted as he began to dissolve into a crying mess. He controlled himself, wiped his nose with his shirt.

  “He wasn’t very old, maybe in college,” Sean said. “He was really dirty and smelled weird. He wore a dress.”

  Ashley’s head sank as she cursed under her breath.

  “Was it a kilt?” she asked. “Like what those guys at the Medieval Fair in Norman were wearing?”

  “Um, yeah, I guess.”

  Ashley gritted her teeth and pulled Sean back in to hug him. He dove into her waist and moaned “I’m sorry!” several times until he believed her when she said “it’s okay.”

  ******

  It’d been years since Ashley had ventured into the Dogbowl. The neighborhood scared her; the neighborhood scared everyone who knew about it but didn’t live there. It was a small pocket in the city not far from the art district. The cult bought a deli there after Jim disappeared and used it as its Oklahoma City enclave. It became a recruiting center as well. It was hidden nicely among the drugs, prostitution and poverty.

  Ashley knew the razor blade was there, and if she was going to get it back, that’s where she’d have to go. She didn’t particularly want it back, but she felt she owed it to Jim. When he disappeared, he left only three things that really mattered to him: Sean, the money and the razor.

  As she approached Cannery Row, the street that led straight through the Dogbowl, she clicked on her blinker. She slowed the car but didn’t turn. Ashley clicked off the blinker and drove on. She stopped at a nearby park to cry.

  “I’m sorry, Jim,” she whispered to the steering wheel. “I can’t.”

  Robbsteady0013

  {Would you like to accept a message from HLYRLLR23?}

  Robbsteady0013: Who is this?

  HLYRLLR23: Hey Robbie it’s Steve, got your e-mail from Marcus.

  Robbsteady0013: Oh.

  Robbsteady0013: How are you?

  HLYRLLR23: Fine, I heard you were going to speak at Ira’s funeral have you heard when it’s supposed to be?

  Robbsteady0013: No, Ira’s still alive, so I’m not sure. I’m actually about to go see him, so if I find anything out, I’ll let you know.

  HLYRLLR23: You’re going now? Mind if I come along?

  Robbsteady0013: …

  Robbsteady0013: That’s fine.

  HLYRLLR23: So what happened to Ira, heard he got beat up or something.

  Robbsteady0013: Not sure, cops still investigating.

  HLYRLLR23: I heard it happened in Norman, but he’s in Dallas now?

  Robbsteady0013: They flew him there, that’s where he lives now.

  HLYRLLR23: I see. So where are you going to church now

  Robbsteady0013: …

  ******

  Robbie wasn’t an attractive man, but he had an unusually attractive smile. People commented on it so much that as Robbie reached manhood, he grew out his beard to hide the smile. He also grew up tall and thick, but hid that by crouching. He often found himself in a leadership position simply because he was bigger than everyone else around him, and he hated it.

  Robbie heard Steve’s motorcycle before he saw him. The Honda grumbled to a stop outside the hospital and Robbie watched the redheaded and big-smiled Steve bound toward him. Steve’s black leather jacket had tassels that flopped and swished around as he walked. He wasn’t a biker and was in no danger of being mistaken for one, with the exception of when he was among the members of his church group, who found it amusing.

  Steve nodded happily at a family quietly conversing with a brittle old woman who only stared blankly ahead. Robbie reached into his pocket instinctively, though he knew the cigarettes would no longer be there. Instead, he rubbed his fingers over his wedding ring.

  “Robert!” Steve exclaimed, then did a stutter step like a boxer. He tossed his helmet to Robbie, and once Robbie caught it, Steve forced a hug on him. Robbie braced and sighed like a cat being picked up.

  “How have you been?” Steve asked, peeling away but keeping a hand on Robbie’s shoulder. “It’s been too long.”

  “Umm, yeah,” Robbie shrugged. “So, Ira’s upstairs. Marcus is up there, too.”

  “Right,” Steve replied, deflating to a somewhat more respectable tone. Steve was an actor, a Christian actor at that. After knowing Steve for ten years, Robbie understood that Steve never stopped acting, and people loved him for it.

  Robbie led Steve through the winding hallways to the elevator. Steve trailed behind, smiling at everyone they came across and glancing into every room. It was like leading a three year old.

  Steve strutted in his leather jacket, making sure everyone got a look at it, much like Robbie had when he was five and had a new Halloween costume. Robbie tried to hand Steve his helmet, but once the elevator doors opened, Steve hopped inside and immediately went to the back. He used the rails to brace himself as he lifted his feet off the floor. Robbie watched Steve and wondered if he could just wait for the next elevator.

  “This is really cool, man,” Steve said. “You try and keep yourself off the ground all the way up.”

  The doors slid shut, w
ith Robbie inside. He tried not to watch Steve’s reflection as Steve wobbled and kept his feet hovering. When the elevator stopped at Ira’s floor, Steve lost his balance and fell.

  Robbie made Steve wait in the hall as he checked with Ira’s parents. They were sitting beside Ira’s bed thumbing through the newspaper. They looked up when they heard him and waved him in. Marcus sat near the window reading; he glanced up at Robbie, gave him a blank nod and returned his attention to the window.

  Robbie was glad to see Marcus made it down, even if Marcus wasn’t glad to see him. Marcus owned a record store and rarely spent much time away from it. Robbie imagined Marcus was calculating in his head how much he was losing to shoplifters. It was a big thing for him to be there, but Marcus would never say that.

  Robbie wondered how much Marcus knew about Ira’s incident. From Marcus’ cold response to Robbie, he probably knew something. It was hard to tell—Robbie always had a hard time reading Marcus’ expressions.

  “Do you guys remember Steve?” Robbie asked, waving Steve in. “He went to school with Ira and me.”

  “Steve?” Ira’s father asked, as he stood to shake his hand. Steve strutted forward, shook and then walked over to the bed where Ira slept. “Hey, Ira. Oh, no, don’t get up on my account.”

  Steve laughed hard, pleased with himself. Robbie felt like jumping into a trash can. Marcus shook his head and turned back to look out the window.

  ******

  Robbie slouched in the chair, staring at his hands and fighting back alternating waves of guilt and a sense of futility. It was hard for him to look up at anyone in the room. He wished they would all leave so he could have time alone with Ira. Time to explain himself, to apologize.

  A burst of laughter jolted him out of his daze and he glanced up at Steve, who stood beside Ira. Steve was telling a story Robbie heard every time he saw Steve, the “Ultimate Frisbee” story. It seemed to be Steve’s defining moment of their shared college existence. Steve had begun joking with Ira’s parents immediately, as if he were part of the family. Steve was like that, even with Robbie’s family. He’d stayed with Robbie at his parents’ house one summer, and he quickly usurped Robbie as the favorite son.

  Ira’s parents also took a liking to Steve; he made them laugh, and Robbie felt bad that he couldn’t do the same. They clearly needed to laugh more.

  Robbie knew he should be better at this—he’d been through it before with his wife’s leukemia. He felt just as overwhelmed and claustrophobic now as he had when he’d watched his wife die.

  “So, it was pouring rain,” Steve chuckled, mid-story. “It was what, two a.m. Robbie?”

  “Probably.”

  “Yeah, two a.m. and pouring rain, so I thought we should play some Ultimate Frisbee. We got out there and played for at least an hour and were just caked in mud.”

  Steve stood as he mimed out the story. Marcus turned and removed his headphones to listen with that distant smile he gave customers who thought they knew more about music than he did.

  “And in the rain, the Frisbee is so unpredictable, it just dances around in the air like it’s alive. So, we were out there an hour at least, don’t you think Robbie?”

  “Probably.”

  “And our clothes were filthy, weighed down by all the mud, and we didn’t know if they’d let us in the dorm. You also had to go in through the front entrance because all the other doors were locked after eleven p.m., so we didn’t want to get stopped. So, you know what we did?”

  Ira’s parents chuckled and shook their heads. Robbie let a smile escape, but kept his head lowered as he pretended to read a health magazine.

  “We figured that the guy on duty at the front desk would stop twenty guys if they were dripping wet,” Steve said. “But, would he stop twenty naked guys?”

  “Oh no!” Ira’s mom giggled.

  “Yeah, we stripped down and carried our clothes! We stormed the front door and ran through the lobby to the stairs! The guy was too stunned to do anything—he just stared at all these pale naked college kids rampaging through the building!”

  Robbie laughed softly as Steve ran in place and then fell down on the couch. Ira’s father let loose a full-bellied laugh and had to take off his glasses to wipe tears from his eyes.

  “So, Ira really did that?” his mom asked.

  “Yup, he was one of the guys up front,” Steve answered. “I think Angie even played a while didn’t she, Rob?”

  Robbie’s fingers found his wedding ring.

  “Yeah, she was out there for a while,” Robbie smiled, his heart beating heavily. “I don’t think she went streaking though.”

  “She was an awesome chick,” Steve replied. “She was just a trooper for those kinds of things, just as bold as she could be. Couldn’t throw a Frisbee for nothin’.”

  Laughter tumbled out of Robbie’s mouth—it felt good, really good. It was hard to laugh when he thought about his wife, but when he did, his heart glowed a bit.

  “Big Poppa?” a withered female voice called into the room. “Hello?”

  A short, maple-skinned woman with light gray hair and a hospital gown walked in with a cane. Her eyes were magnified through oversized, Coke bottle glasses.

  “Scuse me,” she called, a rich southern accent surfacing under her fragile voice. “Big Poppa, you in here, Baby?”

  “There’s no one in here by that name, ma’am,” Steve called, approaching her with a smile. “I think you have the wrong room; I’ll help you find your way back.”

  “Oh, don’t be silly, I saw him walk in here,” the woman replied briskly. She scanned the room and her eyes fell on Robbie.

  “Aww, there ya are,” she said, poking Robbie’s shoulder with the cane. “I knew I saw ya come in. Why ain’t you been around to see me in a while?”

  Robbie’s mouth hung open as he stared at the woman.

  “Well, Big Poppa,” Steve laughed. “Why haven’t you been around?”

  “Don’t you make fun a me,” the woman snapped, then smacked Steve’s shin with her cane. Steve winced and danced backwards.

  “Sorry, ma’am,” he grunted.

  “Um, I think you have me confused with someone else,” Robbie said, standing up but keeping his distance.

  “Oh hush,” the woman said, adjusting her thick glasses. “Oh my, yeah, you’s awfully young. You’s just a baby, ain’t you. My mistake, dear.”

  The woman sat down in a chair and patted on the cushion of the seat next to her.

  “Sit down with me a moment, will ya?” the woman asked.

  Robbie glanced over to Ira’s parents, who were trying, and failing, to stifle their laughter. Robbie sat down and was as stiff as a frozen cadaver. He stared straight ahead as the woman leaned close to get a better look at him. Steve sat down next to Marcus as they both enjoyed the show.

  “Do ya have any grandparents in politics, Baby?” the woman asked.

  “No ma’am,” Robbie said.

  “No senators, from up in the Capitol?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Well, I’ll be,” she smiled, lifting her twig-thin finger and poking his cheek through his beard. “Ya sho’ do look a lot like Big Poppa. All big and strong like he was.”

  “Was Big Poppa a senator, ma’am?” Steve asked.

  “Oh, yes he was,” the woman said, finally leaning away from Robbie and showing off a pearly smile. “I can’t tell ya who tho’, so don’t try an’ get it outta me. I kept dat secret fo’ seventy years.”

  The woman laughed with a gravely cackle. A chill snaked up Robbie’s spine.

  “He was my Big Poppa, if ya catch my meanin’,” the woman said, and they all did. She looked back over at Robbie and shook her head. “Yo show about not havin’ some senator grandpa, maybe great?”

  “No ma’am.”

  “So, Big Poppa was your husband?” Ira’s mom asked.

  “Oh, no, no, my goodness child, no,” the woman laughed. “No, that just wouldn’t have been possible. No, but he was a goo
d man; he did a real good job takin’ care of his responsibilities, if you catch my meanin’.”

  Robbie began to sweat as his face grew to increasingly vibrant shades of red that could no longer be hidden by the beard. At times like this, his body felt cumbersome, embarrassing and ridiculous, like a bear riding a bicycle.

  “So, is he still a senator?” Marcus asked.

  “No, no, and now that I get to thinkin’ about it, he passed away a while back,” she answered. “He was such a good man. I wish my boys had got to know him betta’, but that just wouldn’t have been possible.”

  “I’m sorry,” Steve said.

  “Naw, child,” the woman replied. “Nothin’ to be sorry ’bout.”

  She licked her lips, and her eyes glazed for a moment. She looked back up, turned to Robbie.

  “Do ya believe in heaven?” the woman asked.

  “No ma’am,” Robbie answered, and then regretted it. “Well, not really.”

  “That’s okay, neither did Big Poppa, and I don’t know that I do either.”

  The woman began nodding nervously. She slipped her arm underneath and around Robbie’s and let her hand fall on top of his.

  “Is something botherin’ you, Baby?” the woman whispered as she studied his face.

  “No, ma’am,” he mumbled, then glanced over at her.

  Her face was small and fragile, and her eyes were magnified by the glasses. She looked like a turtle. She leaned in toward Robbie.

  “You got somethin’ weighin’ on ya,” she said. “Listen to me, Baby, you need to let that go, get it off ya conscious, whetha or not you believe in heaven.”

  Sweat was beginning to collect on the tips of his beard and he was nauseous again. A middle-aged, light-skinned black man walked in, waved uncomfortably at Ira’s parents and looked around. He wore a nice business suit and smiled sheepishly when he saw his mother clinging to Robbie.

  “Excuse me,” he muttered to the room. He leaned down, tapped the woman on the shoulder. “Come on, Mama.”