by Pamela Morsi
“Hey, Trish, what a nice surprise to run into you.”
“We’ve got to make a point to see each other more often,” Trish said. “The kids love to play together.”
That was true. Her children and Quint always had a great time. For the adults, however, it wasn’t always so perfect. The men worked together all week and had little or nothing left to say to each other at night or on a weekend. Trish and Erica should have lots in common, but Erica always felt as if she were in a competition and losing badly.
“How are you doing?” Trish asked.
“Great, great,” Erica replied. “How’s it going for you? Are the kids loving school this year?”
The conversational question seemed almost to catch her off guard, as if she hadn’t really thought about it. “Yeah, I guess so,” she said. “How is Quint?” she asked, almost as an afterthought.
“Doing great. He’s very excited about Halloween this year.”
“Halloween? Oh yeah, when is that?” Trish asked.
“Tomorrow,” Erica answered, surprised that Trish didn’t know. She seemed sort of out of it, distracted almost.
Tom walked through the door from the shop. “Hi,” he said, including both women in the greeting. He snaked his arm around Erica’s waist and gave her a little squeeze, but his eyes were on Trish.
“Do you need to talk to Cliff?” he asked. “I’ve got him…uh…in the middle of disassembling a transmission, but if it can’t wait, of course I can interrupt him.”
Erica immediately saw that there was something wrong with Tom’s body language.
“No, no,” Trish said. “It can wait. The kids and I were just out running around and I thought I’d stop in.”
Erica raised an eyebrow at that. Trish and Cliff lived in Westover Hills, and there was no quick, easy or direct way to get from there to here. And there was no shopping over this way. If Trish stopped by, it had to be because she had made it her destination.
“I feel like I never see him anymore,” she said. “The kids never see him anymore.”
Erica nodded sympathetically. “Sometimes our lives just get so busy,” she said, commiserating.
“Last night was Jordan’s final PeeWee Football game and he really wanted his dad to be there,” Trish said, and then looked directly at Tom. “Did he tell you that when you asked him to work late?”
Tom hesitated. “Uh…no, he didn’t say anything,” Tom replied. “I…uh…I’m sorry. I guess Cliff knew how desperate we were to get that…that work done. We were both here late.”
Erica’s world suffered a jolting and dramatic tilt and she was falling, dropping into unknown territory. Her husband was not looking at her, and his arm had left her waist. There was a falseness in his tone, but she didn’t have to hear it to know that Tom was lying. She’d been here. The place had been empty. Her husband had been gone. And before he’d left, he’d cleaned up and taken a shower in the newly renovated facilities.
A memory of words spoken in passing, not even directed to her, suddenly appeared front and center in Erica’s brain. She could hear her coworker, Rayliss, as clearly as if the woman was standing beside her.
“If a husband takes a shower before he comes home, then you know there’s someone else.”
Trish and Tom were still talking, but Erica could no longer hear what they were saying. It was as if there were some inexplicable ringing in her ears. But it wasn’t physical, it was emotional.
She felt sick. The bottom had dropped out of her world, leaving only emptiness and nausea behind.
“I need to get home,” she blurted, interrupting their conversation.
Both of them turned toward her, but Erica avoided their gaze. She didn’t want either of them to see what was going on inside her.
“I’m so sorry you have to rush off,” Trish said. “But I guess I should head out as well. If Halloween really is tomorrow, then I need to take the kids somewhere to get costumes.”
“I’m sure you’ll come up with something great,” Erica said, without meeting her eyes. “Gotta go.”
She grabbed up Quint’s book bag and attempted to flee. Tom grabbed her hand.
“What? No goodbye kiss.”
“Sorry,” Erica said. She pecked him on the cheek with only a glance in his direction. He looked puzzled. That annoyed her. He should look guilty.
Out in front, Quint was not interested in a quick getaway.
“Aww, Mom” was his response to her request to get in the car. “I never get to see Jordon. Can’t I stay and play a little longer.”
“Jordon’s got to leave, too,” Erica said as a way to placate him. But it didn’t work, and after a minute of back and forth, Erica sternly ordered him into the car.
Quint obeyed her, but was clearly put out. His brow was furrowed in an expression like a thundercloud. She’d seen that look on her own face enough times to recognize it. Still, she drove home, the two of them not speaking. Erica focused intently on the road in front of her. Concentrating on every move she needed to make. Her child was in the car. She couldn’t allow emotion to take over. Keep a safe distance from the car in front. Check the mirrors. Check your speed. Slow for the stoplight. Signal with the blinker.
When she finally parked in her driveway, she felt so relieved that her eyes welled with tears.
Quint, still angry, went to his room and shut the door. He didn’t slam the door—that was not allowed—but he shut it as forcefully as he thought he could get away with. Erica let him get away with it. She felt like slamming a few doors herself.
Instead she went into the privacy of the kitchen and tried to call her sister. The answering machine picked up.
“Hi, it’s me, Letty. I’m either in class or way too busy to pick up the phone, but you can text me.”
Erica did that.
Need U now
And then she stood in the kitchen, waiting, breathing, trying not to start screaming or crying. Tom was lying to her. He had a secret life with secret appointments and secret friends. He had a secret credit card. And he was taking showers at work—he was taking showers for some other woman.
Erica bit her lip, trying to hold back the wave of emotion that was about to swamp her. Her knees felt as if they were about to buckle and she leaned against the wall.
“It can’t be true,” she whispered to herself. “Tom is not that kind of guy. It can’t be true.”
She slid down the wall until she was sitting on the kitchen floor. The emptiness that had formed in her stomach had expanded to include her entire body.
The telephone rang. She crawled over to the counter and reached for it as if it were a lifeline.
“What’s up?” her sister asked immediately.
“I think Tom is having an affair.”
Tom’s jaw was set hard and tight as he stepped up to Cliff.
“I need to see you in the office, now,” he said.
He turned without even waiting to make sure his friend followed. He was so mad that he needed the distance between them to keep from throwing a punch. Tom stood for a moment looking out the window, trying to get a grip on his anger.
He didn’t turn until he heard Cliff enter the office and close the door behind him. Cliff’s typical, cocky self-assurance was not in evidence. He was wide-eyed and worried. And that, at least, was as it should be.
“Don’t you ever put me in that position again,” Tom said. “I had to lie to your wife’s face. That’s the only time that’s ever going to happen. If she calls me on the phone five minutes from now and asks ‘What’s up with Cliff?’ I’m telling her that you’re a cheating son of a bitch and that she needs to get herself a good lawyer.”
“I’m sorry,” Cliff said.
“Yeah, I’d have to agree with that. I can’t believe you wouldn’t come out and face her.”
“You’re right,” Cliff said. “I’m going to have to do that sooner or later.”
“And you missed the kid’s game? That stuff is important. I thought it was over be
tween you and Stacy.”
“Over?” Cliff looked shocked at the suggestion. “No. I’d say it’s over with me and Trish. I don’t want to be married to her and living in some stupid suburb. What we had burned out a long time ago. I love Stacy now. I only want to be with her.”
Tom’s anger turned to shocked disbelief.
“You said she was just a fling.”
“I was wrong. Stacy’s my soul mate. I do not, will not, live my life without her.”
Tom was almost speechless.
“What about your kids?” he demanded finally.
Cliff shrugged. “I think we’re going to have to dump the kids. Stacy said her husband would never give her custody. So if she can’t have hers, I won’t have mine.”
“That’s crazy.”
“It’s not crazy to finally get something you want,” Cliff said petulantly. “All my life I never got anything I wanted. Now I want Stacy and nobody is going to talk me out of having her.”
Tom stared at his friend, thinking that all Cliff needed was to stamp his foot and it would be a full-blown tantrum. Deliberately Tom lowered his voice to a more reasonable pitch, with the hope that Cliff would listen.
“You’re discounting some big things,” he said. “You’ve got a wife who loves you, great kids, a nice house, a job you like. Your parents are proud of you. Your friends respect you. Are you sure this woman is worth all of that?”
Cliff raised his chin slightly, his expression almost condescending. “You can’t understand what I feel, what I want,” he said. “You’ve always been so desperate to turn your son-of-a-junkie existence into some greeting card that you don’t even see how boring it all is. I’m still young. I still want to have fun. Stacy’s fun and we’re going to have fun together.”
Tom stood staring at his oldest friend, wondering when they had parted ways. Once they had only wanted the same things. Today they couldn’t be more different.
“Fine,” Tom told him. “Throw away your marriage with both hands if you want to. But don’t ask me to lie to your wife, don’t ask me to run interference. If you’re going to leave her, then man up and tell her so. I think she deserves to hear it from you.”
“That’s none of your business.”
“No, it’s not. But this place is my business. So get back to work. Consider yourself on probation. If you miss one more day or duck out one more afternoon, you’re gone.”
Cliff was insulted. “You think I can’t get a better job than this,” he said with a sneer.
“I don’t know, maybe you can,” Tom answered. “If you don’t want to work for me, all you have to do is say so.”
Cliff turned on his heel and walked back into the shop. Tom half expected him to gather up his things and leave, but he didn’t. He went back to work and stayed until quitting time. Hector and Gus, who’d been as quiet as church mice since the argument, left on time as well.
Tom walked through the quiet solitude of the place, picking up tools and rags and parts that somehow hadn’t made it back to the places where they should have been.
Wanting to take his mind off Cliff for a moment, Tom walked over to the Buick, and he couldn’t resist raising the hood. Little by little she was looking better and better. He’d completely redone her carburetor, replaced her hoses, greased every joint and connection on her frame. Her transmission was as smooth as a sewing machine. The 322 Nailhead was hitting perfectly on all eight cylinders. And her electrical system was probably better now than it ever had been. All she needed was a good scrub underneath the hood and a little bit of shiny bling. Some lucky man was going to fall in love with Clara, just as he had.
He’d just received a request for further information from his online posting. He suspected the inquiry was from a dealer rather than an individual. Tom had answered the questions, but made it clear that the car was special to the owner and to himself and that they were not desperate to let her go, and that they’d be waiting for the right buyer at the right price.
Tom considered starting her up, just to hear the engine purr and to…to escape into whatever it was about the car that almost made him feel good. There was something about that memory that triggered something within him. He didn’t know what it was, but he liked it.
For just a moment he recalled Cliff’s angry words and he considered them. He had always believed it was the truth in accusations that hurt more than the lies. And there was certainly some truth to what Cliff had said. Tom’s life with his mother had been bad. He’d once described it as “abandonment in plain sight.” Tom had been right under his mother’s nose and she still didn’t notice him. He, however, learned to keep his eye on her. If she decided to pick up stakes, she wouldn’t think to bring him with her. And he couldn’t trust her to find her way back to him.
Tom didn’t feel sorry for himself. He’d known plenty of kids in that life who’d had it worse. His mother hadn’t taken care of him, but she hadn’t abused him, either.
And if he’d had dreams of another kind of life, he’d got them from her.
“I’m going to find a nice family for you,” she’d tell him on nights when she was mellow and they were safe.
“You’ll have a mama who bakes pies and a daddy who goes to work. You’ll go to school and learn things. Did I tell you that I was the fourth grade spelling champion at Crockett Elementary?”
“Yeah, Mama, you did.”
“You’re going to have clean clothes every day. Hot meals that you have to eat at the table. And you’ll go to church every Sunday.”
His mother had never been able to follow through on her plans. By the next day, she would already be back on the cycle of cash, buy, use, crash. But at least he’d known she’d wanted a different life for him, even if she couldn’t manage to provide it.
Tom had found that life for himself. He found Erica and together they had made it happen. And if Cliff thought that it was dull or boring or an imitation of a greeting card, well that was Cliff’s problem.
Tom shut the hood. Tomorrow’s Halloween craziness would make for a far-from-typical evening. But tonight it would be just his little family around the dinner table.
It was then that he heard a noise out front. It was still twilight outside, but the motion sensors flooded the front driveway with illumination. Tom didn’t consider this neighborhood to be dangerous, but he knew that thieves and addicts and crazy people did not limit themselves to any particular part of town.
He grabbed a tire iron from the wall and carried it like a weapon. It wouldn’t fend off a bullet, of course, but slammed down on a man’s arm, it could certainly spoil his aim.
The would-be intruder seemed to be banging on one of the bay doors. If it was a burglar, he certainly wasn’t a very stealthy one.
“Hello, hello, Tom Bentley, are you in there?”
“Who wants to know?”
“It’s Briscoe,” the voice answered. “Briscoe Garrity. You helped me fix my truck.”
Tom’s brow furrowed thoughtfully and then he remembered the young guy with the busted radiator hose and the pregnant girlfriend.
“I’ll meet you at the office door,” Tom said, and walked in that direction, still carrying the tire iron.
Through the windows he could see the kid was alone. And in the parking area behind him, the old SUV was recognizable. Tom unlocked the door.
“Have you got car trouble?”
The kid shook his head. “I’m a dad,” he answered.
From his shirt pocket he retrieved a cigar. In the dim light of the office Tom could read the writing on the blue band. It’s a Boy!
“Congratulations,” Tom said.
“Thanks.”
The young guy looked happy, eager and very, very young. In the garish overhead light, he looked thin and his clothes looked slept-in. His hair was shaggy and he hadn’t shaved in a couple of days.
“I guess I didn’t realize it was happening so soon,” Tom said.
“She was due about Thanksgiving, so this is, like, wa
y early. But he’s okay. He looks really tiny, and he only weighs five pounds. But that’s a decent size, the doctor told us.”
Tom managed not to shake his head. Two kids who couldn’t keep a car running were now going to be in charge of a five-pound preemie. He sure hoped they were tough enough to step up to the challenge.
“They grow fast,” Tom told him, hoping to encourage optimism. “They don’t stay that small for very long.”
The kid nodded. “We named him Briscoe Andrew Garrity, Jr. Isn’t that wild!”
Tom wasn’t sure. Fortunately the kid explained.
“That makes me Briscoe Andrew Garrity, Sr. Me, a senior somebody.” He chuckled as if it were very amusing.
“Well, good. Great,” Tom said. It was the kid’s cue to wrap it up and make his exit, but Briscoe wasn’t doing that. Instead, his expression became more serious. He was hesitating as if he had something he wanted to say. Tom waited.
“I…I wanted to tell you that we did get married,” he managed finally. “And I think you were right about that. Kera never acted like she cared, but when we finally did it, she cried. Her mom cried, too, and her mom never liked me, not for a minute.”
“Mothers-in-law can be like that,” Tom agreed.
The kid nodded. “The husband thing is all good. When we went to the hospital and everything I got right in there. They made her mom wait outside, but I was there. I felt like…like a dad, I guess. More than I felt before. I can’t really explain that.”
Tom shrugged. “Somethings don’t need to be explained,” he said. “It can be okay just to know them.”
Briscoe appeared in agreement with that.
“Anyway, so now I got this wife and kid,” he said, allowing his words to sort of drift off thoughtfully.
Tom recalled that moment in his own life. He’d been excited about it in anticipation. He’d thought he was so ready. But the sudden reality of it, the wave of weighty responsibility had been scary and unexpected.
“You’ll get used to it,” he told Briscoe. “It’s like building a car from the frame up. If you think about all you’ll have to do, it’s overwhelming. But if you take it one bolt at a time and keep working, you can get it done.”
