The Far End of Happy

by Kathryn Craft

  • • •

  One night, when the girls were eating dinner at Veronica’s Grotto, a handsome stranger sat eating nachos and nursing a beer at the next table. Beverly kept sneaking looks at him. He had this aura of sadness that kept begging her attention. When her friends noticed, they dared her to ask him to join them. It didn’t take much for Beverly to consider it the ultimate flirting challenge.

  He wouldn’t join their group but instead asked Beverly to join him. And once Dom pushed his plate of nachos toward Beverly, there was no turning back. She couldn’t even say how long after that her friends left. She and Dom talked for hours. It was as if he’d stored all his words in a secret vault and opened it just for her. He offered to buy her a drink, but since she had just turned seventeen and was what some might call a runaway, she didn’t want to push her luck. When the place got crowded and hearing each other grew difficult, Beverly suggested a walk on the beach.

  At the ocean’s edge, perhaps aided by the anonymity darkness conferred, Dom told her about surviving the car crash that had killed his parents. Their deaths clung to him so tightly he couldn’t stop questioning why he had been spared, and before they ever touched, Beverly already knew she would be the one to kiss all his pain away. They walked for miles along the shore that night, and Beverly taught him all of the words to “On Top of Spaghetti.” His voice was so warm and robust he made the ditty sound like an aria; she expected a pod of dolphins to follow along or a whale to breach. He even joined her in a little dance to the beach gods that brought him so far from that dark place and into the moonlight that he was laughing.

  His laughter made Beverly feel so powerful and alive. And when they reached his house and he invited her in, and she saw the little dinette and comfy leather couch, she felt like she was home. She knew who she was meant to be. She could never make her father happy, but she could make Dom happy, and that became her new goal. She stopped by the condo to pick up her things and say good-bye to her girlfriends, and when they returned to Pennsylvania, she did not.

  Her father was livid. During a loud phone call during which he invoked both God and Lucifer, he said she’d made her bed and would have to lie in it. She was more than happy to take that advice.

  Then the missed period. She and Dom were so happy playing house that she didn’t fear telling him she was pregnant. It was the natural extension of their intimacy. Beverly curled up on the leather couch, making lists of everything they’d need for the baby—the bare minimum, of course. It would be like camping, she told him. They could line a drawer with a blanket for a crib. Cut bibs and washcloths from old towels.

  But she could not get him to join her on that couch. He came up behind it, put his arms around her, and said, “Don’t worry. We’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

  Well, she hadn’t been worried at all. That’s when she knew he was. Beverly assured him she’d get a job, that the clinic said she was healthy. Their two incomes would keep them afloat.

  In the beginning of August, Dom lost his delivery job. With the tourist season drawing to a close, he couldn’t find work. His mood grew a whole lot darker.

  Then one day in late August, he returned home from the unemployment office all chipper, said he’d figured everything out. It was so good to have him back again; Beverly wanted to spend every free moment with him, but that wasn’t his plan. He wanted her to go back to Pennsylvania and finish high school. But first he got down on one knee and gave her the little diamond.

  • • •

  “With tears in his eyes,” she told Ronnie, “he told me that no other woman would ever have his heart.”

  “He was romantic,” Ronnie said. “And dutiful. And caring. Like Jeff used to be. And the ring is sweet, Mom. I don’t know why you never told me.”

  Oh, Ronnie. The things I haven’t told you.

  “Leaving him was like leaving half of myself behind,” Beverly said. “But I went back home, like Dom suggested, to finish school. I was only under my father’s roof for one night before he called me a tramp. Even though you were still a little notion in my belly, I figured you had ears that didn’t need to put up with that kind of language, so I walked out, with no real plan of where I was heading. If a certain typing teacher hadn’t found me a cheap room to rent, you might have been born on the street.” She tilted her head toward Janet.

  “It’s a good thing my other students weren’t such a handful.” Janet parted her lips, almost forming a smile.

  “You were harder on me than anyone else in the class, remember?”

  “Of course not. I had one hundred budding secretaries each year depending on me for their livelihoods.”

  “You gave me a D.”

  “I was kind. By the end of the first quarter, you hadn’t yet qualified for an F in either speed or accuracy.”

  “You said you didn’t remember being hard on me.”

  “Didn’t remember, trying to forget—it’s all the same. What did you need typing for anyway? You can write Dear John letters longhand.”

  “I know enough about my mother’s failed marriages,” Ronnie said. “Let’s get back to the romantic part. You said my father had a plan. What was it?”

  A plan was exactly what Beverly had failed to have when she launched this story. She looked at her daughter, her eyes now brighter than they’d been all day. This had been a mistake. Beverly back-pedaled.

  “He planned to come spend Thanksgiving with me,” she said weakly.

  “That’s it? Mom, seriously, you have to work on your storytelling skills.”

  Beverly could feel the story sinking back into her. It had grown used to her innermost recesses and was not quite ready to leave the dark.

  “I know that look,” Ronnie said. “Don’t leave me hanging. Please. Whatever it is, just tell me.”

  Suddenly it was all Beverly could do not to cry.

  “Mom, no. You can’t jerk me around like this. What did you want to tell me?”

  Janet reached over and touched Ronnie’s wrist. “This is the most she’s said about Dom in more than thirty years. It’s hard on her. Give her a bit more time.”

  “Just what I needed,” Ronnie muttered as she stood. “More waiting.”

  Beverly watched her daughter lap the room. She understood Ronnie’s impatience. But experience told Beverly that it was the tension between the beginning and the end that held all of life’s possibilities and the full array of her imaginings. Once the questions ended and the knowing began, there was no turning back.

  And the knowing could leave you hurting like hell.

  janet

  For a moment, with her curls back and those bright eyes trained on her mother, Janet remembered what Ronnie looked like when she was little. Janet had been jealous of Beverly back then. She had always wanted a girl.

  Like all the Hoyer family, Janet’s mother, Amelia, believed in the power of women. Along with the Bible and marriage, they put their faith in a woman’s tight-fisted management of her husband’s paycheck—to great success.

  When a few missteps had Janet threatening this matriarchal manifesto, Amelia took measures to set them right. When Janet fell in love with Jerry, who couldn’t afford college, they paid his way so he could have a reliable career. And when Janet got pregnant while still in school, Amelia paid for their wedding, gave them a place to live, and nursed her after the birth so that Jerry’s paycheck could be invested and put to immediate work. Although Janet tested her mother’s limits by skimping on prayer, in every other way, she had taken her place in her mother’s lineage and felt empowered by the way the family nest egg had grown on her watch.

  After Jeff married Fay Sickler, Janet expected heirs and was surprised when year after year went by without the arrival of one single grandchild. Not that Janet cared for Fay; she hadn’t liked her one bit. Jeff had met her in a barn, where she was mucking out stalls in exchange for free board, which
said a lot. After all of the work it took to get Jeff through high school and into college, Fay’s unrealistic demands had forced him into leaving his respectable job as a corn broker to tend bar. Janet was proud he’d advanced to manager, but those late nights and rowdy people—what kind of life was that?

  Truth be told, she thought Jeff might be too skittish to have children. After he and Fay had bred one of her mares, Jeff had called Janet from the barn when the horse started pushing. When Janet got home from work, she went straight to the stable. “Oh my, twins,” she said, before realizing they were still as still could be. Both females. Jeff sat in the corner of the stall, crying. He never again tried to breed.

  But he seemed to set his disappointments behind him when he married Ronnie. They got right to work spiffing up the house and trying to get pregnant. They had two quick losses. Janet watched Jeff carefully, fearing he might give up. But Ronnie wanted kids, and wanted Jeff to be their father, and, well, if sheer determination can turn a sperm and an egg into a child, then she pulled it off. Then and now, Andrew felt like a miracle. A boy miracle.

  Ronnie only wanted two children, so when the next one came along, Janet had one last shot at a female heir. The child took its sweet time entering the world. They’d gone to the hospital at six a.m., and when she didn’t get a call all day, Janet was gripped with the memory of those stillborn fillies.

  Who doesn’t fear the worst when she reaches for a ringing phone after midnight? She almost swallowed the word: “Hello?”

  “Mom, it’s Jeff. It’s another boy!”

  What was with all these boys? “Is he okay?”

  “Perfect. Ronnie did such a good job. She’s pretty tired, but she wants to tell you something.”

  “Janet?”

  “Congratulations, Ronnie. Have you thought up a name yet?”

  “That’s why I’m calling. We’re naming him William Hoyer Farnham.”

  Janet burst into tears. She had no idea she even held so much emotion inside her.

  “Janet?” The phone jostled, then Jeff’s voice. “Mom, are you there? Did you hear her?”

  “I heard,” Janet managed to squeak out. “Thank you for using Hoyer. It means so much to me.”

  The next morning, before she even visited the baby, she stopped in to see Mr. Dempsey at the bank. Someone needed to ensure her grandsons’ futures.

  Within a month, she, Jerry, Jeff, and Ronnie all met at the bank while Beverly watched the boys. Once Mr. Dempsey had assembled enough comfy chairs so they could all sit, he said, “How much do you want to invest, Mrs. Farnham?”

  All eyes turned to Janet. This pleased her. Everyone knew she was the one with the power in this meeting. “Forty thousand.”

  Jerry sank down in his chair and ran his hand over his mouth. For much of his career, that had equaled his annual salary.

  Jeff gave Janet an approving smile; Ronnie caught her breath. “That’s too generous.” Jeff put his hand on Ronnie’s arm.

  “Forty thousand total, or forty thousand each?” Mr. Dempsey said.

  “Each.”

  Ronnie put her hand to her chest. Janet enjoyed the entire show. She knew Beverly did not have access to such sums. Beverly didn’t speak of money at all, fearing that hard analysis would extinguish whatever magic it was that had kept her family afloat all these years. When she had finished high school typing, Beverly would have been smart to take bookkeeping from Janet as well.

  Janet told the banker that investing in stocks or mutual funds—yes, even eighteen years’ worth, she said when he questioned her—was too risky, given the current economic climate. And since savings account earnings were laughable these days, she preferred a product you could count on. She chose to invest the money in whole life insurance on Jeff’s life, with each of his sons as a beneficiary. The principal would grow slowly, Mr. Dempsey explained, but steadily. The boys could cash out the policy when they went to college. If Jeff should die before then, the boys would inherit plenty to see them through school.

  “Who will you name as a second beneficiary?” he said.

  “Why do you need a second?” Janet said.

  “If, God forbid, something happens to Jeff while the children are still minors, the money has a clear legal path to the second person.”

  The question threw Janet into a tizzy. She glanced over at her husband. Jerry was not a good choice; that money had done well for generations in female hands. It was hard enough to entrust the money to Jeff, but what could she do? She had not been blessed with a daughter.

  Janet felt everyone watching her. She looked at Ronnie, as close to a daughter as she would ever have. But she and Jeff had spent so much money on the renovation already, burning through their entire inheritance from Janet’s brother in California on the kitchen and a new car. Fifty thousand gone, Jeff saying he’d spent it for Ronnie. Janet feared the girl didn’t know how to protect her finances.

  When Janet didn’t respond, Mr. Dempsey prompted, “That would typically be the children’s mother.”

  After another awkward pause, Janet decided you couldn’t go around throwing large sums of money at people who aren’t blood.

  Jerry hung his head so he wouldn’t have to watch.

  Janet said, “Put my name down.”

  If Jeff died today, the money Janet had invested for the boys would come right back into her pocket.

  And her choice had proven wise, given that Ronnie was leaving the marriage. Yet now the victory felt hollow. What good had decades of scrimping come to if it couldn’t save her son’s life?

  ronnie

  As the day wore on, Ronnie thought more and more about the distressed horses. “Is there any chance the police could throw the horses a few flakes of hay?” Ronnie said. “There’s a bale inside the door on the first floor of the barn.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Corporal McNichol. “We can’t be feeding your animals.”

  “Horses have delicate systems. They need to eat regularly or they’ll colic.”

  “They’re right outside Jeff’s window. It’s too dangerous.”

  “But it’s inhumane!” Ronnie paced in a circle and talked herself down: today was about nothing if not surrender. She couldn’t control a goddamn thing. They say they won’t feed the horses, the horses won’t be fed. Period.

  Ronnie walked until her sarcasm dissipated, her thoughts circling along with her steps. She passed Beverly and Janet, talking quietly, and wondered if and when her mother would finish the story of Dominic Gallagher, a name that always made Ronnie think of the rise and fall of her mother’s laugh. She wondered if the boys had eaten lunch. If they’d been able to go outside and enjoy the glorious weather. If, like her, Mr. Eshbach was going stir-crazy.

  And the poor animals. She and Jeff were so different in the way they responded to the animals. He loved them in an all-consuming, emotionally sloppy way. If a horse went lame, he’d be the one with his arms around its neck, whispering in its ear, while Ronnie would be the one out by the hydrant, morning and night, cold hosing its leg and bandaging. And when end-of-life choices had to be made, those choices always fell to Ronnie.

  Ronnie recalled a time, before they were married, when Jeff had cut short a hot date so they could get home to feed the horses. How could he now watch Camelot, Daydream, and poor lame Horsey Patch through the office windows, tearing up that barren paddock, and tolerate their cries for attention? Jeff had clearly detached himself from the boys, and it made sense if he no longer cared anything for Ronnie. After all, she was going to leave him.

  But the horses?

  Ronnie returned to Corporal McNichol’s table.

  “Jeff loves animals. Probably more than he loves me.”

  “Okay.”

  A pit in Ronnie’s stomach grew. She could feel the horses’ hunger—and Jeff’s. “He can see how upset they are. Why hasn’t he come out to feed them
?”

  “He’s drunk?”

  “He was drunk. But that was hours ago. Why isn’t he sobering up and responding to their needs?”

  The question hung in the air, because the only person who could answer it had cut himself off from the world.

  An officer came into the room and handed Corporal McNichol a piece of paper. Her brow furrowed as she read.

  Ronnie looked up at Corporal McNichol. “Is it Jeff?”

  “No. Your son called. I’m going to quote here, because I’m pretty sure he was speaking in code and I want to get this right: ‘Princess Zartan didn’t break a sweat climbing to the fifth level with the gold trunk, even though the ninja dragons tried to toast her.’”

  It was in code, all right. Ronnie smiled. May they all meet adversity with the aplomb of Andrew’s video game characters.

  Apparently the boys were doing just fine. “Thanks,” Ronnie said.

  “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to hold a strategy meeting with my men. I’d like to see if we can’t bring this standoff to a close.”

  ronnie

  A new strategy, tenuous hope—that’s how Ronnie had felt in February when Jeff came to her with his proposal.

  “I’ve come up with the solution we’ve been looking for,” Jeff had said, peeking his head into Ronnie’s office.

  Ronnie pulled her mind from where it had been happily absorbed in online research on healthy free-range practices for chicken farmers and looked at him over the top of her computer. Had they been seeking a solution? She finally, finally felt settled.

  She now had this space devoted to her use, everything within easy reach. The first thing she’d done in her new office, when it was completed just a month ago: with her reference books lined up on shelves behind her as witness, Ronnie had rolled her chair across the carpet protector, from typing to reaching for the phone to switching on her new digital recorder, all in one graceful swoop. Of course Will had to try the rolling chair too.