“I guess I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Shhhh,” she whispered, finger to her lips. “This one’s on me.”
Nat’s cheek muscles went crazy.
She likes me. I knew it. I knew she liked me. She really likes me.
He opened his mouth but no words came out.
“You got someone in line behind you,” she said.
Nat looked over his shoulder to see a middle-aged couple, waiting. But they were still peering over Carol’s head at the menu. So he had a little time. But maybe not much.
“So, now that you met me at work, can I have your phone number?”
“I didn’t meet you at work. I met you on a bus bench.”
“No, you met me here. Just now.”
“How do you figure?”
“You haven’t really met someone until you know their name.”
“I guess that’s one way to look at it.”
“So, can I have your number?”
“No. I’m not that kind of girl. But if you want to come by here again, that would be OK. Now …” She indicated the people behind him with a flip of her head.
Nat grabbed the milkshake and ran all the way back to Little Manny’s. Just because he had energy to spare.
• • •
Nat lay in bed, the door still open, a spill of soft light pouring in from the hallway.
He figured the old man would come in to say goodnight. He usually did.
He closed his eyes briefly, thinking about Carol. At least, it seemed brief. When he opened them, the old man was pulling up the cane-back chair.
“I thought you might be asleep,” the old man said, seating himself.
“Nope. Just thinking.”
“How do you feel the new job is going?”
“Oh. That. Well. OK, I guess. The foreman doesn’t like me. He’s just on me all the time. It’s like he’s got it in for me. When I first got that job, your friend LaPlante said nobody would treat me unfairly, and if they did they’d answer to him. Sometimes I wonder if I should tell him. But then I think maybe that would just make it worse. And besides, sometimes I see Merino talking to some of the other guys on the loading dock, and I think maybe it’s not just me. Maybe he hates everybody.”
“Maybe the lesson is to learn not to let him get your goat.”
“I guess.”
“So, then, other than your working relationship with the foreman …”
“Well. It’s damn hard work. Sorry. Darn hard. My back and arms are just screaming at me all the time. But I think I’ll get used to it. And when I do I’ll be in much better shape.”
“It’s not a bad deal to get paid for staying physically fit.”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
An awkward pause. Nat knew there was more the old man wanted to say. In fact, he’d known it all along, he suddenly realized. Since dinner. No, since he’d gotten home.
“I assumed you must be tired. You’d have to be after your first full work-week. That’s why I was surprised when you were gone all day today. I thought you’d be home resting most of the weekend.”
“Well, I wanted to take Feathers out. You know. Really be outdoors.”
“Aren’t you outdoors all week on that loading dock?”
“Well. That’s true.”
Another awkward silence.
Then the old man said, “You’re eighteen years old, Nat. You’re a man. A young man, but a man. Not a minor child. You don’t owe me all the details of everywhere you go and everything you do. That’s on the one hand. But then again, on the other hand, I think the success of this arrangement rests on your willingness to be reasonably forthcoming.”
“I don’t know what that word means.”
“Forthcoming?”
“Yeah.”
“It means honest. But it means more than that, too. Being forthcoming is not just telling the truth in a pinch. It’s really being willing to let the truth come up into the light. It’s not holding anything back.”
“Oh. OK.” Nat paused to gather his thoughts. “OK. I’ll be forthcoming. Down at the Frosty Freeze … there’s this girl. Her name is Carol. She has freckles on her nose.” An embarrassed pause. “I’m not sure what else I’m supposed to tell you about her.”
“You don’t have to tell me any more about her. That’s as much as I need to know.”
“Is it OK?”
“That’s an odd question. How could I tell you it’s not OK? It’s part of being human. I’m just glad it didn’t turn out you were mixed up with some kind of lower companions. Something that could lead to trouble.”
The old man rose to go.
“Nathan?”
“Yes, Nat?”
“There’s one other thing I wanted to tell you. You know. Just to be forthcoming.”
He sat back down again. “All right. Go ahead.”
“Remember that first birthday of mine after I got arrested? And you came to see me and brought me roast duck, a cake and a present? And a picture of my dog? And we talked about the presents you’d been leaving for me my whole life, and which ones were really good guesses on what I might like?”
“Yes. I remember. You said the baseball mitt. And the ant farm. But that your grandmother wouldn’t let you keep it.”
“I started to tell you something that day. And I don’t even know why I stopped myself. It’s like it meant too much to me, so I couldn’t talk about it. I don’t even know if that makes sense. Anyway, what I started to tell you about … was the boxing gloves.”
“Oh, yes. Your fourteenth birthday, wasn’t it?”
“The boxing gloves changed my whole life.”
“How so?”
“Because I knew then … that’s what I want to do. That’s what I want to be.”
“You want to be a boxer?”
“More than anything.”
“A professional boxer?”
“Yeah. Pro.”
“Do you still have the gloves?”
“No. My grandmother made sure I wouldn’t get to keep them.”
A long silence. Nat thought he heard the old man sigh.
“I guess I could keep that in mind come Christmas.”
“That would mean a lot to me if you did.”
The old man rose again. Slid the chair back into its corner. Walked to the bedroom door.
“So you’re OK with me being a boxer?”
Silence.
Then, “It’s good to have a dream, Nat.”
“It’s not just a dream. It’s what I’m really going to do.”
“Until you do it, it’s a dream.”
“Oh. OK.” He watched the old man for a moment, standing with one hand on the door. Ready to close it for the night. Back-lit by the light from the hallway. A dark silhouette. “Did you ever have a dream, Nathan?”
In the silence that followed, Nat wished he could see the old man’s face.
“Get some sleep, Nat. I’m guessing you’ll have a big day ahead of you tomorrow, down at the Frosty Freeze.”
Part Five
Nathan McCann
24 November 1978
You Would Think So, Wouldn’t You?
It was an hour or more after dinner. Nathan had gone to the trouble of making a wood fire in the fireplace, because it seemed to suit the late autumn mood.
He washed the soot from his hands before sitting on the couch next to Eleanor, who hooked her arm through his.
“I should really be doing the dishes,” she said.
“They’re not going anywhere.”
“The food will get stuck on.”
“Just sit with me a minute, and then I’ll be happy to help you if you want.”
“You don’t have to help me, Nathan, I can—”
Nat stuck his head into the living room. “I have to ask you a really big favor,” he said.
Nathan felt Eleanor stiffen slightly in anticipation of what he would ask. If called upon to wager, or even just to guess, Nathan would have as
sumed that cash would be involved.
“You may ask.”
“Can I use your record player?”
“Oh. My record player. Yes, I guess that would be all right. But be gentle with the needle, please. Replacement needles are quite expensive. And please close the den door, so we aren’t assaulted by the noise.”
“And please keep the volume low,” Eleanor added.
“You got it,” Nat said, and his head disappeared.
Eleanor sighed deeply. “And it was such a nice, quiet evening, too. Why do I think the peace is about to be shattered? I should have known it couldn’t last.”
They waited in silence, tense now, poised to see how dreadful it was really going to be.
A moment later, soft strains of violin leaked under the den door. It was almost the polar opposite of what Nathan had been braced to expect.
“I know this song,” he said. But he hadn’t heard enough bars to identify it. “That’s so familiar. What is it?”
“I think that’s Nat King Cole.”
They looked at each other for a moment, then burst out laughing.
“My goodness,” Eleanor said. “I certainly owe Nat an apology for what I’ve been sitting here thinking. But maybe it’s best if I never deliver it, because then he never has to know what I was sitting here thinking. Now, why on earth would he be listening to Nat King Cole?”
“Maybe he has better taste than we give him credit for.”
“Is this what young people listen to these days?”
“I have no idea what young people listen to these days. But you’re looking a gift horse in the mouth. Nat!” he called out in a big voice.
The den door opened. “Too loud?”
“Turn it up, please, Nat. Eleanor and I can barely hear it.”
“Oh. Up? Oh. OK.”
The volume came up about three notches and the den door closed again.
Nathan stood and reached a hand down to his wife. “May I have the honor of this dance?”
Eleanor laughed and turned her face away. “Oh, Nathan. Don’t kid.”
“Who’s kidding? Dance with me.”
He took her hand and pulled her to her feet.
“I still need to do the dishes.”
“They’ll wait.”
“I didn’t leave them soaking.”
“Just until the end of this song.” And he pulled her in close. She stopped arguing, set her head against his shoulder and moved with his lead. “Am I right in thinking we haven’t gone out dancing since before we got married?” Nathan asked, his lips close to her ear.
“No, that’s not right,” she said. “We’ve gone out since the wedding. We just haven’t gone out anywhere since Nat came here to live.”
On that note, the song ended. Nathan waited and held her close, hoping for another slow ballad. But he didn’t get it. The next song was up-tempo.
Besides, she pulled away from his arms, complaining that the dishes wouldn’t do themselves, and that he was breaking his promise.
• • •
The phone rang not two minutes later. Nathan was sitting right beside it, and picked it up on the second ring.
“Nathan?” A familiar man’s voice.
“Yes, this is Nathan.”
“Marvin LaPlante.”
“Marvin. How have you been? I owe you an apology. I’ve really been remiss, I’m afraid. Not calling or writing to thank you for giving the boy a chance. I guess I thought maybe it would be more diplomatic to wait and see how things panned out. I hope that’s not being too pessimistic.”
Silence on the line. Then, “Actually, that’s what I was calling about, Nathan. I just wanted to say I was sorry. That things didn’t work out better. With your boy.”
“Oh, no. He lost that job?”
“You didn’t know?”
“No. When did it happen?”
“Week before last,” Marvin said. “I had no idea you didn’t know. He started calling in sick on Wednesdays. Always that same day. Seemed a little odd. He didn’t seem sick when he came in the next day, but I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. But then the third Wednesday he called in, one of the delivery drivers saw him downtown. So, I hope you understand. I had no choice but to let him go.”
“Of course I understand, Marvin. I never meant for you to show him any deferential treatment.”
“I’m just sorry I ended up being the one to break it to you. I figured by now you would know.”
“Yes,” Nathan said. “You would think so. Wouldn’t you?”
• • •
A few minutes after Nathan hung up the phone, Eleanor came through to the living room. She took one look at him, sitting on the couch by himself, staring at nothing.
“Nathan, my goodness,” she said. “What’s wrong?”
It surprised and disappointed him. He had made a firm decision to keep his thoughts and reactions to himself. And somehow, in the empty room, before Eleanor had arrived, he had assumed he was succeeding.
“Nothing at all,” he said.
She turned to go without comment.
But Nathan thought better of his words immediately. As soon as they came out of his mouth he knew they were in serious error. No happy marriage was, in his estimation, ever based on thoughtless, automatic untruths and exclusions. And the best way to make someone unhappy, if not downright unbalanced, is to tell her that what she sees with her own eyes is not there at all.
“Eleanor,” he said, and she stopped. “I’m sorry. I said that without thinking. It’s just some trouble with Nat.”
She came closer. Sat beside him on the couch. Put her hand on top of his. “Do you want to tell me about it?”
“Please don’t be offended if I say no. It’s just my answer for the moment. It’s not that I don’t want to share such things with you. It isn’t even really to say there’s anything at all I wouldn’t share with you. It’s just that I want to hear Nat’s version of events before my own theories get blown too far out of proportion.”
“I understand,” she said. And kissed his cheek.
“Do you really?” he asked as she rose to leave.
“Of course.”
“You’re a good woman, Eleanor.”
“Oh, nonsense.”
“You are.”
She brushed his words away with a wave of her hand and disappeared back into the kitchen.
• • •
Nathan pulled his battered old dictionary down from its resting spot on the living room bookcase.
He sat in his favorite chair, the book open in his lap. Put on his reading glasses.
Taking his good silver pen out of his pocket, he opened the drawer of the end table and found his engraved leather case of notation cards, each card embossed with his name.
He looked up his word, then made a note on a card in his most careful penmanship:
Forthcoming (adjective)
1) Frank. Candid and willing to cooperate.
2) (of a person) Open and willing to talk.
He closed the dictionary, returned it to its rightful place on the shelf, and left the note card in the middle of the pillow on Nat’s bed.
• • •
Nathan stood at his dresser, emptying his pants pockets before bed. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, and felt dismayed about how angry he still looked. Nathan had never liked anger. It seemed a barbaric and undignified emotion. He knew it always masked fear or hurt, and had often wished everyone could simply be sensible enough to cut out the middleman.
He caught his own eyes again in the mirror.
Was he hurt?
Behind his reflection he saw Eleanor removing the pillow shams and turning down the bed. She looked up and noticed.
“You didn’t close the door,” she said. “You always close the door.”
“I thought Nat might have something to say to me before bed.”
At least, he hoped it would be before bed. He hoped he didn’t have to sleep on all of this turmoil al
l night.
A mere second later Nathan heard a preposterously soft knock. He looked up to see Nat standing respectfully outside the bedroom doorway with his tail between his legs, figuratively speaking, and the note card quite literally clutched in his hand.
“Yes, Nat?” Nathan asked, in a voice that betrayed his anger.
“Maybe I could talk to you? You know. Alone.”
“All right. We’ll take this in the living room.”
• • •
“OK,” Nat said. Sounding suitably panicky. “OK, I’m just gonna say it here. You know, just spit it out. I got fired from that job you got me.”
Nathan regarded the boy’s face in the soft glow that spilled in from the streetlamp outside their living room window. Neither had bothered to turn on the light.
“When did that happen?”
“A week ago Thursday LaPlante let me go.”
“And when were you planning on telling me?”
“When I got another job,” he said, fast and obviously prepared. “I was looking real hard. And really, really hoping I would find something quick. And then I was going to tell you both things at once. Like, ‘Good news and bad news. The bad news is, I lost that job you got me, but the good news is I already got another one.’ But it didn’t quite pan out. I put in two applications. The only two jobs I could find open. One was over at Watson’s market, but the produce manager just told me straight out I didn’t have a prayer. Said he had lots of applications from guys who didn’t have a record. The guy at the pharmacy said he’d call me back. But now that sign is down, and he never called me. I even went over to the employment development department and looked in their listings. But you have to have experience for what they had.”
“When did you learn that the opening at the pharmacy had been filled?”
“Couple or three days ago the sign came down.”
“So you might as well have come to me two or three days ago.” Long, aching silence. “What happened at the dairy?”
“It wasn’t my fault. I told you, the foreman had it in for me. He said I made a mistake with the numbers on one of the trucks. That I was short. Like I’d just kept some of the milk, or drunk it, or broke some bottles or something, and I was trying to cover it up. It was a total lie, but it was my word against his. Who do you think LaPlante was gonna believe? Nobody ever believes me.”
When I Found You Page 17
