The Ultimatum

by Nancy Moser

  “Where to?”

  Jered gave Jinko directions to his house, on the way passing the town square, the library, the Plentiful Cafe, and the parking lot behind the hardware store where he and his friends had drank their beer, talked, and hung out.

  “Turn right here,” Jered finally said. “Four houses down. On the right.”

  “We'll drive past once. You look and see if anyone's home.”

  “There's just my dad.”

  “Whatever.”

  Just my dad. But was it true? Or had his dad rented out his room, or given it to Sim? After all, it was Sim who'd saved him. Poor orphan Simmy, in need of a dad and trying to steal his.

  Jered felt a swell of anger. She can have him. I dorit—

  As they passed the house, another emotion swelled as he saw the porch where he'd made forts and played trucks. He'd jumped from those steps at age four, breaking his front tooth when he'd landed hard. The upstairs window belonged to his room…

  If he had a room anymore.

  “A light's on in the front room,” Jinko said.

  “Dad leaves it on when he works late. The car isn't there. He's gone.

  “Want to park and walk, or risk being out front?”

  It was a toss-up. If he pulled into the driveway, Jed Connally in the house on the left might see and get suspicious. But if they parked a block away, more neighbors might see him walking by, carrying his guitar and gear. He'd rather risk one neighbor than many. “Pull into the driveway, way up, by the garage.”

  Jinko followed directions then turned off the car. “Make it quick.”

  “Aren't you coming in?”

  “Nah. I'll let you visit memory lane alone. But don't wallow in it. Five minutes. Tops.”

  Jered nodded and got out, making the car door close with a soft click. He used his key on the kitchen door and was assailed by the smell of home. It was indescribable but distinct. The scent of his dad intermixed with the smell of oak woodwork and past meals. Would his dad be able to describe a particular scent as Jered's?

  He did not turn on a light. Luckily, the moonlight cut a slice through the room, lighting the blue counter, the blue-and-white-checkered cookie jar, and the kitchen table and its bowl of fresh fruit. He grabbed an apple, taking a huge bite. As he did so, he noticed a box on the table with a green envelope on top.

  An envelope with his name on it.

  His head whipped around to the calendar that hung behind the kitchen door. Thursday. October 23. Its my birthday!

  His heart threatened his throat. His dad had remembered his birthday—even if Jered hadn't. He pulled the card from the envelope. The front had a scene of a farm pond with a man and a boy fishing. Happy birthday, son it said in a fancy cursive. He opened the card: May all your dreams come true.

  But as appropriate as the sentiment was, it wasn't the card's words that made him reach for the chair. It was the single word written in his father's awkward scrawl: Dad.

  That was it? He just signed it Dad? He didn't say Come home or I love you. Not even, Love, Dad.

  He shook his head, feeling ridiculous for wanting more. His dad couldn't give more; didn't he realize that by now?

  Suddenly, sobs took over in waves that made him choke. He raked his face, hating the tears.

  He noticed the presents in the box. The navy sweater didn't thrill him, but the guitar book—its very presence spoke volumes.

  Jered started when he heard the kitchen door open. “Time's up, kid. Let's get going.”

  Jered swiped the tears and cleared his throat. “I'll be out in a minute.” He was glad when Jinko left. He set the presents and the card back where he'd found them. Happy birthday, dear Jered happy birthday to you.

  He pushed the pity party aside and went upstairs. He found an old bag in the hall closet and filled it with clothes and toiletries. He took his Walkman, a few CDs, some staff paper and pencils, and on the way out of the room, his guitar from behind the door.

  Once downstairs, he lingered in the front room a moment. How many times had he sprawled on that couch watching TV or videos? When he was little he and his dad would watch the movie Willow over and over. His dad liked Val Kilmer's character, Madmartigan. He liked the two Brownies, Rool and Franjean, who kept getting in trouble. He took a step to the left. Yup. There was still a red stain on the rug where he'd spilled cherry Kool-Aid.

  It's the past. Move on. Move on.

  His feet felt rooted. Planted deep. The only way he would be able to move was if someone plucked him from this spot like a weed.

  A weed in a place it did not belong.

  He closed his eyes and willed himself to move, pulling away from the memories. Once one muscle moved, another followed, and he was back in the kitchen.

  He was worn out. He stuffed another apple and a banana in his bag. His eyes locked on the presents. He couldn't take them. He couldn't. He—

  He snatched the card and ran out the door.

  “You're quiet,” Jinko said.

  Jered leaned on his hand and continued to look out the window at the dark fields flying by. So little could be seen. Only the brush up close had any detail, any form. Everything beyond was a black mass. Scary. Unknown.

  “Come on, kid. You got your guitar. That's what you wanted, isn't it?”

  Jered spoke against his hand. “Its my birthday.”

  “Your—? Why didn't you say something? We can stop back at the restaurant and I'll buy you a drink. Or…how old are you any-way:

  “Eighteen.”

  “You look older.”

  “I'm not.” Im just a kid. He suddenly sat up. “I'm not older. I should be hanging out with my friends, sneaking into movies, going out on dates, spending money on computer games, not food.”

  “You can still do all those things.”

  Jered snickered. “Everything's changed.”

  “So what?”

  He sneaked a look at this man beside him. The dim light of the dash made odd shadows on his face. “So I should still be doing kid things. Fun things.”

  Jinko slammed on the brakes and pulled onto the shoulder, nearly toppling the car in the ditch.

  “Hey! What'd you do that for?”

  Jinko slammed the gear into Park and faced Jered. The look in his eyes made Jered lean hard against the passenger door.

  “Poor little Jered. You want to go home to Daddy? Go sit around the table and play Monopoly and drink Kool-Aid? How old did you say you were? Ten?”

  It was like deja vu. Jered and his friends had kidded Sim with much the same words when she'd been staying with his dad. Suddenly her comeback became his. “I like Monopoly. I will always like Monopoly.”

  Jinko shook his head. His face and words softened. “Look, kid. You were nearly out of the house anyway. So you bumped it up by a few months? That took guts. That's not the action of a kid.”

  “It's not?” Jered hated the pathetic tone of his voice.

  “Of course it's not. You've got a job. You have a place to stay.”

  Some job. Some place to stay. “I don't want to be a dishwasher all my life or live in someone else's garage.”

  “Oh, you wont; you wont.” Jinko put the car in Drive and pulled onto the highway. He flashed Jered a wink. “I have plans for you. Opportunities.”

  “What kind of opportunities?”

  “You'll see. Don't worry about a thing. I'll take care of you, kid. Just stick with me.”

  Bailey flipped on the kitchen light and tossed his keys and the zip-pered bag of restaurant receipts on the desk. It had been a good night for a Thursday. The last customer hadn't left until eleven o'clock. In fact, it had been so busy Bailey hadn't had time to eat anything.

  He opened the refrigerator and took inventory. Not much to choose from. Funny how he served such luscious food at the restaurant but ate so simply at home. But of course he had a chef at Bon Vivant. Sanchez was one of the best in the business. At home he only had himself.

  Bailey made a decision and carried the milk to
the table, where he poured a bowl of Cinnamon Life cereal. Cold cereal. Some hotshot restaurateur you are.

  He ate standing up, leaning against the counter. The pile of presents for Jered reminded him what day it was. If only Jered had been around so Bailey could have given him his sweater, his guitar book, and the—

  The card was gone.

  Bailey set the bowl of cereal down hard, the milk slopping over. He wiped his wet hand on his pants and searched for the card. He pulled out chairs, looked on counters, all ridiculous moves but nonetheless necessary.

  His eyes locked on the fruit bowl. It was half as tall as it was before. At least one apple and a banana gone.

  Jered!‘The thought gained a voice. “Jered! Jered?”

  Bailey raced into the living room, then up the stairs. He's asleep in bed, exhausted from his journey. I'll barge into the room, and he'll sit up all sleepy-eyed and say, “Hi, Dad, what you yelling about?”

  But at the top of the stairs Bailey saw that the door to Jered's bedroom was open, and he knew the Father Knows Best ending would remain relegated to TV sitcoms.

  He stopped short at the edge of the doorway, his toes the only part of him brave enough to venture into the inner sanctum. His heavy breathing cut through the silence of the empty house. His next word was a whisper. “Jered?”

  He received no answer, and his head started a series of small shakes.

  Then a smell hit him like a slap. It was faint, more a hint of some aroma past than an actual scent. But it was distinctly Jered.

  “You were here.”

  Bailey stepped into the room, flipping on the light. The tail of a T-shirt was caught in a closed drawer, a familiar sight when Jered lived at home. His CD tower revealed gaping spaces. A hanger was on the floor of his closet. He'd come.

  And gone.

  Baileys legs buckled. He headed for the bed but stopped himself before sitting. The bedspread was tight and smooth. Jered hadn't lingered. He had not sat on the bed, drinking in memories.

  He had come. And gone.

  He had made another choice to leave, to be anywhere but here.

  Baileys strength left him. He sat, tipped over, then scooted up on the bed. He pulled Jered's pillow to his chest, giving it the hug he could not give his son.

  Five

  For the Son of Man came to seek

  and to save what was lost.

  LUKE 19:10

  ANNIE WAVED AT TWO REGULARS as they left. Bob and Bernie. Two Country Classics Supreme and two coffees every Saturday morning for six years. “You tell Dorothy I'd love a couple of pumpkins from your garden, Bob.”

  “Will do.”

  She went to clear their table, ready to pick up the three five-dollar bills that were the payment plus tip every week. The men took turns paying. But this time something was different. Under the coffee cup were two five-dollar bills and a twenty.

  Had Bob gotten extra generous in his old age?

  She looked out the window at him toddling across the street to his truck, his arthritis making his knees stiff. No way. He and Dorothy lived frugally on his pension. His Saturday breakfast with Bernie was a splurge.

  Keep it. Hell never know.

  Memories of her conversation with Cal burst in unannounced.

  “Its a mistake.”

  “In our favor.”

  “Butyou can't keep it. ”

  “I sure can.”

  “You shouldn't keep it.”

  “Since when?”

  Since now.

  She ran out the door. “Bob!” He was getting in his truck. She hurried across the street.

  “Goodness sakes, Annie. What's the commotion? And where's your coat? It's freezing—”

  She showed him the bills. “You left me too much. You put a twenty down instead of a third five.”

  He fanned the money. “Well, what do you know? You're right.” “The difference will buy you and Bernie another breakfast when it's your turn again in two weeks.”

  “Indeed it will. Indeed it will.” He handed her back the two fives and dug out his wallet. “Dorothys been hounding me to get new glasses. Guess this proves she's right. Again.” He handed her a, then another. “This extras for you. For your honesty.”

  She gave it back. “No, Bob. I don't need that.”

  “But you did something good. You need to be rewarded.”

  She closed his fingers around the bill. “I have been. Believe me, I have been.”

  Annie didn't walk back to the Plentiful, she strutted.

  Bailey sat on his front porch swing, bundled in a jacket against the October cold. Leaves skittered across the yard, and a few braved the steps to sweep by him. There one second. Gone the next.

  He was going crazy. He spent the previous day moaning about Jered's secret visit. He'd heard it said that a burden shared was halved? A good concept, but hard to put into practice when he had no one to share it with. No one to sympathize or help or comfort or advise.

  Yesterday morning he'd thought of calling Jered's friends, Darrell and Mag, Mig…what was that kids name? But he didn't. What if Jered had seen them? Talked to them? What if they'd had real contact? He couldn't handle the contrast to his own there-but-not-there experience. Stupid kid. Why did Jered tease him so? Either be back or be gone, but none of this in-between.

  He'd thought about gaining some comfort by going to the library to talk with Merry, but he couldn't. She wasn't a possibility anymore, not since she'd hooked up with Ken. He'd even considered talking to Sanchez his chef, or Stanley, his head waiter at Bon Vivant. Yet the fact he didn't know anything about their personal lives stopped him.

  Why would they want to hear about his?

  By afternoon, he'd had the phone in his hand, ready to call Claire Adams, but he hung up before dialing. Claire was a smart one—too smart. She'd had him pegged from the first moment she came into Steadfast. Besides, now that she'd moved her mosaic studio here and had accepted a huge commission for a hundred-foot mural in some Kansas City church, she was probably too busy to talk to him.

  Or was she too successful?

  A long time ago Bailey had accepted the fact he preferred being with people who were under his station in life. True peers made him nervous.

  Then there was Cal. Cal was an upright sort of guy. He might even have some decent advice for Bailey. But theirs was a new relationship—a business relationship. Best not to muddy the waters with dirty laundry.

  Which left…no one.

  How was it possible for him to live in Steadfast his entire life, bring up six brothers here, go to school here, get married here, get left by his wife here, bring up Jered here, start a successful business here, and not have any friends? Many acquaintances, but no friends.

  He swung forward and back, forward and back, his hands stuffed in his pockets, a lump on a swing. A worthless—

  He spotted Sim riding her bike down the street in his direction. Before he realized he'd made a decision, he was at the top of the steps. “Sim!”

  She saw him, waved, and pulled into his driveway. “Hi, Bailey. I haven't seen you in ages.”

  “I've been pretty busy.”

  She nodded. The breeze flipped her hair in front of her face, and she anchored it behind an ear. “I saw the addition to Bon Vivant. It's pretty cool.”

  “Thanks.” Now that he had her attention he wasn't sure how to broach the subject.

  “Have you heard from Jered?”

  Thank you, Sim! He moved closer. “So you haven't seen him?”

  “No. Have you?”

  Bailey looked past her, taking a breath. “Not exactly. But he was home Thursday night.”

  Sims eyebrows rose. “How do you know?”

  He risked a glance to her eyes. “Things were missing. He got his guitar.”

  Sim bit her lip. “Does that mean he's doing something with his music?”

  “I don't know.”

  “I hope so.” She did a double take. “Oh. I'm sorry. I know you don't approve.”

>   Does everyone know my inadequacies as a parent? He tried to think of something that would sound good. “I just want him to be happy.”

  She didn't respond.

  He remembered something. “I never thanked you for contacting that man from Hiptone Records about Jered.”

  “He called?”

  Bailey nodded. “Soon after Jered ran away. Jered's supposed to contact him.”

  “Does he know?”

  “I haven't had a chance to tell him. If he would have stayed around the other night, I would have—” He let the statement die. Would he have told Jered about the Hiptone call?

  Sim adjusted the pedals. “I gotta go. I'm picking up Avi McFay to come to our house for Bible study. Her mom's working.”

  It was needless information.

  “Let me know if Jered calls,” Sim said. “Tell him I'd really like to see him. Tell him my mom and I are praying for him.”

  Prayer making a difference? Talk about a pipe dream.

  Annie washed the pots and pans. All during dinner she'd wanted to share with Cal about her experience this morning at the diner—the overpayment and how she'd handled it so well. She was well aware that he'd just been handed a similar situation with the insurance company and had handled it badly. Annie longed to discuss it with him because she knew her reaction was God's doing, not her own. There was an excitement in that. An excitement she wanted to share.

  But the timing had never been right. Cal talked about the finish work on Bailey's addition, and Avi told them how Indian corn was grown. There was little chance for Annie to bring up her good deed, nor was she sure she knew how to word it.

  Cal came up behind her at the sink and nibbled at her ear. “And how was your day?”

  The perfect opening.

  Annie wiped her hands on a towel and turned to face him. “Actually, I had a nice thing happen. Bob and Bernie were in for breakfast—”

  “That's nothing new.” Cal played with her hair, tickling her cheek with its end.

  “But then Bob overpaid me. He made a mistake and put down a twenty instead of a five.”