by Geof Johnson
“I mean, my old home.” He squirmed in his seat and looked down at the dog. “Can I throw the ball for Beepee in the backyard now? I’m done.”
“You’re going to wear your arm out,” Liz’s father said. “That’s your third time today. You ought to be getting pretty good at it.”
“I can’t throw very good. I mean, very well. Not like my dad. He was great! He was a pitcher on his high school team and he got offered a minor league contract, but he turned it down because he wanted to go to college.”
“I know.” He rolled his eyes. “He only told me every chance he got.”
Liz shot him a tight glare and he clamped his mouth shut. Fortunately, Zach didn’t seem to notice the subtle insult to his father.
“So,” Zach said, “can I be excused…I mean, may I be excused? I’m finished with my dinner.”
Liz gestured at his plate, still half-full of food. “Doesn’t look like it.”
“I can’t eat any more. Can I give the rest to Beepee?”
“She can’t have the chicken bones. I’ll have to pick the scraps off and give them to her later.” Zach started to get up and she added, “Take your things to the counter, first.”
Zach picked up his plate and drinking glass and set them by the sink. “Come on, Beepee. Let’s go.” The dog bounced around his legs while he grabbed the green tennis ball from the narrow shelf in the far corner and opened the back door, then they both disappeared through it, slamming it behind them.
Liz winced. “I wish he wouldn’t do that.”
“He’s excited.”
“And I wish you wouldn’t criticize John like that around Zach. How many times do I have to tell you?”
“That wasn’t much, what I just said, but it was true. John was always bragging about things like that.
“Why do feel compelled to do that, anyway? Can’t you control yourself?”
He took a long breath before saying, “I feel like Zach has put his father on a pedestal that’s a little too high. Somebody needs to knock that down a notch to something reasonable.”
“That’s not your job, Dad. And besides, I seem to remember you having a bit of a hero worship thing for your brother when I was growing up. It was always Bill this and Bill that. Honestly! You’re one to talk about pedestals.”
“Bill deserved every award he got, and he got a lot of them. More than anybody that ever came from this town. More than anybody I ever met, for that matter, except for John.”
“John deserved his accolades. None of them were gifts. He was an extremely talented man. I felt lucky to be married to him.”
“There was a big difference between John and Bill. My brother was modest, almost to a fault. He gave most of his awards to the high school, all of his championship trophies and stuff. A lot of them were still there in the display case until they tore the old building down. I don’t know where they are now.” He wagged his index finger at Liz. “But you can’t say that about John. He was a glory hog. Go on, admit it!”
Liz crossed her arms and turned away for a moment.
“I thought so,” he said smugly.
“That doesn’t mean you should try to tear him down in front of Zach. Let Zach work that out for himself. Besides, for the most part, John was a positive role model for him. He was a successful man, and a good father and a good husband, up until the end.
“A good husband?” He lifted his eyebrows. “The way I saw it, it was all about John, all the time.”
“That’s not true.”
“Oh, really? You’re the one who had to give up her yoga class so John could play adult league basketball and softball and everything else. And I seem to remember that you wanted to start working on your master’s degree, but John didn’t want you to because he would’ve had to stay home every night and look after Zach.”
“We decided that we didn’t need the extra money I would get from an advanced degree.”
“Bull. You didn’t want it for the money, you wanted it because you’re motivated, because that’s the kind of person you are. Or were. I’m not sure what you are now. An apologist for your late husband, I guess.”
“That’s not fair. I gave up things for my husband, sure, but so did Mom. She gave up her career for you, so she could raise Will and me. Seems like the same situation.”
“Things were different back in those days, and it wasn’t much of a career. She was a bank teller.”
“So? She could’ve gotten promotions. She could be a vice president by now.”
“They didn’t promote women much at banks back then. And we didn’t really need the money because I was working at the mill, and I was making a good salary. That’s what your mother wanted, so that’s what we did.”
“Well, that’s what John and I wanted, too. We had things worked out, and we had a good marriage. He was a good provider, up until the last year, and a loving, faithful husband.”
“Think so? Are you sure he was going to play basketball or whatever, all those nights he stayed out ’till ten?”
“Yes.”
“Really? That’s not what you told your mother. You might not have mentioned anything about it during your phone calls with me, but you told your mother a different story.”
She felt her face grow warm, and she was suddenly too rattled to answer.
“I thought so. Your mother and I talked. I know about your problems with that so-called perfect husband, so don’t tell me I can’t criticize—”
The back door burst open and Zach poked his head inside. “Mom, do we have any more tennis balls? I threw the other one in the bushes, and I can’t get to it.”
“In the drawer beside you. There are two more left in the pack.”
Zach pulled it open, grabbed another ball and went outside again.
Liz sighed as she watched him go. “I guess we need to cut those shrubs back soon. They’re badly overgrown.”
“I’ll need help with those, because there are a lot of them. Put it on one of your lists.” Her father stood with his plate and drinking glass in his hand and walked to the sink.
Liz picked hers up, too, grateful that the conversation was over.
* * *
Early the next morning, Liz stood on the sidewalk by the street with her hands on her hips and a frown on her face, and considered the front of her house. It still looks awful. The shrubs no longer blocked the windows, but now they were leafless, cut back so far that they resembled waist-high skeletons. Her father had assured her they would start to “green up” again, as he put it, by mid-July, but right now, they looked dead.
The whole house looks dead. I wish I could afford to have it painted, but that wouldn’t be smart, right now. In her mind, the list of projects changed, and the priorities reordered themselves. She decided to have her home pressure-washed as soon as her father could get his friend over to do it. She could do something about the porch, though, on her own.
Chapter 4
Liz stood on the step stool and stretched her soapy brush up to wipe off some of the cobwebs that clung to the gingerbread trim, an intricate pattern of carved pieces that spanned the top of the porch like a hem of wooden lace.
“Mom,” Zach said, kneeling a few feet away with a soapy brush of his own and a suspicious look in his eyes. “Are you sure there are no spiders?”
“Yes, honey,” she said patiently, for the third time. “I sprayed out here already. You know I don’t like them, either.”
Zach sat down on the plank floor and draped his forearms over his knees. “Why do we have to do this? I thought you said you were going to get it pressure washed. Wouldn’t that get clean it just as good?”
“You mean just as well, and no, I don’t think it would, not in all these little corners and crevices. I’m going to paint it as soon as I can, and I don’t want any crud getting on my brush.” Zach didn’t respond. He sat unmoving with a grumpy turn of his mouth, so she added, “I’ll take you to the library later if you do a good job.”
“Whoop-de-d
o.”
“Okay, I’ll go by myself.”
“No, I want to go, if they have the Internet.”
“They do. I called them already this morning.”
Zach dipped his spindle-shaped brush back into the bucket of soapy water and made a half-hearted swipe at a porch rail. “I wish you’d get somebody else to do this.”
“Zach, this isn’t hard, and I need your help. Besides, what do I pay you an allowance for? So you can sit on your butt and watch me work my fingers to the bone, trying to get this place looking respectable?”
“Why work so hard fixing up a house that isn’t even ours?”
“It is our house, Zach.”
“I thought you said it was Grandpa’s.”
“Technically, yes. He inherited it from Uncle Nicholas with the understanding that Aunt Winnie could live in it until she died. Grandpa will give this house to us, and when he dies, my brother will get his house. Though I don’t think my brother cares one way or the other about it.”
“But I thought Aunt Winnie was still alive.”
“She is, but she’s much older that your grandfather.”
“She’s in a nursing home, right?”
“Yes, in Tilton.”
“Why don’t we go see her, if she’s family?”
“She’s suffering from advanced dementia. She doesn’t recognize most people anymore, even your grandfather.”
“Still, if she’s family, we should visit.”
“You’ve never been in a nursing home, Zach. It’s pretty depressing. And Aunt Winnie won’t even know who we are. Maybe we could go sometime so you can see for yourself, but we should try to make the best of the little family we have, just you and me and your grandfather.”
“And Uncle Will and his family. I have three cousins. Grandpa told me so.”
“I don’t know if we can count them in our little group. I doubt we’ll ever see them. My brother has made it clear that he’s not interested in coming here to visit, and we can’t afford to fly to Seattle to see his family, so….” She shrugged and looked toward the street. That was when she noticed the three kids walking toward her house, two identical boys and a skinny girl, the one Liz had met the previous day. The boys were pushing bicycles.
“Zach, isn’t that Shelby and her brothers?”
Zach stood and looked, too. “I think so. Are they coming here?”
The three kids turned onto the front walk and headed toward them. “Looks like it.” Liz stepped off the stool, set down her brush and bucket, and removed her latex gloves, while Zach joined her, watching the strangers approach.
“Hello, Shelby,” Liz called.
Shelby waved feebly and dropped her gaze to her feet, trailing behind her brothers while they rolled their bikes forward. The boys were nearly perfect copies of each other, rangy-looking, with wavy, straw-colored hair and blue eyes. The only difference was that one of them had a scar on his face, a thin, light-colored line over one eyebrow.
When they reached the porch steps, Liz said to the boys, “You must be Jason and Justin. Which is which?”
“I’m Jason,” the one without the scar said and then pointed at his brother. “The ugly one is Justin. He’s the one with the U in his name, and U is for ugly.”
Liz chuckled and said, “That’s easy to remember. I’m Mrs. Webster.” She gestured at her son, who stood at her elbow. “This is Zach. Would you kids like to come in?”
“Uh, no ma’am,” Justin, the scarred one, said. “We’d uh, like to know if Mr. Ogletree could, uh, you know, uh—”
Jason smacked his brother’s arm with the back of his hand and said, “What he means is, Shelby said that Mr. Ogletree can fix bikes. Is that right?”
“He can fix most anything,” Liz said. “Are yours broken?”
“They got flat tires and they won’t hold air if you pump ’em up, but Shelby’s is fine. Do you think he might could fix ours?”
“Probably. Why don’t you ask him yourself? I think he’s awake by now.” She pointed to her left. “His house is the second one over there.”
“Yes ma’am, we know, but uh…you wouldn’t want to ask him for us, would you? I mean, could you, please?”
She turned to Zach. “Why don’t you take them over there and ask your grandfather to help them? Beepee would probably like to see you.”
“Will he charge us?” Justin said. “We don’t have no money.”
Liz fought the urge to correct his grammar. “I can’t speak for him. If it’s just flat tires, he might not charge you. I’ll call him and make sure he’s home, and Zach will take you over there. You don’t mind, do you?” She turned to her son, who didn’t seem so sure. “I can finish here.” She nodded at the porch rails.
Zach brightened at that suggestion and pulled off his gloves, too.
Zach tried to act casual as he led the group with the bicycles toward the sidewalk, but he felt awkward around the three strangers and he was at a loss for words.
Jason broke the silence. “Why not just cut through your neighbor’s yard? That’s what we do.”
“Because I don’t know them,” Zach said. “I might wear a path in the grass and they may not like that.”
“So? It’s just ol’ lady Schultz. She won’t care. She won’t even notice ’cause she’s half-comatose, from what I hear.”
“Still, I’d rather not, you know, make her mad or anything.”
Jason gave Zach a sideways glance with narrowed eyes, and Zach was afraid that he’d just been judged and found guilty of cowardice.
“Who’s Beepee?” Justin asked.
“My grandpa’s dog. She’s still a pup, mostly.”
“Will we get to see her?” Shelby said. “Can I pet her?”
“Sure, I guess.” They turned up his grandfather’s front walk. “She might lick you a lot, though.”
They left the bikes in the grass and climbed the seven concrete steps to the front porch. Zach knocked. He was answered immediately by barking, and moments later his grandfather opened the door.
“This is a motley-lookin’ crew,” Grandpa said and let Beepee out, who jumped up on Zach fleetingly before scooting to the other kids and sniffing each of them, black tail wagging full speed. Shelby knelt and Beepee sat for her and let her scratch behind her ears, a broad smile splitting Shelby’s small face.
“What does motley mean?” Jason said, his eyes tight as if he might have been insulted, but wasn’t sure.
“Not much.” Grandpa grinned and Jason seemed to relax. Grandpa said, “I heard somebody needs a bike fixed. Is that you guys?”
The boys nodded and Jamie introduced everyone.
“Our tires are flat,” Jason said. “But not Shelby’s. We can’t fix ’em, and Mama can’t afford to take them to the repair shop right now.”
“Just flat tires?” Grandpa said. “If it’s easy, I’ll do it for nothin’, since you’re friends with Zach.”
“Uh—” Zach almost said I just met them, but Grandpa hushed him with a surreptitious wink.
Grandpa turned to the boys. “Or maybe you fellows can pay me by helping me next time I have to do some heavy lifting. You look pretty strong. How old are you?”
“Me and Jason are thirteen,” Justin said. “We’ll be in eighth grade this year. Shelby’s only twelve.”
“Well, that’s perfect.” Grandpa clapped Zach on the shoulder. “My grandson here is twelve.” He nodded firmly, as if he had just declared them some kind of club, or best friends. “Zach, take ’em over to the gate and I’ll let you in the back.”
“Can Beepee come with us?” Shelby asked.
“Sure. She’s mostly Zach’s dog, anyway. I just keep her at night so I don’t get scared.”
Shelby stared back at him with her mouth open and her brow wrinkled, until Grandpa chuckled to let her know he was joking.
He went back inside the house and Zach took the other kids around to the side yard, with Beepee cavorting around them.
“Is she really your dog?�
�� Justin asked Zach.
“Kinda sorta. I keep her during the day so Grandpa can go to work and stuff.”
“I’ll keep her if you’re too busy,” Shelby said.
“No you won’t,” Jason said. “Mama won’t let us have no pets.”
“Why not?” Zach said.
“She don’t wanna have to feed it and pay the vet and all.”
“I never had a dog before,” Zach said. “My dad wouldn’t let me.”
“How come he’s letting you now?”
“He’s uh….” Zach swallowed hard. “He died.”
“Oh, sorry.” Jason shrugged. “Our daddy’s in prison.”
Zach gaped at him, dumbfounded. “Prison?”
“Yeah. Prison.” Justin said flatly. He and his brother turned and faced the wooden fence that blocked the driveway. Their arms were crossed, jaws stiff. Shelby was silent, her chin low. Even Beepee was still.
The uncomfortable moment was broken when the gate creaked open and Zach’s grandfather let them in, and the kids rolled the two bikes to the backyard with Beepee at Zach’s side. The garage door was already up, and Grandpa directed them toward it. He rummaged inside it for a minute and came out with a hand pump. “So they won’t hold air? Which tires? Front or back?”
“The front,” Jason said. “Both bikes.”
“We gotta turn them upside down so I can take the wheel off. Start with yours.”
Jason flipped his over while Grandpa went back in the garage and came out with a set of wrenches in a black plastic pouch. He selected one of the long, steel tools and settled the end of it over one of the nuts that held the wheel in place. He began loosening it and said, “How’s your mama? She still working day and night?”
“Pretty much,” Justin said. “She’s working now.”
“She still at Greenly’s?”
“Yes sir. Working in the office. After that she goes to Ingles ’till seven thirty, working the checkout line. Then she comes home and makes supper. She works most Saturdays, too.”
“I see her sometimes at the store, when I’m getting groceries. I try to go through her line ’cause she’s fast, and I hate to wait.” Grandpa pulled the nut off, set it on the ground, and went to work on the other. “I don’t envy your mom. I couldn’t work that hard.” He removed the wheel and slipped his thumb under the tire, gradually popping it free.
