The Sweet Spot

by Joan Livingston

  “Neighbors? That’s all?” Dean’s head moved as if it were keeping a beat. “Did you know he almost fought with George at the Do after you left that time?” He made a hooting laugh. “You look surprised. He didn’t say anything? Now that tells me a lot about him.”

  “What happened?”

  “Your neighbor had George practically by the throat when he made some smart ass comment about you.”

  Her mouth hung open.

  “He took on George?”

  “Your neighbor didn’t seem the type to put up a fight. I’ll give him credit though. He didn’t back down.” Dean made a satisfied grin. “I saw the whole thing. Man, he caught that asshole off guard. Pulled him up by the shirt. George wanted to tear his head off. Good thing I stepped in, or Harlan would’ve gotten the shit kicked outta him.”

  Edie clicked her tongue.

  “He really took on George?”

  Dean chuckled as he brought the bottle to his mouth.

  “He sure did.”

  Close To His Heart

  Pop’s chest moved beneath his flannel shirt in slow, shallow lifts. Edie stubbed a smoldering butt into the ashtray on the chair’s arm. She frowned at the untouched grilled cheese sandwich and the bowl of tomato soup from the can.

  Amber sat close to the TV with the volume on low. She held a finger to her lips.

  “Shh, shh, shh, Poppy’s real tired.”

  “Uh-huh. I see you made him food. That was very thoughtful of you.”

  “He didn’t eat.”

  “Don’t worry. He will later. How long’s he been sleeping?”

  “Only a little while.”

  Edie glanced around her father’s place, neater after she washed and put away his clothes. He let her clear out the stacks of yellowed newspapers and magazines, but now, he had insisted, they were in one of his shacks out back with the rest of his junk.

  “Why don’t you get your backpack? I’m gonna tell Poppy we’re going.” Edie gently shook her father’s shoulder until his blue eyes broke open. “Thanks, Pop. I’m taking Amber home. You didn’t eat your food. You feeling okay?”

  Pop gave her a sleepy smile.

  “I’m fine, honey,” he mumbled.

  “You sure, Pop?” Edie tapped her father’s shoulder. She spoke to him so gently he could have been her child. “You taking it easy? Did you have anything for lunch? No? Maybe that’s why you feel so crummy, Pop.” She sniffed and lowered her voice. “Aw, you’ve been drinking already? Gee, Pop, you know what the doctor said.”

  He shook his finger.

  “Edie, you’re sounding just like a certain redheaded sister of mine. Real bossy-like. I’ll be glad when she goes back to Florida this winter. She comes over and tells me what to do. Or she calls me on that damn phone. I feel like rippin’ it outta the wall. If you wanna know, I’m feelin’ fine considering, and I’d appreciate it if you all stop treatin’ me like I’m touched in the head.”

  “No, Pop, I’m treating you like a stubborn, old fool who won’t take care of himself.” She crossed her arms. “Don’t forget we’re seeing the doctor next week. He’s gonna ask you about the smoking and drinking.”

  Pop spat a yellow wad of phlegm into a raggedy bandana.

  “That quack? I’m not lettin’ him tell me what to do. When I kick, I’m gonna have a big, fat smile, a cigarette in one hand, and a bottle in the other. That’s the way to go, eh? You can put me in the ground just like that.”

  “Pop, stop talking like that.”

  Benny’s face crinkled.

  “How’s things at the dump? Rats gettin’ thick again?”

  “Nah, I went in early to move stuff around.” Edie studied her father closely. “Maybe it’s time you retired. Running the dump’s a lot of work.”

  “And do what? You might as well take me out in the back yard and bury me with Leona’s mutt.”

  “Pop, you could do lots of things. Go fishing. Hang out with your friends. You could sell the stuff you have in the barn. It’d help with your Social Security.”

  “That’s what Harlan said the last time he was here. Says he knows people who might be interested. Him, too. He could fix up stuff and sell ’em. That’s not such a bad idea. But quit the dump? I just need some help now and then when I get back.”

  Edie sat on the arm of Pop’s recliner. Her father was getting too old to be toting people’s trash and dragging home their discards. She thought of him venturing out in his snowmobile suit from the attendant’s shack during the winter. Snow clung to his woolen cap and ice crystals formed on his whiskers. She brought up the subject before, but this was the first time he gave in a little.

  “You think about it some more. Maybe you could spend some time in Florida with Leona. I hear the trailer park she stays at is really nice. Lots of widowed ladies live there. You’d like that.”

  Amber stood beside her grandfather’s chair. She handed her mother a large envelope. Her school photo showed through its cellophane. Amber had a good smile in the picture, not too silly or forced, so she was the girl Edie wanted her to be. She’d have a family who loved her. She’d have friends and get good grades, so she went to college. She would only live in Conwell if she wanted.

  In the past, her mother-in-law paid for the most expensive package, so she could have her pick of the photos. Marie always took the eight-by-ten for the engraved silver frame she had in her living room. She hung it next to several pictures taken of Gil: when he was a boy; at his high school graduation; with Edie on their wedding day; and in his uniform before he left for Vietnam. Marie always made a fuss about Amber’s new photo. She gushed about how much Amber had changed before she slipped the previous year’s picture from the frame into an album. It was “our girl” this and “our girl” that, and Amber loved every minute of it.

  “Here, Poppy, this is for you.”

  Amber gave her grandfather a photo to tack on his bedroom wall with the others of her, plus one for his wallet. She already cut them to size.

  Pop pulled the wallet from his back pocket.

  “I’m gonna keep this right next to my heart, sweetie pie.”

  Amber giggled.

  “Poppy, that’s not near your heart.”

  “It’s close enough.” He nodded. “You tell your Ma about school?”

  Amber peeked at Pop.

  “No.”

  “Go ahead,” he said, but the girl stayed silent. “Never mind. Kids were sayin’ things on the bus. About you. She was crying when she got off.”

  Edie frowned.

  “Is Shirl still your driver? She didn’t say anything to those brats? Don’t you worry, Amber. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

  Amber’s face was raised, her expression trusting.

  “Okay, Ma,” she said.

  A truck pulled in the driveway, and Edie recognized Harlan’s uneven step on the porch. He was saying through the screen door, “Mind if I come in?” before Amber opened it.

  “Hello there,” Harlan said to Amber. “Thanks for getting the door for me.”

  “You’re welcome, Harlan,” she said.

  Pop sat up.

  “If it isn’t my best customer. What can I do for you today?”

  Harlan chuckled.

  “I was wondering if you might have a desk and chair to sell me. I need a file cabinet, too, three drawers if you have one. They’re for my office.”

  Benny scratched his chin, trying to recall what he had in the barn and shacks out back. He snapped his fingers.

  “I believe so. I kinda remember a roll-top desk with a nice wooden swivel chair. It used to belong to a doctor in town. Maybe a file cabinet, too. If I still got ’em, I’ll give you my best price.”

  “It sounds like we have ourselves a deal.” Harlan glanced at the envelope in Edie’s hand. “Say, what do you have there
? It’s picture of Amber. So cute.”

  Amber pointed toward the envelope.

  “Would you like one? I cut them already.” She turned. “You can give him one of the small ones, Ma.”

  Harlan nodded.

  “I sure would. Thank you.”

  Edie inhaled Harlan’s clean scent of cut wood as he tucked the photo into the breast pocket of his t-shirt. She smiled when she bent to kiss her father’s cheek.

  “I gotta go now. If you need me, I’m next door. Do you mind?”

  Her father waved his hand.

  “Go ahead, honey. I wanna rest a bit.” He swung his head around, whistling happily at Amber when he found her. “Thanks for the grub and pictures.”

  Edie stepped onto the porch toward her part of the house. Amber let the screen door shut softly behind her. Harlan was still there.

  “Is your father okay?”

  “I don’t know. He’s not gonna stop smoking and drinking. And he needs to stop working at the dump. I think all the talk in town about me didn’t help.” Her head was down, and then she looked directly at Harlan. “By the way, I visited my friend, Dean, today. I hadn’t seen him since the wake. I wanted to know how he’s making out.”

  “How is he?”

  “Not so good. He’s been drinking heavy.” She smiled as she tipped her head to one side. “He did tell me an interesting story about you and George getting into a fight at the Do.”

  Harlan grinned shyly.

  “I wouldn’t exactly call it a fight, Edie. I dragged him across the table and let him flop back on his chair.” He shrugged. “He was drunk. It wasn’t too hard.”

  She shook her head.

  “He could’ve hurt you really bad, Harlan.”

  He snorted.

  “Edie, my body might be messed up, but I can stand up for myself or people I care about. You should know that about me.”

  “You’re different than George and the others. You talk things over.”

  He shook his head.

  “I tried that approach. It didn’t work with George.”

  She smiled. He was telling her something she already knew.

  “Nice of you to keep buying stuff from Pop. Maybe soon we can have that barn and his shacks empty if you keep it up.”

  Harlan grinned.

  “It’s not all I came here for.” He paused. “I wanted to ask you to dinner Saturday night. I’d take you out, but I can’t think of anywhere close that’s good to go. I’ll do the cooking. Don’t be so surprised, Edie. I’m a great cook. I did most of it when I was married.”

  Edie smiled.

  “I’ve never had a man cook for me, except Pop,” she said. “Let me ask my aunt if Amber can stay with her. I bet she won’t mind. She can cheat at cards and feed Amber all the ice cream she wants.” She smiled again. “When should I come over?”

  Slow Dance

  Edie brought two beers to Harlan’s kitchen table. Dinner was over. Harlan made spaghetti with homemade sauce and garlic bread that Edie liked. The dishes were in the sink. Harlan said he’d wash them later, not to worry.

  The only light on in his house was the one over the table. The radio’s volume was lowered, so they could talk, and Harlan hummed to the tune playing on the country station. Edie handed him a cold bottle.

  “Your favorite music,” she teased.

  He chuckled.

  “I believe it’s growing on me, at least the old-timey stuff. Have a seat. I want to show you something.”

  As Edie watched, Harlan went to the hutch for a roll of papers, which he spread over the tabletop.

  “These are the plans I drew up for my new shop. This here is where the workbenches and machinery will go in the barn’s first floor. See how I’ll partition one corner for an office?”

  She shook her head, amused. Harlan used quick, light strokes to draw a woman writing at a desk.

  She pointed.

  “Who’s that?”

  “My secretary. I’ll need to hire someone when I get this business going. Know anyone who might be interested?”

  “I’d ask around, but nobody’s speaking to me these days.” Edie took a closer look. Her head bounced up. She smiled at Harlan. “Hey, she looks like me.”

  “I did a pretty good likeness, don’t you think?” He studied her. “You might want to consider the job. It’d only be part-time at first.”

  Edie sighed.

  “I’m not sure if I have what it takes.”

  “You’d be good with customers. It’s the most important requirement.” His hands flattened the paper’s curl. “You could help me with some of the small stuff in the shop, too, like hand-sanding.”

  “I’m working at the dump for a few weeks more. Either Pop will be well enough to take back the job, or he won’t, and I’ll quit, and they’ll have to find somebody else to run that place. I’m not staying any longer than I have to.”

  “Something happen today?”

  Edie frowned.

  “Nothing I can’t handle. Some people sure like giving me a hard time. Today a newcomer took me aside to say one of the Crocker cousins was being awfully rude. He told me I should complain to the selectmen. I told him thank you, but it wouldn’t help.”

  “Isn’t there somebody else you could tell?”

  She smiled.

  “I believe I just did.” She shook a finger. “But I don’t want you doing anything about it this time.”

  Harlan chuckled.

  “Rescuing you has become my specialty, Edie. Anyway, I should be ready for you in about a month. Why don’t you think it over?”

  She kept smiling.

  “I will.”

  Edie set the paper down and picked up another. This one had a sketch of the barn’s exterior. It was painted a smart red. A sign above the double-doors said: HARLAN DOYLE FINE WOODWORKING. The sign’s background was a creamy yellow, its lettering black. Her fingers fluttered over the drawing. It was perfect.

  A new song came from the station, a fast-mover about a man hell-bent on fun. It was a favorite of the dancers and some of the bands that played at the Do. She hadn’t heard it in a while.

  She smiled at him over the paper.

  “Do you remember, Harlan, the time at the Do when I asked if you ever dance?”

  He grinned back.

  “I believe I told you I used to, but with this bum leg I probably could only manage a slow one.”

  She peered up at Harlan.

  “Let me know when you wanna try. The offer still holds.”

  He couldn’t stop grinning.

  “I just might.”

  “Please, do.”

  Harlan grinned still, watching her intently. Edie picked up a drawing of the hayloft.

  “The loft will be a dry spot to store lumber,” he said. “I’ll have to build stairs because I couldn’t manage a ladder. I’ll likely get to it this winter when I can find some help.”

  She turned toward the radio as a song exploded with violins, and Patsy Cline began singing “Crazy” in her you-got-me voice. She was a woman who couldn’t stop loving a man. Edie tipped her head and murmured. Patsy got the woman’s feelings just right.

  Edie lifted her eyes as the legs on Harlan’s chair scraped against the floor. He stood in front of her. He held out both hands.

  “Edie, I believe this might be that slow song we’ve been waiting for.”

  Giggling, she got to her feet and in his arms.

  “I believe you’re right.”

  Harlan danced awkwardly at first. He couldn’t seem to find the beat.

  Edie whispered, “Take your time, Harlan. This song was made for slow moving.”

  He relaxed. His feet made small rocking steps across the floor as she followed his lead. She and Harlan made one spin, and then another over the linol
eum, so cool beneath her bare feet. She laughed when Harlan dipped her backward and used his strong arms to draw her toward him. He laughed, too, as he made his steps longer. She was tight inside his arms when they twirled again. He slowed. Edie rested her head in a comfortable place against his chest.

  He murmured, “This is nice.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  The song ended, and the announcer introduced the next. He was taking requests, and this tune was going out to a couple celebrating an anniversary. Harlan stopped dancing, but he didn’t release Edie. His heart beat steadily in her ear. She looked up.

  “What are you thinking about, Harlan?”

  “I’m thinking about you and me.”

  “You and me.”

  His face had taken on the shy expression he wore the first time she met him. He lived in his tent and sat on the porch because everything he had was soaked from the rain. His head was cocked to one side when she introduced herself as his neighbor. Pop, who met him first, told her some about him. Now she knew more.

  Their lips touched, and then their tongues, and she felt they were tumbling into some hot, wet place as they kept at it. He guided her backwards to his bedroom, where they kissed until they were breathless.

  The Caring Side

  Edie used a fingertip to trace a scar along Harlan’s leg. He took her in, enjoying her touch, she could see. She wanted to make him feel as good as she now felt. The rough tracks where the doctor sewed him together extended from his pelvis to the calf of his bad leg. He cast his eyes dreamily toward her.

  “I’m quite a mess, huh?” he said.

  She shushed him.

  “To tell you the truth, I’ve seen worse.”

  “Worse?”

  “A man from Gil’s unit came to visit me. He got hurt a few days before Gil’s chopper went down, so he wasn’t on board when it crashed. He was in a VA hospital for a real long time. A few months after he got out, he came to see me. He showed up at my apartment above the general store. I hadn’t moved in with Pop yet.”

  She held a hand to Harlan’s cheek.

  “His name was Dave. He was from New Hampshire, a real country boy like my Gil. They were close buddies,” she said. “He gave me a picture someone took of Gil in front of their chopper. Amber has it framed in her room. He told me everything he could remember about him, and I let him hold Amber. She was just a baby. We read aloud all the letters Gil sent me from Vietnam, and we cried.”