by Liam Ward
“I’d have to find a horse too,” I said.
“That’s a lot of money,” she said with skepticism.
“I’ve got enough saved.” I had nearly $25,000 saved but had ear-marked most of it for college. That money was my life savings. Hard earned. Spending it would be tough, even if it was for furthering myself.
“You don’t want to spend it on that. Your uncle will probably get a new buggy soon and will want to get rid of his old one. Just go talk to him and make an offer,” my mother suggested.
“Would you and dad let me have Epona to pull?” A beautiful black horse, Epona was our oldest mare. She was two years older than Roma but was a bit bigger and stronger. She didn’t have Roma’s calm temperament, but I could deal with that.
“Probably. Are you going to see Mary again?” my mother asked.
The conversation was unavoidable, but I hoped that conflict could be dodged.
“Friday probably. I won’t take Roma; I can have Mary pick me up,” I said.
My mother sighed. “It does bother me, but I guess I can’t do anything about it. I certainly can’t judge her. You’re a handsome young man. Too nice for your own good.”
“Well, I won’t argue with you there,” I said, feigning cockiness.
I heard movement behind me and looked to my father. He had awoken and sat upright with his feet on the floor. He massaged his legs above the knees. His knees were in bad shape and he was often in pain. He blamed it on his high school wrestling career, but I thought that a life filled with physical labor was the more likely culprit. I often reflected on the fact that dad didn’t move like he used to.
Hannes cleared his throat, picked his pipe back up and stuck it into the corner of his mouth. He pulled a match from the box, struck it, and waited for the sulfur tip to burn away and the wood to ignite. He brought the flaming stick to the half-burnt bowl of tobacco. I watched the flame lick in and out of the pipe as my father puffed on it. He flicked the match out and set it in his ashtray.
A deep pull of smoke. An exhale which filled the living room. The earthy smoke was grounding.
My father took another deep pull from his pipe before speaking. “Did you have a good time?” he asked.
“Yea, I think Mary really enjoyed it. Thanks for finding the innertubes,” I said.
“Good.” My father continued puffing on his pipe and massaged his knees. Hannes left the conversation at that.
My mother had turned back to her painting. Christine was examining the miniature with a magnifying glass, which had built in LED lights.
“That’s a lot of little scarves to paint,” I said.
“That’s the fun part,” she answered.
I stood and watched her for a moment as she examined her work.
In the backyard, a hen called out. Usually, their coop door stayed open and they were free to come and go outdoors. The past few weeks though, I’d been shutting their coop door because I had seen racoon shit nearby — the bastards are vicious and would rip my girls to shreds.
My father let out a big sigh. “Ahh… I don’t feel like getting up,” he said and laughed a little. He sat back in his chair, pulled the pipe from his mouth and looked up at the ceiling.
My mother looked at me. “You go shut the barns down for your father. I’ll make him tea for bed.”
“Of course,” I said.
“Thanks,” my father said.
Chapter Seventeen - Mary
The week drug on.
I dropped my keys and purse in their usual spot on the kitchen counter and bent over to undo my shoes. The weight of my workday and commute had been lifted. Thursday had been fired and Friday was being loaded in the chamber. Wayne would be coming over to my place the next night, and I intended to make it a hot date.
Giddiness was the aether that held together the evening. The week’s wait was nearly over.
Wayne ran through my mind all hours of the day. A hunk of man, shining with youth and potential. His big arms could carry me into the future and maybe even across the threshold of our own home. He had potential to be the man I’d never had. Maybe even a father to a child. Wayne was a sweetheart, destined to make a loving father.
We decided on watching Evil Dead: a low budget horror/dark-comedy movie, which was old, but had aged well. Wayne hadn’t seen it, but I insisted that he’d like it. A mutual admiration for scary movies was discovered during a late night of texting. Whether or not he would like the movie, we were sure to have a good time. I’d already picked out the black lace thong and bra that I’d strip off for him.
Anticipation sizzled like a lit-fuse firework, ready to light up Wayne’s night.
I danced around my outdated kitchen, the scratched hardwood floor creaking with each step. I plated myself pot roast with veggies and started scrubbing a few dishes to load into the dishwasher. During the workday, my getting-home-date-ready-to-do-list had expanded. Scrub the bathroom and cram makeup into drawers was next on my list, but first I’d eat in front of the computer as was customary.
The plate of steak, onions, carrots, and potatoes sat next to my keyboard. I clicked the desk lamp on and sat down in my flimsy computer chair, which emitted a squeak. I stabbed my fork into a chunk of meat and carrot, quickly scrolling through the news as I chewed my food. My appetite for headlines and socially media diminished as my plate emptied.
Computer time was limited to thirty minutes per night. I sat around enough during the day and felt guilty about sitting when I got home. I had forced myself into a nightly yoga routine, which I had maintained for a little over a month. Yoga hadn’t helped my figure as much as I would have hoped, but it kept me ache free and mobile.
My limited computer time was usually capped with a painfully futile search for a new job. Opportunities with different trajectories were rare this far north. Design jobs were much easier to come by in big cities like Detroit or Chicago. In northern Michigan, you took what you got and you didn’t complain. Of all my job searches, I couldn’t recall seeing a design position within fifty miles of my home. Hope of one opening at my current place of employment was virtually nonexistent. The design team at Revolution Seating was small and consisted of three designers that were creative types who were stereotypically eccentric older men.
Switching positions internally seemed beyond remote, and so, the séance began. The job board appeared. I manipulated the job description, city, and search radius, all in hopes of conjuring up the specter of an opportunity. Titles and job duties rang dully against my battle fatigued mind. Quality Control Coordinator. Supplier Relations Manager. Purchasing Analyst. Continuous Improvement Specialist. All positions I could fake, but likely couldn’t make. Anonymous jobs at Indifference Inc. Taking another readymade office job over my current gig was like seeing who could jump higher into a shallow grave.
Some positions, like Greenhouse Fulfillment Manager, sounded more colorful, but I wasn’t ready to take a position with a pay cut. However, office life was wearing on me and that day was approaching.
The lack of jobs was depressing but familiar. It was hard to imagine the perfect position popping up for me to grab.
I cheered up when I thought of Wayne. How was your day sexy? I texted him.
I closed the computer and stood up to load the final few dishes into the dishwasher. My modest garden could be seen from the kitchen window. It was lush from the glut of rain that we’d had in the prior weeks and would likely provide me with more vegetables than I could eat. The peas had overgrown their makeshift trellising and the spindly vines stuck out in all directions, feeling for the next bit of structure to grab onto, which would support their ascent towards the limitless summer sun.
Chores: sometimes the bare necessities; sometimes scrubbed grout; it all depended upon who was coming over.
The light switch clacked, loosing harsh white light into the bathroom, illuminating the mild mess that I lived in. Though not nearly as bad as some bathrooms I’d been in, my bathroom was outdated and needed a remodel.
Linoleum floor, a faux wood vanity, and a hardwater stained shower insert. I’d bought a fixer-upper but hadn’t quite figured out the fixing part. Following my divorce, I thought that there would be a new man in my life. A man who’d take care of me and fix up the house that I bought. That man hadn’t materialized, until now.
I began clearing off my bathroom vanity. The toothpaste speckled mirror and faucet would have to be wiped down.
My phone buzzed and I was quick to pick it up. Disappointingly, it wasn’t a message from Wayne. Instead, it was Melissa, a friend from work in the marketing department. Rarely did she text me; we’d only hung out a handful of times, which made me think that I’d bored her.
Did you hear about Ron? Melissa’s text read.
No, I replied.
Melissa’s reply came quickly. He gave two weeks’ notice. Has stage 4 lymphoma.
Between all the company Christmas parties that I had attended, Ron had said a handful of words to me, all of which were nice. He seemed like a pleasant guy and I knew that he had a wife and three kids. His hats and truck stickers indicated a passion for fishing. I also knew that he was on the design team.
I felt ashamed because of the thought that entered my mind, but I couldn’t deny the opportunity. It sounded like a design position was opening. I’d brush up my resume and take a swing at the rare ball.
Chapter Eighteen - Wayne
My mother had asked that I make a grocery run and I was more than happy to oblige. I was going to hang out with Mary at her house and I wanted to pick up some deodorant — I didn’t want to be the stinky boy trying to woo the grown woman. Throughout high school, deodorant had never been in my arsenal and I frequently went days without showering, which is probably why I never had a female companion. Reflecting on my then poor hygiene made me cringe. More recently, I paid better attention to myself, but the wall of deodorant sticks was new and befuddled me. I’d spent nearly thirty minutes pulling off caps, sniffing, and narrowing down my choices.
My nervousness to see Mary again went unacknowledged.
Old Spice Fiji smelled good to me.
I’d made sure to pick up a pack of gum on my way out of the store too.
The air was humid and carried the unmistakable smell of the beach. A dark eastern sky reinforced my belief that rain was on its way, so I kept Roma moving along at a pace that was faster than usual. Paper bags filled with groceries were piled around me and I did not look forward to running them into the house through the rain.
It’d been a rainy summer, but not detrimentally so. Fruits were hanging well, and the farmers would be happy and heavy-pocketed, provided they didn’t face too much competition on the market.
Roma instinctively turned off the main highway onto the narrower paved road that lead to our house. We were about fifteen minutes away from home.
Back home, work was mostly done, save for collecting eggs and the nightly feedings. I’d made sure to get things done early and thoroughly. I didn’t want to give either of my parents an opening for complaining to me about leaving to be with Mary. They had asked me about Mary a handful of times during the week; questions about Mary’s background, current living situation, and personality — all were answered honestly and raised no red flags. Of course, that didn’t stop my mother from harping on our age gap. However, it was easily apparent in their tone and line of questioning, that my parents had greatly softened to the idea of Mary and I having a relationship, which was a relief. Their blessing was important to me.
I’d never had anything like Mary in my life before.
A beautiful woman’s attention. Her flesh. Her sex. The rose that knew my name.
However, the surrealness of the feminine encounter had gradually wore off and I recognized that a part of me was intimidated by Mary’s age, her job, her house, and her life before me.
What does Mary see in me? Am I just a summer fling?
Maybe, but probably not. Moreover, who gave a shit? I could see myself in a long-term relationship with Mary, but if she just wanted to use me for sex, yes please. Please do.
We shared a lot of interests, our communication was smooth, and we had similar goals in life; were we really that different? I had a hard time considering myself an adult, but I wasn’t sure where that line was drawn. Our connection seemed genuine though and I’d no doubt that she enjoyed my company. I certainly enjoyed hers. She was a sweetheart and I felt compelled to take care of her. All week, Mary was all that I could think about. Through pictures and videos, I’d shown her most of the farm and she was eager to come spend time with the animals.
My mind interrupted my stream of thoughts by slipping in images of Mary’s beautiful body. I couldn’t wait to feel her skin pressed against mine again. Blood rushed into my dick and I massaged it through my trousers, thinking of Mary’s mouth all over my body. Ecstasy.
Waves moved through the corn stalks on my right side.
The dark clouds had arrived. Barely perceptible amounts of rain began to grace the dry pavement. Gaining strength, the rain’s impact became audible, striking the corn leaves. All summer long, small streams of field runoff had flowed through the drainage ditches on either side of this road, feeding the cattails and larger waters downstream.
Unbuttoned, the sky let loose.
Torrential rain pounded the road and roof of my covered buggy. Within a minute, the road’s surface became covered with a thin sheet of water, which displayed the impact of heavy rain drops. Visibility was halved and Roma gave a few irritated nickers, which were audible above the pounding rain. She didn’t care to be out in the rain any more than I did.
We hastened.
Gusts of wind picked up sheets of rain and flung them into the open sides of the buggy, misting my face and dotting the brown paper bags. I stood to rearrange the bags so that the flour and sugar didn’t get wet. Canvases, which served as weather shields, hung above the openings on either side of the buggy; I unfurled them and they provided relief from the rain.
We approached the last big hill before my home. The hill’s gradual slope divided the surrounding fields, breaking up the monoculture monotony with grasses, shrubs, and trees. The county road commission workers rarely touched the shoulders of this road and the grass was overgrown.
In my left mirror, headlights appeared and were approaching my rear. At once, the car was on my buggy’s ass. The blue F-150 dipped into the other lane, going over the solid yellow line, to check for oncoming traffic before it accelerated around me. Its tires spun water up at Roma; first her sides and then into her face when they were in front of us. Water continued to splash up at us until they pulled away. Grim red taillights went over the hill and dipped out of view.
A moment later, Roma and I crested the hill. On the left side of the peak, an old maple tree stood with half of its branches dead and barren. Pairs of sneakers with their laces bound together hung in the tree. Nearly a hundred pairs were tangled in the canopy — they were all being whipped violently about by the afternoon’s storm. White circled Converse stars were easy to pick out of the flock. While not a public park, the tree was a gathering/drinking spot for the few teenagers who inhabited the small township. Generations of shoes hung in the maple like Christmas tree decorations. I’d thrown three pairs into the tree.
We started down the hill and Roma picked up speed. My driveway was a couple of miles down the road still. The base of the hill opened to cornfields on either side.
The rain showed no sign of relenting.
Up ahead, a car turned onto the road.
I could see that the car occasionally dipped over the dividing line and drove down the center of the road. I couldn’t tell if the driver was trying to avoid potholes, was careless, or was texting. Their behavior did not change and their headlights were growing larger, piercing the oppressive rain, and quickening my heartbeat.
“What the fuck,” I said and moved the buggy off the road. The right-side wheels were on the graveled shoulder of the road and the ride became bumpy. I got as
close to the deep ditch as I was comfortable with.
A football field away now, the black car began to drift further into my lane and was fast approaching. I steered closer and closer to the side of the road but feared that I’d take Roma and I into the deep drainage ditch.
Closer, the car righted itself into its own lane.
The relief was brief as the car again veered into my lane, driving where my buggy would have been had we not moved over.
Roma spooked, stepped too close to the ditch’s edge, and slipped in the tall slick grass. In an instant, she fought to right herself and make for high ground, but the buggy, which had fallen into the ditch, flung her back down with a meaty thud. All forward momentum was halted when the buggy’s front right corner slammed into the far slope of the drainage ditch.
I remember a moment of weightlessness before it all went dark.
Chapter Nineteen - Mary
Fridays were always slow for the Accounts Receivable department. Of eleven people, only two members of my department were men and they mostly kept to themselves. Us girls were close and usually took our lunches together, but our ages and life circumstances varied greatly, which stopped us from meeting up outside of work for the most part.
The office was quiet save for the hum of the air conditioning and rain beating against the windows. The department had cleared out for the day with a lot of the girls taking off early. We had flexible hours, so if you got a few extra hours in during the week, you were free to leave early. Naturally, everyone wanted to leave work early, so we rotated who got the pleasure. This Friday was not my Friday, but I didn’t mind, my work for the day was done and I’d entertain myself by working on my résumé.
Scheming to fill a position that was soon to be vacated by a sick man felt wrong, but it wasn’t. I had nothing to do with his diagnosis or decision to resign. Nevertheless, I felt guilty about taking a shot at the opportunity.