It Needs to Look Like We Tried

by Todd Robert Petersen

  The cashier laughed at that. “That’s more likely.” He got a serious look on his face, started to say something, then quit, thought for a second, and said, “Tell Jaymee I’m sorry about her folks.”

  “That’s nice of you to say”—Eric looked down at the guy’s name tag—“Tyson,” he said. “I’ll tell her you said so.” Eric gathered all the things together, and tried to size up if he could carry it all.

  Tyson got him a bag and held it open while Eric filled it.

  When Eric got to Jaymee, she was right by the front window watching the downpour with a short overweight lady wearing a baby-blue Dollywood T-shirt and pink leggings. She had a carton of Pall Malls under one arm and a little gray dog under the other. The two of them were talking, but Eric couldn’t hear what they were saying. The rain and the thunder and everyone talking right up by the hard surface of the glass made it difficult to focus. He handed Jaymee her stuff and opened one of his Rockstars. The woman talking to Jaymee seemed to know her. Eric cupped his hand over one ear and turned his head to the woman.

  In the clamor, he could hear the woman say, “You come from good people, Jaymee. Your Aunt Kathy is a saint as far as I’m concerned, which balances everything out.” He didn’t hear what Jaymee said back. He was nervous about the possibilities. When provoked, Jaymee could strike like a snake. A huge clap of thunder made his implants short out for a couple of seconds. When he could hear again, the woman was saying, “Makes me wonder if I shouldn’t carry a gun.” She lifted the dog first, then the cigarettes. “Not sure where it would go.” She squeezed the dog so its muzzle stuck into the side of her boob. “Probably right in there with my phone.” Jayme reached around and took Eric’s hand, she locked down on it like a pair of Vise-Grips.

  As they continued to talk, the rain turned to hail. Within half a minute it went from small, white peppercorns to gum balls. Eric tugged on the back of Jaymee’s shirt. “I want to move the car,” he said. Jaymee didn’t respond right away, so he put his hand on her back and he could hear the vibration of her voice. The other woman’s eyes got wide, and the little dog barked. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go. I don’t have insurance on this car anymore.” He grabbed Jaymee and pulled her past all the onlookers toward the door, then like people psyching themselves to jump into a lake, he counted: “Three, two, one, go,” and they burst through the doors into the chaos.

  The stones stung. As they ran, their shoes became immediately soaked. Hair, faces, shoulders, too. Eric scanned the area as they ran to the car. All the space by the pumps was taken. Someone was in the carwash. He looked past the Daylight Donuts next door, and across the street was an old drive-in restaurant that wasn’t a drive-in anymore. “There,” he shouted, and pointed with his Rockstar. They yanked open the doors and plopped in simultaneously. Jaymee slotted her drink in the cup holder and took Eric’s stuff. He fired up the car, backed it up dangerously fast, and lurched through the storm across the two connected parking lots. It was nearly impossible to see, but Eric gripped the wheel and shot across the street and into the open canopy of the drive-in.

  Through the implants, the hail sounded like explosions from an old video game. He let the windshield wipers sweep across the glass a couple of times then shut them off. Outside the hail had grown to the size of ping-pong balls.

  “That was crazy,” Eric said, looking over at Jaymee, who was hugging her knees and tipping her head against the glass. “Are you okay?” he asked.

  It doesn’t matter, Jaymee signed, knowing that all the noise would make hearing difficult for Eric.

  Did that lady say something? he asked.

  No.

  B.S., he signed.

  It doesn’t matter, she repeated. It’s the same stuff everybody always says. I hate it here.

  I do, too.

  I just want to tell my own story, she said. You can’t do that around here.

  Outside it seemed like the storm was easing up, but it was temporary. A few seconds later, it doubled down. They were both glad to have this shelter. They shared some of the licorice. Eric checked the digital car thermometer, and the outside temperature had dropped ten degrees since they got in. He rolled down both windows, which made Jaymee jump and Eric apologize.

  How much money can you get from Robert Earl? she asked.

  A lot, he answered.

  Is it safe? she asked.

  Eric shrugged.

  I don’t like it, she said.

  I hate what happened to you in there worse, he said.

  Jaymee looked at Eric and smiled weakly but with real affection. She reached for his face and pulled him toward her. She kissed him once and then stroked her thumb across the corner of his lips. “I don’t deserve you,” she whispered.

  “Huh?” Eric said, which made her sit back on her side.

  I love you, she signed.

  FRANCIS WAS WATCHING TELEVISION WHEN the rain turned to hail. The moment he heard the metallic ping, ping, ping on the roof of his trailer, he went to the window and checked his truck. He leaned against the door and watched for a while trying to decide a course of action. He checked the clouds, which were dark as far as he could see to the west and south. The trees were in an uproar of hail and rain, green leaves tearing loose and disappearing into the wind.

  He decided it wasn’t going to get better, and when he noticed the size of the hailstones growing, he scratched his head for a moment then went to his bedroom and pulled the comforter and sheets from the bed in a single motion, like a magician. He rushed outside with the bundle in his arms and threw it over the roof of his truck. He used the doors to secure the blankets. As he ran back inside, the hailstones started to sting as they pelted him. He rushed to Eric’s room and pulled his bedclothes off as well. His move was less deft, and he pulled the mattress a few inches off the box springs, which knocked over a lamp, phone charger, and other things on Eric’s nightstand. Francis ignored it and hurried back outside where the hail had become as big around as golf balls. A great blue fork of lightning split the sky into three sections for an instant. The thunderclap that followed made Francis duck, even though he knew it was coming. He tucked the bedspread into the bumper and into the wheel wells. Not a perfect solution but good enough, he hoped.

  The hail was becoming painful, and Francis was soaked right through. He shook off as he came through the door and then turned to see if his plan worked. Hail was still hitting the bed, but the bed liner would take care of that. The blankets looked like they were doing their job, if they didn’t blow away. Francis got a towel, dried off, and changed clothes. He then went into Eric’s room and put everything back together. When he shoved the mattress back into place, the motion pushed a notebook out of the crack. Francis pulled it out all the way. On the top, in marker, it said, Letters 2 Mom. Francis took the notebook and began thumbing through it. The first letter was in kid handwriting.

  Dear Mom,

  Dad said you died while I was asleep, so I didn’t get to say goodbye. I am happy that you’re not sick anymore, but I am sad that you’re gone. Dad says we can go to a doctor about my hearing. He says maybe I could hear again, sort of. I’ll write another letter and tell you if I can. Dad says you’re not really gone. It’s not true, but I don’t tell him that. I know it will just make him sad. I’m going to keep my promise and be a good boy, but it’s hard to.

  Love,

  Eric

  There was no date, but Francis figured it must have been from when Eric was eleven, right after Karen passed. He closed the notebook, and breathed until his urge to cry tapered. Eric had hidden this notebook from him all these years. When they moved out of the house. When they lived all over the East Coast when he was starting with the railroad. He opened the notebook again and thumbed through the pages. There were letters about school and missing her. Letters about living in all kinds of different places. Eric wrote to her about not wanting another mom and about how Francis could not cook very well even though he tried. He didn’t write regularly, it seemed, sometim
es only once or twice a year. Sometimes more. Somewhere in the middle was a letter about getting the cochlear implants.

  Dear Mom,

  I had the surgery, and it worked. I have cochlear implants now, and I can hear other people and things again. It’s not like I remember. Everything sounds fake and far away. That is hard. It’s also hard to pay attention at recess or in the lunchroom with all the noises, but I don’t need an interpreter at school anymore. But I have to learn how to not hear stuff. I don’t feel like the weird kid anymore. I haven’t had to beat up anyone for being a jerk to me in a long time. Maybe a month. I still talk like a deaffie, though, but it’s getting better. Listening to basketball on TV sounds cool.

  Dad says we’re moving back to Oklahoma. I don’t want to go there. He says it is a promotion, but I don’t care. All my friends are here now.

  I also found out that the money for my implants came because you died. I would rather have you still here with us, but I guess I should say thanks. This is the first good thing for a long time.

  Love,

  Eric

  Francis walked with the notebook into the front room, flipping more pages. They showed a side of Eric he always guessed at, but never knew. Francis wondered how you could ever know anyone in the end. People are mysteries, he thought. Everything important is.

  He skimmed a few more pages, then stopped at a letter where the handwriting seemed different, more rushed and angled, less like a kid’s writing.

  Dear Mom,

  They just told me I can’t play basketball, even with my implants. My shooting is good, but they say since I can’t hear it will be dangerous. It’s not true, I can hear enough to play. I’m better than they are. It’s really true.

  Dad talks to you. I am pretty sure you don’t know that because, you’re gone. That’s obvious. He could just write letters like I do, but he walks around the house talking to you. He used to stop when I was around, now he just keeps going. It’s really weird.

  If he is actually talking to you, could you tell him to stop. I’m worried they are going to think he’s crazy and put me in a foster home, like they did with Andy Carlson when both his parents went to jail. I could live alone if I had to. When Dad is on the train run, I am here by myself for like three days. I could do it. When I’m old enough to get a job, I’ll have my own money, and then it won’t matter if he’s crazy. Don’t worry about us. We’ll be fine.

  Love,

  Eric

  Francis grew furious. He stormed through the house and threw the notebook on the coffee table. He looked out at the hail, which was beginning to taper off. He got a beer from the fridge and sat down in his chair. When he looked up, his wife was sitting on the far side of the sofa.

  “You shouldn’t be reading those letters, Francis. It’s private,” she said.

  “He can have privacy when he’s living on his own,” Francis said. He sipped his beer and watched her eyes. They didn’t blink. He looked away and then back.

  “He’s going to act the way you treat him,” she said.

  He tried to stare her down again, but it didn’t work.

  “Francis, those letters are to me. I don’t care if you see them, but he wrote those things to me, and not you, for a reason,” she said. “If he finds out you’ve been—”

  “He isn’t going to find out.”

  She smiled and shook her head.

  “We went to see you yesterday,” Francis said.

  “You know that just upsets him.”

  “He’s told me,” Francis said.

  “You ignore him, sweetie. You need to stop doing that, or pretty soon he’s going to quit talking to you all together.”

  “He needs to grow up.”

  “Not that way,” she said.

  “You baby him.”

  “You just set him loose like a baby alligator.”

  “How’s he gonna learn anything?”

  “You’ll teach him.”

  “Bah,” Francis said, and swigged his beer again.

  “Is parenting a humbug, then?”

  “I’m not the bad guy, Karen.”

  “But you’re the role model, right?” she said. When Francis didn’t respond, she said, “Right?” again with more vigor.

  He turned away from her to look out the window at the ebbing storm.

  “You know they call it a handicap for a reason. Every morning when that boy gets up, he’s already two steps behind. He doesn’t get to make excuses.”

  “A good father can make up the difference,” she said.

  “I’m not always going to be around,” Francis said.

  “Who is?” she said, folding her arms.

  “I’m sorry,” Francis said.

  “Francis,” she said, leaning toward him, elbows on her knees. “Your time with him is limited.”

  “I know. I know.”

  “You promised to protect our baby.”

  “I know I did.”

  “Then protect him. You are my eyes and ears now, Francis. My hands.”

  “I’m trying to do that.”

  “You have to take care of yourself first. How come you haven’t gone to see someone about the accident?”

  “Some stockbroker stepping in front of my train has got nothing to do with me.”

  “You still think about him all the time. His calm face, his closed eyes. That red hair. The pair of shoes he left behind on the platform. There’s a reason they put you on administrative leave, Francis. You can’t kill someone and go back to work like nothing happened, even if it’s an accident.”

  “They put me on leave because that guy is high-profile, and nobody wants the press.”

  “They put you on leave because you talk to me,” she said. “You started talking to me while the police were interviewing you.”

  Francis was furious. He drank the rest of his beer and then pressed the palms of his hands into his eye sockets. Outside the storm had cooled off. It was back to a light rain, which tapped on the roof of the trailer in the loveliest way imaginable.

  “I can only worry about one of you at a time,” she said. Francis walked over to the chair and bent down to kiss the ghost of his wife.

  The door swung open and Eric walked in. Jaymee was right behind.

  “Dad?” Eric shouted. “What are you doing?”

  Francis stopped abruptly, but didn’t turn. He pointed back at his son without looking and said, “It’s none of your business, boy.”

  Jaymee tried to stop Eric by coming around in front of him and placing her hands on his chest. “Don’t,” she said. “Seriously, don’t.”

  “What’s that?” Eric asked, pointing to his notebook. “How’d you get that? Why are my sheets on your truck?” Eric pushed past Jaymee and grabbed the notebook. “This is mine!” Eric screamed.

  “I told you,” Karen said, which distracted Francis.

  “Don’t listen to her. Talk to me,” Eric said.

  “Now you’ve done it,” she said.

  Eric took his notebook and disappeared into his room. Francis scratched the back of his head and looked at Jaymee. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “Don’t be,” she said.

  “I’m not sorry about talking to my wife. I’m sorry it upsets Eric. I’m sorry it’s upsetting you.”

  “If I could talk to my parents, Mr. Bugg, I would.”

  “I’m not crazy.”

  “I didn’t say you were.”

  “Nobody starts their life thinking it’ll end up this way,” Francis said. “If you did, you’d never have the courage to finish.”

  “I had a teacher once who always said, ‘We’re never as unhappy as we think we are,’” Jaymee said.

  “I didn’t go looking for that notebook,” Francis said. “I didn’t even know it was there.”

  “What was it?” Jaymee asked.

  “Letters to his mother,” Francis said.

  Jaymee looked around the room, then said, “Maybe he wishes he could talk to her, too.”

  JAYM
EE WOKE ERIC BY PLACING his buzzing phone against his cheek. It was Robert Earl. He didn’t have his hearing aids in place, so he swiped the phone and texted Robert Earl, Can’t hear right now. Text me.

  He rolled over and spooned in behind Jaymee. She reached around and stroked his forearm. They were in his room, with its low ceilings and fake wood paneling. A band of cotton-candy pink spread across the sky to the east. He was still angry with his father, but not furious.

  The text from Robert Earl came in: I had to pull over, dumbass. After a few seconds, another one came, You’re working for me today. 9 a.m. at my shed.

  Eric rolled over on his stomach so he could type. Where?

  You remember. By that place.

  What are you talking about?

  Moron! He sent the policeman emoji, and after another few seconds wrote, It’s by that place those cheerleaders drank our Jäger and then made out with each other. There’s a key under the can by the back door.

  Eric smiled and hid the phone from Jaymee.

  Roger, he typed.

  When Eric shut off his phone, he saw that it was seven thirty. He knew if he went back to sleep, he’d blow everything. He snuggled up to Jaymee and put his face in her hair. He tried to reach around her, but she pushed his hands away and sat up so they could sign. She was braless in his Oklahoma State T-shirt, and her eyes said this was not a time for monkey business.

  That was Robert Earl, she signed.

  Eric sat up and signed, Yes.

  Is this job going to get you killed?

  No. It’s just deliveries. I’m working for Pool Shark, taking chemicals around.

  She folded her arms and thought. As she did, a curtain of hair fell across half her face making her the most beautiful girl in the world. When she saw him staring at her, she hooked her hair behind each ear, which returned her face to misalignment. Most of the time Eric didn’t notice the deformity, but when he did, it made him hate himself.

  If this job you’re doing is dangerous, I’ll kill you.

  Eric got out of bed, slid on his shorts, and found his sandals with his feet. He pointed to his shirt, and wiggled two fingers to indicate he needed it back. Jaymee pulled it over her head and threw it at Eric’s face. By the time he caught it, she was safely back under the covers. He put the shirt on, noting her smell.