The Coward

by Jarred McGinnis

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Didn’t you know men have sing-alongs in the urinals?’

  ‘Shut up.’ She smiled. Her left front tooth was a fraction longer than the right.

  ‘I’ve tried to sing “Officer Krupke” by myself, but it isn’t the same.’

  ‘You are a bullshitter. I’m adding that as a footnote. Serious answer.’

  ‘I am serious.’

  ‘I miss just hanging out with people,’ Sarah said. ‘What happened to showing up at people’s doors and hanging out? It seems like now everyone has to make appointments months in advance before they can be social. It’s part of the reason I moved back here.’

  ‘Where were you?’

  ‘SF. I was a project manager for a big tech company making database software. This is what you do with a BA in English and forty thousand in student loans. A two-week project management course and I’m playing with spreadsheets and stroking millionaire nerd egos for a living.

  ‘I thought I wanted to be a grown-up when I became a grown-up. But I was wrong. I couldn’t take it any more. I was in a meeting and an engineer broke down crying saying he knew we were going to close the group, you know, fire everyone, after we shipped. He said he hadn’t seen his kids in a month and we were still going to fire him. I had to say “no, no, no” because we needed him. Meanwhile, on my phone was an email telling me to start closing up the group as soon as we shipped. I knew he was going to go.’

  ‘That’s awful.’

  ‘Not being a grown-up sounded like the grown-up thing to do. The sad thing is that I left after we shipped. I still stuck around to make sure that we made our ship date before I took my stand. I hung around the Bay Area, couch-surfing at friends’ and pretending to be a bum.’

  ‘I lived there when I was a teenager. Why’d you come back here?’

  ‘My brother is really sick. I came home to help out, but I needed the redo.’

  She looked at her notepad. ‘We have some more questions. Definition of beauty?’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear about your brother.’

  ‘He’s okay now. Everything is okay now, actually.’ The smile returned. ‘Definition of beauty?’

  ‘The slight curve of the back of a woman’s thigh as seen in profile.’

  ‘Creepy. Does that line ever work?’

  I flushed with embarrassment. I had no comeback. I wanted to run away.

  ‘Well, Jarred, I think we have all I need here. Back to work.’

  She stood and greeted the people waiting at the counter. I had embarrassed myself and left without saying goodbye.

  I went back home composing all the other sentences I could have said. Our exchange replayed in my mind until it was full of static and error. My body became an encumbrance. My arms pushed the rim of the wheels, heaving the inert body and useless head. I felt the incline of the road and the struggle against gravity that always wanted to pull me backward. The dog-walker, the mailman, the woman watering her lawn, the child in the back seat of a passing car all had the same expression. Look, he’s in a wheelchair. He can’t walk. How horrible must his life be? I bet he’s bitter and angry and alone. You start out thinking that everyone is sneering at you, then you learn to not care until you finally understand that everyone is so wrapped up in themselves that they don’t have time to notice you, never mind patronise you.

  When I got home, Jack stepped into my path.

  ‘Hold up. Let’s talk. What’s wrong? You got a puss on your face.’

  ‘A puss?’ I said and turned to wheel around him.

  He held the armrest of the wheelchair. ‘Hold on a sec. Talk to me.’

  I took a deep breath and let go. ‘I’m twenty-six. Never going to walk again. I live at home with my dad. I do monkey work for peanuts. In debt up to my paralysed ass. I got you into debt too. I know you’ve had to borrow money from Patrick and that kills you. God knows what’s going on with Melissa’s husband and the civil case. On top of all that, I’m telling you my troubles like a lovesick teenager.’

  ‘There are worse things you could be. Elephant inseminator for example.’

  I pulled away and headed toward my bedroom. ‘Jack, I’m not in the mood.’

  ‘I was watching a nature programme and that was some lady’s job in Berlin at a zoo. You could be shoulder-deep in elephant hoo-ha,’ he said, following.

  ‘Are those my only options?’

  ‘With your CV, probably. Tell me about this girl.’

  We were in front of my bedroom. I turned to face him. I told him.

  ‘The girl at the fancy coffee shop? She seemed like a good one. I’ll tell you how you know for sure whether she’s interested.’

  ‘Okay, tell me. How?’

  ‘Five bucks.’ Jack held out his hand.

  ‘Five bucks? What does that mean?’

  ‘I’m not giving this one away for free.’

  ‘You want me to pay for fatherly advice?’

  ‘Fatherly advice? This is powerful juju I’m peddling. You don’t want my help, you cheapskate? Fine with me.’

  ‘All right. I’ll bite. Three fifty.’

  Jack shook his head. ‘This isn’t for negotiation.’

  I pulled out my wallet and handed Jack the money. He held it up to the light.

  ‘The next time you visit her. Watch her when she first notices you. If she fixes her hair, she’s interested. If she doesn’t, if she doesn’t pause for the minutest moment, she doesn’t think of you like that.’

  ‘That was worth two bucks tops.’

  ‘Listen, rubber legs. Women are just as self-conscious and doubtful as you. When she’s fixing up her hair, she’s thinking of you. More importantly, she’s thinking how she looks to you. She wants you to think of her as beautiful. If she doesn’t fuss with her hair, you’re just a customer. A thing that hands her money and she hands a coffee to. You aren’t on her radar. You watch. Try it out.’

  ‘She doesn’t care. I’m a guy off the short bus. I said something stupid.’

  ‘You always say something stupid. You worry too much. So what, you look like a giant roller-skate? Women aren’t so shallow, not the ones that count. You got my good looks and charm, the ol’ one-two combo. Use them. Here. Here’s five bucks. The next time you visit her, if she does as I say, take her out somewhere nice. Buy her a coffee.’

  I took the money and ignored how pleased Jack was with himself.

  ‘Buy the coffee girl a coffee?’

  ‘You won’t have far to go then.’

  ‘Can I ask you something personal?’

  ‘Shoot.’

  I hesitated, toeing the edge to test this new ground between us.

  ‘Did you ever date after Mom died?’

  ‘Yeah, of course,’ he said.

  ‘But you never wanted to remarry?’

  ‘I meant to. I wasn’t against it in theory, but I grew up with your mom. We were high-school sweethearts. I have adored her every day of my life, still do. I became a man with her and raised two kids with her. We took care of each other. After she passed away, I was too busy drinking myself to death. Then I was too busy trying to stay sober. Eventually, a few gals hung around for a year or two, maybe a little more. A lot of them for a lot less. Almost married a lady by the name of Jasmine but she wised up. They all got sick of being second best to a dead woman. I never blamed them for leaving. Your mom ruined me for anyone else. She and I fit perfectly despite everything. Now I’m too old and too used to being on my own.’

  Jack’s eyes shone. I wanted to put my hand calloused from the wheelchair onto his, but I couldn’t command my arm to move.

  33

  I didn’t think anything of it when Jack offered me a ride home after one of his meetings. I went to the diner where he and Thomas sat around playing toss and catch with AA clichés. I still suspected nothing when Thomas excused himself when I arrived. His leaving suited me fine.

  ‘Ta da!’ I showed Jack the painting I had been working on with the hippy art
ist. I was copying an old photograph of Mom taken by him when they were young.

  In the photo, she was covering her eyes. Mom always hated her photograph being taken. A curtain of long black hair obscured her face except half of a coy smile. She was in a red western-style shirt, which blended in with the red brick of the fireplace behind her. She was a beautiful woman. Beside her there was a fair-haired man, not Jack, with Seventies helmet hair and wide lapels, holding the infant Patrick. In the painting I had cut them out. It was just Mom.

  For the past weeks, Jack and I had been talking about my painting’s progress. The first day, he drew out of me how I had stretched and primed the canvas by myself. At first, I was hesitant, unsure of how to be civil. But he persisted, and a father’s pride is food for any boy.

  Each day, I went to school for a bit to see friends but usually ran off to the artist’s house where I cut frames and mattes for his prints and ran any errand he needed. In exchange, I got some money and some painting lessons. After I got home, I sat on the armrest of Jack’s chair. He held the photograph as I pointed out the parts I was working on, explaining how the layers of paint worked together, how to build up blocks of colour to make shapes and even my obsessive musings about the smell of linseed oil. He asked questions I hadn’t thought of, which I relayed to the artist and reported the answer back to Jack the next evening.

  The painting was almost finished. It was Mom in paint. Her smile was unmistakable.

  The waitress stopped at our table to admire the painting. Jack played along, but there was something else on his mind. My feelings were hurt, and I asked him what his problem was.

  I didn’t know that the high school had contacted him to tell him about my poor attendance, selling cigarettes to freshmen and running a bespoke shoplifting service. I stole whatever anyone wanted and sold it to them half price. My name was coming up too often to be ignored. I had been expelled.

  ‘So what?’

  ‘So what? Finish high school, for god’s sake.’

  I seethed. I felt betrayed. I decided not to fight back, but to formulate revenge.

  Waitresses and diners looked over as he growled and occasionally raised his voice. I held my head repentant. He threatened me with suits of punishment that I trumped. Grounded for a month. No, grounded for the school year. I told outrageous lies. I invoked Mom’s name in vain. I did all this so when he ran out of accusations, I could excuse myself to the bathroom without him suspecting anything.

  ‘Shake it more than twice and you’re playing with it,’ he said.

  I took my time. I sat in the stall and stared at the ceiling. I strolled out of the bathroom past Jack’s questioning expression toward the exit. I turned, gave my royal wave, quite a signature of mine at this point, and left. I was gone for a couple of months, returned home cuffed and my back pockets stuffed full of promises of court dates, time in juvie and community service.

  When the police left, I was expecting a good old-fashioned smack around from his drinking days. Instead, he sent me to my room as if I had drawn on the kitchen wall with my crayons. When I heard Thomas arrive, I went to investigate.

  ‘I said go to your room. You’re grounded.’

  I laughed. ‘I’m just getting something to drink then I’ll return to my cell.’ That was going to be the end of it. I was going back to my room to finish my book, go to sleep and wake up and disobey him – business as usual – but it was Thomas’s eyes that betrayed them.

  I went and got my drink then sat on the sofa too close to Thomas, who unconsciously adjusted the distance.

  ‘So, what are you guys up to?’ I asked.

  ‘Thomas is helping me do something I need to do.’

  ‘Thomas, that’s very kind of you. What are you helping us with? Tax returns?’

  He looked at Jack. He looked at me. He pushed up his glasses.

  ‘I’m here to be supportive.’

  Jack said, ‘I don’t know what to do with you any more. You’re so angry—’

  ‘I’m not angry. I’m quite content actually. We have a lovely house with our very own Thomas to curl at our feet on cold winter nights.’

  ‘Jarred, I’d like you to go to your room and wait. I’ve called the police.’ I felt jittering energy race through my body and vibrate in my arms. My thoughts jumbled and pushed each other around my head. Thomas and Jack looked small and far away, as if I was seeing them from the wrong end of a telescope.

  ‘For what? What I have I done?’ My voice went shrill and embarrassed me.

  ‘That’s not it. It isn’t for anything you’ve done. You need help. I want you to talk to someone.’

  ‘Is this Thomas’s idea? It sounds like some pussy talk-about-your-feelings nonsense he’d come up with.’

  ‘No!’ The command of his voice had returned. ‘Thomas has nothing to do with this. This therapy thing is a whole new world to me, but I think it’s right. I don’t know what else to do.’

  ‘Fine. You get me to go this time. Are you going to get a cop for every appointment?’

  ‘It’s a facility—’

  ‘A nut house?’

  I shot out of my seat, but Jack grabbed my shoulders as the police cruiser pulled into the driveway. I used the distraction to go into my room and lock the door. A tentative knock came as I was climbing out of the window.

  ‘One second, please. Just taking my shoelaces out and I’ll be ready.’

  I went to the front and knocked on the door before running away, across the top of the police cruiser from hood to trunk and down the street.

  I don’t remember consciously deciding to head in the direction of Patrick’s house, but when I emerged from the forest his house was the closest. After walking for several hours, I was drained and numb. Maybe Patrick would let me sleep, maybe give me money for the Greyhound.

  I knocked on the door and waited.

  My left sock was soaked in blood. Three gashes in my leg had bled a lot but had dried and darkened to a crust rimming my sock. Patrick opened the door while I was still kneeling to examine the cuts.

  ‘Jarred, what are you doing here? What’s the matter?’

  ‘I was goofing off in the forest and I fell and did this to myself. Can I come in?’

  ‘Yeah, of course. Where’s your shirt?’

  I hadn’t noticed my shirt was missing.

  ‘The bathroom is just there down the hall. I’ll see if we have any antiseptic.’

  After I was cleaned up and his wife, Fran, brought me a shirt to wear, we sat on his couch staring at each other like the strangers we were. I became more anxious. Why had I come here? My brother didn’t know me. This made my bones tingle with static. I wanted him to not stop talking.

  I walked down the hall and investigated the rooms. After a few doors opening and closing, Patrick followed me and asked what I was looking for.

  ‘I forgot how big this place is.’

  ‘It’s not that big. The price was right. The seller had to sell. I couldn’t pass it up.’

  ‘Holy shit! Is this the kitchen? Is Fran a chef or something?’

  ‘No.’ Patrick laughed. ‘We really only use the microwave.’

  ‘What a waste!’

  Patrick dropped the fake smile he’d been struggling with since I arrived.

  I twiddled the knobs on the stove. ‘It looks like a supercomputer. Is that a refrigerator for just wine? You caught Mom and Dad’s alcoholism.’ I nodded knowingly. ‘It’s a disease, you know.’

  ‘Jarred, what do you want? Are you looking for money? Or just being annoying?’

  ‘Thank you, Patrick. I knew I could count on family. I need four million in unmarked bills. A dude I met outside a Kwik-E-Mart will sell me a Russian sub. But you can’t tell anyone.’

  ‘Why are you here?’

  Fran was at the kitchen table. She must have been in her late twenties, but she was dressed and had the hairstyle of a middle-aged woman.

  ‘Fran, whose place is this really? Are you rich?’

  ‘You
r brother bought it.’

  ‘So, Patrick is rich. Sweet. Like, how rich? Millionaire rich?

  ‘No, no.’ He was smiling, probably thinking, one day, one day. His pride made me want to pull down the unused copper pans hanging above the futuristic space oven or kick the integrated cappuccino machine, ice maker, soda dispenser or whatever it was.

  ‘So Warbucks? When are you going to help Dad out? His house is falling apart since Mom died. He needs a bigger place. Maybe build him a new greenhouse. His old ones keep burning down.’

  ‘You know Dad doesn’t ever take help.’

  ‘That’s convenient. For you.’

  ‘Are you here to stir shit? Dad’s told me about the stuff you’re doing.’ Patrick raised his voice. Their daughter McKenzie called for Mommy from the back of the house.

  ‘What has Dad said? Did he tell about all the times he used to beat the crap out of me when he was drunk? You missed that, didn’t you? You were already out in the world making your piles of money, forcing old women to sell you their mansions. Did you know Mom died?’

  Fran looked between us and the hall from which the calls for Mommy came. Her anxiety fed mine.

  ‘Of course,’ he hissed.

  ‘That’s right. That was the one time you were around. For the funeral. I heard her die. I hear her die all the time. I hear her choking and vomiting as she bled to death in her brain in the living room of that shitty little house Dad lives in.’

  ‘Jarred, you need help. You need to see a psychiatrist.’ His face was red with emotion.

  ‘So I’ve heard.’

  McKenzie was in the hallway now, howling, ‘Mommy.’

  Fran was on the edge of her seat ready to rush to her, but afraid to move.

  ‘McKenzie, little dove, go back to your room. Mommy will be there in just a second,’ Patrick called to her, before turning back to me. ‘Let me drive you home.’

  ‘I’m staying at a friend’s house. Thanks for the lift.’

  ‘No. I think I should take you home to Dad. Fran, can you phone Jack, please?’ He kept his eyes on me like I’d do something terrible if given the chance.

  34

  I borrowed one of Jack’s old department-store power suits from the Eighties that was Talking Heads huge on me. I found an old briefcase in the garage into which I put a banana and the neighbour’s baby monitor for good luck. I slicked my hair with a side part.