by Peter Giglio
I chuckle, pushing away dark thoughts in favor of pleasant memories, struggling to maintain purchase on the here and now.
I make my face serious and turn to my sister. “Lily,” I drone.
“Yes.”
“I’m not really Jack.”
“Oh?”
“I’m Zebulon from the planet Jupiter…” She and Dad are already wrapped in laughter. “…and I’ve killed your brother and taken over his body.”
“Good,” she says. “I never liked my stinky brother anyway.”
We’re all laughing again, together, tasting freedom while far from free, and that spirit, mercifully, carries the rest of the night.
Monday
Chapter Twenty-one
Bud doesn’t begin the day with much discourse. Leaning back in his chair, he just smiles and says, “Lot’s yours today, Jack. Work it.” The cut of my suit, my clean-shaven mug—I can tell he approves of these things. What I want to talk about is money, but I don’t push. Instead, I stride onto the lot and begin pacing.
One has a lot of thinking time when working a used car lot in a small town, but I don’t give into darkness. I consider each of the vehicles, trying to determine who they should belong to. Sports cars are for the mid-life crisis set. SUVs are for the tough guys with families; trucks for the tough guys without families. We have a couple mini-vans, but those seem useless in Sunfall, where soccer moms are as common as poet laureates. The benefit of aspiration, however, always looms, and perhaps I’m the perfect example. So I’ll keep an open mind. Ask a lot of questions. Determine who the customer wants to be before I judge who they really are. That’s the ticket.
The first three hours of the day fade with no walk-ons, and that’s when Bud approaches me. Flurries of fear warn of a coming storm. Fear that he’ll tell me to start washing cars again. That he’ll change his mind. But that’s not what happens. Instead, he says, “I’m heading down to the café for a bit of lunch. Pick you up anything?”
“Chicken and provolone bagel,” I say without hesitation, though I’m not really hungry. “Cucumbers, salt and pepper, mayonnaise, no tomatoes.”
I reach into my pocket for money, but he stops me. “On me,” he says, then gets in his sedan and drives away.
Not five minutes after he leaves, a rusty Ford truck rattles onto the lot. Looks like it might have been red once upon a time, and I don’t think much of it until I notice who’s in the passenger seat. My strawberry girl.
A smile more powerful than a thousand suns lights her face, and my heart soars. The guy driving has gray hair and severe lines that scream hard living from his face. This, I immediately recognize, is her dad.
She greets me with a hug; her dad with a handshake. Firm. No nonsense.
“It’s good to meet you, sir,” I say.
“You the guy that brought my angel home before the sun?” he growls.
“Guilty as charged,” I say, wilting a little under the man’s imposing presence.
His grips loosens as a grin cracks his John Wayne façade. “Good to meet you, too,” he says, and I can tell he means it. “Paige here bent my ear about you all of yesterday; couldn’t talk ’bout nothin’ else.”
I smile at her, then turn back to him. “Feeling’s mutual.”
“Let me cut to the chase so we don’t eat up too much of your time,” he says. “We’re in the market, my little girl and I, for a couple of cars. I think it’s high time we both have something nice to drive. Think you can help us?”
* * *
An interesting thing I learn as I’m selling Paige’s father a 2006 Ford Explorer is that his name is Jack, too. That’s a detail she left out, and some guys would analyze the death out of shit like that. Me, I don’t care. So his name’s Jack. If that helped me get my foot in the door with her, made her trust me that much more, I’m fine with it.
Paige, of all things, selects the car that Rick Mitchell had coveted, the Tiburon, and I’m happy I saved it for her.
Just in time, Bud returns. The deals are cash, and I don’t know how to pull the titles. As Bud and Jack Sterling finish the exchange, Paige and I step outside.
“You should have let me give you a deal,” I say.
“No,” she says. “We have the money, Jack, and we’re done with deals.”
“As long as you don’t forget I offered.”
“I appreciate that. Besides, we’ve been talking about buying cars forever. Like Dad said, we’ve never had anything so nice. Cars just seemed like a good place to start.”
“If you have any problems with either one, just let me know. We’ll make it right.”
“I know.” She steps close to me and puts her arms around my shoulders. I put my arms around her waist. Looking up at me, all eyes, she says, “So, are we like…a thing now?”
I respond with a deep but gentle kiss, then say, “Is that why you bought two cars from me? So we’d be a thing?”
“No,” she laughs, then slaps me on the chest. “But I do love my new car. So cute.”
“I’m glad.”
“You’d better be.”
“When does your shift start?”
“Two.”
“Nora and I will stop by for ice cream.”
“That sounds great.”
“Where’s Cody?”
“With his uncle.”
“Uncles: the new daycare.”
“Very funny,” she says. “So…you didn’t answer my question.”
“Yeah,” I say, “we’re a thing.”
“So, you’ll stay for a while?”
And that decides me. “Wild horses couldn’t drag me away, Strawberry.” This is the first time I’ve tested the nickname on her, and I’m anxious for her reaction.
Her smile widens. “You picked a name for me?”
“Is it okay?”
“It’s…” Tears cloud her eyes.
“If you don’t like it—”
“I love it,” she says, then kisses me. The kiss, that masterpiece kiss, it lasts long past the point of public decency, but we don’t care. Here I am, praying to a god I’m starting to believe in. Praying the kiss will never end.
* * *
Her taste still on my mouth, I sit across from Bud. He’s smiling wide, wider than I’ve ever seen.
“You’re a natural,” he says.
As he starts writing in a ledger, I say, “Thanks.”
Not looking up, still writing, he says, “I’m only doing this once, but it’s a deal you can’t refuse.” Then he rips something away from the ledger; a check, I realize. He hands it to me, then says, “That’s every cent of profit from your three sales.”
The amount staring at me: $6,723.
“Jesus Christ, Bud,” is all I can say.
“He’s got nothing to do with it.”
“This is…this is too generous.”
Bud shakes his head. “Don’t ever turn down a man’s courtesy, Jack. Not a commodity you’re likely to encounter too damn often.”
“Now,” he says, “you have a choice. You can cash that check, put it with the money you saved already, and skip town. No bad feelings if you go that route. Or you can come to work for me on a fifty-fifty basis. I need to retire while I still have some miles left on my engine, and you need a career, a way to take care of that girl of yours.”
“Yes,” I say.
We stand, shake, then Bud says, “Do I even need to ask which option you’re agreeing to?”
“No,” I say, “I’m all yours.”
He laughs. “Looked to me like you already belong to someone else.”
“Sorry about that.” I’m talking about earlier, when Bud walked up on me and Paige getting a little…hot and heavy.
“Nah,” he says, “don’t ever apologize for love, son. Love’s the only thing worth doing this shit for.”
“Amen to that,” I say.
“Besides, this lot needs fresh blood. Needs children running around, too. Hell, this whole town needs more of that.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Earlier today, I took a break from work to open an account at First Confederated. Two, actually. Half the money went into savings; the other half, a college fund for Nora. The rest of my workday brought me two maybes; solid leads with invitations for follow-up. But that was then, and I promise myself, no matter what, I’ll always leave work at work. The important stuff is now, sitting outside the DQ with Nora and Paige. We’re eating hot fudge sundaes.
Nora puts down her spoon and says, “Hey, Paige.”
“Yes, dear.”
“Do you like The Flintstones?”
“I do,” Paige says. “So does my son, Cody.”
Nora’s eyes go wide, and I can almost see the wheels in her brain, working out some version of world domination.
“You’ll like Cody,” Paige says. “Do you want to meet him?”
“When?” Paige excitedly asks.
“How ’bout tomorrow night?” I suggest, looking at Paige. “Who says the kids can’t join us for dinner?”
Paige takes a big bite and nods. Pointing her red spoon at me, still swallowing, she looks down and says, “That’s a good idea, Wheels.”
“Wheels?” I say.
“You have a name for me,” she says, “I get one for you.”
“Yeah, but Wheels? That’s kinda—”
“I like it,” Nora says. “’Cause you sell cars now.”
“Listen to your niece,” Paige says. “She knows a good thing.”
“What’s your name for Paige?” Nora asks me.
“Strawberry,” Paige says with a dismissive wave.
Nora and Paige laugh, then Nora wrinkles her nose. “Strawberry?”
“I like it,” Paige says. “It’s cute, don’t you think?”
“Like too cute,” says Nora.
We go back to eating, silent for a moment, then Nora snaps her fingers like a magician. “Hey, I’ve got an idea?” She turns to Paige. “What time are you done with work?”
“Eight.”
“Eight’s great,” Nora says, throwing her attention at me. “Uncle Jack, what if Paige and Cody come over to Grandpa’s…tonight? Just for a little while. We could watch The Flintstones, the Princestone one. That way your date doesn’t have to be all messed up by kids.”
I think about it for a moment. Not the worst idea, I’ll admit.
“Grandpa wants to meet Strawberry anyway,” Nora adds. “And it’s still summer, so no school tomorrow or nothing. What do you say, Uncle Jack?”
“Yeah,” Paige says, “what do you say, Uncle Jack?”
I point my spoon at Paige and playfully, raising my brow, say, “Thought I told you not to call me that?”
With an innocent shrug, she puts her spoon in her mouth and crosses her eyes.
Nora’s lost in laughter.
“You like that idea?” I ask Paige.
“Works for me,” she says. “Long as I can get Cody home by ten.”
Nora slaps her hands down on the patio table with a clang. “So,” she says, “it’s settled then.”
Paige leans into me. “Smart kid,” she whispers.
“My dad calls her Professor.”
A kiss on the cheek, then, “What do you call her?”
“Bear.”
Paige takes Nora’s measure for a minute, and Nora stares back with a look of righteous contentment. “Yep,” Paige says, “that works, too.”
As a family starts toward the order window, Paige gets up and kisses me again on the cheek. “Duty calls,” she says. Then she kisses Nora on the cheek, and I’m surprised when Nora doesn’t wipe it away.
Once Paige is behind the window, taking an order from a surly oaf who’s trying to herd a raucous trio of monkey-children, I ask, “Do you like her?”
Nora throws her empty cup at a nearby trashcan. The cup doesn’t even come close, clattering upon the shimmering asphalt. “So much for that NBA contract,” she says.
When I repeat my question, Nora grips her chin and squints. “What do you think?” she growls. Nora tries, but she’s a terrible actor.
“I think you do.”
With a smile, she says, “Yeah, she’s pretty much amazing.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
We’re walking to my apartment—Nora insists on picking up her Flintstones DVD—when we run across the black dog. On his back, belly exposed, the thing’s sex is no longer a mystery. Now he’s dead for real, covered in blood.
“Poor thing,” Nora says, crouching for a closer look.
“Don’t touch it,” I warn.
“Why would I touch it?”
“I don’t know. Just don’t.” I’m shocked by the sudden anger in my voice.
“Bet it was hit by a car,” she whispers.
Flies circle the carcass, and I don’t like her swarming with them, so I take her hand and lead her up, into cleaner air. Back where she belongs.
She’s a cloud of confusion, and I don’t know what to say next. So I say, “I know that dog.”
“You know that dog?”
“I…I’ve fed him.”
“So, are you sad? Did you like him?”
Heaving a sigh, I look away from her. “He’s just a dog. An animal.”
“Someone must have loved him once.”
“You’re probably right.”
“But…but not enough.”
“Why do you say that?”
“’Cause,” she says, “they let this happen.”
* * *
Taped on my front door is the latest from the landlord. An eviction notice.
“Does it say you’re a wiggly worm?” Nora asks, smiling.
Shoving the folded notification in my pocket, I chuckle dryly. “Something like that.” I unlock the deadbolt, push into the apartment, and Nora runs for the TV. Closing the door behind me, I say, “Hurry up,” consumed by a sudden and inexplicable bout of anxiety. My eyes burn. My heart races. But Nora, she’s just looking through her collection, trying to find the right disc.
Shhhuck, shhhuck, shhhuck.
Then it happens.
A shadow moves in front of me. I smell booze and Lee’s nose-splitting cologne. And I feel hard steel pressed against my neck.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Like so many times before, Lee’s pacing holes in my shag carpet. But this is so very different. One, Lee’s wielding a gun, waving it around. Two, and most importantly, Nora’s here.
This time, he proudly informs me, the door came open with a credit card. “You did a shitty job fixing it, amigo,” he accuses, pointing his gun at the door. But what can I say? When a madman divorces reason, there’s no sense arguing. When they’re waving a gun around the most important person in your life, a child no less, that futile notion reduces to ruble.
Nora cries and shakes, clutching my arm for salvation. She needs me now, more than ever, but that’s going to change. No matter what happens, there’s no avoiding the truth. No going back. She’s seen my secret room, my dirty sheets.
“You’re probably wondering why I came back?” Lee says.
I affirm this dark curiosity with a slow nod, pulling Nora as close and far behind me on the couch as possible.
“I vowed,” Lee hisses, “never to let anyone make me feel foolish again. Never to control me, make me feel small. Feel…wrong. Does that make me a baaaaad man?”
He’s a bad man, and it has nothing to do with some ridiculous vow. I want to tell him this, but I don’t. I can’t. Instead I say, “Put down the gun, Lee. Let Nora go. If you want to kill me, fine. Kill me. But let her run.”
This intensifies Nora’s shaking.
Lee studies her, one hand on his chin, the other gripping the gun that’s pointed at my head. “No,” he says. “Her eyes are…they’re making me feel weak.” Keeping the gun in my face, Lee reaches into his pocket, fishes out a wrapped piece of candy, throws it at Nora. Nora’s sobs intensify.
“See,” Lee says, “you give kids candy—they’re supposed to like candy, aren’t th
ey?—and still they…they give you shit.”
“Put the gun away,” I repeat. “Let’s talk.”
“Done talking,” Lee says. “You know what I want to do right now?”
Another slow shake of my head.
Lee’s eyes, darker than midnight, press into mine. The stench of his booze-soaked breath in my face. “I want,” he growls, “to take a ride.”
Unable to let this madness continue, I leap at him, metal digging into my solar plexus, and we topple. Down…down…to the floor. His eyes are wide. My hands are around his neck. But the gun? Where’s the gun?
A blast answers, and the pain of a thousand exploding suns blazes trails through my core. My breathing ragged. My pulse in a race it can’t win. And still my hands, they’re clutching his neck. Harder…harder…every ounce of energy flowing through my hands.
Nora wails.
Lee chokes. Gasps. Chokes again. And something thumps. The gun?
I beat his head against the floor. Hard. Spots multiply. I can’t breathe. Beat his head again. Harder. Harder.
Nora screams.
Tears fill my vision, everything going hazy.
And still, I pound his head. Not as hard. I don’t have the strength. I can’t feel my arms. I can’t feel anything, and that, thankfully, includes Lee’s pulse.
I fall…I fall…I fall…
In and out…
The darkest dark…The most blinding light…
Nora’s fists pound my back. Screams for me to wake.
In and out...
Police sirens wail. Red and blue dances on dirty curtains.
“Uncle Jack!”
Paige and Cody are on Dad’s doorstep right about now.
“Uncle Jack!”
I’m sorry, Dad. I love you.
Sorry, Strawberry. My darkness won. Sorry to be nothing more than another disappointment.
“Uncle Jack!”
Sorry, Bear. Uncle Jack’s so very sorry. Loves you so very much. Of everyone, you should know that most of all. I have regrets, too many to count, but loving you is my one good thing.