Songs in Ordinary Time

by Mary McGarry Morris

  “I’m waiting for you!” Norm yelled from the back of the car. “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing! I thought you said you’d help me!”

  “I am!”

  “Jesus, I never saw anyone get so distracted. That was Dad’s problem, too, you know,” Norm said with that worried look Benjy hated. “Mom said he could never finish anything.”

  “Dad’s problem is drinking.” He looked straight up at his brother. He knew what was going on with Norm’s daily bar stops with Omar. “I don’t drink, and I’m never going to drink. Never!”

  “Yah, that’s what I said, too. But you’ll see,” Norm said with a worldly chuckle as he started to drag a heavy old steam presser toward the driveway. Benjy followed its path through the flattened grass. “The trick is moderation. When you stop for a beer, you stop for a beer. Remember, Benjy,” he said solemnly. “Know thyself. Every heart vibrates to that giant tune.”

  “I know myself,” he said quickly. He was so sick of these comparisons to his father.

  “You think you do, but Omar says you live in a dream world. He says people do that to protect themself. The problem is, the made-up stuff gets all mixed up with real life.”

  Benjy felt the hairs on his arms stand on end. Why would Omar have said that? He wished he could put the truth out of his thoughts the way Omar could. He wished he didn’t know about Earlie. He wished it had never happened. No, the dream world was Omar’s, but it was Benjy’s fault that his mother and Norm had been seduced into it.

  “Lift up that end,” Norm said, and together they hoisted it into their mother’s trunk. When they were in the car, Norm asked if Benjy remembered the time their mother had set up the presser in the kitchen, hoping to run an ironing service.

  “No,” Benjy muttered, staring out the window. As they drove, Norm recalled how she had put an ad in the paper and been flooded with work, only to fall as far behind with everyone else’s ironing as she was with her own. More than once, while she was at Briscoe’s, people had come to the house, looking for a certain blue skirt or the pink blouse they needed right away. They would search through the piles in the kitchen until they found their own, often mingling the contents of one family’s ironing basket with another’s.

  “It was a disaster.” Norm chuckled. “You can’t believe what a fucking disaster it was!”

  If that was a disaster, he wondered, the stench of the shoe still in his nose, then what was all of this?

  “And you know Mom,” Norm continued. “The minute they started bitching, that was it. She’d tell them to come get their goddamn ironing and do it themself then, if they were in such a rush. You know, like it was all their fault.” He shook his head. “Like she didn’t have anything to do with it. Jesus, she kills me.”

  This morning she had snapped at Norm for pestering Omar about his car. She said Omar had enough on his mind with the business.

  “She forgets,” Norm said. “She acts like I put all that crap in my car. The way she talks you’d think I just took the engine apart for no fucking good reason. Jesus, she always does that in front of Omar. I don’t know why. It’s like she’s always trying to make me look like a jerk in front of him or something. Why does she do that?” Norm asked as they turned into the dump.

  Because, Benjy realized with a sudden and utter helplessness, this was Omar’s power, to be as irresistible to the son as to the mother, so that in vying for his affection each scrutinized the other, but never him. And this was his power, too, his easiest seduction, his beguilement of the younger son with their happiness.

  It was later that same afternoon. Norm was in the house. Omar had promised to look at Norm’s car after Omar and Benjy finished counting the boxes and bottles of soap in the garage. They were so low on stock Omar was afraid they might not have enough to sell this week. “Ninety-four,” Benjy said, counting the last bottle. Glancing back, he saw that Omar hadn’t even unstacked any of the cartons yet so he could count the boxes of laundry detergent.

  “Well, that’s a relief,” Omar sighed. “I was dreading that trip to Connecticut, let me tell you. I don’t know, all this commotion, it’s taking its toll.”

  Commotion? Benjy froze. Did he mean the body finally being found? Don’t, he thought. Don’t talk about it. You don’t have to say anything. “I thought you liked it there,” he said nervously as he dragged the carton against the wall. The blue-sky holes in the roof were darkening. Thunder rumbled closer. There was no light in here. Omar loomed over him.

  “I do,” Omar said, looking down. “It’s the traveling I’m tired of. I just don’t want to do it anymore. A lot’s changed in these last few months.”

  “It’s like a mansion, you said, right?” Benjy asked, eager for any subject but the one he most needed to talk about and most dreaded hearing.

  “Yes, it certainly is that.” Omar sighed. He looked up as the rainburst began. Shafts of rain poured down through the holes in the roof. “I got an idea,” he called over the downpour. “I’m going to take you with me next time I go. Just the two of us. What do you—”

  “Quick!” Benjy cried, darting outside as if there had been some respite, when it was raining even harder now.

  They were dripping wet when they came into the kitchen. Norm had been trying to close the window over the sink, but it wouldn’t budge. Rainwater gushed from a hole in the drainpipe onto the windowsill. “Teamwork!” Omar declared, taking one side of the window, and together they forced it down. Norm wiped the sill with a dish towel, then threw it so hard into the sink that water splashed onto the countertop. Benjy knew he was angry because Omar had put the car repairs off for so long, and now it was raining.

  “Omar!” his mother called, hurrying in from the living room with the newspaper. “Listen to this.” She began to read. “‘Earl Lapham Jones is now believed to be the same man who posted bond last May in Woodstock for two Negro men arrested in a check-altering scheme.’”

  Benjy saw Norm’s eyes shoot to Omar.

  “‘The two men,’” she continued to read, “‘had been selling magazine subscriptions in the Woodstock area and had allegedly changed the amounts written to them on a number of checks. Earl Lapham Jones was last seen leaving the Woodstock police station with the two men.’” She held the paper at her side and looked up. “Those wouldn’t be the men you picked up, the ones that stole your car, would they?”

  “Well, let me see now. What does it say? What’d they look like?” He took the paper, muttering as he read. “No. No, that’s too bad. For a minute there I thought I might be getting my possessions back.” He handed her the paper.

  “But they were Negroes. Three of them; they were selling magazines,” she said. She looked at the paper again.

  “My cutthroats may have been blackhearted, but they were lily white on the outside,” he said with a sad smile.

  “Can I see that?” Norm asked his mother, who hesitated a moment, then gave him the paper.

  Alice came into the kitchen then. She was in her bathrobe, but her hair had been curled and brushed. “Excuse me,” she said to Norm, who stood by the sink reading the paper. She repeated it, and he looked up, startled, then stepped aside so she could turn on the faucet.

  “But didn’t you say the men you picked up were selling magazines?” his mother asked.

  “I have no idea what those scoundrels were doing, other than waiting for me to let my guard down,” Omar said with a sigh.

  “I could have sworn you said they were Negroes,” his mother said. “I remember thinking what a kind man you must be.”

  Alice turned from the sink, her glass filled with water. She looked right at Omar. “You did say they were Negroes.”

  “Oh my Lord. I’m afraid my florid diction has made murky the memories here.” He kept smiling at her.

  “No, I remember. I remember the exact conversation, word for word,” Alice said, returning his smile.

  Omar sighed and hung his head a moment. “I know yo
u don’t like me very much, Alice, and I’m not sure why that is, but all I can do is keep trying to be a good man in the hope maybe that’ll prove how much I love your mother. I want to make her happy, just like I want to make you and your brothers happy.”

  “No, you don’t,” she said, the glass trembling in her hand. “You just use people, that’s your idea of making them happy.”

  “Alice!” his mother said, glaring at her as she carried her glass of water past them, then up the stairs. “I’m sorry,” she said to Omar.

  “Well, don’t be,” he said, “I think our Alice just needs a whipping boy for a while.” He held his arms out at his sides and, rolling his eyes, tilted his head to one shoulder. “And I am just the man for the job.”

  Each of them looked away uneasily. The only sounds were thunder and the heavy rain pelting the window. Benjy went upstairs to change into dry clothes. When he came down Omar was telling his mother that he and Benjy had determined that there was more than enough soap to last the week. When he made the trip to Connecticut he was going to take Benjy with him. Maybe next weekend. “After Norm’s fine company, I can’t imagine ever traveling alone again. I’ve been spoiled,” Omar said.

  Norm was reading the paper again.

  “That’s nice. Just the two of you,” she said distractedly. She kept glancing at Omar as if she needed to say something but kept thinking better of it.

  The outside door opened, and someone came into the back hall and knocked on the door.

  “Hello,” Blue Mooney said when Norm opened the door. “How’re you folks all doing?” He grinned nervously, the umbrella at his side dripping onto his square-toed black leather boots.

  “Well, Mr. Blue Mooney,” said Omar. “What brings you out in such beastly weather? Your sister-in-law hasn’t sold out of soap already, has she?”

  “Bernadette’s not my sister-in-law. She’s my brother’s…my brother’s…”

  “Fiancée,” Omar offered, smiling.

  “Yah, that’s right! But I don’t know how her soap’s doing. I been out of town.” Mooney glanced expectantly from face to face, but it was apparent that no one knew why he was there. He wore tight jeans and, under his black leather jacket, a white shirt and a red tie with black and white circles that Benjy saw were white-walled tires. Norm’s hand stayed on the open door.

  “I got a job up in Burlington.” He smiled, then when no one spoke, added, “Yah, it’s this big moving company up there.” He cleared his throat.

  “Well, glad to hear it, Blue,” Omar said.

  “I’m driving a cab, too,” he said. “Nights and some weekends.”

  “Well, sounds like you’re going to be one busy young man.” Omar held out his hand and pumped Blue’s. “Thanks for keeping me informed, Blue. I appreciate it.” There was an awkward pause. “You be sure and stop by again sometime when we can talk,” Omar said.

  “Is Alice ready? I know I’m early. I told her six, but I made such good time down from Burlington I’ve been driving around trying to kill time, so I figured I’d—”

  “Hi, Blue. I’m ready,” Alice said, coming into the kitchen. She was wearing a skirt and blouse. She was smiling, but Benjy could see how nervous she was. Her mouth quivered. Her eyes glistened, and for a moment he thought she was going to cry. “I won’t be late,” she said, stepping past Norm, who was staring at her.

  “I’ll have her home early,” Blue said with a dazed smile, which he fought to overcome, but couldn’t. He tried to open the umbrella in the back hall and it got stuck in the doorway.

  “Where are you going?” his mother called as they went outside.

  “What the hell’s that all about?” Norm asked, looking back in disbelief.

  Outside, a car door slammed. Blue Mooney raced back to the kitchen door. “I heard you call, but I didn’t want her to get wet,” he said, holding the umbrella behind him. “We’re going to go out to dinner. Is that all right?” he asked when no one said anything.

  “That’ll be fine,” Omar said.

  His mother went to the window and watched the car back out of the driveway.

  “Is she nuts?” Norm said, then slapped the side of his head. “What am I saying? Of course she is!”

  No, she isn’t, Benjy thought. She was the only one who wasn’t, the only one Omar hadn’t gotten to yet.

  Later that night the phone rang. “Benjy,” his father gasped when he answered. “I’m so sick. I’m trying so hard to stop drinking. This time I really mean it. I’m gonna do everything for you kids, everything! I love you, Benjy. I love all you kids, you know I do. And I love your mother. I love her so much. I’d do anything for her. Anything she wants. Anything! You tell her that, Benjy, please! Promise me you’ll tell her. Promise me!” he bawled.

  “I promise,” he whispered.

  “Hang up!” Norm said, reaching past him to hold down the button. “Don’t talk to that bastard when he’s drunk!”

  They were in Bart’s Bar and Grill. It was the third day of heavy rain, and though Norm wanted to get home he dreaded the dreary ride back. “I feel like another one, how about you?” Omar asked, setting down his empty mug. With the second round Norm again followed Omar’s lead and drank steadily, his somber gaze locked on the mirrored pyramid of bottles. They had sold a fair amount of soap today, but there had been little conversation between them, and Omar had grown increasingly morose.

  Omar scooped peanuts from a bowl, jiggling them in his fist before tossing them into his mouth. Neither one spoke. Even the bartender had noticed the strain. He stayed at the end of the bar, his ear at a radio.

  Alice had been right, and they all knew it. When Omar first came he had said he’d been traveling with three black men. Last night Norm had heard his mother and Omar talking into the early-morning hours. His mother kept insisting that he tell her. “There’s nothing to tell,” Omar kept saying. But in the end something had been told. This morning, she had been so pale that it seemed as if her hair had grayed overnight, as if all color had been leached from her mouth and eyes. When Norm said goodbye to her, she bit her lip and nodded. When Omar said goodbye, she squeezed his arm and whispered that everything would be all right. They would get through it.

  Get through what? Norm wondered again. If Omar was connected to the dead man, then everything had been a lie, so how could anything be all right ever again? It made him sick to his stomach to think how easily Omar had won him over; flattery, beer, and promises—that’s all it took. That’s all it ever took, just a little attention and Norman Fermoyle would be running up your heels, his nose in your ass. With Duvall being such an obvious creep, it had just taken a little longer, that’s all. He felt like an asshole. Big fucking cynic he was. A real sharp judge of character. Jesus Christ, he had to get out of here.

  “Can we get going? It’s getting late,” he said, and Omar gestured to the little beer he had left. Norm swiveled around on the stool, waiting with his back to the bar. He folded his arms and watched different tables. Most of these men were losers like his father, he thought, suddenly despising them. He hated being here, hated the smell and the smoky drone, the contrived and fallow intimacy. Once he was through that door, there would be rain or sun. It might be harsh, but at least it would be real. At least there’d be a shadow. He glanced back. “You ready?”

  “Not yet,” Omar said, staring into his mug as if the dregs contained some dreadful message.

  “Look, I’m sorry, but I just remembered, I gotta do something tonight.” He slid off the stool.

  “Norm! Sit down a minute. There’s something I need to tell you,” Omar said. He signaled the bartender for another round, then spoke in a rapid whisper. “It’s about that newspaper article. The men that stole my car and all my possessions were the same men as in that story. Like I told your mother last night, after they robbed me of everything I had, I didn’t go to the police because I was afraid they’d think I was part of their thievery. In fact, that’s exactly what they told me they’d do if I said anything.
I was just trying to get away and figure out what to do next, and then I met your mother.”

  Stunned, Norm sat back abruptly as his beer was placed in front of him. Omar waited until the bartender returned to the end of the bar before he continued, his face close to Norm’s, his voice oddly melodic in its urgency.

  “I had no idea one of them had died, and I have no idea what happened, though knowing the kind they were, nothing would surprise me now. Nothing, not even murder. I can only surmise what happened. They must’ve been still looking for me, whether to get rid of me, or drag me along—God only knows—but at some point Earl Lapham Jones ended up dead. I don’t know if he died there in those woods, or died somewhere else and was dumped there, maybe, but he died. He’s dead, they’re gone, and I’m still here. Nothing I say is gonna bring that young man back. All it’s gonna do is land me in a terrible mess, and humiliate your mother, and surely spell the end of our business. Those are the facts. I can’t undo what’s done. I wish I could, but I can’t. All I can do now is ask your forgiveness for my lying the other day and your understanding as to why I had to. I love your mother. I love her more every single day I know her. She’s a fascinating woman. She’s strong and tender and honest, and she’s the best thing that ever happened to me. There’s a lot in my life I’m not proud of, Norm. I’ve known a lot of failure and I’ve been through a lot of bullshit, most of it of my own doing. But I’m proud of my life now, my life with your mother and with you three children. And I’m proud of what you and I have together, Norm. You’re like your mother. You keep me balanced and focused. You keep me on the right track. I mean that, Norm. I’d sooner be Earl Lapham Jones, dead and buried, than have to go back into that old life again of wandering and self-delusion, thinking every morning I wake up, Maybe, just maybe this’ll be the day I strike it rich, the day I make the right connection, the day I finally get to be the man I want to be. You see, I am the man I want to be. And I’m with the woman I want to be with. And that’s all I want.” His eyes were moist and bright.