Stay At Home Dead

by Jeffrey Allen

“What did you mean?”

  “I’m never sitting in that van again, regardless of when they decide to give it back to us.” Julianne reached over and turned off her lamp. “So you’ll need to get us a new van tomorrow.”

  7

  Carly poked me in the forehead the next morning. “Get up, Daddy.”

  Julianne, per her normal routine, was up and out of the house early, leaving Carly and me to scramble our way through the morning.

  I got Carly dressed and fed her a Pop-Tart while I jumped in the shower. She had a bright pink rubber band picked out for her hair when I got out, and after I tossed on a pair of jeans and a shirt, I managed to get her hair into something resembling a ponytail.

  I feared ponytails when I quit my job. I had exactly zero experience with hairstyling before my daughter was born, and I was afraid I might end up taking her out of the house looking like a tiny Medusa. But with some patient teaching from Julianne and some minor whimpering from Carly, I got the hang of it and could now get her hair together without giving it much thought.

  Which was similar to the whole stay-at-home parenting thing for me. I was terrified leaving my teaching job, being the one adult responsible for our tiny, fragile baby. I didn’t grow up with younger siblings, didn’t do any babysitting, and in general was uncomfortable in the presence of anyone wearing diapers. But after two days on my new job, I had forgotten about exams, homework, and term papers and was happily focusing on bottles, naps, and car seats.

  And ponytails.

  As I pulled the van into the parking lot of Rettler-Mott, Carly’s preschool, I was, once again, grateful for the opportunity to stay at home and practice being a dad.

  Carly jumped out of the van, and I immediately picked up the stares as we crossed the parking lot. Lots of eyes, lots of whispers. Apparently, just about everyone knew about the body in our van at Cooper’s. Took less than twenty-four hours.

  How very Rose Petal.

  Carly grabbed my hand, her Dora backpack bouncing along on her back as we skipped down the stairs toward her classroom. She went to Rettler-Mott three times a week, in the mornings. It had been tough for me to turn her loose, but she was more than ready to be with kids her own age and start listening to other adults. I was finally starting to relax in the mornings and actually get things done rather than count the minutes until it was time to pick her up.

  Her classroom was at the end of a long, narrow corridor, and her teacher, Sally Meadows, greeted us with a big smile. “Good morning, Miss Carly.”

  Carly returned the smile and charged past her into her room.

  “Heard you all had a little incident yesterday?” Sally said as I signed Carly in on the clipboard.

  “Yeah. Wasn’t so good.”

  “I’m sure.”

  Sally was one of the few people in Rose Petal who probably wasn’t prying for information with her statement. She had immediately taken me under her wing when I told her that I would be the parent she’d see most often with Carly. She liked the idea that I was breaking the mold, even if the other mothers still gave me the raised eyebrow. And she’d raised their eyebrows even further when she asked if I’d like to be Room Mom. We changed the title to Room Dad after I agreed.

  So I knew Sally Meadows wasn’t looking for dirt.

  “Was Carly okay with it?” she asked, watching her dash to one of the art tables with several of the other children.

  “Didn’t seem fazed at all,” I said. “Not sure she really knew what she was seeing, so I’m hoping it was no big deal.”

  Sally nodded. “If I pick up on anything, I’ll let you know.”

  “I’d appreciate it.”

  Sally’s eyes swerved from the room to over my shoulder. “Don’t turn around, but someone’s making a beeline for you. Try not to get stung.”

  I stepped back out of the doorway just in time to see Sharon Ann McCutcheon smiling brilliantly at me.

  “Good mornin’, Deuce,” she said, with all the sincerity of a practiced politician. “Could you hang on for just a sec? Have something I want to discuss with you after I get little ole Austin signed in, all righty?”

  Little ole Austin then proceeded to bite her on the wrist.

  Sharon Ann’s smile disappeared as she yelped and yanked her hand away from Austin’s jaws. Austin took off into the classroom. Sharon Ann took a step after him that clearly had the makings of an “I’m going to catch you and beat your little behind” walk, then caught herself.

  The smile magically reappeared. “I’ll be right back.”

  I slid over to the large window that looked into the classroom. The kids were busy occupying themselves with drawing and crayons. Sharon Ann was whispering something in Austin’s ear, her teeth bared. He didn’t seem scared.

  Sharon Ann was attractive in a paid for kind of way. Expensively cut blond hair, expertly applied make-up, synthetic breasts behind a designer blouse. Her husband, Mitch, owned McCutcheon’s Auto Mall, the largest car dealer in Rose Petal, and she liked everyone to know it by showing up in the newest vehicle to hit the lot each month. And while she had been friendly enough to me since the start of school, she was the one most irked by my designation as Room Dad. She served on the parent advisory board—the Women of Rettler-Mott School—and wasn’t entirely sure that a father should be doing anything at the school other than writing the tuition check.

  She emerged from the classroom and exhaled. “Deuce.”

  “Sharon Ann.”

  She placed a hand under my elbow and walked me away from the classroom, down the hallway. Deborah Wilbon popped out from somewhere and smiled at me as we approached.

  “Hello, Deuce,” she said.

  Deborah was tall, with long black hair and a pointy nose. Her daughter, Aubrey, was in the class with Carly and Austin. Deborah shared several things in common with Sharon Ann, including a seat on the advisory board and the same plastic surgeon. I had known Deborah much longer than Sharon Ann because she was Shayna’s younger sister. Much like her sister, she pretended I was invisible after my playing days were over. Unlike her sister, who had married just Benny, Deborah was freshly divorced.

  For the third time.

  “What’s going on, Deb?” I said.

  Her smile brightened, like she’d plugged herself in, and she fell in step next to me as Sharon Ann continued to guide me.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “Just outside,” Sharon Ann said. “So we can chat for just a moment. Won’t take but a minute, I promise.”

  I lifted my elbow. I refused to be escorted to our chat like they were mob hit women and I was about to be fitted for concrete boots. I opened the doors that led to the parking lot and let each of the women pass by. I momentarily thought about letting the door hit Deborah in the rear end, but I figured that was beneath even me.

  Their smiles began to dissolve as the door closed behind me.

  “Deuce, we heard about what happened at Cooper’s,” Sharon Ann said.

  Deborah nodded vigorously.

  I shrugged, offering up nothing.

  “And we’re concerned,” Sharon Ann said.

  “We’re fine,” I said, surprised at her concern. “Carly didn’t really see anything and she’s fine. So it’s okay. But thanks.”

  The women exchanged a glance, and I realized I’d misconstrued their intentions.

  “Yes, well, we are glad to hear that,” Sharon Ann said, fiddling with the diamond bracelet on her wrist. “But we’re wondering if a change might be in order.”

  “A change?”

  Deb attempted a condescending smile, but it came off more like a sneer. “At your position.”

  “My position?” I looked around. “What? I should lie down or something?”

  They both coughed out a couple of pity laughs that seemed to say “You have no idea how powerful we are, and we find your humor asinine.”

  “No, no,” Sharon Ann said. “In your position as Room Dad.”

  I folded my arms across my c
hest. “Ladies, quit wasting my time and get to the point.”

  They exchanged another look.

  “We just think it might be best if you stepped down from your position,” Sharon Ann explained. “With everything that’s going on, we think the class might be better served with someone else filling the position.”

  “Like one of you two?”

  They both seemed surprised by the suggestion. Maybe they shared the same acting coach, too.

  “It would just be temporary,” Deborah said. “Until all of this ... is handled. And it’ll give you more time to look for a new job. You’ve been out of work for so long now.”

  Like that of a cornered dog, the hair on my neck bristled. “Taking care of Carly is my job. And there is no ‘all of this,’” I said. “I’m not involved.”

  Sharon Ann raised an eyebrow. “Well, that’s not what I’ve been told. There’s going to be an investigation and ...”

  “No,” I said.

  Her perfectly lacquered lips stayed open. “No?” “No,” I repeated. I looked at Deborah, to ensure she understood. “No.”

  It was one thing to have to live by the pettiness and small-mindedness that pervaded some corners of Rose Petal, but it was an entirely different thing to give in to it. There was no way I was going to give up my oh-so-coveted position as Room Dad. I liked the job and I was good at it. I could deliver fruit punch, round up volunteers, and provide an extra hand in the classroom with the best of them.

  “Not a chance, ladies,” I said.

  “But, Deuce ... ,” Deborah started.

  “But nothing,” I said, walking up the steps to the lot. “We’re done.”

  “We’ll call you, Deuce,” Sharon Ann said.

  And I would double-check that our caller ID was functioning properly in order to avoid that call.

  8

  The ironic part about leaving Sharon Ann McCutcheon at the preschool was that I was now heading straight for her husband. Fortunately for me, I liked him much better than I liked his wife.

  Mitch McCutcheon graduated from Rose Petal High a year behind me but played varsity football from the moment he stepped on campus. Being six foot three as a ninth grader will do that for you, and he only got bigger, eventually topping out at a hulking six foot six. He was an unassuming guy, never using his status as a football star in Rose Petal for much more than a free pizza now and then.

  He was an offensive lineman and parlayed his size and skill into a scholarship at Ole Miss. He came back to Rose Petal after graduation and immediately jumped into his family’s car business, which he’d managed to grow into one of the bigger autoplexes in the DFW metro area.

  RIDE WITH MITCH! billboards were all over town, and I had never bought a car from anyone else.

  Two slick-looking, suited-up salesmen slithered toward me as soon as I parked the van. I quickly repelled them by telling them I was there to see Mitch. The receptionist paged him, and a moment later, he lumbered out onto the showroom floor, a crooked smile beneath his crooked nose.

  “Deuce,” he said, offering a giant hand. “How the heck are you?”

  “Been better, Mitch,” I said, shaking his bear claw of a hand.

  “How’s Julianne?”

  “Julianne will be much better once you sell me a new van.”

  He chuckled. “Wondered if we might be seeing you.” He pointed outside. “Come on.”

  I followed him out the doors, past the two suits, who were now standing ramrod straight in Mitch’s presence.

  He didn’t seem to notice them. “You’ve got the Honda Odyssey, right?”

  “Yep.”

  “Like it?”

  “It’s a minivan, Mitch. It’s not to like. It’s to chauffeur.”

  “Gotcha.” He rubbed his square chin, cut his gray eyes in my direction. “They really found Benny in it, huh?”

  I nodded.

  Mitch shook his head, and unlike most other folks, he looked truly sad about that. “Man, that is a shame. Sorry to hear it. I just sold Shayna a car two weeks ago.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. Came down by herself and gave me an irritated look when I asked how Benny was doing.” He shrugged his large shoulders. “I left it alone. I knew they always ran kinda hot and cold. Everyone always said she still sorta had a thing for you.”

  Blood rushed to my neck. “I hadn’t seen either of them in a while.”

  Mitch’s eyes scanned the lot. “Sorry. Didn’t mean it like that. Just sayin’, you know?”

  “I know.” I believed him. Mitch might’ve had less of an interest in the gossip of Rose Petal than I did. “Hey, any idea what Benny was doing these days? Work, I mean.”

  “Managing a rug store over in Lewisville,” he said, a sad smile creasing his face. “Not exactly the greatest gig, I’d expect.”

  Not exactly. It never failed to surprise me to hear what some of my classmates were doing with their lives. Some exceeded expectations, some were right where you’d pegged ’em, and others, like Benny, seemed to have taken a wrong turn and never found their way back.

  “So. You wanna nother Odyssey, or you wanna try something new?”

  “What’s new?”

  “Lemme show you the Sienna. It’s a Toyota.” He shook his head. “U.S. still can’t figure out how to build a family car, but those little fellas in Japan got it figured out.”

  After a quick test-drive and a call to Julianne, we agreed on a navy blue Sienna.

  One of the perks of knowing the guy who owns the dealership is not having to spend four hours jerking around with negotiating and paperwork. Mitch told me what he could sell it for, I asked to have it for a thousand less, and he agreed. Which, of course, had me second-guessing myself, thinking I could have had it for two thousand less. Things like that let me retain a certain sense of masculinity in my daily life.

  I was signing a couple of the few papers he did need me to sign right away when his cell phone chimed on his hip. He answered it.

  And immediately his demeanor changed. Went from one of the most successful businessmen in Rose Petal to a chastised child right before my eyes. His entire body slumped in his chair, chagrin swept over his face, and he was nodding like someone was reminding him to chew with his mouth closed.

  “Okay,” he mumbled into the phone. “I will.” He closed the phone.

  “Bad news?” I asked.

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “Just Sharon Ann.”

  “Ah.”

  “That didn’t come out, right, did it?” he asked, but chuckling like he’d gotten it exactly right. “That woman sometimes.”

  Sometimes?

  “Talked to her a few minutes before you got here,” he said. “Said she saw you at the kids’ school.”

  “Yep,” I said, remaining neutral.

  “I have no idea what the conversation was about, but I doubt I’d be remiss if I said I’m sorry for whatever she said,” Mitch said, fumbling with some papers on his desk.

  “No need, Mitch,” I said. “It’s nothing.”

  “Nothin’ is rarely nothin’ with Sharon Ann,” he said, raising an eyebrow and letting his lips twist into a sour expression. “She means well. Just has a tough time pulling it off.”

  Mitch and Sharon Ann married right after they both graduated from Ole Miss. He brought her home to Rose Petal—she was from Biloxi—because that was where the work was for him. But most of the time, he seemed almost embarrassed that he brought her to Texas. It was easy to see why he would’ve fallen in love with her in college. She was attractive and looking to get married. She wanted to be a wife.

  I just wasn’t sure he knew what kind of wife she’d turn out to be. And that probably wasn’t fair, because I didn’t live with her every day. As far as I knew, she could’ve been completely different around him than she was around me.

  But by the look on his face when that phone rang, I doubted it.

  “She really starts giving you a hard time,” he said, shoving the papers into
a folder, “let me know.”

  I nodded but knew that I wouldn’t. He seemed to have enough battles with her as it was. I wasn’t going to get in the middle of Mitch’s marriage.

  Even if I thought he would’ve been better off marrying a skunk.

  Mitch handed me the folder full of paperwork, asked to have it back the following day, and handed me the keys to my new Dad Van.

  “Keep the bodies out of this one, huh?” he said, grinning.

  He didn’t have to say it twice.

  9

  Mitch knew the guy at the rental agency and told me he’d take care of getting the rental returned so I could take the new car. It was still too early to pick up Carly, and going home would just mean jumping right back in the car to go get her after a few minutes of doing nothing. I was contemplating how to waste the time when my cell rang.

  The number came up as restricted on the readout. I answered it, hoping it was a telemarketer to mess with. “Hello?”

  “Who is this?” a disjointed female voice asked.

  “Who is this?”

  She mumbled something that I couldn’t understand. The voice wasn’t disjointed. It was drunk.

  “Who is this?” I repeated.

  “How do you not know my voice, Deuce?”

  “Deuce” came out as “Douche.” “Because whoever you are, you’re a little hard to understand.”

  “Jesus!” A deep, frustrated sigh. “It’s Shayna, you dumb ass.”

  Wasn’t expecting that. “Oh. Hi.”

  A ridiculous cackle ripped through the phone. “‘Oh, hi’? That’s all I get?”

  I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to say. She caught me off guard, and it had been a long time since we’d spoken.

  “I’m sorry about Benny,” I said finally.

  The cackle burst into my ear again. “Benny, Schmenny, Wenny.” She snorted. “I want to see you.”

  “Shayna, I’m not sure that’s a great idea.”

  “Because you killed my husband?”

  “I didn’t kill Benny.”

  “Yeah, sure.” She stifled a burp. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to let you take advantage of me. Your precious little what’s-her-name doesn’t have to worry.”