by James Hunt
***
Claire stood in front of the small fan in the kitchen, letting the whirling blades cool the sweat collecting on her face. The whole house was hot. And it was only going to get worse the deeper they went into summer. But maybe by then Owen would have found something and they could afford to turn the A/C back on. With the fan just basically blowing hot air in her face, she thought about taking a trip down to the store to browse the aisles and cool off.
She stepped from the fan, and the beads of sweat returned. Traffic noise and the occasional backfire of an exhaust pipe drifted through the open windows. At least that’s where she hoped those loud pops were coming from.
The neighborhood had changed over the fifteen years they’d taken residence. The ups and downs of the economy had shifted people around. When the kids played outside, she made sure it was in the backyard, which was fenced. It wasn’t as much space as the front yard, and Matt groaned over the new rule, but she wouldn’t budge.
“Hey, Dad?” Claire asked, calling down to the basement. No answer. “Roger?”
“What?”
“Are you getting hungry for lunch?”
“I’m fine.”
Claire lingered in the basement doorway, leaning against the frame and drumming her fingers against the wood. Her father was down there somewhere, wandering in the dark, doing his best to find the light switch. He could still find it more times than not, but that wasn’t going to last forever.
The house phone rang, and she walked back to the kitchen and plucked it off the hook. “Hello?” Claire smiled. “Hi, Mrs. Channing. Yes, I’m good, how about yourself?” She paced around the hot linoleum floor in her bare feet. “I got your message this morning, and I called you back earlier just to see—” She paused and her shoulders slumped. “Are you sure? I felt like Freddy still needed some help with those equations. If my rate is too high, I’d be willing to—” She nodded and then rubbed her forehead. “No, I understand. Well, I appreciate the time, and if anything changes, or if you know of any other parents who need a good math tutor, I hope you’ll recommend me. Okay, thank you, Mrs. Channing.”
The call clicked dead in Claire’s ear and the arm holding up the cordless phone fell limp to her side. For six months, she’d held onto the hope that tomorrow would be better. For six months, she did everything she could to stretch their savings. And amid the constant leftovers, power and water outages, bills and late notices, she never would have expected the crushing blow to come from the mother of a fourteen-year-old boy who was struggling in his Algebra I class.
A car horn blared out front, and Claire spun around, phone still clutched in her hand. The horn blasts came in quick, short bursts, with shouting echoing intermittently between the honking. Claire stepped out of the kitchen and into the hallway where she saw the front door open. She jogged to the porch, and it was there she saw her father standing in the middle of the road, looking around, the driver of a rusted, faded yellow Oldsmobile hanging out the window and screaming.
“Stop!” Claire sprinted down the porch steps, her bare feet smacking against the pavement of the walkway that cut through their unkempt front yard. She waved her hands, phone still clutched in her right, as the driver stepped out. His face reddened as he continued to berate her father. “No, please, he has Alzheimer’s!”
“What the fuck is your problem, old timer?” The Oldsmobile driver was short and wore matching grey shirt and sweatpants, neither able to contain the gut that split the space between them. His hair was thinning at the top and he panted heavy breaths. “Are you fucking stupid?”
But even with the driver screaming in his face, Roger kept glancing around the neighborhood, unsure of his surroundings.
“Did you hear me?” The driver shoved Roger hard, and the old man stumbled back a few steps.
“Hey!” Claire slid between the two and raised the phone in her hand to strike. “You don’t touch him, asshole.”
The short, fat driver scoffed, then looked Claire up and down. “And what are you going to do about it, bitch—”
The man’s eyes widened in terror as Owen appeared out of nowhere and grabbed the driver by the throat and slammed him backward onto the hood. Claire jolted backward from the sudden motion as Owen thrust a finger in the fat man’s face, keeping him pinned down.
“Get in your car, and get the hell out of my neighborhood,” Owen said.
The driver squirmed and wiggled on the hot hood, impotently shoving his short, chubby arms into Owen’s chest, his face wiggling in fear. “I-I got it, just lemme go, c’mon, man. He was standing in the middle of the road!”
Owen lifted the driver off the hood, then forcefully walked him to the open car door, flung him inside, and then slammed the door shut. “I see you driving down this road again and you won’t drive out.”
Claire took hold of her father’s hand, which he thankfully didn’t resist, and pulled him from the road. “Are you all right, Dad?”
The Oldsmobile sped forward, swerving down the road as the driver shouted frustrated obscenities out his window. Owen walked over and grabbed hold of Claire’s arm. “What happened?”
“I was on the phone, and I didn’t see him go outside,” Claire answered.
Roger’s cheeks reddened and he let go of Claire’s hand as he stepped away. “I-I just wanted some fresh air. That’s all.” He became lucid once more and cast his gaze to his feet in embarrassment. “I’m fine.” He turned and walked briskly back into the house.
Owen ran his hand through his short crop of brown hair and exhaled, the adrenaline burning off in the light tremor of his thumb and forefinger, and when he burst into a manic chuckle Claire thought her husband had lost his mind.
“What is it?” Claire asked.
Owen flapped his arms at his sides, that wild grin still plastered on his face. “I got a job.”
Claire tilted her head to the side. She pinched her eyebrows together questioningly. “Is this a joke? Are you joking right now, because if you are, this is a very bad tim—” He pressed his lips into hers and squeezed her tight, lifting her off the pavement and into the air. When he set her back down, the news finally sank in. “Oh my god.” She covered her mouth with both hands, tears filling her eyes. “That’s incredible. I just—” She laughed, jumped up and down, and then flung her arms around Owen’s neck and squeezed tight. “I’m so proud of you.” She kissed his cheek and then lowered herself down, unsure of what to ask next. “So what are you doing now? Who hired you?”
And that’s when the excitement from Owen’s face faded. “It’s a factory job, a supervisor position actually. It’s a great opportunity, but it comes with some changes.”
Claire placed one hand on each of Owen’s cheeks and looked her husband in the eye. “You did what you needed to do for our family. We’ll change with you. Whatever it takes.”
Owen smiled and then kissed her once more. They walked back inside, hand in hand, and for the first time since Owen came home with his pink slip, Claire felt good. Really good. Whatever happened, wherever they ended up going together, they would make it work.