Pallbearing

  After the house cleared out the next day, she tried to make herself go out and face it all. The panic returned; she replayed the conversations from the day before, knowing she’d have to hear the same things again if she went out. Instead, she put on the TV and watched whatever came on and tried not to think about money. The kids got home and started tearing around the house and then it was dinner and Tom came home and didn’t ask about the machines.

  It was the same the next day and the day after. Panic and anxiety kept her from going out, but whenever she went down to the station wagon, she would think about how she needed to find a way to make the machines work. And then she’d think about all the places she’d tried and about the money she’d wasted, and how spending more money to find a home for the machines was a waste, but then she’d think about how much the extra money would help.

  After a week, she moved the machines out of the car and into the laundry room and then she didn’t have to think about them quite so often.

  A few weeks later she went looking for the candy and found that her kids had gotten into it, the empty bags buried in the bottom of the freezer. She screamed at them about how it wasn’t just the cost of the candy they were out, but that they were out what the candy would have brought in and now she had to get the money together to get new stock and now she couldn’t even find a place to put the machines because she had nothing to put in them. The kids laid low for the rest of the night, leaving Ruth alone in front of the TV.

  Tom suggested one day that she try to sell them back; they were just in the way downstairs. She got mad. She still thought there had to be a way to make them work. She just wasn’t ready to give up on the potential future money they could make. But she knew he was right. She called the guy who’d sold them to her the next day. He didn’t remember anything about any candy machines and said, besides, even if they did come from his shop, he wasn’t interested in buying them back. “They’re a tough sell,” he said.

  Eventually, Ruth got tired of almost knocking them over every time she did laundry and moved them to the closet under the stairs, first in front of the Christmas decorations, and then behind, where at least she only had to think of them once a year.

  “We Can All Be Happy”

  The big fight happened in a small town a few hours north of the city. Doug and Larry were working a job there, laying block on a new strip mall. They and the other sub-contractors stayed at a motel during the week and drove home on weekends. When the job was nearly done, Doug and Larry decided to work through the weekend and save themselves driving back the next week.

  After work on Friday they went out for dinner at the town’s only bar — a windowless brick building with a steel double door that had “Pub” written over it. The bar was packed with the weekend crowd, the usual weekday drunks, and all the mill workers and family guys who didn’t go out on weeknights. Doug and Larry had never seen the place so busy.

  They picked up on the atmosphere of letting loose and decided to have a few more after they’d finished their dinner. They got pretty loaded watching a hockey game and then started cheering on the karaoke when it started after ten.

  And then some lady was there, getting all over Doug. She danced up against him while someone screamed their way through a Hall and Oates song. Doug smiled at her and she ran a hand down his sleeve. A little cloud of concrete dust came off. She said, “I like a man who works with his hands.”

  Doug bought them all a shot and ordered another round of beer. A bit later, he did it again. Larry tried to ignore them. He turned his back to them but saw the woman straddle Doug in the mirror behind the bar. Finally, she went to the bathroom and Larry asked, “What’s going on with that?”

  Doug was pretty slurry by then. He said, “Hopefully something.”

  “What about Rhonda?”

  “I haven’t gotten any from her in years.”

  “I know.” Larry took a long drink. He said, “She’s a good woman though.”

  “Fuck her. She’s a bitch.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  Then the lady was back. More shots arrived and then Doug had her on his lap and a bit later they were messily mashing their lips together. Larry kept his eyes on a TV across the bar. Eventually, she went off somewhere again, and Larry said, “Jesus, man.”

  “What?”

  “I mean, look . . .” Larry took a long drink of his beer and said, “This actually makes things easier for me.”

  “What easier?”

  “Well, me and Rhonda, we’ve been seeing each other.”

  Doug put down his drink and said, “You serious?”

  “She’s been after me to tell you for a while. I mean, you guys barely live together anymore, and we both figured you had things on the side. We didn’t think it would be a big deal.”

  Doug stood up. He said, “You piece of shit.”

  “We actually thought you knew already.”

  The woman was back. She wrapped her arm around Doug’s and licked his neck. He shook her off and said to Larry, “You fuck.”

  The lady said, “What the fuck is your problem, man?” and pushed Doug. Doug straight-armed her away and swung his fist into the side of Larry’s head. Larry went down and Doug fell on top of him. The lady screamed and then there were hands on both of them and they were dragged through the bar and kicked out onto the street.

  Larry got up first. He flipped off the goons who’d dragged them out, then held up his hands when they asked if he wanted more trouble. They kept an eye on Larry while he helped Doug off the ground. He said, “We’d better clear out.”

  Doug shook off Larry’s hand. “You fucker.”

  “Come on, let’s go back to the hotel.”

  They walked up the street, past the town’s single traffic light. Neither spoke, but when they got to the motel, Larry said, “Look, I got a case of beer up in my room.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Come on, have a drink.”

  They went into Larry’s room. Doug sat on the edge of the bed and Larry pulled two bottles of beer out of the mini fridge. He handed one to Doug.

  “You fucker.”

  “You’ve been saying you’re going to leave her for years.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Come on, you know we had a thing back before you guys got together. I wasn’t angry when you started going with her.”

  “You didn’t fucking marry her.”

  Doug had already emptied his beer. He got another bottle out of the fridge and sat back down staring at the empty floor between his legs. “How long?”

  “Not long. When you left for that job in the city. She found some lady’s number in your pants pocket. I ran into her at the bar that night. We got to talking . . .”

  “Fucking swine.”

  “You were seeing someone else, Doug.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Rhonda’s my wife.”

  “You don’t treat her like one.”

  Doug got up and raised his fist. Larry put both his hands up. “Okay, sorry. Fuck.” Someone banged on the wall over the bed. Larry said, quieter, “You got your hit in, man. I deserved that. But I honestly didn’t think you’d mind.”

  “It’s my wife, you fuck.”

  They drank their beers in silence. Doug finished his in three long pulls. Larry said, “Look, this could be a good thing. You guys get divorced. It won’t be ugly. She won’t sue or anything. The kids are old enough; there’s no alimony. And she can come live with me and you can go fuck whoever you want without sneaking around. Just think about it. We can all be happy.”

  Doug looked at his empty beer, then up at Larry. “‘We can all be happy’?”

  “Exactly. See, it’s not so bad.”

  Doug nodded. He went back to the fridge but didn’t open it; he put his hands on top to steady himself. Then he noticed, on the small table beside
the fridge, Larry’s tools. The tape measure, a level, a hammer. He stared at them a long time.

  Larry asked, “You okay, man?”

  Doug said again, “‘We can all be happy.’”

  “Yeah, why not?”

  Doug picked up the hammer, turned, and swung it at Larry’s head.

  How Nice It Would Be

  Jen didn’t recognize the email address [email protected]. The subject line read, “In Town.” She clicked it open.

  Hey JenJen, it’s been too long, sorry I’m so crap at keeping in touch. I’ll be back in town on Saturday and Sunday. Would love to see you. Brenda tells me you’ve got another kid. It’d be nice to catch up! Let me know if you’re around. — Robert

  Jen smiled. Robert McAlister. They’d been friends in high school, part of a group who spent most of twelfth grade skipping class and hanging around the only coffee shop in town. Robert left town the summer after graduation and had only come back once, to help his parents move. That was before she’d met Jack — at least seven years ago. Jen thought that couldn’t possibly be right and went over the dates in her head. No, it had to be. She saw friends so rarely.

  She thought, Robert! and smiled again.

  The message said “Saturday or Sunday”; today was Friday. She clicked reply, but before she could write anything a xylophone started clanging.

  Jen hurried out to the living room and pulled the mallets out of Bea’s hands. She took the xylophone away too. Jen said, “You have to play quiet, your dad is napping.”

  Bea said, “Gwab,” and stretched both hands out to her toys.

  Jen said to Beck, “I asked you to make sure Bea stayed quiet.”

  Beck looked up from her drawing at the activity table. Her big eyes filled with tears. Jen walked over and crouched down over the little table and chairs. She hugged her daughter and said, “It’s okay, I’m not mad. It’s not your fault. I just need Bea to be quiet, that’s all.”

  The ceiling creaked. Beck looked up and the baby said, “Ada ada da.” Jen picked up Bea and rocked her and said, “Shhhh.” There wasn’t another sound from upstairs. After a minute, Jen put Bea back down and hid the loud toys. Beck went back to drawing, her face an inch away from her colouring book, trying very hard to stay in the lines.

  Jen smiled at her daughter’s tongue sticking out in concentration. She said, “Please, Beck, make sure the baby plays quiet.” She gave Bea a stuffed duck and went back into the little closet that served as their computer room.

  She wrote:

  Robert! It would be great to see you. You should come out to the house, we live at 1412 Mountain Drive, out past Ronson’s Corners. We’re near where Dave Metham used to live, remember him?

  She stopped typing. Robert would remember Dave; she and Robert had always made fun of him. A proud redneck living out in the boonies, he was the kid who drove a jacked-up pickup truck to school. He still had the truck — Jen heard it tear down the road every morning and night. And now she lived out here too. And the only vehicle she had was Jack’s truck, which, she hated to admit, was also jacked up. She’d stopped thinking it was ridiculous years ago.

  And her house was what they’d called a “redneck special” too. She leaned back and looked over the living room at the things she didn’t notice anymore. The plywood floor covered with a worn rug that didn’t quite reach the walls. The mismatched couch set, handed down from various family members. Fake-wood-panelled walls unfinished on one side. From where she sat, she could see through the two-by-four framing into the kitchen. Their only heat came from a woodstove in the corner of the living room. Wood was piled up the wall. Splinters made a path to the front door. Everything was half-finished or never started.

  She deleted the message. It was almost dinner time; she’d write back later.

  * * *

  Jen spooned mashed potatoes into Bea’s mouth while the baby slapped the tray. Beck said, “I don’t like this.”

  “Well, it’s what we’re having.”

  Beck let her fork fall onto the potatoes over and over. Jen snuck a few bites of her own food while Bea chewed.

  “It’s gross,” Beck said.

  “No, it’s not. It’s potatoes. You eat them all the time.”

  “I’m sick of them.”

  “Well, try the meat.”

  “I don’t like meat.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “No, I DON’T!”

  “Don’t screech! Fine, you don’t have to eat.”

  Beck put her chin on her hand and sighed. Bea stopped opening her mouth for food and swatted at the spoon instead. Jen wiped some potato off Bea’s forehead and handed her a book to keep her busy while Jen finished her own meal.

  The bedroom door opened upstairs. Footsteps crossed the floor, boots clicking, then silence. The toilet flushed. The stairs creaked. The front door opened and closed.

  Beck said, “Where’s Dad going?”

  “He has plans tonight. You’ll see him in the morning.”

  “Can I watch TV?”

  “Sure.”

  Jen finished eating and then wiped Bea’s face and hands, and dropped her back in the living room with her sister. She wrapped up the leftovers and did the dishes, then took stock of the kitchen. It was so hard to clean well, she hardly ever bothered. Jack had put in the linoleum tiles; the cracks between them filled up with grime that could only be cleaned out with an old toothbrush. The cabinets didn’t quite connect with the floor — so, more grime there. A coat of grease covered the walls; Jack hadn’t used kitchen paint, so any time she tried to scrub them, the paint smeared.

  Beck said from the living room, “Mom, I’m hungry.”

  “Okay. I’ll bring you something.”

  She’d just have to keep Robert in the living room if he came over. The kitchen was hopeless.

  Jen sliced some cheese and put crackers on a plate. She dropped them on the couch beside Beck. Jen turned the TV down a couple of notches and then kissed Bea on the forehead. She decided to wait until the girls were asleep to see how tidy she could get things, then she’d write back to Robert.

  It took an hour to get Bea down and then Beck wanted to hear stories again and again for an hour before she finally started to yawn. Beck fell asleep, and then Bea woke up. By the time they were both asleep it was late and Jen was so exhausted she decided she’d deal with the living room and her email in the morning.

  * * *

  Jen woke to the sound of the baby monitor crackling. She flipped over and turned it off. Jack was sleeping face down, away from her.

  She went into the nursery where Bea was already standing in the crib. She smiled a wide-mouth, gummy baby smile and Jen smiled back. She swooped down to kiss the baby’s head. She said, “I love you.”

  Bea said, “Ama ma.”

  “That’s right, Mama.”

  She changed Bea’s diaper and went downstairs. Beck was in front of the TV watching cartoons with the volume way down. Jen placed Bea on the floor and went to make coffee. Beck came in. “Mom, can we eat breakfast in the living room?”

  “It’s better to eat at the table.”

  “Please. I want to watch cartoons.”

  “We’ll see . . .”

  Jen stirred pancake ingredients together and got them started while she waited for the frozen orange juice to melt enough to mix it with water. She poured a bit of syrup on the pancakes and brought a plate out to Beck. She said, “Be careful not to spill any syrup on the carpet.”

  She made herself a plate and mushed up a few slices of pancake for Bea. They all sat on the floor together and watched cartoons. Jen mussed Beck’s hair; she leaned away and said, “Muu-uum.”

  “I love you, Beck.”

  “Can I have more syrup?”

  “There’s enough on your chin to fill a bottle.” Beck’s tongue stretched down to find it
.

  The ceiling creaked. Jack came down the stairs. Jen stood up. He said, “We eat in the living room now?”

  “I thought it’d be nice to have a picnic.”

  Jack walked into the kitchen. The cupboards opened and shut. The cutlery drawer rattled. Jen collected the plates and waited. Jack said through the door, “What’s for breakfast?”

  “I made pancakes.”

  “I mean for me.”

  “I could fry some bacon.”

  The fridge door opened, shut. “Are we out of cream?”

  “I was going to pick some up, but you had the truck last night,” Jen said. “I could go get some.”

  Jack said, “Don’t bother. I’ll grab something at the diner.”

  He came into the living room and pulled his jacket off the back of the couch. Jen said, “When will you be back?”

  “Later. I’m going over to Don’s to work on his car.”

  “Okay. I’d like the truck this afternoon. I need to pick up groceries.”

  “Give me the list, I’ll get them.”

  Jen dropped the plates into the sink and pulled the list off the fridge. She added cream to the bottom and handed it to Jack. He crumpled it into his pocket and left.

  * * *

  Jen opened the back door and tossed out the dirt in the dustpan. It was raining lightly. Heavy, low clouds hung over the house and the tops of the trees that surrounded it. The air was thick and cold compared with the dry fire heat inside. She watched the warmth from the open door push into the mist.

  Beck had left a teddy bear out in their little square of yard between the house and the trees. Jen walked out onto the lawn, her feet sinking into the ground. She worried about all the rain; their basement always flooded. Everything down there was on cinder blocks, two feet off the floor, but even with everything safe, the flooding still caused mould. It needed to be fixed, but every time she brought it up with Jack he said it was fine, basements flooded. And they didn’t have the money besides.