Chapter 11.
That morning, Bryce had awoken at 5:30 AM, waking everyone with him, banging a toy on the wall next to his crib, until both sisters emerged from their dark rooms and appeared at the staircase rubbing their faces. Kathy hopped into the shower to get ready for her Saturday shift at the bank, while Josh led the children to the living room for cartoons. As usual, Josh let them watch four or five hours of TV while he read the newspaper, balanced his checkbook, tinkered on ill-advised home improvement projects, and stared out the window. That morning, before she left, Kathy said and repeated: 'no cartoons'.
The denial of TV was one of Kathy's punishments for ignoring her orders about playing in the corn field. Josh nodded, said goodbye, and as soon as Kathy left, he turned on cartoons. The kids watched The Smurfs, Looney Tunes, Tom & Jerry – whatever they wanted, so long as they let Josh enjoy his kitchen solitude. Still, a thousand interruptions came from the living room.
"Dad!"
"What this time?"
"Bryce tried to bite me," said Dawn.
"No biting." A broken record. For the past ten years, and yet again: no biting. No kicking. No throwing balls in the house. No standing on the table. No putting food in daddy's shoes. No hiding car keys in the fireplace. No this. No that.
A midmorning restlessness grew in Josh, as it did every Saturday morning while Kathy worked her extra shift. The domestic hours lingered into an epoch. Unable to finish reading the newspaper, he paced the kitchen and living room floor. Unable to sit, he downed a third cup of coffee. The sense of being tethered on a day without work made him long all the more for Shannon Hoffman.
Bryce entered the kitchen, crying, and waddled to the pantry where his most beloved possession leaned against the wall. The mop. He adored the mop. When he emerged from the pantry, he held the mop-head to his chest like a security blanket.
"Daddy," he said, turning from side to side with the mop. "Daddy."
"No, I'm Daddy," said Josh.
"No, mop Daddy!" shouted Bryce, with a stern face, guarding his mop by turning his body.
"No, I'm Daddy," said Josh.
"No Daddy, Mop!"
At first, Josh had found this amusing, when the mop became Daddy and Daddy became the mop. Josh even played along in the beginning, laughing when Rhea and Dawn called Josh 'Mop' or 'Moppy'. But the game continued for two months, and the word Mop became Bryce's ongoing protest song against his father.
He dragged the mop across the floor, banging the long handle against cupboards, until he reached Josh and started pointing and standing on his tip-toes.
"What do you need, Bryce?"
Reaching hands, reaching and pointing fingers at something on the counter. Moaning and uttering syllables.
"This?" asked Josh, holding up a sippy cup. "Do you need this?"
Something else. More pointing and crying, more urgency. A growing wail, bouncing knees. Josh picked the toddler up, mop and all. "What do you want that's up here?" Bryce's eyes searched for something to want. Josh said, "You don't want anything that's here, unless it's the toaster." More wailing and reaching. "You can't have the toaster." Yes, the toaster. Josh unplugged it and let the boy hold it for a moment. Then Bryce tossed it aside, letting it crash to the floor. Toaster crumbs scattered in all directions "Darn it, Bryce, what did I say about dropping things?" Josh set the boy down. The chubby arms reached up again. Clients assured Josh he would miss these days, of babies and toddlers. He did not believe them. Always needing to be held. With Bryce on his lap, Josh sat at the kitchen table and attempted to read the sports section of the newspaper. But the child's fingers snatched the page and tore a story in half, while simultaneously pushing the other newspaper sections off the table, until Josh gave up and walked the boy over by the TV, plopping him on the floor in front of the electric babysitter.
Josh needed nine or ten hours of work to feel whole. The boy needed more than Josh had to give. He favored Dawn and could not help it. Silently, he hoped the phone would ring with an urgent appointment, even with the slowest widow in Immaculate. Just to have some numbers, some business, some reasoning, rather than having to pick up diapers, quell tantrums, blow noses, separate fights, search for wet wipes, fight with the boy over socks, and be called 'Mop'.
In the living room, a clatter sounded, making Josh jump from his seat. When he entered the room, he saw Bryce sitting next to a mini-blind that had crashed to the floor.
"Bryce did it," said Dawn. "Bryce wrecked it."
The boy had taken hold of the cord and yanked the blinds from the screws in the wall, screws now bent at an angle. Another thing to fix.
"That's it!" said Josh, scooping up the boy. "You're going to your crib. I think you need a nap."
Up the stairs, Josh carried Bryce in one arm, holding him loosely. At the top of the stairs he walked along an open railing that ran along the staircase. The boy lunged backwards and Josh shifted his weight to catch him. Lunging backwards had become a habit of the boy. Wanting to be held, then lunging to get away, sometimes even putting his feet against Josh's chest to push off with more force. "Enough, Bryce. Stop it." The crying started again. Echoing Kathy's worry, Josh said, "Bryce, you'll go over the railing one of these days if you don't stop that." In the nursery room he placed the angry child into the crib and walked away, giving one last glance to witness Bryce jerking the crib slats like a prisoner. Shutting the door, Josh sighed and shook his head. Easier to run a bank and deal with the hundred problems of adults than manage three children and their unpredictable ways.
At 10:00, Josh could pace no more. He phoned his mother, June Werther, not for conversation, but to ask if she could come over to babysit. Shortly after the call, he heard the sound of footsteps in the house and assumed his mother had arrived. He shouted down the stairs, "That was fast!"
"What was fast?" said Kathy, surprising Josh. Her voice wavered when she said, "Do I hear the TV?" Kathy started up the steps, becoming more assertive in her speech. "You know I can tell when it's on."
Josh set his newspaper down on the table and walked quickly to the living room to kill the TV. He whispered, "Quick, girls, read a book or something. Look alive, Mom's home."
In the kitchen, Kathy walked toward the sink to take a drink of water, collecting herself. From the living room, Josh said nonchalantly, "You're early."
"Yes. I had to get out of there. Somehow every person in town knows about last night." She shook her head and clenched her fists. "I don't know how, I can't even imagine how they already know. It's like Paul Revere rode through main street after the football game."
"That's Immaculate," said Josh, entering the kitchen. "I didn't tell anyone."
"Someone did," said Kathy.
"You know people," he said. "Vultures have more discretion."
"How are the girls?" said Kathy, blowing her nose, shaking and lacking her usual composure.
"Fine," said Josh. "Reading books in the living room. Bryce is taking a nap."
Kathy said, "I hear him crying. How long has he been crying?"
"Just started," said Josh.
She walked into the living room. Two studious faces peered up from their books, saying, "Hello, Mommy!"
The charade failed when Kathy walked to the TV and put her hand on the side and on the tube, feeling for heat like on a feverish child's forehead. The TV was warm – almost hot. Without a word, she left the room, returning to the kitchen where Josh leaned over his sports section.
She whispered, "I asked you not to let them watch cartoons."
"They watched two cartoons," he said.
"I am trying to make a point," she said, glaring at him, "and I could use your help. Otherwise it makes my orders seem optional."
Josh lifted his palms off the page. "Relax."
"I won't relax," she said. "They ignored what I said about going into the field." She stopped and w
inced. "You know, Josh, why can't you back me up? Are you trying to undermine me?"
He put his head down on his chest and then lifted it again. "I'm not undermining you, dear. I'm simply tired of reading the potty book to Bryce and would like to have some time for myself after the work week to sit and read the paper."
"That's not the point. Find something else to do with them. The only thing I asked, the only thing, was to withhold TV today. And what a sorry excuse for punishment that is, but you even caved on that."
Josh said, "I think you need a nap."
"What's this?" Kathy said, looking out the window into the yard. "Who's here?" She pulled the curtain over the sink. "Is that your mother?"
Josh said, "Looks like it."
"What is she doing here?" said Kathy, watching June Werther closely, inspecting the well put-together outfit her mother-in-law wore that day for her lunch with the other empty-nesters in town.
Josh did not respond.
"You called her, didn't you?" She bit her lip. After seeing Father Dimer and feeling settled, the chaos of the day swooped back into her chest, a new anxiety plus contempt for June's undying benevolence. She had a heart of gold, and as daughter-in-law, Kathy interpreted this willingness to step in as territorially motivated, and struggled to accept June's aid as pure and simple assistance. Kathy said to Josh, "You couldn't even watch them for five hours? Honestly, Josh? God Almighty, I am not letting your mother come here to save the day because I can't raise my own kids without risking certain death from Ray Marak's combine. I can hear it already, from now until Christmas. In my ear, buzzing. Buzzing, Josh. Like she does, the fly that she is."
"She doesn't buzz. You do."
"What would you know?"
"Not much. But I am beginning to think you may need to good shaking to calm down," said Josh, smirking.
"What's that?" said Kathy. "You want to beat me? Is that it?"
"Sorry," said Josh, sniffing quietly and moving away from his wife. "I wouldn't give you the satisfaction. Leave my mother out of this. Being angry with me is one thing, but insulting my mother…"
A knock on the door sounded. Kathy said, "Let me get that."
Josh waited until she turned and shook his head with contempt, reciprocating his wife's scowl.
Kathy walked down the stairs to greet her mother-in-law at the door, turning off her frown and growing ripe with charm when she turned the doorknob.
"June, so good to see you," said Kathy, leaning in for a hug and a kiss, the requisite greeting from June, who showed affection for everyone. "What brings you here?"
"Just here for an hour of babysitting. Josh called and said he needed a short break." She put her keys into her purse. "Aren't you working today?"
"I was," said Kathy, smiling under a solid façade honeyed by years of customer-facing mornings at the auto-bank. "My shift ended early. And I'm taking the girls to the Marak farm." A lie. She had no stomach that day for June's kindness, and especially not her compassion. She imagined her mother-in-law teeming with advice. "It's just the beginning of the girls' penance for what happened last night."
"For what?" said June.
"For knocking down Ray's corn. For not listening to me." She paused and let her shoulders fall. "Please, June, don't pretend you haven't heard. I know you've heard. Everyone has heard, don't act as if you haven't heard."
"I did," said June, abashed, "but I didn't want to say anything."
"Another time, June, I'll explain what happened, I promise. Thanks for stopping by, but I have plans for the kids."
Josh listened carefully and made his way down the steps to intercept his rejected mother. Before Kathy could send June away, Josh guided his mother out the door where they could talk privately, and more importantly, where he could escape the steam rising inside the house. When he passed Kathy, he gave her a wide berth.
In the yard, Josh chatted with his mother, even after she put on her seat belt and started the car. All subjects suddenly came to his mind – he asked about family birthdays, deaths, weddings, about her health, his father's arthritis and bursitis, listened thoughtfully, keeping the conversation alive until Kathy backed her car out of the garage. He saw the children in the backseat, now on their way to the Marak farm. Then Josh said goodbye to his mother and waved with a smile.
A window of time suddenly opened for Josh to play. A few hours, to resurrect the missed chance of the previous night with Shannon Hoffman. In the living room, he found the cordless phone under a pillow and dialed her number, only to hang up the phone as soon as he heard a ring on the other end. Then he set the phone on the couch and watched Ray Marak's combine make a turn in the field.
At the Hoffman house, Jack wore his filthy boots on the linoleum. Boots took too long to unlace for Jack to bother when he needed to run in the house for something. Hygiene did not interrupt his morning, as the hair on his neck and face lengthened until it became a hazard around machines. Now and then he would drive into town to the barber and reveal that he was only twenty-nine years old, almost handsome. Like most men in Immaculate, he tended toward one or two of the deadly sins and one or two of the seven virtues. Well-liked, even loved, welcomed by all for his good company and gentle smile. Hygiene aside, he kept a clean farm – except the kitchen floor, which his wife Shannon swept several times a day to remove the dirt and manure, performing this task between readying three meals, with preparation orders from Jack outlawing fruits and vegetables, as his palate only required two staples: meat and potatoes. And the occasional egg or two.
Shannon was sweeping the kitchen floor when the short half-ring sounded from the phone and she blushed. The phone rang for a split second and stopped. At the table, Jack started and stopped when the second ring never came.
"I'm gonna call the phone company and make a complaint." He sat down, dirty from the morning's work, leaning over the AgriNews and listening to the drone of commodity prices on the AM radio. "God damn prank calls been going on all summer." From the corner of his mouth he spoke, emitting a hard nasal voice that could raise the roof when required. Jack was a man who could say no to his wife or anyone else.
"Probably just kids." Shannon continued sweeping, showing no interest or concern about the phone call. Ten minutes later, after tossing the dust out the door and putting away dishes, she invented a reason to leave the house. Jack nodded, granting leave, requesting that she drop off a check in town at an electrician's office.
For Shannon, the rendezvous required two escapes from the farmhouse. One to place a note. The other to meet Josh. Behind a post office mailbox in town, in a nook of bent steel, her note needed to be dropped within two hours of Josh's initial call – or the tryst would not happen. Likewise, Josh needed to wait the full two hours to check for the note, in case she could not escape the house. And whatever time and place Shannon wrote on the note, Josh needed to be there – or go hungry. They used abbreviations and the 24-hour clock to mark time. A meeting at the Old Mill at 11:30 PM became OM2330 in their simple adulterous code.
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