The same way his relatives from Detroit had looked when they came to the country to visit. He and his brother used to laugh at them for that, for pointing at the stars when they didn’t even know any constellations to pick out, for the way their eyes popped out of their heads when they first looked up at the country night sky. And now he was doing the same thing. For all he disdained the bull-riders at Yeehaw’s, he himself had become citified. More than he’d realized. If he were home right this minute, Todd would laugh at him more than they’d ever laughed at the visiting relatives.
He got back into the Taurus and drove away, leaving the dusty road lying quietly behind him.
* * *
He decided to forgo Yeehaw’s the following Friday. Instead he sat on the sofa in his studio apartment on West 55th, drank a Pabst he’d bought at the nearest liquor store, and watched the basketball game. He figured the Pistons would win, not that Portland was terrible, but the Pistons had put up a strong front so far. And besides, they were his team. He always bet himself they would win, whether they looked strong or not.
At halftime, his cell phone rang, really rang. No Beethoven ringtones for him. He flipped it open.
“Hello?”
“Jack? It’s mom.”
“I know, Mom. I have caller ID. What is it?”
“Well…your father’s birthday is in a few weeks, you know, and, well, I thought it would be nice if you came to the party. He’s retiring, after all.”
Nice for who, Jack wondered, but he didn’t say that.
“Dad’s not retiring.”
“He is too!” his mother said reproachfully. “He said so.”
“Maybe he said so, but Dad won’t retire until he drops dead.”
“Even so, he’s turning sixty-eight, and I think you should be here.”
“Dad doesn’t want me there,” Jack said.
“You don’t know that. When have you even talked to him lately?”
“Mom—”
“Jack,” said his mother, and now it was her look here, young man voice, “you have not been home in forever. For two years it’s been phone calls and the occasional e-mail, nothing else. Everyone in the family is coming together for this. I want you there.”
Jack sighed.
“When is this?” he asked in a resigned voice. He stared intently at the television. Halftime was nearly over. In a moment the Pistons would be taking the ball, but he couldn’t concentrate with his mother’s voice in his ear.
“…that Friday,” she was saying. The look here voice had been replaced by something cheerful and almost smug. Unless he was imagining that, but it sounded like someone (his father?) had told her not to bother calling, Jack wouldn’t come, and now she was preparing for a told-you-so. “…six o’clock, but of course you’ll be staying at the house, so you don’t need to worry about that. Okay?”
“Okay,” he said automatically. Oh, dear God. He would be staying at the house.
“I love you,” his mother said in a softer tone. She wasn’t even trying to make him feel guilty, he could tell, but the pit of his stomach still churned.
“I’ll be there,” he said.
It wouldn’t be so bad, he told himself as he hung up. One day – no, a couple of days, of course she expected him to stay at their house for a few nights – a couple days wouldn’t kill him. Right?
He went back to the game, feeling uneasy now. He swigged his beer and tried to settle the feeling.
Fifteen minutes later the Pistons were kicking Portland’s asses, Jack was opening his fourth Pabst, and the Koreans down the street were shouting at someone as usual. And then a new sound broke through the night, a yelp. Then more shouting, followed by barking. Jack looked at the TV. The game still had a ways to go. He pulled on a jacket and headed outside.
Down the street he could see the Koreans standing beneath the streetlight outside their bakery, not shouting anymore but waving their hands and pointing up the street. Something moved between the garbage cans outside the apartment building, and then the something whined. A blue-spotted pointer dog belly-crawled out of the shadows and whined again, wagging its tail at Jack.
“Here, boy,” he said.
The dog crawled forwards, still wagging. Maybe it thought he was going to throw something at it like the Koreans no doubt had; it had a chunk of bread from their bakery clenched between its jaws.
“Thief, huh?” Jack said. He crouched beside the dog and ran his hands gently along its bony sides. “Looks like you need it, though.”
He looked back at his apartment building, thinking. As far as he knew, no one else in his building had pets. Maybe a goldfish, but certainly no dogs. Pets had never even come up as an issue when he’d moved in. His landlord wouldn’t be happy, especially considering that this dog was a stray right off the streets rather than a well-adjusted, well-groomed specimen from a pet store or shelter. On the other hand, nothing in the rental agreement said he couldn’t have a dog. The pointer gnawed on the bread it had stolen.
“Okay, come on,” Jack said.
The dog stood up and wagged its tail. Jack patted his thigh.
“Come on,” he said again. The dog barked, a muffled sound through the bread in its mouth, and followed him into the building.
Jack grabbed a spare blanket out of his closet and spread it on the floor by the sofa. Then something crashed in the kitchen. He looked over the counter separating the kitchen from the living room. The pointer lay on the floor, lapping strawberry preserves out of a broken jar. Damn. Jack had left the jar on the edge of the counter after a not-very-satisfying dinner of toast.
“My fault,” he said. He crouched beside the dog and started picking glass off the floor. “No, you don’t want this. It’ll tear your stomach apart.”
He cleaned up and looked for something to give the dog. First thing tomorrow morning he’d have to buy dog food. He dug some lunchmeat out of the fridge, put it in a bowl, and brought it to the blanket beside the couch. He whistled. The dog pattered over and wolfed down the lunchmeat.
“You’re welcome,” said Jack.
He settled on the couch and turned his attention back to the game. Portland was taking a free throw, but the Pistons were so far ahead that it didn’t matter. His phone rang again. He answered.
“Don’t worry, I’m coming to the stupid party,” he said.
A pause, and then his brother’s voice:
“Mom called.”
“Of course Mom called, you idiot. She beats you to it every time. You’d think you’d know that by now.”
Another pause. Todd cleared his throat and said, “It’s just, I know she was set on having you stay at the house, but I thought you might like to stay with us instead.”
God bless him, Jack thought. Saving his big brother from a weekend of torture.
“Yeah, that would be great,” he said. “I mean – if it’s not inconvenient for you and Katie – I’m okay staying with Mom and Dad.”
“No inconvenience,” Todd replied. “Katie suggested it.”
Because Katie knew, without ever saying she knew, because she had been slighted and belittled and taken as a joke by their father as well.
“Well in that case—”
“Don’t worry, I’ll tell Mom,” Todd said. “That way you won’t have to.”
“Thanks,” said Jack.
“See you soon.”
The pointer whined. Jack looked at it.
“Sorry,” he said. “That’s all there is for now.”
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