Works and Days

Sixteen

Happy Returns

William B. Dwyer lay in bed on his back, watching the ceiling turn from black to grey as the morning came. He leaned on his left against his wife, pressing his erection into Dena, murmuring to her and kissing her ear.

“Dena,” he murmured. “Deenie.”

“Oh, Bill, not now.”

“Deeeeen,” he continued.

“Bill...”

“Baaaby,” tenderly.

Dena swatted him. “Bill, I said not now.”

The sound of her voice, the look on her face and the smell of her breath was all equally unattractive and he wilted immediately turning to pull on his pajama pants. He never wore underwear to bed.

“Well, it’s time to get up,” he said darkly, to his wife.

“Last month of school,” Dena said back, pushing herself up and straightening her Victoria’s Secret nighty. “Let me get something ready for breakfast.”

Dena got up leaving her husband sitting on the side of the bed.

“Cameron! Niall! Get up! Don’t be late.”

“How do I look, Dad?”

“Like a hooker,” Niall replied, before Bill could say anything.

“Bill,” apple in hand, used the free one to swat his son on the back of the head and scowl.

“Don’t talk that way at the breakfast table. You look real pretty, sweetheart.”

“Thanks Daddy.”

The man with the ginger colored hair cut military fashion, the oversized nose, blue tie and jacket, who was juggling coffee, newspaper and apple approved of her and winked at her. This is all that mattered to Cameron.

“I don’t know how you can wonder if you look nice,” Dena began, “when you’re wearing the same plaid jumper and white blouse five hundred other girls are gonna have on.”

“It’s the way you wear it, Mother.”

“It’s the way you wear it, Mother,” Niall mimicked.

“Niall!” Bill snapped.

“Don’t bite the boy’s head off,” Dena muttered to her husband.

“Your father’s just a crab,” she confided in her son. “And I know why, and it’s not your fault.”

“It’s not my fault either,” Bill muttered, and Cameron realized not for the first time, looking from parent to parent, that she was not the product of a happy marriage.

“Hurry up, Cameron, it’s almost time,” said Dena.

“Bill, are you going to run Niall to school?”

“I don’t have time.”

“It’s three blocks away!”

“I need to pick up Dave and Thom. We’re going to be late for work as it is, and I’m going to have to spend the whole ride to Grand Rapids apologizing to them.”

“You said you’d give Niall and Dave Jr. a ride—”

“Dena, when I was his age,” Bill gave Niall a passing gesture, “I had to walk three times that distance, and my father never offered me a ride. You’re fifteen, toughen up.”

And with that, Bill was out.

“He’s right. It’s not far. We’ll just walk with Russell,” Niall said, and went to get his bag and was out the door before Dena could offer a ride.

Cameron sat at the table, blonde and pretty, uncomfortable.

Finally Dena said, “Well come on, Cam. Rosary isn’t walking distance. Let’s go.”

Russell Lewis, Niall Dwyer and Dave Armstrong had just made it to Kirkland when a rusted yellow El Camino, belching smoke, began to trail them.

“Russell,” said Dave. “I think it would be politic if we walked a little faster.”

Russell looked back at the weedy sophomore.

“So we could outrun the car?” he suggested with a raised eyebrow. “Whaddo you say, Niall?”

Niall, trying to play it cool, said nothing, then stopped himself from jumping as the car sped up to them.

“Russell!” shouted Bobby Reyes’s voice. And then someone else shouted, “Russell!” too.

But this next shout wasn’t Bobby’s voice. It was a woman’s and she was driving.

“Russell,” she said, stopping the car, and got out, shades over her face. “I told you I’d see you again.”

Russell cocked his head.

“Anigel?”

“Uh hum.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Giving my shit brother a ride to school. I’m back in town and Bobby’s license is revoked. Again. How bout yawl pile on in the car.”

“My sister’s the school bus today,” Bobby laughed, opening up the large car door and letting the three boys pile into the back.

“I’m the Magic School Bus,” she said to her brother, climbing back into the car and revving the loud engine as she murmured, “Biiiiiiiitch.”

“Well,” said David Armstrong from the backseat. “Seems to me like we have a couple of Grumpy Guses in the car this morning.”

He pushed up his glasses.

“Yes,” said Bill Dwyer, voice measured, “and your use of the term Grumpy Gus is not helping my already nasty mood.”

“I guess I’ll shut up now.”    

“Always an option,” Bill murmured.

Thom Lewis, beside Bill, said nothing. They passed the sign. NOW LEAVING FORT ATKINS, MICHIGAN. HAVE A NICE DAY

“But what if it was night?”

“What?” Bill looked distractedly toward Thom.

“Nothing,” said Thom, furrowing his brow.

“What if it was night,” David Armstrong completed the thought. “The Fort Atkins sign. What if you were driving out of it at night? Is that what you mean, Thomas?”

“Yeah,” Thom was too distracted to be impressed by his next door neighbor’s attentiveness. In the late spring heat beyond the air conditioned compartment of the car, the road stretched out black, shooting through the ultra green of farm fields.

“I’m wondering if this car has bad chi,” David said.

“Huh?”

His brother-in-law wished David would stop talking.

“I mean, no one’s in a really good mood. Everyone looks sort of distracted. Maybe the car’s got bad chi.”

“Nothing seems to be distracting your mood,” Bill muttered.

“Maybe it’s chi,” David repeated to himself, grimacing.

“Maybe it’s just a shitty day?” Bill suggested, turning back to raise an eyebrow which David did not acknowledge.

“If we exit here, we can get onto the highway.”

There, thought, Thom. I’ve made my contribution to car pool conversation.

“Well, if no one really wants to talk about their problems...” David began, And this time, most unsafely, Bill gave his full gaze to David Armstrong, and the other man shut up.

“I gotta apologize for Dave,” Bill said to Thom once they’d dropped the other man off at his office. “He’s into all that psychology crap and he likes talking about feelings and holding hands and everything. He wanted to go to this regaining your manhood conference last year. He talked me into it.”

“I heard something about that,” Thom said.

“Yeah,” Bill said as they swung up to Thom’s building. “The church sponsored it.”

“How was it?”

“Great. Until the loincloth and drum came out.”

“You’re joking.”

William Dwyer looked hard at Thom, his long nose becoming suddenly very sharp.

“No,” said Bill in a deadly voice.

Bill Dwyer was passing the women’s restroom with a cup filled from the water cooler when he heard on the other side of the faux wood door:

“Lynn, you don’t mean Bill Dwyer?”

“Yes,” Lynn—she was the new receptionist, sounded a little indignant, “I exactly mean Bill Dwyer.”

Bill leaned closer to the door.

“But his nose his so big!” said the first girl—Roz.

Bill drew back in horror, and, defensively made a pat at his beak.

Bill was hurt that there was other laughter. But it wasn’t Lynn’s.

“Your ass is so big, Roz.”

Ah, it was Roz.

Undaunted, Roz went on. “It completely dominates his face.”

“He has a beautiful face and a beautiful nose.”           

“I’ll tell him you said that. Make a memo of it.”

“Don’t you dare, what is this, high school?”

“Um, hum, and he’s the married school teacher.” Roz reminded Lynn. “Check the wedding band some time.”

“Which means you checked it first.”

“Oh, shut up!”

“Oh, you shut up. Roz! You’ve checked Bill Dwyer out! Admit it.”

“No.”

“Admit it.”

“No. Never.... once, twice.... the nose is kinda cute.”

Bill beamed, and touched his nose again.

“We’re almost off break. Com’on, let’s get outta here.”

The door moved. Bill was jostled back into reality and his eyes darted for a place to hide before, tossing away his water, he threw himself into the men’s room next door and John Caruthers looked up from the urinal at him and said, “What’s with you, Dwyer? you’re white as a sheet?”