James Keith Smith
“I’m much happier than when I was married to your mother,” Johnny said to Zachary as he rolled down the window, flicked a cigarette against a stop sign, and made a right neither signaling, nor coming to a complete stop. “You mother was always so…” He searched for the word. “Angry,” he finally said, then nodded to himself in agreement. “That’s right, angry. And she needed so much…” His mind reeled. Reassurance? Help getting into and out of the bathtub? Palliative care? “Attention,” he said. No, that’s not something you should say to a nine-year-old. And not right, either. Energy? He wasn’t sure. “Well, we tried to work it out, but it wasn’t possible.”
Em, his ex, had been sick for four years—dying for the last two—half of the boy’s young life. He had once been in love with her. Before Sarah, that is. A few months into Em’s third round of chemo, Johnny ran off to Phoenix with Sarah, the manager at the local Kinkos.
He drove four blocks. The desert air was cool and invigorating; a thunderstorm had blown over the region. “That’s the school you’ll go to,” he said, flinging his arm across the boy’s line of vision. “That place has good burgers—are you hungry? No? What do you think of all these cacti? That’s how you pronounce it. Bet you didn’t know that. Don’t worry, I didn’t either, until I moved here.”
Seven miles left in the gas tank. The trip to the airport to pick up Zachary had cost him. Money was never a problem before, when he was married to Em and they both worked, but now he struggled to pay rent.
He parked under a carport, fastened the Club to his steering wheel. Inside the apartment, the shades were drawn. “This will be your room,” he said, showing Zachary the small office in his luxury one-bedroom beside the highway. “These weights will be out of here. I might leave the printer in here, for now, though.” Sarah came out of bedroom in a bathrobe. She was younger than Johnny, only twenty-six. “This is Sarah. You’ve met Sarah. Sarah, this is my son Zachary. He’s nine. You’ve already met him? Did I just say that?”
“I like your shoes, Zachary,” Sarah said. “Do they light up?”
“I don’t think so,” Zachary said.
“That’s too bad.”
There was a booger on the sleeve of the Zachary’s shirt. Over dinner, fried chicken from a local grease pit, runny coleslaw, and lukewarm biscuits, he burst into tears when Johnny told him that, under no circumstances would Halo, the family mutt, be joining them in Phoenix. In the early days of the separation, over those crackly ten-minute phone calls, Johnny hinted at puppies, kittens, and swimming pools. But they were empty promises. The luxury apartment by the highway had a small kidney-shaped pool in the courtyard, but it hadn’t been serviced in years.
Johnny helped with a Lego set but Zachary showed little interest. “You probably have a million questions. Or don’t you? Nothing you want to ask? I’m an open book.” Johnny screwed up with Em. But he was so unhappy. They both were. Still, he could’ve done things a little differently.
“Where are my glasses?” Zachary asked.
“Glasses? Fuck.”
No glasses in the backpack. No toothbrush, clean underwear. Johnny forgot Zachary’s suitcase at the airport. Why didn’t the kid tell him he’d checked a bag?
***
The funeral had been five weeks earlier.
Before Em died, a new man had come into her life, Henry, another cancer patient she’d met at the infusion clinic. Henry’s emaciated arrival at the church, in a giant wool sweater, took much of the heat off Johnny. Completely ignored, he was just a face. He could’ve been working the funeral service, for all they cared. Henry seemed to intimately know every aunt, uncle, and extended cousin. How long had they been dating? It couldn’t have been more than a few months.
Zachary didn’t go near the coffin. He mostly hung in back with other kids, neighborhood children whose mothers had been friends of the family. Johnny talked with Mrs. Reed, a former neighbor, an attractive older woman in her fifties. He looked around nervously, fearing retribution from the crowd.
“Phoenix is great,” he told Mrs. Reed. “I’ve got a great job. Sarah and I are great.”
“A professional golfer.” Mrs. Reed shook her head. “Good for you.”
“Well, getting there. Some big pro-am tournaments coming up. And I manage the shop, give lessons. Working on my short game.”
Johnny walked over to the coffin. He didn’t recognize the woman he saw. Cancer had done something unspeakable to his Em; he was simultaneously horrified and relieved that he hadn’t been there to witness it. This was what happened to love. Or what could happen. Not the love he and Sarah had. Which was mostly good love. Except her family worried him, a little. The age difference, eleven years, was not looked upon favorably. Things were not exactly perfect, but they were good and getting even better.
“I’m much happier than when I was married to Em,” he told Mike, his ex-brother-in-law, the sole family member to speak to him at the service. “She was always so…so…. angry.”
“I know, you told me.”
“Even before she got sick,” Johnny said. “We were fighting.”
“I know, I know. That’s what you said.”
He could barely stand up straight. He wanted to cling to Mike’s shoulder. “I just wish someone would talk to me like… a human being.”
“I’m here, buddy,” Mike said. “I’m listening.”
Johnny’s own side of the family was unrepresented. His move to Phoenix had caused a tear in the familial fabric so great that his geriatric father hadn’t even been notified of the funeral until the day before.
“They don’t make a handbook for this stuff,” Johnny said.
“I know, I know.”
How could he have known she was going to die? He might have even come back when things took a turn for the worse but she was living with Mike and Jenny by then and she didn’t want to see him. Despite popular opinion, he never stopped loving Em.
***
The apartment had a twenty-two inch flatscreen television that came with the lease. There was a bag of groceries on the counter: juice boxes, mac ‘n’ cheese, tomato soup, Top Ramen. No soy milk. No Annie’s. Normal kid stuff, not that health food crap. “I want you to think of this refrigerator as your own,” Johnny said, patting the doorhandle. He’d already showed Zachary the fuse box, how to run the washer and dryer.
“Fuck,” Zachary said. “I forgot my comics.”
“Hey buddy, let’s cut down on the curses.”
Sarah did a crossword puzzle. “Do you want a hot dog?” she asked. “We don’t have any buns but we’ve got bread. Is there is a certain kind of cola you like?”
“Look back there, behind the milk carton,” Johnny said. “That’s right. Tonight, after dinner, we’re going to have root beer floats. And tomorrow morning, first thing, we’re going to get you fitted for some new ice skates. By noon, we’ll be out on the ice. It’s about time you learned to skate. It burns me up a little that I spent a hundred and forty dollars on pads. You’d think your mother would at least get you on ice one time before they got too small.”
Judge Judy was on the twenty-two inch, case after case dismissed with the smash of her gavel. When Johnny left Em, he figured that was it, he’d need to live with the pain of not knowing his son. Someone else would do a better job anyway, he’d thought. But now there he was! His boy! In his own kitchen, crunching on Ruffles.
Root beer floats were served. They had seconds, thirds. The premium vanilla melted and foamed. “Dad, do I have to go to school?”
“What do you mean? Of course you do.”
“I fucking hate school.”
***
A week later, Zachary’s Aunt Jenny called and left a message. “How are you two holding up? Give me a call when…”
Redemption! Her family loved him after all! Should he call her back?
It rang once before she answered.
“We want Zachary to come live with us,” Jenny said. “It’s not that we don’t think you’re capable. His cousins miss him. Mike and I miss him. We only want what’s best.”
His voice broke. He and Sarah had an argument a few days earlier, and she had packed her things and moved out. “Jenny, I’ve been so…”
“Are you listening to what I’m saying? We want Zachary to live with us, Johnny.”
No, it turned out Jenny wasn’t interested in his well-being at all. She was only waiting for him to screw up. “Now listen here, a boy needs to be with his father, not some aunt he barely knows,” he said.
“He lived at my house for the last nine months,” Jenny said.
“…not some lady who thinks she’s better than everyone else because she went to law school.” He was having trouble modulating his voice. “And she didn’t even pass the Bar. I know, he lived with you for a bit but…. When there’s a perfectly good father in the picture, it’s…. well… it’s weird! He needs to grow up with a father and… and… you’re acting like a real bitch.”
He hung up. Zachary was in the next room with Judge Judy. The smash of a gavel. Johnny went and laid on the sofa. “Sarah should be back any day now,” he said. “Your mother and I argued sometimes, too. But I wouldn’t put this in the same category. When Sarah comes back, the three of us will go fishing at Canyon Lake. Do you like fishing?”
Zachary shrugged
“We went once on Lake Erie when I was still with your mother. Me, you, and Uncle Mike. Well maybe you don’t remember you were still in the car seat. Got a little burnt on your legs and your mother gave me hell.”
***
Three days later, water sloshed against the side of the aluminum rental boat. Johnny kept their catch—three skinny perch and a largemouth bass—on a blue nylon stringer. Zachary reeled in a bluegill.
“You should throw that one back. Too small. That’s right. Swallowed the hook? Let me get out the pliers. Sorry, this might get a little bloody.”
“Is he dead?”
“Not yet, son.”
Zachary tossed back the tiny fish. It plunked off the side of the aluminum boat, and splashed into the water. It floated beside the boat. The lake was crowded with houses, wooden docks, and colorful pontoon boats, but nobody else was out on the water.
“I’m actually glad Sarah isn’t here. This is more fun without her. She gets cold easy. Now it’s just us guys and we can talk about guy things. Tell me, any special girls back in Michigan?”
He pulled on the brim of the Zachary’s cap.
“What do you mean?”
“What do I mean? When I was your age I had two girlfriends. One’s name was Summer and the other was…. What was it… Winter? She had red hair and… there were two of them, anyway. I fell in love twice in fourth grade. Watch out, it’ll happen to you. It’s when you’re not looking.”
The outboard motor wouldn’t start. They were adrift. The sun was at Zachary’s back. They waved down a man from his dock, who motored out to them with them a pair of wooden oars. “Go ahead, keep ‘em,” the man said.
“Are you sure?”
“You need them more than I do.” The man looked at Zachary, frowned. “Hey, word of advice, next time bring a jacket for your son.”
They stopped for burgers. The soda machine was out of ice. A few tables over, a high school football team celebrated a victory with a belching contest.
“I was so lonely when I was with your mother,” Johny told Zachary, who picked at his French fries. “People grow apart. It didn’t have anything to do with you, buddy.”
Fries and ketchup. American cheese. A chocolate milkshake.
“Can we go fishing again soon?” Zachary asked.
“Sure, buddy.”
***
A few days later, Jenny called again. This time her lawyer was on the line, too. “We could make things very hard for you,” the lawyer said.
Mike got on the phone. “You know if it was up to me, we’d butt out. A boy needs to be with his father. I know that. But Jenny, she’s like a pit bull. She won’t let it go. We’re flying out next week and we’d like Zachary to come home with us.”
He hung up. The phone rang and rang for the next fifteen minutes. Johnny threw Zachary’s clothes in the duffle, took everything from the closet with a sweep of the arm, laid it in suitcase on the bed.
“What do you think about spending Christmas in Tucson? There’s going to be so many presents under the tree, not just from me but from Sarah, too. I know last year things were bad. I wanted to talk to you, but your mom didn’t let me. I’m so much happier now. And I think you will be too. Are you hungry? Want to grab some burgers? When Sarah comes back, you’ll see, we’ll go out to dinner all the time. Her sister is a hostess at the cheesecake factory. Sarah’s really smart. Manages a Kinkos, did I tell you?”
#
James Keith Smith’s work has appeared or is forthcoming in Split Lip Magazine, Moon City Review, Sierra Nevada Review, Pithead Chapel, and others. He was born in Michigan and lives in Tacoma, WA with his wife and two young children.