“Don’t think I’d want to sled in a storm,” Stup said. “At my age, I’d break bones if I hit a tree.”
Dix saw Stup was obviously cold but he wasn’t moving. “You got something on your mind?”
“Well, yeah, it’s like this, Dix. Rafer wants a job.”
“Rafe’s fourteen, old enough, but his grades in English and biology stink, and I’ve already told him there’
ll be no part-time job until he gets both of them to a B average. I’m trying to help him out myself, helping him build a model of the double helix for biology in the evenings and even reading Othello with him for English. The guy’s an idiot.”
“Rafer? He’s not an idiot, Dix, he just needs some good motivation.”
“No, Stup, not Rafer, this guy Othello. You know, the guy who murders his wife in Shakespeare’s play.”
“Oh, well then. Rafer wants a job so much he even promised me he’d work extra fast, do all I asked him to do in half the time it would take anyone else, and then he’d study.”
Dix laughed. “That kid’s always got a line. What did you tell him?”
“That I’d speak to you about it.”
“Tell him you pay by the hour, so if he does the work in half the time, he’ll only make half the money. Let
’s see what he has to say to that.”
Stup rubbed his arms and broke into a grin. “That’s good, Dix. He’s supposed to come see me tomorrow, so I’ll try it.”
Before he reached his Range Rover, Dix walked along High Street, as he usually did, and spoke to a half dozen more citizens of Maestro, including Melissa Haverstock, the local librarian, who asked him if he’d like to come with her to the First Methodist Church potluck supper on Saturday night. He kindly refused. When he pulled into his driveway eleven minutes later, it was already getting dark. He was getting real tired of the long winter nights. It was cold, the naked branches shuddering in the frigid air. He sniffed the air. Snow was coming, all right, he could smell it, heavy and moving closer. The house was all lit up, and that meant the boys were home or they had left and didn’t bother to turn the lights off. Who knew?
He heard Brewster bark, knew he was waiting beside the front door, his tail wagging so fast it was a blur. Brewster tended to pee when he got excited, so Dix speeded up, hoping to head off an accident. It was Friday night and he’d have to nag Rob to do the laundry. The three of them had lived through pink shorts and undershirts until Rob finally got clued in to colors running in the washer. Rafer had worn a bathing suit under his jeans for a good two weeks after the guys in gym class laughed their heads off at him for being a girlie-man.
Brewster, whose truly impressive bark exceeded his body weight by at least fifty pounds, tried to climb up his leg when he came in the house. “Hey, Brewster, you hanging in there, fella? Yeah, I’m home and we’re going to have a fine old time. And you didn’t even pee on my boots.” He picked up the four-pound toy poodle and laughed when he wildly licked his five o’clock shadow.
“Hey, boys, you here?”
Rafer sauntered in, shoulders slouched, yawning. “Hey, Dad. I’m here.”
“Where’s your brother?”
Rafer gave a trademark teenage shrug, Like ask me if I care. “Dunno, maybe he went over to Mary Lou’
s house. He said he wanted to get in her pants.”
“If he tries to get into Mary Lou’s pants her dad will skin off his face.”
Rafer grinned at that. “That’s good, I’ll warn him, but you know, Dad, he gets this glazed look in his eyes when he’s with her, like he’s a little nuts. Oh, never mind.”
“Yeah, you warn him, Rafe.” Of course Rob was nuts, he was a teenager. Given those raging hormones, it was a blessing there were fathers like Mary Lou’s. Her parents kept a tight rein on her, but he supposed he’d have to speak to Rob again, for the umpteenth time—the teenage boy and sexual responsibility talk, now that gave him a headache.
“Rob did the laundry,” Rafer said. Dix felt a leap of pleasure, but it folded when Rafer snickered.
“What color are our shorts this time?”
“A real pretty robin’s-egg blue,” Rafer said, “that’s what Mrs. Melowski called it.”
“Great. Wonderful. Why did you show Mrs. Melowski our blue shorts?”
“You know, she’s always coming by, wants to see you, and Rob was holding a pair of his shorts and she looked at them and started laughing. She showed Rob what he did wrong.”
“So have I, countless times.”
“Well, yeah, she said they’d need another couple of washings with lots of bleach and the blue would come out. She left a lemon cake for our dessert tonight. Hey, Dad, what’s for dinner?”
“Not pizza tonight, Rafe, hang that up. I made some stew Tuesday and froze it. I’ll make biscuits to go with it.”
“I’ll see if we’ve got enough catsup.”
“We do. I checked before I left this morning. Is there any of the lemon cake left?”
“I did eat a couple of pieces,” Rafer said.
Dix could easily picture the gutted cake. He pulled his cell out of his jacket pocket and called the Claussons’ house. Sure enough, Rob was there, playing Foosball with Mary Lou and her parents, who were killers at the game. They had the fastest reflexes Dix had ever seen. Rob must have been getting beat really bad because he didn’t sound at all sorry to come home to dinner. “Hey, Dad, can Mary Lou have dinner with us?”
Before Dix could answer, he heard Mr. Clausson say in the background, “No, Rob, Mary Lou’s aunt is visiting us tonight.”
“Come on home, Rob.”
“Yeah, Rob,” came Rafe’s voice loud in the background, “you don’t want Mr. Clausson to skin off your face.”
IT STARTED SNOWING about nine-thirty that night. Dix and the boys were watching TV, he and Rafe having buried Othello and Desdemona an hour before. Rafe, rightfully in Dix’s opinion, wanted to know why Iago didn’t get his guts ripped out, to which Dix replied, “Hey, Shakespeare gave us a body count of five. That’s enough, isn’t it?”
Rafe had finally said, “Yeah, I guess enough of the cast did croak.”
Rafe’s model double helix was finished and sat once more on top of his desk next to his Titans football signed by Steve McNair. They usually watched TV on Friday nights. It was a treat for the boys since he had a no-TV rule during the week.
Rafe fell asleep in the middle of Law & Order, his head on Dix’s leg. Rob, sixteen, long and skinny, was slouched in his favorite chair, snoring lightly. His hair was as black as Dix’s but his eyes were his mom’s blue-green. I’m the old man here in the room, Dix thought, and I’m the only one awake. It made him wonder what the boys had been up to today to wear themselves out.
He got the boys off to bed at ten o’clock and took Brewster out for his night run. Since the snow had only just begun to fall, he didn’t have to worry about Brewster sinking in over his head and getting himself in trouble, a very real concern in the winter. He let him down on the front porch and watched him leap joyfully off the top step and race into the yard, barking and yapping. He twirled back around, bouncing like there were springs on his back legs, trying to catch the snowflakes with his front paws, his fluffy little tail wagging frantically.
Dix walked down the sidewalk and raised his face to the sky. The snow was so lacy and soft it dissolved the instant it touched his face. He stood silently, smiling at Brewster, letting the cold night air fill his lungs. He realized he felt good, felt more whole again than not, and that was surely a step in the right direction. Brewster yelped three times at him and took off toward the woods.
“Brewster! Come back here, you know the woods are off-limits!”
But Brewster had the scent of some animal and wasn’t about to give up the chase. Dix headed after him, pulling on the gloves he’d pushed into the pockets of his leather jacket as he walked. There were lots of feral animals in the woods, 99 percent of them bigger and more vicious than Brewster. Dix called the dog again and again, but all he heard were Brewster’s yelps, growing more distant. He kept talking to Brewster, following the sound of his barks. He’d found something, perhaps an injured animal.