My stomach felt queasy as I turned up Main. I could see it from a distance, the front window, SZABO PLUMBING AND HEATING. I’d done the lettering myself in sixth grade. Stick-on letters—big deal. The glass was still cracked from the hailstorm that about demolished the town the day of Dad’s funeral. Our roof at home had been pulverized so bad a bunch of shingles had busted loose. Did Darryl fix it? No. Every time it rained the water spots on the ceiling in my room spread like a grease fire. One of these days the whole roof was going to collapse.
This vision materialized in my mind: Me, that day, standing on the porch at home watching the world get ripped apart. Same way my insides felt. Like an idiot I’d rushed out into the mucky backyard to retrieve a handful of hailstones. They were still in the freezer as a memento, I guess. I didn’t need any mementos.
I parked in the alley behind the shop and sat for a minute, trying to slow my pounding heart. I swore I wouldn’t do this; wouldn’t come here. I’d respect his wishes, his decision.
He didn’t extend it to me. All the times I’d come to work with Dad, come to the shop, we’d make a day of it. A pit stop at the Suprette for a couple of sticky buns and a quart of orange juice. Our favorite breakfast. He’d pour the juice into his coffee mug, then mix it with vodka when he thought I wasn’t looking.
I was always looking, Dad.
I turned off the truck. I got out, leaving the keys in the ignition. I could just run in, get what I needed, get out. The back door key was still on the windowsill where it always was. Only over the years it’d been incorporated into a spongy spiderweb. The door still required a good heft of shoulder. Dad vowed he’d fix that loose frame. Someday, he’d said. Someday.
“You ran out of somedays, didn’t you, Dad?” I flicked the light switch. Nothing. Of course, the electricity would be off. What was I thinking, that everything was the same?
Some things were. Dad’s two oak filing cabinets, circa 1940. His steel desk. The stockroom shelves of PVC pipe and copper tubing, bathroom fixtures, valves, vent caps, flare plugs, flex connectors. When I was little and Dad would bring me to work with him, he’d plop me on the braided rug behind his desk and give me boxes of elbows and wyes and flare nuts and male and female adapters and nipples and stub outs and tees and unions and compression caps. I’d play for hours and hours fitting all the parts together, screwing and piecing. Everything fit perfectly. Like life. No leaks.
What was I saying? Life leaked from every loose coupling. There wasn’t enough plumber’s putty in all the world to keep the life from leaking out of Dad.
Stop it, I admonished myself. He’d made his choice.
That was the part I was having trouble with. His choosing to die.
The building still belonged to us, at least. Great-Grandpa Szabo had built it himself, brick by brick. From the ground up, he’d built our reputation, the family business. He meant for it to stay in the family. Forever. It would have too, if only Dad had trusted me.
Shut up, brain. It’s not his fault.
Whose fault is it?
Darryl’s, if anyone. He trashed the business.
Breathe in deeply; hold, hold. Don’t let it get to you, I told myself. Control. Action. I released my breath, along with the tension in my muscles. In my jaw, my stomach. It’s all about control.
Action and control.
Dad’s toolbox lay open on his desk. I closed the lid and latched it; noticed a stack of mail in his outbox. For some reason, I riffled through the envelopes: Rural Phone and Electric, Farmer’s Insurance, Aquastar Heaters, the Mercantile—
“Dammit, Darryl,” I cursed him out loud. “The least you could’ve done is paid the bills. He trusted you.”
He trusted you, Darryl. He trusted you with the business. The least you could’ve done is cared.
Nel was swabbing the floor when I pushed through the café doors at the tavern. She flung the mop down and rushed over to meet me. To hug me. “Mike, you’re a lifesaver,” she said.
“I thought I was an angel.”
She cupped my chin. “That too. I found the shutoff valve, at least.” The hardwood floor was damp and discolored around the booths, and the whole place reeked of sewage. Poor Nel. She’d be bleaching for days. The phone rang and she hustled around the bar to answer it. “You know where everything is in the bathrooms?” She lifted the receiver.
“I’ll find it.”
“Hello? Oh, Miss Millie. I just wanted to call and tell you I had to close early today….”
Miss Millie. She’d assumed Dad’s exalted position of town drunk after he’d relinquished the honor.
Both restrooms had been mopped, but there was still standing water around the toilets. I’d never worked on these particular units. They were ancient even by Coalton standards. In the women’s room, I removed the tank lid and examined the ball-cock assembly. Rusty, but intact. Did I smell sewer gas? I followed my nose out the back door to the septic tank. All the other buildings in town had hooked into the main sewer line a few years back. Dad and I had done most of the conversions. Darryl had helped a little, if you want to call it that. “It’s not my gig, Dad,” I remember him saying. Remember him whining the whole time. Then bailing on us.
He and Dad got into a fight about it later. Darryl hollering he didn’t want to be a turd herder.
The septic wasn’t full, as Nel suspected, so there had to be blockage in the line. I’d augur it first. Clear the siphon holes in the toilets. If I had to root the main line or dig a trench to cut through the pipe, this could be a mammoth job. I almost hoped it was. Not for Nel. For me.
I loved plumbing. Loved the problem solving, discussing with Dad solutions, how to fix things, connecting the parts, the pieces. I loved new installations, planning the architecture, the piping, soldering, installing the fixtures. I loved every aspect of plumbing. It was in my blood; it ran through my veins.
It took a few tries, first with the snake, then the power snake. Eventually, I twisted through. A huge clot of cloth, like a dishrag, came out attached to the snake blade. Weird. It was in the men’s urinal.
I showed it to Nel. She said, “Oh shit. I know whose that is. Charlene and Reese. They stopped by to show me their new baby girl on Saturday. Charlene’s in seventh heaven finally having a girl. After those boys of hers…” Nel shook her head. So did I. The Tanner boys. Look out, world. “The baby needed changing and Charlene and I were catching up on news, so Reese said he’d do it. That man has the brains of a two-year-old, I swear. That might be giving him too much credit. I can’t believe he’d flush a diaper down the toilet.”
“Maybe you should have him arrested,” I said.
Nel looked at me and burst out laughing. Reese was the town sheriff. Nel laughed and laughed. Her smoker’s wheeze degenerated into a coughing fit.
“Do you want me to help clean up?” I asked, rewinding the snake.
“Not necessary. You’ve done enough. You are an angel.”
“I don’t mind.”
“You go on home.”
I didn’t want to. I wanted to replumb the whole tavern.
Nel trailed me out to the truck. After I hefted the power snake into the back, I turned to find her extracting a wad of money from her zipper pouch. She peeled off four or five tens and handed them to me.
“Forget it,” I said. “It’s on the house.”
“No such thing,” she said. “You’re as bad as your dad.” She slapped the money into my palm and closed my fingers around it.
She had to bring him up, didn’t she? Just when I was feeling so good.
She shut the driver’s side door after me and rested her arms across the open window frame. “Arrest Reese. Ha. That’s a good one. You’ve got your Dad’s sense of humor too. I could always count on him to leave me with a laugh. I miss that.”
I had to go—now. I cranked the ignition over.
“Why don’t you stop by more often, Mike? We could reminisce.”
Oh yeah. Just what I wanted to do. Remember my old man. How funny he was. How he drank himself to oblivion. How he chose death over life.
Like hell, I thought as I pealed out. Every time I go in there, it makes me wonder why. Why’d he do it? Why was that his choice? “You can choose to die, Dad. It’s your life to take. But why did you have to take us down with you?”
Thanks, Dad. I hate you.
Xanadu was sitting in my seat pouting at me when I straggled into Geometry. “I tried to call you,” I said, sliding into Bailey’s desk in front of her and swiveling around. “The phone number you left was all garbled on our machine.” From my shirt pocket, I pinched out the Suprette receipt where I’d written the numbers. I handed it to her. “This was my best guess.”
She read it and widened her eyes. She’d taken extra care to put on eyeliner and eyeshadow today. Not heavy. Not necessary. Gray-blue shadow, the color of her eyes. It glittered. Sparkled. She glittered. She didn’t know what defective was. “Not even close,” she said, uncapping a Flair with her teeth. She was wearing lipstick. Lip gloss, more like. It was all glimmery and slick. She drew a line through the numbers and wrote new ones below.
Mrs. Stargell hadn’t arrived yet, which was unusual. The bell had already rung. “I drove out to the Davenports’ last night, but you weren’t back yet,” I told Xanadu. After Nel’s, I’d driven straight to their place, circling around for two solid hours, watching for the hearse. I was afraid someone would call Reese Tanner and report suspicious behavior out on the county road.
“Good morning, guys and dolls.” Miz S bustled in. “Did everyone have a nice weekend?”
Xanadu rolled her eyes at me and I smiled.
“I see we have people missing still. Has anyone talked to Bailey or Beau since Friday? How is their dad doing?” Mr. McCall had gotten gored by a bull, which was why the B boys were out calving.
From the back, Skip Greer spoke up. “He’s still wrapped, but he’s able to move around some. Bailey’s helping with inoculations today. He says he expects to be back tomorrow.”
“Shit,” I heard Xanadu mutter. “He’s not even coming?”
It made me wonder again about her ride home. What had happened? Obviously nothing. She’d called me from Sublette.
“How about Shawnee?” Miz S asked. “I went over to see her Saturday and she seemed fine. Have you talked to her, Deb?”
Deb Pastore said, “Yeah. She had a doctor’s appointment this morning. She’ll be back tomorrow.”
Mrs. Stargell closed her roll book. “I hate to get into the Pythagorean Theorem and trigonometric ratios without Bailey and Shawnee here. It’s such a beautiful day, let’s go outside and read.”
That woke everyone up. There was a flurry of activity as people gathered their books and packs. Xanadu touched my shoulder and said, “Did she say outside to read?”
I twisted my head. “She reads. We listen.”
Xanadu wrinkled her nose.
“She does this all the time,” I said. “She reads to us. She says she wants us to develop an appreciation for the arts.”
“Did anyone tell her this was Math class?” Xanadu crossed her eyes.
I cracked up. She was so funny.
We herded down the hall in clumps. Xanadu walked beside me. “She’s a real head case,” Xanadu said, motioning to Mrs. Stargell ahead of us, who’d linked one arm in Deb’s and the other in Skip Greer’s. “Does she really think we won’t take off?”
As in ditch? Nobody ditched. This was Coalton.
“Miz S is cool,” I told her. “She grades easy. Plus, you don’t want to get on her bad side because she’ll call a conference with your parents and make them come to school. She doesn’t put up with crap.”
Xanadu widened her eyes. “Thanks for the warning.” She clenched my wrist and held on. She could hold on forever, it felt so good and warm. Or slip her fingers down into mine, through mine. I relaxed my hand in case she was considering it. But she only squeezed and let me go.
We gathered under the big elm in front, which wasn’t giving off shade this time of year. A hawk circled overhead. Miz S said, “Don’t spread out too far. My voice isn’t what it used to be.”
Xanadu kicked off her sandals and wriggled her toes in the greening lawn. Her toenails were painted. Deep, dark red. I sat back, propping on my elbows next to her and extending my legs. There was a slight breeze, but the air smelled of change. A storm brewing in the west. Rain, maybe. Or snow.
Miz S said, “I thought we’d read poetry today.”
A couple of people groaned. I didn’t. I liked hearing poetry when Miz S read it. She didn’t just read; she performed. She opened the tattered cover on a thick black book and skimmed the table of contents. “Here’s one I think you’ll like.” She licked her finger and paged forward. “‘Because I Could Not Stop for Death,’ by Emily Dickinson.”
Xanadu swung her head toward me. “She’s joking, right? Emily Dickinson? Please.”
Clearing her throat, Miz S pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and held the book out in front of her face.
“Because I could not stop for Death—
He kindly stopped for me—
The Carriage held but just Ourselves—
And Immortality.”
Her reading was dramatic, with intonations and voice inflections. Xanadu glanced at me once over her shoulder and stuck out her tongue in a gag. Lifting her long hair up with both arms, she let it fall down her back in raining ribbons. I wanted to reach out and feel every strand, run my fingers through the silk.
“He slowly drove—He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility—”
I lay back on the grass, hands under my head. My abs contracted instinctively; hold, hold, let it out slowly. Focus. Control. I tried to focus on Miz S’s rising pitch, the tenor of her voice, the meaning of her words. The part about not stopping for Death.
“We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess—in the Ring—”
Without warning Xanadu lay beside me, her face inches away. “Pinch me if I snore,” she murmured. Stretching her arms over her head, she yawned and arched her back. Her breasts rose and fell. She was close. So close. I could slide my leg to the left and touch hers. We were both wearing shorts. Skin on skin contact. Her shorts were blue, stretchy, fitted across her soft, smooth thighs. Mine were boxers, loose, hanging off the edge of my muscular quads. Did she notice? I flexed.
Six inches, that was the distance between us. Why did it feel like miles?
She shut her eyes and licked her lips. I could lean over and kiss her. Touch her nipple.
Xanadu sat up fast as if she’d read my mind. My face flushed and I rolled away from her, scrabbling to sit. I didn’t dare meet her eyes.
“Mike,” I heard her whisper urgently. She lunged forward and clenched a hand over my shoulder. “There he is.”
“He” was Bailey. He’d parked his truck at the curb and emerged, Beau from the passenger side. Bailey checked his watch, said something to Beau, and in step they sauntered up the main walk.
Deb Pastore shrieked, “Bailey, we’re over here!”
Miz S choked on “Eternity,” the last word. She slit-eyed Deb over the book.
“Sorry.” Deb blushed. “I just wanted to get his attention.”
A couple of people went, “Oooh.” Deb hid her face.
Bailey glanced over at us and hitched his chin. He and Beau parted ways. Bailey strolled across the lawn.
“He is so tall,” Xanadu breathed. “And utterly, totally hot.”
So are you, I thought. Steaming hot. Bailey appraised the group, his eyes roving the clumps of people. They slowed on Xanadu. On her hand gripping my shoulder.
Yes, I thought. Get a good look.
As I lifted my hand to cover hers, she withdrew it.
“Here, Bailey,” Deb piped up. “You can sit next to me.” She swept her legs underneath her long skirt to make room for him. I hadn’t heard there was anything going on between Bailey and Deb Pastore. But then, I wasn’t all that interested. Jamie’d know. I’d ask him. Pray they were a couple now.
Miz S said, “Welcome back, Bailey. How’s your dad?”
“Doin’ good. Thanks.” His head dropped and he removed his Stetson.
“Now,” Miz S continued, “I’d like to read ‘Oh Mistress Mine’ by William Shakespeare.” She paused, waiting for Bailey to settle in. Next to Deb. Oh yeah. I saw Bailey sneak a peek at us. Leaning in closer to Xanadu, I deliberately fused my shoulder to hers. Get a good look, Bailey. Back off.
“Oh mistress mine! Where are you roaming?
Oh! stay and hear; your true love’s coming…”
I knew this poem. We’d studied Shakespeare last year in English. O mistress mine. Your true love’s coming. Was Xanadu listening? Your true love’s coming.
She flattened out on her stomach, facing Bailey, her chin resting on her hands. I don’t know what got into me. My lips began to move. My vocal cords engaged. I mocked Miz S: “What is love? ’Tis not hereafter; Present mirth hath present laughter…”
The sudden silence made me stop, and shut up.
“If you’d like to continue Mike, I’m sure we’d all appreciate hearing your interpretation of the Bard.”
I died. “No, ma’am. Sorry.” Everyone was gawking at me. Xanadu twisted her head around and smiled.
In that moment, I knew I loved her.
The bell rang and we all scrambled to our feet. I waited while Xanadu slipped on her sandals. Then she took off.
I had to jog to catch up. In the main hall, Xanadu bumped right into the back of Bailey, hard. It made him stumble forward. She went, “Oh sorry. I didn’t see you there.”
When he turned around, she blinked in recognition. “Oh. Hi, Bailey,” she said.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hey, thanks again for the ride home.” She placed an open hand against his arm. “You know, since we live so close, you should stop by after school. Like, every day,” she intoned, crossing her eyes.
Under the brim of his hat, Bailey looked at her and smiled. Beside him, Deb Pastore stiffened. Deb glared at The Hand. Xanadu did an unexpected thing then. She moved her hand slowly to my arm, snaking it underneath and crooking her elbow in mine. “Later,” she said, to Bailey, tugging me down the hall. The last glimpse I had was Deb Pastore frowning at our backs.
Xanadu said under her breath, “Ooh, that was fun.”
For who? I wondered.
“Mike, can you come see me now?”
I jumped out of my skin as Dr. Kinneson ambled up beside me. “I know you have P.E. this hour, but I forgot I scheduled a meeting during your homeroom.” She added coolly over my head, “Hello, Xanadu.”
Xanadu cut Dr. Kinneson a look. Apparently they’d met.
“You’d better get to class,” Dr. Kinneson told her. “You’re going to be late.”
Xanadu snapped, “I was going. God.” She dropped my arm and stormed off ahead of me.
Dr. Kinneson motioned with her wrist for me to follow her. I’d rather have chased down Xanadu, resumed our close encounter of the physical kind, but I didn’t think I had an option.
Wrong. I had an option: Follow Dr. Kinneson or die.