I DO LOVE HER, DIXON THOUGHT. I don’t know why she can’t get it through her head. I married her and tried like godalmighty hell to have kids with her and I take her down to Florida once a year and what the hell else am I supposed to do.
He sat behind his desk and tapped the end of a pencil against its edge. Trying to decide if he was going to lie and say he apologized to Colburn or actually apologize to Colburn but either way she had won.
Maybe she just don’t know what love is, he thought.
The one thing he was certain of was that he did not like the idea of never being able to lay his hands on Sadie again. The image of her body in front of him, holding his hands pressed against her ass, looking up at her over her breasts and into her serious eyes that promised no more of her flesh if he didn’t stop acting like a lovesick dog. It was an image that had stayed in the front of his mind all day while he ignored the ringing phone and the paperwork.
I knew it was all too good to be true.
He threw the pencil against the wall and shoved away from the desk. He was up now, hands on hips and he paced around the desk and sucked in his breaths and on his third lap around the desk he noticed the office secretary watching him through the door window and he stepped over and let down the blind.
In the last two years Dixon had gone from driving the big machinery to selling the big machinery and he didn’t like it at all. But Sadie had damn near erupted when he told her the boss wanted to bring him in off the worksites and give him a chance to make some real money selling these rigs instead of driving them. So he said yes when he wanted to say no. He wanted to say I like it better out there, climbing up in the seat of a dozer or working the controls of an excavator or riding in the high seat of a motor grader. I’m good at it and I like the way the men stand around and nod because they know it when they see somebody handling one of these things the right way. I like the sunshine and the cold don’t bother me and neither does the heat and I like climbing down out of the seat and smoking a cigarette and admiring my own damn work. I don’t give a shit about real money, he wanted to say. Just let me keep doing what I’m doing. But Sadie had jumped around the kitchen in little hops and then grabbed his arm and dragged him into the bedroom and rode him with shrieks and smiles and he had said yes. I’ll do it and thanks for the opportunity. And the next day she took him shopping and nearly emptied their checking account buying shirts and ties and pants with pleats. Socks and a navy sport coat. A black belt and a brown belt and a new wallet because his old wallet was frayed at the edges and you can’t let people see you with a ratty wallet. You’ll have to shave every morning too she said and they bought new razors and shaving cream that smelled like flowers and a bottle of cologne that made his eyes water. When he walked into the sales office for the first time, the secretary did not recognize him with his parted hair and slick face though she had handed him his paycheck every other Friday for the last ten years. She asked if he needed some help before it occurred to her this was Dixon and he said you’re damn right I do.
He sat back down in the desk chair. Unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his pants. They were fitting tighter now. So was his shirt collar. He leaned back in the chair and rubbed his hands across his face and down his neck. Pressed at his throat. Then he opened the drawer and took out a pack of cigarettes and a box of matches. The phone rang and he reached for the cord and yanked it from the wall plug. He lit a cigarette and then there was a knock on the door.
“What?”
“Why aren’t you answering your phone?”
“I didn’t hear it ring.”
“Then put your ears on your head.”
“Where the hell else would they be?”
“Don’t get smart.”
“What do you want?”
“I want you to answer the phone when I transfer a call to you because when you don’t answer it comes back to me.”
“Sorry.”
“So answer it.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“It’s tore up.”
“What exactly are you doing in there besides smoking?”
“I’m getting ready to leave. Just take a message if somebody calls.”
“I don’t guess I got no choice,” she said and then a huff.
He smoked and looked at the clock. It was two thirty. He then opened the desk drawer and reached in and pulled out the coaster. Happy birthday was scribbled across the Budweiser logo in Celia’s handwriting. The coaster she had used for the free beer she had given him on his thirtieth birthday. Because this will be the greatest decade of your life, she had told him. Bullshit, he thought. And he remembered them on the tailgate so many years ago. Looking at the moon. High school only days away from being done. And he found the courage to say what he wanted to say to her. I love you and I probably always will. I just need to let you know. A tremor in his voice and a tremor in his hands. It had begun to hurt worse to hold it in and with the night and the moon and radio playing something slow, he had told her. She sat silent for a minute and then she walked out into the field and then back again. She stopped in front of him and said you know I love you too. Just not like that. Maybe one day I will. A maturation and tenderness in her voice and not what he wanted to hear but what he expected. But she had accidentally given him hope. Maybe one day I will.
He held the coaster and felt the thrill of that night so long ago when he had been courageous and it was why he couldn’t help it. When the twins disappeared and there were no answers and anxiety leapt from their eyes during church or passing on streetcorners, he couldn’t help but make the suggestion that only one thing changed in this town. You know that? That welding guy who moved in on Main Street. The one who used to live here a long time ago. The one whose daddy went crazy. He showed up and right after look what happened. I know they talked to him about it but that don’t mean nothing. You know he was the last to see them alive. He admitted that much. Making these suggestions to whoever would listen. Drinking coffee in the break room in the morning at work. Drinking beer at the bar. Standing in line at the post office. Talking over the fence with the neighbor. He suggested it and some of them listened. Because they all needed someone to blame.
He set the coaster in the drawer and closed it.
“Colburn,” he mumbled.
He dabbed out the cigarette in the ashtray on his desk. He stood and buttoned his pants and fastened his belt. His keys and wallet lay on the file cabinet next to the door and he grabbed them and opened his office door and walked out, ignoring the secretary who called out for him to go out and find a better mood somewhere before you come back tomorrow.