JACK SETS THE TOOLBOX DOWN on the kitchen table along with the radio. It’s not even a clock radio. But it does have FM. He pinched it from the back of a shelf at Rath’s Garage. He plugged it in but of course the damned thing didn’t work. In the gloom and the grime of the back room, he was confident he could fix it. But now, in the quiet of the kitchen and the sunlight streaking in through the window, he isn’t as sure.
Where the hell are the boys? They are never around. It’s ten in the morning, for Chrissake. They should still be in bed. That’s what weekends are for. But Matt has probably dragged Benny off somewhere cutting lawns.
Just the thought of Matt’s industriousness zaps his energy. He hangs his head, rams his knuckles into the table to support his sudden weight. He was once like that. So much energy to spare. Now, he has to dig deep to find just enough to get through the day. He could use some of Matt’s energy. He could use some of his company. But that’s not what’s going to fill the kitchen right now.
So radio it is.
But first, he needs to fortify himself with coffee. A beer would be good, too. What the hell. A beer is ready now. He pushes himself off the table and takes a Blue from the bottom of the fridge. He’ll have to pick up another six-pack today. He unscrews the cap, flips it into the sink and takes a long swallow. Yeah. Beer beats coffee on a hot day.
He pulls out a chair, falls heavily into it. Another swig from the bottle and he’s ready to tackle the Sony AM/FM radio. He undoes the back, places the tiny screws carefully next to his bottle. If one rolls on to the floor, it’ll be hell to find in the godawful pattern of the yellowed lino.
“Jesus. That’s it?” The wires are corroded and one lead has fallen from the contact. Finally something easy to fix.
He dissolves baking soda in a bowl of warm water and returns to the table. Ten minutes of scrubbing with the dish cloth and the wires are gleaming. He uses a tiny Philips-head screwdriver to connect the lead to the battery. He screws the cover back onto the radio. “Let’s give this a try.” He rubs his hands together, carries the radio to the counter. He unplugs the coffee maker and plugs in the radio. A quick twist of the on button and static fills the air. “Ha!” He beams, wishes Matt were here to see the magic he has worked. He wants his boy to remember a time when his old man was more than . . . the beer sitting on the table. “Christ.” He flips the switch to FM and slides the dial. There’s a surprising number of FM stations in the Edson area. He stops on a rock station playing Nickelback. He knows this song. He sets the radio on the top of the fridge, the cord stretched to its limit.