CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

TIMOTHY’S ROOM FACED east, and the early morning sun hit his pillow at the right angle to awaken him. Growing up, Timothy loved Sunday mornings. In those days, he slept in, ate a big breakfast, read the paper, and went to church. Those memories seemed more distant than they were.

He lay there for a few minutes thinking about the past week, especially the past couple of days. He spent last evening with Cheryl at her house. He did most of the talking, and she did most of the listening. School, Mom, the hospital, Dez, and Hoffen. He opened up like a ripped sail.

He hoped this week would turn out better than last week. He planned to take advantage of this last study day before exams. A knot in his gut told him it might not work out exactly as he planned. When does life work out for me as I planned? I didn’t plan to get shot down. I didn’t plan to lose my best friend. When do I get to drive the bus? I’m tired of being a passenger.

He mentally ran through his day—a trip to the hospital, Mass in the chapel, Schoen’s for a couple of hours, and home by midafternoon to study the rest of the day. He wanted his exams behind him so he could make decisions about his future.

He took a shower, shaved, and gobbled a couple of hard-boiled eggs and toast. No coffee. He forgot to buy some. No problem. I can get a cup at the hospital. He hopped in his car and gave it a few pumps of the gas pedal. It woke up on his third attempt. The car hated cold mornings more than his leg did.

He drove to the hospital by way of the doughnut shop. Mom liked a particular jelly doughnut they had, and he didn’t want to wait for coffee at the hospital. He visited with Mom for about half an hour. She seemed about the same as the day before, though her breathing sounded better. The nurse told him they still didn’t have the results of the tests but should have them by Monday morning. He thanked her and left for the chapel and then Schoen’s.

He arrived at Schoen’s on time and Dez met him in the lot.

“Why don’t you get rid of that piece of junk and get yourself something decent. I can see the smoke from that thing a block away. You’re polluting all of Brentwood.”

“It started, Dez. That’s about all I can expect at this point.”

“I’ll tell ya what I told the mole head and the ol’ man. I want all of those trees gone today. Do whatever ya gotta do to get rid of them. That’s what I pay you morons for—to move pine. Anything left after today I’m burnin’ in my woodstove at home.”

“Really? Your woodstove?” Timothy asked. “Is it safe?”

“Hell yeah. Pine burns good after it sits for a couple of months, and it’s cheap fuel. Now, get back there, and help those schleps sell some trees.”

As he walked away, he heard Dez mutter under his breath about charity cases, retards, and retreads.

“Hey, next time I see ya I want an answer about working those hours we talked about. You’re lucky I’m still willing to give you that job,” Dez yelled after him.

Timothy nodded and walked away. He wanted to say no at this moment but couldn’t. The economy teetered on the edge of a recession, and jobs were tough to find right now, especially ones that paid a decent wage. He couldn’t say no to Dez without having something else to say yes to.

Maybe Dez is right. College isn’t for everyone.

About that time, a brand-new 1973 Chevelle SS pulled into the lot and parked next to Timothy’s heap. Timothy wanted to laugh at the contrast, but he didn’t have it in him. The Chevelle had a midnight-blue, metallic overcoat with rally wheels and enough chrome to blind a person on a sunny day. Timothy looked at the car like a poor child looks in the window of a toy store. The door opened, and Timothy couldn’t believe his eyes.

This is the last person I want to see today.

He quickly walked over to a family comparing two fir trees to avoid helping the driver of the Chevelle.

Dez came over to Timothy and said, “See that guy over there with the fancy overcoat? Take care of him.”

“I’m busy here with these folks, Dez.”

“Go. I’ll finish up here. I want you to deal with this guy,” Dez said.

“What about Kenny?” Timothy said.

“No. I got that idiot doing somethin’ else, and the ol’ man’s in the shitter. Now go. No more back talk,” Dez said.

Timothy turned and walked slowly toward the man in the cashmere overcoat. Of course this asshole’s wearing cashmere. He hoped if he walked slowly enough the man would leave before he got there. No such luck.

The man saw him and approached Timothy. “O’Rourke. I’ll be damned. What are you doing here? Do you work here? Of course you do.”

“Goodenough?” Timothy said.

“Yes, old man. How are you?”

Old man. You pretentious asshole.

“Fine. You?”

“I’m fine, just fine, and Constance is fine, too.”

“Constance? You mean Connie?” Timothy asked.

Timothy did not want to talk about Connie. That bus left the station a long time ago.

“Yes, of course. She no longer goes by Connie. She decided her full, given name is more sophisticated. She thought Connie sounded too bourgeois,” Goodenough said.

“Really? What can I do for you?” Timothy said, though he didn’t want to do anything for Goodenough except punch his Jodie face.

“I’m here for a tree. Constance and I just returned from a two-week ski trip at my family’s cabin in Utah. We forgot to get a tree before we left, and Constance insists on a big spruce. Can you help me?”

“Sure. We’re running low, as you can see, but we have a few spruces left. Follow me.”

Timothy led him to the back of the lot to the spruce trees.

“Best you’ve got. Money’s not an issue. Can’t disappoint the little lady,” Goodenough said.

“I’m sure. What do you think about this one?”

Timothy pulled the tallest and fullest spruce out of the tree stand.

“Perfect. Constance will love it. What do I owe you?”

How about an apology for stealing my girl while I was in Vietnam? How about apologizing for being an arrogant asshole? How about an apology for sucking the same air I breathe?

“Twenty bucks,” Timothy said.

“Sounds like a bargain. Can I get some help carrying it to the car?”

Goodenough handed Timothy a twenty.

“Sure. I wouldn’t want to see you get some tree sap on that cashmere coat.”

Goodenough walked behind Timothy. The cold air and the weight of the tree pressed hard on Timothy’s leg. Though he tried not to limp, he couldn’t escape the pain.

“Say, old man, I heard about your accident in the Army,” Goodenough said awkwardly.

“It wasn’t an accident, Goodenough. The VC shot me down.”

It’s only a little worse than getting shot down at home.

“Yes, I heard that. Whew! That must have been scary. My draft number was forty, but with my 2-S deferment, I was able to avoid that mess.”

“We missed you,” Timothy said with piercing eye contact. “There was plenty of room for you guys that had deferments.”

Goodenough let it pass.

“So, what are you doing these days? Is this your full-time job?” Goodenough asked.

“I work here part time during Christmas and part time at the hospital. I’m a full-time student,” Timothy said.

“Sounds tough. I can’t imagine going to school full time and working, too,” Goodenough said.

“Well, Goodenough, some of us have to pay our own way, and that’s how we do it.”

Goodenough let that pass, too.

“This is my car here—the new Chevelle. Picked it up before our ski trip. It’s a four-speed, 350 cubic-inch screamer. Good thing it has bucket seats to hold us in when I wind it out. Constance wanted me to get the jade green, but I had to put my foot down on the blue. You know, it’s a guy thing.”

Timothy looked at Goodenough and wondered if he had a clue how he sounded. This guy could be the biggest asshole I’ve ever known.

“Say, careful, if you don’t mind. Don’t want to scratch the paint,” Goodenough said.

“No problem, I’ll tie it down tight so it won’t fall off when you accelerate,” Timothy said.

“Ha, that’s a good one. Here, for you,” Goodenough said.

He handed Timothy another twenty.

“No, that’s okay, Goodenough. I don’t accept tips. If you don’t mind, put it in the collection plate on Christmas.”

Goodenough’s face turned red. Timothy knew this guy didn’t have the guts to be mad, so it must have been embarrassment.

“Oh, I didn’t mean anything by that offer. I hope you’re not offended,” Goodenough said.

“Not in the least,” Timothy said.

A few moments of awkward silence passed as Timothy tied down the tree.

“Have you ever thought about applying for work at the railroad? My father and I have some influence there and might be able to help you.”

“Thanks, but I’m working around my class schedule.”

“Of course. Even though you don’t have a degree, there may be something in one of our entry-level hourly positions—the mailroom or something. Many of our folks get their start in those lower-level jobs.”

“Is that where you started, Goodenough?” Timothy couldn’t resist the jab.

“Oh, heavens no. I began in the management development program, but you need a degree for that. I’m now in charge of scheduling for the Tri-State Region.”

Timothy held onto his cool while this bag of arrogant chattering bones talked to him, but he had his fill by this point.

“You’re set to go. Have a nice Christmas,” Timothy said.

“Thank you, and you too. I’ll tell Constance I ran into you,” Goodenough said.

“You do that.”

Timothy walked back toward the lot. Goodenough’s car roared to life on the first turn of the key. He refused to turn around and look at it.

Of course his car started right off. Of course he’s the manager of some bullshit department in a bureaucratic cubicle farm. Of course they went skiing at the family ski lodge. Of course he’s married to someone named Constance.

As Goodenough pulled out of the lot, he jerked the clutch, killed the engine, and the car abruptly stopped. Timothy grinned. Karma.

Timothy did not see Dez approach him.

“I see you took care of him,” Dez said, grinning mischievously. “Big tip? Do you know that guy? Seems like you know him. An old friend?”

“No tip and sure as hell no old friend, but he gave me some good advice,” Timothy said.

“Yeah, what’s that?” Dez asked.

“He told me to get an education, or I would end up working in a mail room or a tree lot for the rest of my life.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Dez said.

Timothy walked back to the trees.