Taz puts Midge into the car seat, lifts it up onto the saw table. He lowered the blade first, then took it off completely, knowing he’d edged beyond ridiculous. But he narrates his every move as he assembles the door pieces; the dry fit, making sure, then the glue, the clamping, checking and rechecking for square, for flat. She watches, he thinks, and he says, “So, you’ll have a trade, at least, if maybe not some huge trust fund.”
Rudy goes missing for days after siccing Marko on him. So Taz does the finishing with Midge, too, outside, setting her upwind for every step of it, the wood filler, the stain, the poly. He’s got to break off once or twice for feeding, changing, naps, but it works, pretty much, and he calls Ron, lets him know he can do the install, but he’ll have to bring the baby. Ron says his wife will love it.
And she does, except for the screaming every time Taz steps out of sight. She says, “Separation anxiety,” and they learn, working with it, Nancy following Taz as he moves from door to door to outside, where he’s set up the sawhorses, mortises in the hinges. But by the end of it, as much as they love the doors, as much as they pad the check, Taz can tell she’s done, that half a day of tending the feral child clinging to her more feral dad has taken the charm off having a stand-in grandchild.
It’s another few days before Rudy creeps back up onto the porch, stalling at the edge of the step. He turns when Taz cracks open the screen, scraping at the corners of his eyes, patting down his hair a little. Scratching at it more like.
“Am I a dead man?” Rudy asks.
“Thought that was me,” Taz says, and walks back in. “I’ll get coffee going.”
Rudy follows him. “No, I’m okay,” he whispers, then, “Where’s herself?”
Taz reaches the kitchen, and slumps into the chair, rubbing at his face. He waves toward the bedroom. “Asleep.”
Rudy stops dead. “Midge?”
“Only up once last night. Wasn’t even shrieking. Ate, conked. I kept checking to see if she was still breathing. To see if she was still Midge.”
“And you? You just woke up? This isn’t the awake-all-night you?”
“Not really sure.”
“Hmm. Doesn’t seem much different.”
Taz extends his middle finger, leans back in his chair, starts picking at a splinter. Rudy sets about building coffee.
Once it starts perking, Rudy nods toward his splinter work. “So, you back in the world of the employed?”
“Finished those doors, got them in,” Taz says, and Rudy says, “Well, check you out. All on your own?”
Taz eyeballs him. “And there’s Marko now, too,” he says. “So, yeah, a working man again.”
Rudy pours coffee, sets a cup in front of Taz. “This might help you join the world of the living, too.” He pulls out his own chair, sits down with the cup he always uses. He takes one sip, swears, spits into his hands, then shakes them, the coffee flying. Leaning back in his chair, putting distance between himself and the cup, he says, “Hot,” and wipes at his mouth, huffing air out over his tongue. “Why the hell do you use that thing? I mean, you steal it from some museum?”
Taz starts to smile, and suddenly Rudy breaks into his huge grin, says, “So, work.”
“Marko was pretty persuasive.”
“And it’s Nanny Rude time.”
Taz shakes his head. “Can’t do that to you, Rude.”
Rudy drops his chair legs back to the floor. “For real?”
“I called some day care places. This woman. She seemed nice.”
“Some stranger? You know, right, that I can do it? Not a problem.”
Taz blows across his coffee, takes a tentative sip, then looks over at Rudy. “I got to get things straightened out, Rude. Like for real, not just a fallback position.”
“Fallback?”
“What, you’re going into day care full time?”
“Maybe it’s just the opportunity that’s been waiting for me. Think of all the moms.”
“Rudy, you can’t—”
“She at least knows me.”
“She loves you, Rude, but still.”
Rudy stands up, dumps his coffee into the sink. “So when’s this all start?”
Taz glances at his watch.
“You can’t be serious.”
“Meeting Marko at eight. Up at the site. Drop her at seven thirty.”
“Today?”
Taz says, “I should probably get into the shower.”
“Man, back to work. Feel like I should pack you a lunch, an apple, first-day-of-school pictures.”
Taz stands up. “Maybe that coffee’s cooled down enough for you by now.”
“Still be poisonous,” he mutters.
Midge is awake when Taz comes out of the shower, Rudy sitting with her, still on the construction-zone, throwaway couch. She finishes her bottle, and Rudy stands up, goes by Taz to the bathroom, says, “She needs changing.”
Taz reaches, but Rudy’s already past. Over his shoulder, he says, “Get your tools. I got her.”
Taz stands a second, watches Rudy lay Midge down on the counter, whispering something to her, and then stands there longer, watching history in the making, until finally Rudy glances over his shoulder, says, “You’re going to be late.”