CHAPTER 34
TIPPY
TIPPY PULLED INTO HIS DRIVEWAY. Hank Williams’s “Cold, Cold Heart” blared from his radio, and he rolled his window down so Daphne might hear a bit of it if she was home. He sat for a moment, watching the window. Then he saw her, her profile lit against the sheer drapes. She was so cute with that belly. But these days, it felt more like she was a sleeping dragon.
He swallowed down some of the bile that kept rising in his throat every time he thought there might be a confrontation between the two of them, which was pretty much every minute he was home.
From a Tums roll, he popped two tablets out and chewed through the chalky grit as he got out of the truck, leaving it running. Josh Turner was now singing “Punching Bag.” He walked to the front door and hesitated, gaining his courage. He started to open the door, but it swung open before he even touched the knob.
“You’re late.” She was both teary and furious. Great.
He spread his feet into a wide stance. “I’m home at all different times. You know that.”
“I sit on that couch and think, What if something happened to you? What if you’ve been in a car wreck? What if I have to raise this baby all . . . ? Why is your truck still running?”
“That’s what I was coming in to tell you. I won’t be home tonight because I got a one-night job.”
“A what?”
“Just some extra work, you know.”
She stared at him, holding her belly up like a ball.
“We can use all the extra income I can bring in,” he said. “It’s nothing big, but every little thing helps, right?”
“It didn’t sound small to me.”
“What didn’t?”
“Ava called today. Said you volunteered to help build a house. For free. A whole house.”
“Oh . . . yeah. That. I was going to talk to you about that. But this is different. It’s a paying job.”
“How much?”
“A hundred bucks.”
Her bottom lip quivered. “You don’t want to be around me because I’m fat. Look at me. I’m so fat and grotesque.”
Tippy bit his knuckle as he plugged his fist into his mouth. It was true. He didn’t want to be around her, but not because she was fat. She wasn’t anything close to fat. In fact, he thought she’d never looked more beautiful in her life.
“You’re not fat,” he said. “But . . .”
He tried to remember what Dr. Reynolds had said about speaking gently to her, trying to explain his position. He said there was nothing worse than passive-aggressive behavior. Tippy needed to be forthright.
“Daphne, it’s just that . . .”
“Yes?” The look on her face was exactly the same as the day he asked her to marry him. He realized he’d been silly not to express his feelings over this. She wasn’t some kind of monster. She was probably just scared, like he was, of all that was in front of them as parents.
He smiled at her.
“Why are you smiling?”
“Because, Daphne, you look beautiful.”
“You’re just saying that.”
“No. You do.”
She gazed coyly at him. Gave him the first smile he’d seen in days.
Maybe he should call Charles, tell him he couldn’t make it. Maybe things were getting back to normal.
Then Daphne took a step back, presumably to let him in, but said, “Are you having an affair?”
Tippy stumbled just standing still. “What?”
“You heard me.” Her eyes were narrow and mean.
“You’ve lost your mind.”
“Have I? I see it in your eyes. You don’t want to be here, with me!”
She started to slam the door in his face, but he held out his hand and stopped it. “The reason I don’t want to be with you, Daphne, is because you’re acting like a freak. A freak of a freak of a freak!”
She gasped, her mouth a wide, black, gravity-sucking hole.
Tippy regretted it immediately and stepped off the porch because she looked like she was about to slug him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”
But the door slammed, the sound so loud the neighborhood dogs started barking. Tippy stuck his hands in his pockets and walked back to his truck, where Johnny Cash was singing “Ring of Fire.”
“Fine,” he mumbled as he climbed into his truck. “I didn’t want to be home anyway.”
He drove the ten minutes to Charles Buckley’s home. Next to him was a sack of supplies he’d picked up at the hardware store. He pulled to the curb and got out, grabbing the sack and trying to shake the Daphne scene off him. Nothing pulled him out of depression like building something.
As he came around the back of his truck, he saw Larry Anderson and his boys working under the hood of a very old-looking car.
Larry glanced up and waved. “Hey, Tippy! What are you doing here?”
“Just helping Charles with something. What’s going on?”
Larry handed Nathan a wrench and met Tippy at the end of the driveway. “Just doing some fun things with the boys this summer.” He gestured over his shoulder. “Restoring a car. Or at least trying to.” He chuckled. “We’re not having much luck. We don’t know what we’re doing.”
Tippy watched the boys. “They seem to be having fun.”
“You’re in for a treat, Tippy. I guess that baby’s about to be here, huh? Boy, let me tell you, it’s going to seem like an eternity before your kids can wipe their own noses, but then the next thing you know, they’re leaving for college or getting married. It happens that fast.”
Tippy smiled, but from what he could tell, he wasn’t sure he could endure anything slower. The kid wasn’t even here yet and look where they were.
“Larry, can I ask you something? . . . Get your advice, maybe?”
“Sure,” Larry said, wiping his hands on the rag sticking out of his pocket.
“Did your kids ever injure themselves on your carpet?”
“What?”
“I know. But I have to ask.”
Larry scratched his head. “Well, not that I can recall. Chip once ate potting soil. But he was our third kid, so we weren’t watching him as closely. We once left him at the grocery store too. You’d think the kid would be scarred, but ironically he’s the most well-adjusted.” They turned to find Chip with a stick, beating the grass for no identifiable reason. “Why do you ask?”
“Just, um, trying to assess the risk factors. Do all we can to prevent catastrophe.”
Larry laughed. “Listen, Tippy, I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news here, but kids can manage to hurt themselves with anything. Robin once got a Q-tip stuck in her ear canal. Chip knocked his tooth out with a Monopoly game piece.” He laughed. “We still don’t know how he did that. When Nathan was ten, he decided to see what would happen if he ran an eraser up and down his arm really fast. Second-degree burns. Then it got infected. Had to have a skin graft.” Larry glanced at Tippy and bit his lip. “Sorry. I’m just saying that kids are kids. They do stupid things.”
“How am I supposed to protect him or her?” Tippy asked.
“You do the best you can. I’ve been trying to tell Beth that. You’ve got to let go and trust God. You raise them the best way you know how, but at some point you have to let ’em go.” He looked at his boys. “This is going to be a great summer, but then Nathan’s leaving and things are going to be different. That’s the thing about parenthood. You finally get it, pull it all together, understand, and then something changes. You get comfortable, but then they grow. You buy eight pounds of chicken nuggets because that’s all your kid will eat, and then they decide they’re not into chicken anymore. It’s just the way it is. You gotta stay flexible.”
Tippy smiled. “You seem like you’ve done a really good job with your kids.”
“That’s Beth’s doing, really,” Larry said. “She’s the one who stayed home with them, taught them all the tough lessons. I worked a lot when they were younger, trying to afford this house in this school district. I guess I’m lucky enough now to reap the benefits. But as with everything in life, there are no guarantees. You do what you can while you have them.” He gazed toward the driveway. “In the blink of an eye, time has passed and you missed half the things you intended to do.”
Tippy spotted Cory bounding out of the Buckley house. “Well, I better get going.” He offered his hand. “Thanks, Larry. Oh, by the way, did Ava call you?”
“Yep! We’re on it. Don’t know exactly what we’re doing, but you know we can’t say no to Ava. She selling chocolate or wrapping paper or something?”
Tippy smiled. “Something like that.” He returned to his truck to grab a couple of tools, including his table saw. He opened the back end just as Cory came down the driveway.
“Hi, Tippy.”
“Cory, my man. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you. How are you?”
“Good. What are you doing here?”
“Well,” Tippy said, dangling the bag of supplies in the air, “we’re gonna build a kite.”
Cory looked at the bag, then back at Tippy. “We are?”
“Yep. And not just any kite. A rock-your-world kind of kite that’ll make your friends really jealous.” Tippy handed him the extension cord. “Your dad asked me to come by and help you.”
“Oh.”
“It’s going to be awesome. The best kite you’ve ever seen. This thing’ll probably fly to the moon.” Tippy handed him the sack and reached into the bed of his truck, trying to grab the wood. “The secret is the wood strength. A lot of people don’t know that but . . .” He looked up to hand Cory the duct tape. But Cory had dropped the sack and cord on the sidewalk and was walking toward the house. It was a sad, slow walk.
Tippy watched him until he went inside. He was beginning to realize something. Yes, it was true, kids could hurt themselves on nearly anything. But it seemed adults had the potential to hurt them more.