Nat lay in bed, the door still open, a spill of soft light pouring in from the hallway.
He figured the old man would come in to say goodnight. He usually did.
He closed his eyes briefly, thinking about Carol. At least, it seemed brief. When he opened them, the old man was pulling up the cane-back chair.
“I thought you might be asleep,” the old man said, seating himself.
“Nope. Just thinking.”
“How do you feel the new job is going?”
“Oh. That. Well. OK, I guess. The foreman doesn’t like me. He’s just on me all the time. It’s like he’s got it in for me. When I first got that job, your friend LaPlante said nobody would treat me unfairly, and if they did they’d answer to him. Sometimes I wonder if I should tell him. But then I think maybe that would just make it worse. And besides, sometimes I see Merino talking to some of the other guys on the loading dock, and I think maybe it’s not just me. Maybe he hates everybody.”
“Maybe the lesson is to learn not to let him get your goat.”
“I guess.”
“So, then, other than your working relationship with the foreman …”
“Well. It’s damn hard work. Sorry. Darn hard. My back and arms are just screaming at me all the time. But I think I’ll get used to it. And when I do I’ll be in much better shape.”
“It’s not a bad deal to get paid for staying physically fit.”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
An awkward pause. Nat knew there was more the old man wanted to say. In fact, he’d known it all along, he suddenly realized. Since dinner. No, since he’d gotten home.
“I assumed you must be tired. You’d have to be after your first full work-week. That’s why I was surprised when you were gone all day today. I thought you’d be home resting most of the weekend.”
“Well, I wanted to take Feathers out. You know. Really be outdoors.”
“Aren’t you outdoors all week on that loading dock?”
“Well. That’s true.”
Another awkward silence.
Then the old man said, “You’re eighteen years old, Nat. You’re a man. A young man, but a man. Not a minor child. You don’t owe me all the details of everywhere you go and everything you do. That’s on the one hand. But then again, on the other hand, I think the success of this arrangement rests on your willingness to be reasonably forthcoming.”
“I don’t know what that word means.”
“Forthcoming?”
“Yeah.”
“It means honest. But it means more than that, too. Being forthcoming is not just telling the truth in a pinch. It’s really being willing to let the truth come up into the light. It’s not holding anything back.”
“Oh. OK.” Nat paused to gather his thoughts. “OK. I’ll be forthcoming. Down at the Frosty Freeze … there’s this girl. Her name is Carol. She has freckles on her nose.” An embarrassed pause. “I’m not sure what else I’m supposed to tell you about her.”
“You don’t have to tell me any more about her. That’s as much as I need to know.”
“Is it OK?”
“That’s an odd question. How could I tell you it’s not OK? It’s part of being human. I’m just glad it didn’t turn out you were mixed up with some kind of lower companions. Something that could lead to trouble.”
The old man rose to go.
“Nathan?”
“Yes, Nat?”
“There’s one other thing I wanted to tell you. You know. Just to be forthcoming.”
He sat back down again. “All right. Go ahead.”
“Remember that first birthday of mine after I got arrested? And you came to see me and brought me roast duck, a cake and a present? And a picture of my dog? And we talked about the presents you’d been leaving for me my whole life, and which ones were really good guesses on what I might like?”
“Yes. I remember. You said the baseball mitt. And the ant farm. But that your grandmother wouldn’t let you keep it.”
“I started to tell you something that day. And I don’t even know why I stopped myself. It’s like it meant too much to me, so I couldn’t talk about it. I don’t even know if that makes sense. Anyway, what I started to tell you about … was the boxing gloves.”
“Oh, yes. Your fourteenth birthday, wasn’t it?”
“The boxing gloves changed my whole life.”
“How so?”
“Because I knew then … that’s what I want to do. That’s what I want to be.”
“You want to be a boxer?”
“More than anything.”
“A professional boxer?”
“Yeah. Pro.”
“Do you still have the gloves?”
“No. My grandmother made sure I wouldn’t get to keep them.”
A long silence. Nat thought he heard the old man sigh.
“I guess I could keep that in mind come Christmas.”
“That would mean a lot to me if you did.”
The old man rose again. Slid the chair back into its corner. Walked to the bedroom door.
“So you’re OK with me being a boxer?”
Silence.
Then, “It’s good to have a dream, Nat.”
“It’s not just a dream. It’s what I’m really going to do.”
“Until you do it, it’s a dream.”
“Oh. OK.” He watched the old man for a moment, standing with one hand on the door. Ready to close it for the night. Back-lit by the light from the hallway. A dark silhouette. “Did you ever have a dream, Nathan?”
In the silence that followed, Nat wished he could see the old man’s face.
“Get some sleep, Nat. I’m guessing you’ll have a big day ahead of you tomorrow, down at the Frosty Freeze.”
Part Five
Nathan McCann
24 November 1978
You Would Think So, Wouldn’t You?
It was an hour or more after dinner. Nathan had gone to the trouble of making a wood fire in the fireplace, because it seemed to suit the late autumn mood.
He washed the soot from his hands before sitting on the couch next to Eleanor, who hooked her arm through his.
“I should really be doing the dishes,” she said.
“They’re not going anywhere.”
“The food will get stuck on.”
“Just sit with me a minute, and then I’ll be happy to help you if you want.”
“You don’t have to help me, Nathan, I can—”
Nat stuck his head into the living room. “I have to ask you a really big favor,” he said.
Nathan felt Eleanor stiffen slightly in anticipation of what he would ask. If called upon to wager, or even just to guess, Nathan would have assumed that cash would be involved.
“You may ask.”
“Can I use your record player?”
“Oh. My record player. Yes, I guess that would be all right. But be gentle with the needle, please. Replacement needles are quite expensive. And please close the den door, so we aren’t assaulted by the noise.”
“And please keep the volume low,” Eleanor added.
“You got it,” Nat said, and his head disappeared.
Eleanor sighed deeply. “And it was such a nice, quiet evening, too. Why do I think the peace is about to be shattered? I should have known it couldn’t last.”
They waited in silence, tense now, poised to see how dreadful it was really going to be.
A moment later, soft strains of violin leaked under the den door. It was almost the polar opposite of what Nathan had been braced to expect.
“I know this song,” he said. But he hadn’t heard enough bars to identify it. “That’s so familiar. What is it?”
“I think that’s Nat King Cole.”
They looked at each other for a moment, then burst out laughing.
“My goodness,” Eleanor said. “I certainly owe Nat an apology for what I’ve been sitting here thinking. But maybe it’s best if I never deliver it, because then he never has to know what I was sitting here thinking. Now, why on earth would he be listening to Nat King Cole?”
“Maybe he has better taste than we give him credit for.”
“Is this what young people listen to these days?”
“I have no idea what young people listen to these days. But you’re looking a gift horse in the mouth. Nat!” he called out in a big voice.
The den door opened. “Too loud?”
“Turn it up, please, Nat. Eleanor and I can barely hear it.”
“Oh. Up? Oh. OK.”
The volume came up about three notches and the den door closed again.
Nathan stood and reached a hand down to his wife. “May I have the honor of this dance?”
Eleanor laughed and turned her face away. “Oh, Nathan. Don’t kid.”
“Who’s kidding? Dance with me.”
He took her hand and pulled her to her feet.
“I still need to do the dishes.”
“They’ll wait.”
“I didn’t leave them soaking.”
“Just until the end of this song.” And he pulled her in close. She stopped arguing, set her head against his shoulder and moved with his lead. “Am I right in thinking we haven’t gone out dancing since before we got married?” Nathan asked, his lips close to her ear.
“No, that’s not right,” she said. “We’ve gone out since the wedding. We just haven’t gone out anywhere since Nat came here to live.”
On that note, the song ended. Nathan waited and held her close, hoping for another slow ballad. But he didn’t get it. The next song was up-tempo.
Besides, she pulled away from his arms, complaining that the dishes wouldn’t do themselves, and that he was breaking his promise.
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