“Peace out, partner.”
When I drove past her out of the lot, Ana was stretching. Foot on the wheel of the Jeep and her billowing sleeves reaching for her toes and a Red Vine stuck between her lips like a cigarette. I thought she looked like a queen.
?
On the way home, I stopped for sloppy joe ingredients. That was everyone’s favorite. I would make my family sloppy joes and they would forgive me for being gone all day.
“Hello-o!” I sang, slipping off my sneakers on the lanai. No one answered. The TV was on. I opened the door, saw the boys’ blond heads. “Hey, I’m makin’ sloppy joes tonight,” I said in a funny Southern accent.
Cam turned. Bloodshot eyes, definitely stoned.
Jed did not turn, but said, “You missed our game, Mom.”
Panic. I felt my face flush. I had been very aware of how heavy these groceries were in my hands a second ago and now they felt like nothing. “I thought it was canceled because of the rain.”
“Yeah, but then it stopped raining,” Cam said helpfully.
“We called you like a million times,” Jed said, his eyes fixed on the TV.
“Oh, babies, I am so sorry.” I felt terrible. And maybe they weren’t stoned. Maybe their eyes were red from the pool. “Did you win?”
“Yeah.” Cam grinned. “And I scored a goal.”
“Sweetie!” I set the groceries on the counter and hugged him.
“Hey, I scored one, too,” Jed said.
“Sweetie number two!” I hugged Jed, who patted my arm.
“Are you really making sloppy joes?” he asked.
“Yes sir, and I’ll make ’em quick,” I said in my Southern accent, and went to unbag the fixins. “Where’s your daddy?”
“Playing pool,” Cam said.
“On a Sunday?”
“There’s a tournament or something,” Jed said.
“Huh,” I said. Had Chuck told me that and I’d forgotten? Or had he not told me?
?
I made green beans and the best sloppy joes I had ever made, according to Jed. “Can you please start making these once a week again like you used to?” he asked, and, still feeling guilty about missing their game, I said, “Sure, I can do that.”
After dinner Cam made popcorn and we watched a movie together, which we hadn’t done in a very long time. Still feeling guilty, I let the boys choose. They chose Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, which was a sweet and childish choice and also, I thought as we watched the magical colors morph around Johnny Depp, kind of a stoner choice. I checked my phone at some point. Chuck had called me fourteen times that day. I pressed Play on one of his messages. “It’s me again,” he said, sounding overly disappointed. Delete, delete, delete. I deleted all the messages because clearly, he had overreacted. Then I called him—just once—because I knew he would appreciate me checking in. He didn’t answer.
By ten, the boys and I had made one movie into a movie night. We were watching a thriller starring Liam Neeson when Chuck walked in. I turned when I heard the door clap shut. His Tide Poolers shirt had a violent streak of sauce down the front like the blood in the movie. Chicken wings, I thought. He put his hands on his waist. Something fell. His keys. He bent to pick them up. Why wasn’t he speaking? I rubbed my arms. Goose bumps. Because my body knew before I did. A low ringing in my ears, just for a second, and then it went away.
“Chuck?”
And I knew it. I knew it already. But the way he said “Nance”—the rise and fall of just that one word, the phlegmy rumble in the back of his throat—confirmed it. Chuck was drunk. This was why he hadn’t wanted me to come to his games. This was what he had been hiding.
The boys were too engrossed in the movie to notice. “Hey, Dad,” Cam said.
“Hey, Dad,” Jed said.
“Hey.” Chuck dropped his keys on the table. “Nice to see you,” he said, trying to stare me down but his eyes couldn’t focus. “We missed you today, Nance.”
Cam turned to look at his father. One second later I watched his face fall. He looked at me. I made a look that said: I’m sorry, son. Cam hit Jed’s arm. Jed looked at Chuck and rolled his eyes.
“Boys,” I said, “why don’t you go to bed.”
“Hell no, we’re finishing the movie.” Jed crossed his arms over his chest.
Cam was poised to get off the couch but didn’t move.
“We won the game,” Chuck said. “We won the game. Woo.” And then he was doing a little dance. A geriatric version of the washing machine. Then his torso bobbed forward. He was touching his toes now, or trying to. He couldn’t reach them. He popped back up.
Slowly I reached for his arm. “Chuck.”
“I love you guys,” Chuck said. “I love you all so much.” And then he threw his arms around me and pressed me in close, and I leaned my face back to keep it from touching the barbecue sauce on his shirt.
“Love you guys soooo much,” he was saying.
I had already decided what to do. “Chuck, please sit down, okay?” I helped him into the chair and handed him the glass of water I’d been drinking. “I’m going to get you some pajamas and the futon,” I annunciated, “and then we’re going to the ohana.”
He stopped drinking the water. “Hana?”
“Yes, just a second.” I jogged to the bedroom, picked whatever pajamas were on top, pulled the futon out of the closet, and dragged it into the living room. “Ready?” I said, flipping the lights on outside. I didn’t wait for him to answer. “Let’s go.”
As I guided drunk-bodied Chuck through the dark with one arm while trying to keep the futon high enough off the muddy ground with the other arm, I imagined all the rich apologies he would have for me tomorrow, and knew none of them would make up for this.
I turned on the light, unfolded the futon right underneath it. The ohana was completely bare—just off-white tiles and off-white walls. “Put these on.” I didn’t let go until I was sure he had the pajamas.
“Why why why,” he mumbled, and collapsed onto the futon facedown. I leaned in to take his hat off because the brim was pressing into his skull.
I sighed, touched his hair. Softly, I said, “Chuck, why did you drink tonight?”
And then, quickly, he rolled over onto his back, hitting my leg with his arm.
“Ow,” I said, even though it didn’t hurt.
I stood up. I put my finger on the light switch. There was no point in talking to him when he was like this, so I don’t know what possessed me to ask again. “Why, Chuck? Why did you drink tonight? Goddamnit. Everything was going so well.”
Chuck mumbled something unintelligible.
Leave, Nancy, this is pointless. Leave. Don’t say anything else. “What, Chuck?”
Chuck faceup on the floor. Me above him looking down. He managed to focus his drunk eyes for just as long as it took to say it. “I miss you.”
“What do you mean, you miss me? I’m right here.”
“I miss you, Nancy.”
I was losing patience. “Chuck. I am right here.”