Suggestion of Death Page 3

  Jim took a chair with a view of the front door. Heat radiated under his arms and up the back of his torso. He pinched the front of his shirt and shook it to get some air going. “Since I got laid off I drink a lot more tap water than coffee.” He pulled a white paper napkin from the dispenser on the table and mopped the back of his neck.

  “Still haven’t found anything?” Ethan pulled on his right ear. Both of Ethan’s ears folded over like tiny flaps on an envelope. They’d been quite distracting at first, but Jim had gotten used to them long ago.

  “No, nada, nothing.” Jim drummed his fingers on the table. “Now Patty’s taken me to court for back child support. Just left there. Don’t know what I’m going to do.” He tried to take a swallow of coffee, but it was so hot he choked on it. “Shit.” He grabbed another napkin. “’Bout the way my life’s been going.”

  Ethan nodded and stroked his ear again. “Pretty bad scene?”

  “The judge gave me a month to get a job. How am I supposed to get a job in a month? I mean something decent.” Jim gulped his coffee again and managed to get it down. It burned good and made him feel cooler on the outside. A car parked in front of the coffee shop, but luckily he didn’t know the people who got out. He’d like to have a few minutes with his friend before high-tailing it home to get back to work on finding a job.

  Ethan held his teacup in both hands and fixed his blue-gray eyes on Jim. “What’re you going to do?”

  Jim scratched the top of his head. “I’m still getting my unemployment, but the judge thinks I should get a job paying a lot more than that. As if I haven’t already tried. You ought to see how men are treated in there, Ethan. I’ve never seen anything like it. Those women were like something out of my worst nightmare.” Jim pulled out another napkin and wiped his hands. “It’s so aggravating. The judge even mentioned a fast food place.”

  “At least you’d get your meals provided.” Ethan sat very still, his eyes on Jim’s every movement.

  “Very funny. I’d lose my unemployment. As little as it is, it’s more than a hamburger joint would pay. The state’s been holding out twenty-five percent of my unemployment check for Patty, and she’s still not happy.” He wadded up the napkin and tossed it down on the table. “The judge didn’t seem to care that I’d at least been paying something.” He rubbed his arms and tucked in his shirt.

  Ethan nodded and fingered the newspaper folded in front of him.

  “I already let everything go except food, utilities, rent, and gasoline. Even my cell phone,” Jim said. “I’ve kept the Internet so I can look for jobs, but I may have to let that go. I need the money for other things. But then what am I going to do?”

  “Whoa, you need to calm down boy.” Ethan signaled Tex who brought over a teapot and refilled his cup. In her other hand she held a coffee pot and topped off Jim’s cup.

  Jim stood and straightened out his pants and paced to a window, returning after Tex finished pouring the refills. “I just can’t believe Patty is doing this to me. I told her I’d pay up as soon as I got a job. If we were still married, things wouldn’t be any different.”

  “Sit down, Jim. What’s really bothering you? That you can’t pay the support and have to report back to the judge or that you wish you and Patricia were still married.”

  Jim grunted. He had a metallic taste in the back of his throat. “Well, A. Report back is a misnomer. I could easily go to jail next month.” He banged on the table. “B. I hate to admit I love Pat even more now than I did before the divorce.” He gritted his teeth. “But boy she gets under my skin.”

  Ethan flashed his eyebrows. “Hate to be trite, but that’s not a newsflash.”

  “Yeah. We had a fight out in the hall today, too.”

  “You and Patricia?”

  “Yup. She knew I was pissed. She sure knows how to push my buttons. I don’t know what she wants from me.” He shifted around in the chair.

  “You know if y’all reconciled, you wouldn’t have to pay the back child support. Have you thought about that?”

  “Yeah. I think about it all the time, but not because of the child support. I miss her and the kids. But she’s not about to take me back.”

  “Have you ever asked her how she feels?” Ethan ran his finger around the rim of his cup.

  Jim hunched over the table. “Nah. How can I approach her when I’m in this situation? It’d be different if I was flush. Anyway, she needs to apologize to me for what she did.”

  “What she did?”

  “Take that skeptical look off your face. She’s the one who left me for another man, remember?”

  “Because …”

  “Okay. I wasn’t there. But if she’d asked me, I could have changed the way things were.” He could see Ethan wasn’t convinced. “Okay. I can see you’re on her side.” Jim stood and put his hands in his back pockets.

  “I’m not on anyone’s side. Why don’t you sit down?”

  Jim sat back down. “Okay, well, we both were responsible. I was never home—at least from her point of view—but she didn’t have to have an affair with the principal of her school. Anyway, what does it matter? I can’t talk to her. Whenever I get around her, I end up saying stupid stuff. Like today I called her a bitch.”

  Ethan leaned forward, whispering, “I see. Have you thought about why you do that?”

  “Are you going to charge me by the hour?”

  Ethan pushed back in his chair. “See, that sort of thing. Why do you get flippant when someone’s trying to help you?”

  “I was just kidding. Sometimes I think since everyone thinks I’m an asshole I might as well act like an asshole.” He didn’t add that he felt like an asshole after what he’d said to the judge. What book would she like to know about? Shit. He wasn’t going to tell Ethan the stupid assumptions he’d made or the stupid stuff he’d said to the judge and everybody heard him acting like he was better than everyone else.

  “Everyone doesn’t think of you that way. I don’t think of you that way.”

  “Good to know. So your question. Why do I do that?” Jim glanced at Ethan like a child seeking approval from a parent. “I wish to God I knew. Anger at her for kicking me out? At not speaking except through the lawyer for the first six months? At getting most everything we owned? Of separating me from my children?”

  Ethan nodded. “Those could be some of the reasons.”

  “I know some of it was my fault, I do. And I don’t know why I’m mad about the property division except I thought she’d appreciate it if I gave her most of our stuff. And I do get to see the kids whenever I want. She’s been good about that. But damn, does she have to try to put me in jail? I can’t do jail.” He crossed his arms and glanced at Ethan. Ethan just stared back, his eyes boring into Jim like the judge’s had. “Okay. I know I could have been at home more. A lot more.”

  “So long as you realize things could have been different if you’d acted differently.” Ethan patted Jim’s shoulder.

  “So now I have to figure out how to turn things around. But I’ve got to keep out of jail. I can’t do anything from jail.” Jim drained his cup and got up again and tossed it into the wastebasket. “I gotta go. I only have thirty days to produce some results to keep her honor happy. And let me tell you something, that is one weird little judge. You ought to go over there sometime and get a look at her.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  Jim swallowed to keep the coffee he’d just finished from coming back up. “Keep trying to sell my novels. And some essays and freelance articles. I’ve been thinking I’d widen my job search but still try to find a job in Texas.” All the things he could do started racing through his mind like his brain was on fire. He didn’t want to be rude to Ethan, but his feet were headed out the door in a sprint as soon as he said goodbye.

  “And then—”

  “Be nicer to her. When I can pay my bills, hold my head up, maybe I can ask her to work things out. I can’t help but think she still has feelings for me.�
�� He picked up the wad of napkins and threw them down again, half of them landing on the floor. He seemed to make a mess of everything. Nabbing them, he retraced his steps to the trashcan and tossed them in.

  “I can see you’ve thought about this. If that’s what you really want, you should do whatever it takes.”

  “I’d better get at it, friend. See you.”

  “Just a minute,” Ethan said. “I have a favor to ask.”

  “Anything, you know that.” Jim hoped it had nothing to do with money.

  “They need volunteers at the library. With budget cuts, they’ve lost employees by attrition. Now they’re short-staffed.”

  “How much time would they want me to volunteer, and what would I have to do?”

  “Any number of things. Catalog books. Read to kids.”

  “How many hours will it take?”

  Ethan scrutinized Jim’s face. “If you don’t want to do it—”

  Jim held out his hand in a gesture of peace. “No. I’ll do it. Just wondering, that’s all.” He hoped Ethan didn’t think him ungrateful for his friendship. He could count on one hand the number of friends he had left.

  “Go talk to Frieda Boggess. She can tell you what she needs.”

  “Okay, sure. I’ll go this week.” Jim continued to rein in his urge to run.

  Ethan’s smile was like a Mona Lisa’s, elusive, but when it came the recipient felt warm inside. “Fine. By the way, they have Internet access. If you have to give up your server, you can use the library’s.”

  Chapter Three

  Jim pointed his old clunker Mustang in the direction of his home and followed the farm-to-market road that would take him to the other side of Angeles and into the country where he lived. From a distance, thick patches of bluebonnets looked like water standing on the roadsides. Near the edge of the pavement, pink-tinged buttercups waved in the light breeze. He loved the flowers blooming on the roadside every spring. He would miss them if he had to take a job in a big city. On the other hand, he’d come to the point where he’d be happy to find a job at all.

  Somehow he’d fallen in a hole and was having a hell of a time climbing out. How he got there, he wasn’t quite sure, but it bore thinking about, thinking about a lot, if he was going to turn his life around.

  Jim and Pat had agreed to a modified standard order of visitation so Jim got the children the first and third Fridays of the month for the weekend and on any weekday nights he wanted. He usually took Wednesday nights. He loved his children, but every time he picked them up, they wanted him to buy them things. He figured Pat put them up to it. Patrick always needed another pair of tennis shoes. Jeanette just pointed to stuff she liked when they walked down Main Street, never complaining if he didn’t purchase anything. When she did that, a little pain would insert itself between his ribs like a penknife twisting and turning.

  One of the good things about unemployment was that it was direct deposited into his bank account so he didn’t have to worry about when his check would arrive. He always kept enough in his account so he could at least get some cash to take the kids to McDonald’s. The previous winter, he’d taken them to a movie every week if a suitable one came to town. Between the tickets and the snacks, he’d been left flat busted. He hated that feeling. Not that he would, but he wished he had all the money in the world so he could buy them whatever they wanted.

  With the owners out of town for an extended period of time, Jim was required to monitor the main house. He drove around the perimeter, eyeballing the doors and windows to make sure it remained secure. The tiny cabin he inhabited took a couple more minutes to reach behind a stand of trees. He parked in the carport beside the place. Inside, a light blinked on the answering machine, but when he checked he found two hang-ups. Little did the automatic computer marketing devices know they were barking up the wrong tree. Of course they didn’t know anything, if they did, they’d know the phone came with the place. He was just the tenant.

  After resetting the machine, he gulped some water and changed his clothes. He had a good deal going, cheap rent in exchange for looking after the premises and doing a little maintenance. Upstairs, was a bedroom and bathroom. Downstairs next to the carport was a big utility closet with a stacked washer and dryer, a kitchen, and a small living room. When he had the kids, he and Patrick slept on the sofa bed in the living room. Jeanette got the bed.

  Sitting down at his computer, Jim had an idea for a new story, but a little voice in his head told him he’d better revise his resume. He swallowed his pride and changed the paragraph that stated he was in the market for an investigative reporter position to a statement that he would be interested in any position. As this point, he’d do anything but give advice to the lovelorn. And truth be told, he’d even do that if it would keep him out of jail.

  He also revised the paragraph about his experience. Instead of limiting it to the most important positions he’d held, he included every job he’d ever done, no matter how remote to publishing. He might as well show them that his experience was from the ground up. At one time he might have felt he was too good to do those jobs, but now, after a day in court, he’d been humbled.

  After printing his resume for newspaper jobs, Jim revised it for magazine jobs. He searched through his boxes until he found a list of newspapers and magazines within a five hundred mile radius. He’d made the list when he’d lost his job.

  At five-fifteen, the phone rang. “You coming to get us soon, Dad?” Patrick asked.

  Patrick hadn’t quite reached puberty, but subtle changes sounded in his voice. “You ready to go, son?”

  “Yep. Jeanette’s not, but I am. She was lying around reading a book, but I told her to go get ready before I punched her lights out.”

  A rush of heat flared at the back of Jim’s head. His lips tightened. “Hey, you know I don’t like that kind of talk. We don’t hit girls.” Where had Patrick picked up that attitude?

  “Yeah, I know. And we don’t even joke about it, right?”

  “Right. Be sure to bring your soccer ball. We’re going to the park after we get some burgers.”

  “Great. ‘Bye, Dad.” The phone clicked, and Jim shook his head, wondering if there was someone in Patrick’s life who had been adversely influencing him, another kid’s father. He’d have to keep a watchful eye out. He went back to assembling his mailers.

  After preparing the envelopes and stacking them near the front door, Jim dug in the back of his underwear drawer for the mayonnaise jar of change he kept for emergencies. He emptied it onto the bed and made stacks of quarters, dimes, and nickels. He had enough for postage with a few cents left over. He could still use what was in his bank account for dinner with the kids.

  He dashed to the shower and rinsed off, threw on a pair of jeans, and old Polo shirt, and laced up his running shoes. The shirt was one of Pat’s favorites—a sea green color that she had always said brought out the green in his hazel eyes. He could use a shave but had run out of time. He had to go to the post office to buy stamps, then to the ATM to withdraw cash, and pick up the kids at six. He ran a brush through his thick hair, noting a few more grays had replaced some coffee-colored ones. No surprise there.

  * * * *

  Patrick’s bicycle lay in the grass in front of the house when Jim pulled up. If someone stole it, neither parent could afford a replacement. When he opened the screen door, a hinge squeaked and the screws rattled. Stepping back and taking a good look at the house for the first time in a while, Jim saw flaking paint and an overall appearance of fatigue. Poor old house needed some tender loving care. Just like him.

  Other than the neglect, their house should look different since she’d taken him to court and gotten him threatened with jail. The court appearance changed things between them, as if they were becoming strangers. Jim didn’t like that feeling. People could do things easier to strangers than to someone they knew. His years of investigative reporting had proved that.

  He rang the doorbell and straightened his shirt,
checking to make sure the collar turned down all the way around his neck, one of Pat’s bugaboos.

  “Sorry I’m late,” he said when she opened the door. “Lines at the post office and at the ATM.” Her tan ran all the way up her legs to the edge of the short-shorts she wore. She looked delicious.

  “You can come in if you’ve calmed down. Otherwise, wait in the car.”

  Heat flashed in his ears, and he sucked in a short breath. He wasn’t going to let her get to him. “I’m cool.” His smile was like that of an only child whose parents lived behind a camera lens, not real but the best he could do at a moment’s notice.

  “Then come in,” she said pushing the screen door toward him, not waiting for him to catch it before she headed into the house’s interior.

  “Don’t you think you should be wearing a bra under that shirt?” Jim called to her back as he followed her into the kitchen. A half full coffee cup and a newspaper lay on the counter. She wore no shoes, and her make-up had worn off, but all he wanted to do was drag her into the bedroom and do lewd things to her. How he could feel that way after what he’d been through that day was beyond him, but there it was.

  “Why? You’ve seen it all before.” She slipped onto a barstool and picked up the edge of the newspaper as if to read it.

  “I’m still human, you know.” He sat on the other stool, his leg resting just a hair’s breadth away from her naked one.

  “Really? I hadn’t noticed.” Pat didn’t look at him, but he could see the corners of her mouth were not turned down in a frown.

  At what point in their lives would she admit her mistake? He was more than ready to admit his, in spite of his dialog with Ethan. He knew he’d made a lot of mistakes, chiefly not giving Pat the attention she needed. Now it had been well over a year. They were divorced. He’d lost his kids. Her. What else did she want to extract from him as punishment? Maybe she’d feel better if the judge did put him in jail for a while. Maybe that was what she wanted.