Our Daily Bread (5 page)

“Goodnight, sweetpea,”
Tom said, and kissed Ivy goodnight. She pattered out of the room. Tom looked at his watch. It read 8:20, and although he didn't usually go to bed for another hour, already he was falling asleep in his chair. He glanced at Patty, who sat at the far end of the couch with a glass of wine in her hand, staring at the television set. What was on? Something about a crime scene in some big city, bits of flesh and bone and close-up shots of half-digested stomach contents. Why did she find it so fascinating? Or did she? She sat there, her legs tucked up, her turtleneck pulled over her chin, folded in on herself. How long had it been since they'd necked on the couch after the kids had gone to bed? Fallen asleep in each other's arms? They had time for themselves right this instant, Bobby was out with friends and Ivy upstairs now. Why was it so difficult to simply cross the room and kiss her?

As though she sensed his eyes on her, she drank from her glass and glanced at him from the corner of her eye. She said nothing, merely locked her gaze on the set again. A shadow caught Tom's attention and it was then he realized he hadn't actually heard Ivy's feet going up the stairs. He cocked his head, listened, but there was only the sound of the television and the silence of the house.

“I'll be right back,” he said.

He poked his head around the doorway. Ivy stood at the bottom of the stairs near the kitchen. She looked at her feet. Her hands were clenched. She glanced up at the top of the stairs and then down at her feet again.

“What'cha doin'?”

Ivy's head snapped around and her mouth opened, but no sound came out.

Tom went to her. “What's the problem?”

“Nothing,” she said, blushing furiously.

He knelt down and put his hands on her arms. “Something got you spooked?”

She shook her head.

“You can tell me, you know that, right? I am extremely good at dealing with spooky things.” He smiled and waited. From the living room came the bass-heavy theme song for the crime show.

Ivy looked to the top of the stairs again. “I don't know. There's something . . . up there.”

“What kind of something?”

She squirmed. “Bad. You know.”

Tom looked up the staircase, at the twist in the stairs, and saw how the darkness of the upstairs hall seemed to spill toward them. He saw how it must look to a little girl whose parents had not taken her up to bed in a very long time.

“Light switch for the hall's a long way away, huh?” he said.

“Yeah, but if I get to the switch quick enough . . .” She shrugged.

“I see. Well, how about I go up with you tonight?”

“Okay.”

They started up the steps, her hand hidden in his. When they got to the landing she reached up and turned on the light, keeping her eyes turned from the hall.

“Better?” Tom said.

“Yes.” She sounded unconvinced.

“I think we better fix some new lights up here, don't you?”

“Maybe.”

“Tell you what, I'll hang around for a few minutes and tuck you in, how's that?”

He was rewarded with her smile. She scampered quickly down the hall to the bathroom and when she came out again a few minutes later he walked her to her bedroom and sat on the small bed while she changed into her pyjamas, the ones with pink rabbits all over them. Tom pulled back the blankets and she hopped in.

“Better?”

“Thanks, Daddy. I get scared, just sometimes. It's better now.” She took his hand and stroked the back of it, so the hairs lay flat and smooth. “The worst, though, you know, really the worst?”

“What's the worst?”

“It's when I come out of the bathroom, because I have to switch the light out there, you know, at that end of the hall and run down here.” She stopped patting his hand and instead picked and smoothed and worried the sheet without looking at him.

“Sweetie, why didn't you tell us?”

She shrugged. “I don't know.”

“You know there isn't really anything up here, don't you?”

“I know. I'm not a little kid, Dad.”

“But still, right?”

“But still.”

“Okay. Here's what we're going to do. Tomorrow, I'm going to fix up another light switch, right outside your room, so you don't have to go down the hall in the dark. And I can put a night light in here if you want one.”

“No. That's just for babies.”

“Not at all. Lots of people prefer to sleep with a little light.”

She looked sceptical and toyed with the ends of her hair. “I saw on a TV show once
,
about this man who gets left behind in a cave, because his leg's broken. But there are sabre-toothed tigers in the cave, left over from prehistoric times, right? And the others say they'll come back for him the next day, after they get help, and when they come back he's crazy from being afraid and his hair is all white, completely all white. Which is what happens from being that scared, right?”

“Well, I suppose that could happen, but you'd have to be really, really, afraid, Ivy. Are you that afraid?”

“I only checked my hair once.”

He hesitated asking the question that must be asked. “Why don't you call Mom?”

Ivy kept playing with the ends of her hair.

“Hang on a minute. I'll be right back.”

He had something hidden in his hand when he returned. “I'm going to check on you every night before I go to work, okay? And Mom'll check too, and if you ever feel in any way even a little frightened, you blow on this, okay?” He took her hand and dropped a long silver whistle on a braided cord in her palm. “That used to be your grandfather's whistle, from when he was a Scout leader. It blows louder than anything. You give a blast on that and one or the other of us will come running. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Think you can sleep?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I'll leave the hall light on, okay?” He kissed her on the top of her head, which smelled of her special coconut shampoo. Ivy's hair tangled so.

“I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you, Ivy.”

He went back downstairs to the living room.

“Why didn't you tell me Ivy's so scared of the dark?” he said.

“She is? I didn't know that.” Patty frowned and raised an eyebrow. “This must be something new. She tell you that?”

“I don't think it's new.”

“It must be. I would have noticed.”

“Well, she's sure as hell scared now. Checking her hair to see if it's turned white, for God's sake.”

“No! Really? I used to be like that when I was a kid. Scared of everything.”

“You're going to have to keep an eye on her when I'm not here. Check on her a couple of times a night. I promised her you would. And I said I'd fix up a new light switch, so she doesn't have to go down the hall in the dark.”

“Don't fuss over her too much, Tom. She's got to grow out of it.”

“I won't have her being afraid. I gave her Dad's old Scout whistle to blow in case she gets scared. Just so you know. I don't think she'll use it. More like a talisman to keep the bogeymen away.”

“What did you do that for? She blows on that thing and I'll have a heart attack.” She turned back to the ghostly morgue on the television screen.

He checked on Ivy before he left for work. She slept with the whistle in her hand and the cord around her neck. He told himself it was all right, that she wouldn't strangle as she slept.
But she might. I should take it off. But what if she loses it in the bed and wakes up frightened? I said it would be there. Better to leave it.
He made a move toward the bed, and then stopped, started again. He shook his head to clear away the cobwebbed indecision.
Christ, get a grip.
Tomorrow he'd get her a night light, fix the switches. He'd build a moat around her bed if necessary.

Two days later, Tom was getting gas at Ed's Garage, talking with Ed about the possibility of a poker game one of these nights. Both men leaned with their backs against the truck as the pump clicked away. Ed was a wiry little guy with abnormally hairy ears. Ivy called him an elf and had been afraid of him until recently.

“You wanna get out of the house more often,” said Ed. “Guys are starting to think you're whipped.”

“It's not Patty. It's just the hours. I'm dead by nine o'clock. I'd fall asleep in my beer.”

“Maybe you'd finally lose once in a while then.”

Another car pulled up and Ed called for Bill Bodine. “Where is that asshole? Supposed to be changing oil for Pataki, but do you see him anywhere? Probably in the can with a joint again. I'd fire his ass if he wasn't such a good mechanic. Don't go. I want to pin down a date.” And he stepped away to serve his customer.

Tom turned and unhitched the nozzle from the gas tank when the pump hit twenty-five dollars.

“Hey, Tom, long time no see,” a woman's voice said. He looked up to see Rita Kruppman—correction—Rita
Cronin
standing in front of him, tossing her car keys from one hand to the other. Rita was tall and lean, with dark honey-blond hair pulled back into a simple ponytail. Her face was makeup-free, covered with more freckles than ever and her eyes clear and blue.

“Hi, Rita,” he gave her a peck on the cheek, “how are you?”

“Well. Fair I guess. Holding up.”

“Oh? Kids okay?” Tom looked past her into the blue SUV she was driving these days. Rita's freckled twins, Gabrielle and James, sat in the back, both with little headphones in their ears. They stared at him with bored expressions.

“They're thirteen.”

“Right.”

Tom noticed Ed looking at him. Ed grinned and winked.

“You all right?” She looked in rude good health. “Not sick or anything?”

“You must be the only person in town who doesn't get the gossip.”

“Meaning?”

“Tom, Harry and I are divorcing.” She dropped her eyes and went pink between the freckles.

“Oh, man. Rita. I'm really sorry. I thought you guys were doing great.”

“Yes, well, so did I. He said he felt stifled, that he needed to toss, and I'm quoting here, ‘a grenade into the trench of our marriage.' Sadly, he forgot the children and I were still living in that trench.”

“Ouch.”

“No other woman, or so he says. He's moving to Utah. Maybe he saw
Brokeback Mountain
and got ideas.”

“Meaning?”

Rita shrugged, looked at Tom pointedly.

“No way. Harry's gay? Come on, Harry's not gay.” Tom had played football with Harry. It wasn't possible; the guy was a linebacker in high school.

“Well, if he is, he couldn't very well live in this town, now could he?” Rita shook her head. “I don't know. I really don't. Let's just say the twins were a miracle.”

Tom was speechless. He jingled the coins in his pockets.

“Oh, shit. Too much information. Sorry.”

“It's all right. I'm just kind of shocked.”

“You and me both. Don't say anything about that last bit, will you? I don't even know why I told you.”

“No, course not.”

“The good news is he left us set for cash.”

“That's good. You still teaching?”

“Which really, is what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“School?”

“Well, Ivy, actually.”

“What about her? I didn't think you were teaching her this year.”

“I'm not, but, Tom, well, I've seen some things around the school and I wasn't going to mention anything. I mean, it's not anything serious. It's just that Ivy's such a sweet kid, and so smart.”

“Thanks.”

“But has she talked to you about getting picked on?”

“No.” Tom's stomach suddenly felt sour. He looked around and realized Ed had disappeared into the office. Why? Discretion? About what? Ivy or Rita? “What do you mean, picked on? Bullying?”

“No, no, nothing that serious. Just some girls who think they're special looking for someone to, I don't know, set apart. You remember how it was at school, one week it would be the kid who'd let loose a loud fart and everybody teased him, the next somebody had a huge pimple—you know what kids can be like and, I'm sad to say, especially girls.”

“What are they picking on Ivy for? And why isn't the school doing anything about it? Nobody's called us. Nobody's told us a damn thing.”

“Hey, don't shoot the messenger, Tom. If we thought it was really serious, of course the school would be in touch. It's not like that. I just thought you should know. It'll all blow over, of course, and next week I'm sure they'll be on to somebody else. You know . . . She's so sweet . . .”

Rita reached out and put her hand on his arm and then took it away again. Gabrielle rolled down the window and yelled, “Mom, I'm going to be late!”

“Hang on a minute! Look Tom, it's all schoolyard nonsense. No one holds any store by it. It's all for effect.”

“I'll talk to her.”

“I know you will. You're a fantastic father.”

Gabrielle hollered again. “I have to go.”

“Rita, listen, I'm really sorry about Harry.”

She looked at him, her expression sad and weary. “Life just doesn't turn out like we planned, does it, Tom? See you around.”

Tom paid Ed, not really listening to what he was saying about poker or how good Rita looked these days, now that she was single again. All Tom could think was Ivy, getting teased like that and not saying anything. He didn't have the faintest idea how to deal with it. Driving along Franklin, he scowled at every face he saw. The world was full of shadows, places where things were happening that he couldn't see. So much could happen when you weren't looking, when you weren't paying attention. Look what happened to Rita and Harry. Look how that ended up. A horn sounded and Tom slammed on the brake just as he was about to run a red light. The driver in a landscaping truck swore as he passed. Tom shook his head, realized he was trembling. See? Just like that, you weren't looking and then everything changed.