Strays (12 page)

“Look,” Dad said, “I promised you that when you turned eighteen you could be done with the paper route.  I did promise that.”

“Yes.”

“So I am true to my word.  If you want to stop getting up at five in the morning to roll papers, I'll stand by it.”

Kyle grinned.  “I think I’ll keep it awhile.”

“Are you sure?  I know you never liked it much.”

Kyle fought back a chuckle.  It was true that in the beginning he hated the route, but as he got older and found there was zero solace to be found anywhere else in the world, the route became all that he had.  He had come to enjoy the route over the past few years, and for the last few weeks he had enjoyed it even more, for obvious reasons.

“I’m good, Dad,” Kyle said.  “I’ll keep the route awhile.”

Dad nodded, and offered a thin smile, his eyes flickering playfully.  It was a smile reserved for those moments when one of his sons did something to make him proud.  Kyle had seen Dad smile like that at Tony’s baseball games or at Eddie’s jazz concerts but had seldom seen it directed at himself.  He wondered, in fact, if he was even really Dad’s son.  He could not make a diving stop at shortstop to set up a double-play like Tony could, nor could he pick up a guitar and channel Jimmy Page from Led Zeppelin the way Eddie had done since he was a child.  His brothers had inherited their gifts from Dad with interest.  Dad had been a fair baseball player, but Tony was better, and even though Dad knew how to strum a guitar, Eddie had turned it into an art form.  But what gifts had Kyle inherited?  What talent or trait did he possess to distinguish himself as his father’s son the way Eddie and Tony were distinguished?  All of his life, he had felt himself to be a grand disappointment, and yet here his father was now, offering that thin, rewarded smile that meant he had done something right.

“That’s very responsible of you,” Dad said.  “Keeping the route, I mean.”

Kyle smiled and nodded, keeping up the façade.  Truth be told, if it hadn’t been for Molly showing up last month, he might have taken his Dad up on his offer.

“Which brings me to the rest of my speech,” he said.  He set down his silverware and reached under the lapel his tweet jacket.  With great care that matched the meticulous way Dad did everything, he slid an envelope out of the inside pocket.  He placed it on the table, pushed it across to Kyle, and grinned, this time more pained than proud.  “Happy birthday, son,” he said.

Kyle set down his fork and picked up the envelope.  He already knew what would be in it, and when he opened it he was not disappointed. 

First out was a thin little booklet no more than an eighth of an inch in thickness, bound by a white vinyl cover and held together with staples for a spine.  On the front of the booklet in midnight blue were imprinted the words
COMMERCIAL FEDERAL SAVINGS
.

“It’s your savings passbook,” Dad said.  “You’re eighteen, it’s yours.  I think you’ve saved a couple grand in there, maybe more.  I can’t tell you what to do with it, although I have a few suggestions.  But that’s entirely up to you.”

Kyle looked at Dad and nodded.  “Thanks.”

Dad offered his pained smile and folded his hands.

Next out of the envelope was a folded piece of paper, its texture almost like parchment.  Kyle unfolded it and nodded at the pale blue finish, the wiry purple trim frame, and his name printed at the top with Dad’s signature at the bottom.

“The title to Grandpa’s Impala,” Dad said.  “You’ve been running errands for your mother in it long enough, I guess it’s time it's yours.”  He did not move but continued to sit with his hands folded. 

“Thanks, Dad.”

“It’s yours,” Dad said.  “Well, the money is anyway.  And Grandpa wanted one of you boys to have that car when you turned eighteen.  Eddie and Tony already bought theirs, so … it’s yours, I guess.”

Kyle winced at this.  Of course Eddie and Tony bought their own vehicles.  In addition to being a great jock and great musician, they were also responsible with money, another thing they had inherited from Dad.  And Dad had to drive that home, didn’t he?  He just had to twist that knife a tiny bit more.  Kyle may have the Impala now, but only because his two older (and better) brothers had forfeited their right to it. 

“So,” Dad said, picking up his knife and fork again to work on his steak.  “You have money and you have a car.  I guess you’ll be on your way then.”

“Do you want me to leave, Dad?”

His father paused in mid-cut and looked up.  “No, son.  No, I don’t want that at all.”

“Then what do you want me to do?”

“It’s not a matter of what I want.  What do you want?”

Kyle looked at the car title and passbook in his hands and shrugged.  “I don’t know.  I don’t know what I want.”

“You’ve got to do something with your life.”

“I know,” Kyle agreed.  “But I don’t know what I’m good at.”

“It’s not a matter of what you’re good at,” Dad said.  “What do you
wish
you could do?  It’s the question I ask my students out at the college all the time when they come in with that same hang-dog face that you have now, worried about life and the future.  I say, ‘If money was no object, what would you like to be?’”

Kyle grinned.  “A Jedi knight.”

“I’m serious, Kyle.  This isn’t some silly movie.  Think about it.”

Kyle did.  He had nothing, but if he could make a wish, maybe it would be to play baseball like Tony and play music like Eddie and maybe—just maybe—his father’s smile would be more fulfilled than concerned for him most of the time.  But Kyle resented even
that
wish, for it was entirely dependent upon his father’s approval.  The fact is, he would not play baseball even if he could, and he thought the jazz Eddie played sounded sloppy and crazy.  Yes, it was clear that he was loved by his father, but it would be nice if he was
liked
a little bit too.  Still, why should he base his own wishes on making Dad happy when he wasn’t happy himself?

“What are you thinking, son?”

Kyle shook his head.  What he was thinking was about the most honest answer to Dad’s question.  If money was no object, there was only one thing he wanted to do, and that was spend every waking moment with Molly, smelling her hair and listening to her laugh and feeling the soft way her mouth touched his own.  His head became cloudy with her kisses.  If there was someone out there willing to pay a man a decent salary to kiss Molly all day, Kyle would be first in line to fill out the application. 

“I have a suggestion,” Dad said.  “Do you want to hear it?”

“Sure, I guess.”

Dad smiled,
almost
that proud smile he usually set aside for Eddie or Tony but not quite there.  “Out at the college,” he said, “I can get you four semesters.  It's a perk they’re offering right now.  Four fulltime semesters for faculty kids, you get a head start on a college degree, and it gives you two years to think about the future.  What do you say?”

“Sure, I guess.”

“You just said that.”

“And I guess I’m saying it again.”

His father’s thick eyes narrowed, and his smile was pained.  “I’d like it if you were a little more enthusiastic about the idea.”

“Yeah, okay, Dad,” Kyle said.  “That sounds good.”

“The best part is you can stay at home with your mother and me.  You don’t have to spend any of that money on rent.”

Kyle looked down at the passbook.  He had not opened it yet to check the balance, but Dad had said it was two grand or more.  Two thousand dollars was a lot of money, more than he had ever seen at one time.  “You want to take this money back?”

“Of course not, son,” Dad said.  “It’s yours.”

Kyle traced the letters of
COMMERCIAL
on the passbook’s cover with his finger.  Two thousand dollars.  And a car.  He was eighteen, his life was beginning, and he could jump in that Impala and drive to who knows where.  But there was Molly to think about.  Would she want to come with him?  What if she didn’t?  What if these last few weeks were just a game to her and as soon as he tried to lock her into something serious she gave him one last kiss and sauntered off into the sunrise forever?

He could ask her, couldn’t he?  Maybe not right away—it had been only a few weeks, after all—but at least Dad’s plan gave him time.  And time was what he needed right now, time to spend with Molly, to woo her and charm her and maybe sweep her so off her feet that when the time came to leave there was no way she’d let him go without her.  Yes, he could use that time.  Dad was offering two years.  There was nothing that said he needed to use up the whole two.  Maybe in a month, or two or six, the time would be right for Molly, and Kyle could gather her in his arms and take her away forever. 

“Okay,” he said.

“Yes?” Dad asked.

“Yes, Dad.  I like the idea.  I could use the time to figure things out.”

Dad smiled, and this time it
was
the smile of pride with maybe a bit of hope thrown into the mix.  “I think that’s the right decision.”

“Yeah,” Kyle said.  “You’re probably right.”

They finished the rest of his birthday meal in silence.  Kyle thought about Molly, and he imagined he knew what Dad was thinking but realized that he didn’t really care. 

Summer of Bad Things

The next morning, Molly was waiting at their usual spot.  It was a Wednesday, and the papers were heavier, but they felt lighter to Kyle the moment he saw her.  She rose to her tiptoes, kissed him on the mouth soft and long.  “Happy birthday,” she whispered in his ear.  “A day late, but happy birthday.” 

They headed up Taylor, heaving newspapers on the porches that lined the west side of the street, and she reached over, took Kyle’s hand, and squeezed it.

“What do you want for your special day?” she asked.

Kyle had a good idea what he wanted, but he was too shy to say.

“Never mind,” Molly said as if reading his mind.  “I already got you a present.  You can have it after.”

They finished the route in record time, walking quickly, even jogging once they were halfway through and the bag of papers had gotten lighter.  By the time they got to the last house on the corner of Santa Fe and Honey Lotus, they were both gasping for air but laughing through it nonetheless.  The canvas paper-bag now hung loosely on Kyle’s shoulders like a poncho.  Molly took his hand and headed across Santa Fe, tugging him along.

“What?” Kyle asked.

“Your present.”

It was still dark with just a hint of deep blue in the eastern skies as she led him in between the houses on the south side of the street, sneaking down the driveway of Mr. Weathers, one of Kyle’s regular customers.  Mr. Weathers had a garage set back behind the house with the entry drive alongside the home, and in between the garage’s northern wall and the fence that marked the boundary, there was a narrow lane about three feet wide.  Molly pulled Kyle’s hand and stepped back into the dark passage beside the garage.  Once they were deep in the shadows between garage and fence, she turned and placed a delicate hand on his shoulder.

“Sit down,” she said.

Kyle did as he was told, sliding the paper-bag off of his shoulder, tossing it on the ground like a blanket, and seating himself on it with his back against the garage.  He could see Molly standing above him, silhouetted by the light from the street lamps on Santa Fe, and then she lowered herself to the ground as well.  She spun with her back to him and then lay back into his lap, and even in the dimmest of lights Kyle could see her lovely face smiling up at him.  One of her hands floated up next to his head like tiny bird and then found its way into his hair.  She pulled his face to hers, and their lips met, hard and moist one moment, then lighter as her tongue danced and traced the edges of his mouth.

They sat like that then, lips together, mouths dancing and playing.  Kyle could feel her hand on the back of his head, stretching fingers out and pressing the pad of the palm into the base of his neck, then fingers curling, her short fingernails gently scratching in his hair.  Back and forth it went, her hand flexing and scratching, making his scalp quiver, sending a shock down his spine.

His left hand fumbled for her body, running itself up and down the crease of her jeans, ever moving upward and back down.  At last, his hand found its nerve and slithered under the edge of her t-shirt, creeping gently across the softness of her belly.  Up it went, searching, longing.  It found a small breast at last, and Kyle was shocked to realize that Molly was not wearing a bra.  He cupped the breast in his hand, his mouth tasting hers all the while, and with his thumb he traced small circles about a tiny pointed nipple.

Molly groaned somewhere deep within, a guttural purring sound, and she pressed her mouth hard into his … and then as if flipping a switch she stopped.  The hand that had been working in his hair now slid down his neck and left him, and her face pulled away as their lips parted.

“I'm not …”

Kyle moved his hand away from her breast, pulled it out from under her shirt, and looked at her.  “Not?”

“Not supposed to like it this much.”

“But you do like it, right?”

Molly lifted herself out of his arms, and sat on the ground with her back to him.  “Oh yes,” she said, not looking at him.  “I like it.  Too much.  I have to go.”

*   *   *   *

Thursday morning, Molly was not there waiting for him when he came down Oak to the street lamp on Taylor.  Kyle looked up and down the street for her, could see no sign of her elegant shape moving through the shadows toward him.  He sat on the curb to wait, but after about ten minutes of this he decided he’d better get the papers delivered.  He would figure this Molly business out later.

Friday morning came, and again no Molly.  Kyle waited again as long as he could before finishing his route.  When he got near the end on Santa Fe, he looked down Mr. Weathers’ driveway, to the narrow track alongside the garage.  He wondered if she was there waiting, but of course that was foolish.

Saturday morning came.  Molly was still not there.  Kyle delivered his route as fast as he could, and this time, when he got to Mr. Weathers’ house, he walked up the driveway and peered into the recesses of that dark passage next to the garage.  “Molly?” he whispered.  But she was not there.  He went back to the corner of Oak and Taylor and waited for as many minutes as he could stomach, then sprinted over to Amurcork, to the KOA-shaped church where they always parted ways.