Superman's Cape (4 page)

Sara was relieved to see their Gran Torino wagon. It meant they were closer to leaving and going home. Kyle wasted no time gripping the wagon’s handle as he heaved open the heavy door. The door pulled him with it and belched out a cranky groan. The Gran Torino was a beast of metal. It was dressed in a vague memory of bumble-bee yellow and black. Bleached by the sun, the colors were a stain of their former selves. Although the colors were faded, the wagon kept its keystone wood grain styled bodysides.

Beasty
, as Sara called the wagon, did the job. After being forced to leave their home, Beasty carried their butts and bags to their current place of living. It drove them from school and back. It argued from time to time when turning over, and often enough burped a hiccup in the transmission when first shifting it into Drive. But, it got them where they needed to go. Sara picked up Beasty after the BMW wagon she drove was lost to the repo-man. First it was the BMW that was gone. Soon after that, the bank foreclosed on their four bedroom, 2½ bath with a 1 acre lot which they’d enjoyed for almost a decade.

Beasty’s door handle felt cold in Sara’s hand like the cold that remained under her eyes. Chris’s death was still a fresh wound and she expected it would remain so for some time. It occupied most of her days and evenings. Bouts of sorrow that tasted bitter and seemed to swallow all of her became part of her every day. She thought again about the pills and wondered if they would help. Even if it was just a little sleep.
Just sleep
, she reminded herself as she ran her hand though Jonnie’s hair.

Losing the BMW was a punch in the gut. But losing the house ruined everything that defined her and the boys.
Home
, she thought and turned away from them. They didn’t need to see her crying. Not again. The loss completed the flip of what their lives had been to lives that were alien. What now defined life was so new and unknown it was still revealing itself in ways Sara struggled to understand each day.

“I miss our old car – I mean our newer old car,” Kyle grumbled.

“Yeah, I know hon. Me too,” Sara agreed, then sighed as she struggled to open Beasty’s door. “Come on, we need to find our way home,” she finished, as her door let out a cranky groan of its own.

“Help your brother. Okay,” Sara asked. Through the rear view mirror she watched Kyle buckle Jonnie into his seat before taking his own seat. Kyle clutched his fingers at the air then waved his hand while reaching for the seat belt strap that wasn’t there. Sara tried to stave off a sad giggle. “Old friggin´ car,” he complained then pulled the buckle from the right side of his hip.

“You know these belts aren’t even legal anymore – I mean they like stopped making them before I was born. Or maybe even before you were born!” he yelled over the rump of the front seat. Beasty’s engine roared up, then sputtered once before falling back to a shallow idle. Sara’s smile stretched listening to him.

“Car’s a '72 – your momma is a '73,” she answered laughing.

“Well I won’t tell if you won’t – it’s just a seatbelt, right?” Kyle returned.

“One thing this Beasty has that I know you love is the wood paneling along the sides,” she shot back. Kyle shook and grimaced and contorted his face until Sara laughed.

While the laughing was a little forced, maybe even a little cautious, it was a break. A good break. It was one she thought they needed. One that released them from the day to day that had become their every day. Their every day included driving in Beasty instead of their BMW wagon. It included living in a single-bedroom trailer with a convertible couch capable of sleeping two. Worse yet, it included moving a distance that was hours away from where they once called home. They lost most of their friends and family to the miles that now stretched between them. Sara considered this as her smile faded.

The Beasty lurched forward after Sara pulled the shifter on the steering column down. She faced the orange needle so the point of it moved from the
P
to in front of the
D
.

“OK, steady Betsy – I mean Beasty,” Sara pleaded, as she turned the wheel around to face the parking exit. Beasty’s struggle squashed the fun they were having. Beasty lurched twice more and Sara had to push her feet on both the accelerator and brake pedals to keep the engine from stalling.
Pick your battles,
she thought, thumping the steering wheel with her palm. The car lurched again.

“I said pick your battles, ya old Bitch! – that is, if you know what’s good for ya!” she yelled again and gave the steering wheel another thump of her palm.

“Yeah! Go mom!” Kyle cheered. His voice lifted to a pitch that broke the car’s stale air.

And as if listening, Beasty finally gave in and pushed forward. Beasty moved, paying mind to the driver and her son’s threats. The two continued their threats which rolled off one after another. Some with expletives and some without. But all making for a lot more fun during the ride home, rather than just staring out the window and counting the steady flow of white asphalt dashes racing by.

Jacob Hanson plucked a fresh ten-dollar bill from the fingers dangling above him. The paper felt crisp and firm. Waving the bill under his nose he could smell the newness of it.

“Fresh from the ATM, huh,” he taunted as the extended fingers delivering the bill retreated. His smile grew and he clutched a second and then a third ten-dollar bill. While not as fresh, and maybe a little worn and ratty, each was ten dollars more than he had. A few of his coworkers kept a reluctant, firm grip on the edge of the bills. Some offered a scowl along with their payment while others said nothing at all.

“Today’s lunch –
Pluck
! annnndd then tomorrow’s lunch –
Pluck
!” he continued, as he rolled his office chair along the make-shift route stood up by his football pool fellows.

“Three for three on a Sunday. What are the freakin’ odds of that? Not just once, but the second time this month,” a voice complained as he parted from his money.

“You think
that’s
good,” a second voice rang out from a cubical nook, “last year I saw him go five for five when none of the spreads covered the points. That was it for me!” the voice finished with a gruff laugh.

Jacob paused for a moment and considered what was said.
Stupid move. Just stupid
, he thought shaking his head. Three for three you can get away with. But to go five for five
anytime
is reckless. It’s just stupid.

Reckless or not, he fed his ego for the day and settled in his chair counting the dollars in his hands. He liked to gamble. He liked to win more. And while he always knew who to place his bets on, he’d take care not to do anything risky-stupid. “Just stay under the radar where it is safe,” he whispered to himself.

Andy Toomy stepped toward the exchange and proclaimed, “Ya know, here at WJL-TV there is a very strict policy against office gambling. Gambling of
All
kinds!” His voice was authoritative and cut the air just as Jacob plucked the last ten-dollar bill clinging to the vine of fingers above him. The vine receded, disappearing behind the cubical walls that made up the small labyrinth that was the WJL-TV office area.

Jacob’s smile turned to a pensive look before being replaced with a grin that hinted a playful evil sarcasm, “well yes, I do believe that is correct, Mr. Toomy.” Andy shifted where he stood then rolled his eyes.

“And with that ‘oh-obligatory’ acknowledgment, I also understand there to be an unsettled matter of twenty dollars to be discussed,” Jacob proclaimed; his smile parting with a
gotcha
and mock sinister laugh.

“Well, I do suppose you’re right,” he chuckled as a smirk of his own crept from the corner of his mouth.

Andy turned his head and looked past the entrance where he stood. He steered his eyes as he did in a manner that was intentionally obvious and comical. And just like that, floating inches from Jacob’s nose, a twenty appeared with a snap of Andy’s fingers. Startled, even Jacob was impressed. He raised his eyebrows and nodded, “Nice move,” snatching the twenty dollars. “
Pluck!
”

Andy’s next trick was producing his station clipboard. He pulled the clipboard from behind him – tucked away in his pants around the lower of his back. Switching his headset on, he thumbed a page or two from his clipboard in preparation for their move to the broadcast studio.

“So, did you look over the forecast from the National Weather Service? You’re all set for this morning?” he inquired amidst the sound of folding pages.

Jacob ran his hand over the map on his computer screen and answered, “You mean about Dani?”

Andy sighed, “not just the Hurricane … I mean all of it – you know today and then tomorrow and then up through Friday?” he finished and waved his hand in a come-along motion. “Jake! Work with me here – OK? We’re not new. This ain’t our first rodeo.”

Jacob almost never heard anyone call him by the name Jake. Andy was the exception. The two worked on and off together for almost fifteen years. Their days went as far back as college where they first met. They puddle-jumped across the country, calling some of the smallest of television stations home. Then, on to the middle-of-the-road stations and eventually finding each other together at some of the big-name stations. It was a ratings game. They were both familiar with it. And whenever the opportunity to work together was there, it made another move just a little easier.

“Relax, I’ve got your back. It’s going to rain most of the week,” Jacob said.

With his eyes lifting up from his clipboard, Andy threw his head back with an annoyed expression.

“Come on now Jake, the National Weather Service is forecasting sunshine,” Andy answered, dropping his clipboard to his side with a slap.

“I know what they said, and I know what I am saying, and you know damn well who is going to be right. And if not, --” Jacob stopped. Took a moment. He introduced a dramatic pause in an attempt to get under Andy’s skin. “-- then how about we put
your
twenty back on the table for double or nothing … plus dinner?”

Andy pulled his clipboard up and hugged his arms around it while he considered the bet. He then jokingly counted on his fingers before giving a more serious consideration to the challenge. “Fine. We’ll go with your forecast. But Jake, you better be near a hundred percent on this one,” Andy said as he shuffled his headset around his ears, “Oh! And the twenty bucks – I’ll take that in beers and dinner. And both are on you, if I see sunshine tomorrow.” he finished.

“Right as Rain. Thanx,” Jacob finished.

Jacob put his hands on Andy’s shoulders and smiled as he enjoyed the banter with his friend. At once, the skin on his arms began to tingle. The small hairs stood and waved as though at the mercy of a shallow breeze. His sensitivity was awake. It was responding to the touch – something Jacob was cautious to do in the company of people. The touch didn’t reveal anything about Andy he hadn’t learned at some point during the last decade.

Andy was a small man, a plain man and sometimes lonely man. He was a man who skated from one day to the next, waiting for someone to join him in his life. Andy’s heart was the biggest Jacob had the pleasure of meeting in his years. He never had a negative word or an ill thought about anyone. At least, no juicy thoughts
leaking
that Jacob picked up on. Of course, Andy had no idea any of these feelings were known to Jacob. How could he? They’d shared beers, more than a few, and at least a meal a month on Fridays and sometimes Mondays. But never had Andy or Jacob made that leap of coworker-friendship to a true friend-friendship. This last thought saddened him and in that moment he decided after the many years of station-jumping it was maybe time he try and enjoy the permanence of some community roots; and he’d do that starting with Andy.

Andy shrugged his shoulders, his toothy grin returning, “What are you looking at, you goof!” he asked.

Startled, Jacob realized he was just standing there, frozen in the moment, his hands resting on Andy’s shoulders.

“Andy, have I ever let you down?”

“Not yet,” Andy shot back.

“Then, is there any reason to think I’ll let you down now?”

Andy stared back at Jacob. He narrowed his eyes with caution and would not answer. Jacob pushed a smile and continued, “tell you what – let’s do the broadcast then call it an early day and then you and me and a few others hit lunch … I’ll buy the first rounds of drinks.” Jacob continued, clapping Andy on the shoulders before returning to his seat.

Andy relaxed his eyes, letting go of the caution and agreed to Jacob’s proposal. “You’ve got
our
money so lunch it is – on you,” he said motioning to Jacob’s betting-pool. As Andy started to turn he shot back a quick but stern, “
and
get the forecast right, would ya?” he finished as he tucked his clipboard behind his belt into his pants.

Jacob inserted his earpiece. The lights of the studio were up and at their usual levels of hot and hotter. He began the preparation he’d become so accustomed to. It was a refined practice from his years of broadcasting the weather to the constituents of the WJL-TV community he called his viewing family.
It is all about the ratings,
he thought. He directed his necktie into position once or twice more than he needed to. Jacob rocked and toggled the button on the transmitter that was clipped to his belt. He blew,
one
,
two
and
three
to ensure the microphone was up and ready to go.

“You OK there, Jake?” he heard through his earpiece.

Jacob covered his eyes from the white push of bright lights and looked in the direction he knew Andy would be. Faintly, he saw the familiar form of Andy through the facade of lighting stands and microphone booms and amid the sea of snaked cabling running around his friend’s feet.