The Sweetheart Deal (11 page)

A
fter I'd laid the tarpaper, I was surprised to discover that Leo had bought three-tab roof shingles but he'd gotten no flashing, and no roofing nails that I could find anywhere. I should've checked before I got to that point, but it wasn't the end of the world. Of course he hadn't had anyone else to answer to and had planned to go back and buy what he needed when he needed it, which was a terrible thing for me to think about, given that I was the one doing the shopping.

I was surprised that Audrey agreed to come with me, but I was glad she did. I knew she was forcing herself, going through the motions, but that counted for something. I drove and she kept fiddling with the radio, keeping it on the music station if there was a song she liked, I guessed, and if one came on that she didn't, changing it to NPR, which is what we listened to for most of the drive. When we got to Lowe's, she went to the garden center and I went to the opposite end of the store for what I needed. Then I rolled my awkward dolly across the store, with the flashing and its sharp edges jutting out on both ends. I found her looking at seed packets with her arms around a potted hydrangea.

“Can you plant something now?” I said, and put the pot on the dolly. “Isn't it still too cold? Don't you have to wait until, I don't know, May?”

“It's too early for starts. It'll be a few weeks,” she said, but she wasn't paying any attention to me. She was scanning the seed packets, picking them out and reading the backs, deciding. “But I can start my own seeds inside.”

I stood next to her while she chose a packet, put it back, then took out another one. “That's good,” she said. She had a seed-starter kit and the seed envelopes in her hand. “Are you ready?”

We walked to the cashier and while the guy starting ringing up the flashing and the nails, I put the hydrangea on the conveyor belt and pulled out my wallet. I had my card ready to swipe when Audrey closed her hand over my hand, and the card, stopping me.

“No, Garrett,” she said. “You're not paying for this.”

“Of course I am,” I said. “Why wouldn't I?”

“Because it's my house,” she said. “I've got it.”

The guy had finished ringing up everything and told us the total. He was waiting.

“No, I've got it,” I said. “It's what I need, so I'm buying it.”

She had let go of my hand and moved it to the top of the swiper, preventing me from running the card. A line of other customers started forming behind us while she just stood there staring at me, keeping her hand where it was. Our cashier was the only one open.

“You want to split the payment?” the cashier asked.

“No,” said Audrey.

“Listen,” I said. “How about this? I'll buy my stuff and you buy yours.” I turned to the cashier. “Can we do this stuff first? And then she'll pay for this here.” I pointed to the hardware, then put the hydrangea, seeds, and starter kit back on the conveyor belt, where they'd just been before the cashier had scanned them. He picked up the phone and said a code, which came over the PA system in the store. We were making him call for assistance.

“I'm sorry,” Audrey said to the cashier. “We don't mean to be causing problems, but we have a misunderstanding. I really am sorry.” She still hadn't moved her hand from the swiper. I put my hand on top of hers and gently pulled it off the swiper and held it in mine.

“I'll make a deal with you,” I said. “The person who buys the stuff has to be the one who uses it. So, you can pay for the flashing if you're going to put it up. If not,” I said, “end of story. You buy your plant things and I won't have a thing to do with them. I won't even water them.”

She took her hand out of mine. She shook her head. “That's not fair. You're ridiculous,” she said. “Fine.”

“I'll keep all the receipts,” I said. “You can pay me back.”

Another cashier had opened a register and the people behind us milled over to that one.

“So we're all set then?” the cashier asked me. I saw the new total and swiped my card, and then he rang up Audrey's share. She swiped her card and the guy gave us our receipts.

“Oh, for God's sake,” said the man behind us in line, who was next, after the people in front of him had moved to the new register. He had a dolly loaded with lumber and spools of cable and materials I couldn't identify. He looked like a contractor, with the air of a pro. Who knows how long he'd been waiting while we'd had our standoff.

Audrey turned around and looked at him. “If waiting in this line is the worst thing that happens to you today, you've won the lottery. Congratulations.” Then she walked around me and pushed the dolly toward the door, and I followed her out.

I caught up with her and took over the dolly, and we walked together through the lot to the car.

“I'm sorry,” I said. “I guess we should have talked about that before. And I think we should talk about it later. It's not a big deal and nothing that can't wait. I just have to get what I need when I need it and we can work out the details whenever.”

We loaded everything, the flashing taking up and bisecting the length of the car, resting on the dashboard, almost touching the windshield. I got in and started the car while she returned the dolly, then got in. The metal between us was like a fence we talked over.

“No, I'm sorry.” She sighed. “We should have discussed it.”

I reached under the flashing and touched her arm. “It's okay,” I said. “We still can. We will.” I put the car in gear and backed out.

“Lowe's and Home Depot always make me a little crazy,” she said. “I don't know why. They always start some kind of drama.”

“Drama?” I said. “What are you talking about? They're just stores.”

“You know, I'd go with Leo sometimes, like today—he'd say he'd just be running in for something but then I couldn't get him out of there,” she said. “At first it was fine, I'd walk around, go to the garden center, or whatever, and then it would be forty-five minutes later and I'd look for him, then I'd have to text him, and when I'd find him he'd be looking at something we weren't even there for, and didn't even need, like patio furniture. I don't know, I guess men need their own version of what women do. You know,
shop
.”

“Well, it's fun,” I said. “I think it's fun going to those stores. I can't blame him. I might have done that today if I'd been by myself.”

“There's another thing,” she said. “Why they make me crazy. When I wouldn't go with him, most of the time I didn't, he'd tell me, ‘I have to run out and get a drill bit I need, I don't have the right size.' Simple enough, right?” She looked at me.

I shrugged.

“Then he'd come home with three bags of stuff and I'd say ‘How many drill bits did you need?' And he'd tell me there were other things he might need
later
and he wanted to get them now instead of making another trip, but he'd say, ‘If it turns out I don't need them, don't worry, I'll just return them.'” She shook her head and looked out the window. It was like she wasn't even talking to me, so I didn't say anything. “And he never did—he never did take anything back. When I'd ask him about it later, ask him when he was going to return stuff, by that time the story had changed. By then he'd tell me he might need it for another project so he may as well keep what he bought. He would have bought one of everything in that place if he could have, just to have it on hand.”

We were almost back to the house.

“I guess that's what's a little funny about today,” she said. “I can't believe there was anything you needed that he didn't already have.”

S
t. Patrick's, the night of the fundraiser at Kells, was on a Saturday. Audrey made corned beef and cabbage, and after dinner I worked for a few hours. We hadn't talked about it since she got the email. She wrote back to Kevin Gallagher, but I don't know what she said and she hadn't told me if he responded.

Christopher was at a friend's and Audrey and the boys were watching a movie.

“Hey.” I sat down on the couch next to her.

“Hey,” she said.

“So I think I'm going to head down there. To that thing at Kells. Just stop in. Do you mind if I go?”

“No,” she said. “Go, report back. Go. Tell everyone I said thank you again.”

I looked it up on MapQuest and drove Audrey's car over the Burnside Bridge into downtown. The closest parking spot I could find was five blocks away. It wasn't a dive or a hole in the wall like I expected. There was a poster on an easel by the front door declaring half of tonight's proceeds were going to the Leo McGeary Memorial Fund.
Goddamn. Half.
At the door, a massive guy was collecting the cover.

“Ten bucks,” he said. I handed him a twenty.

“No change,” I said.

I didn't realize at first—because it was packed—but the place was cavernous, with bottles glittering up to the ceiling behind the bar. I joined the crush of people there and waited for a bartender.

“What're you having?” he shouted.

“Glenlivet!” I yelled back. “Your oldest!”

He came back with it. “Forty-five!”

I handed him two twenties and a ten. “No change!”

I stood and sipped before I took on the maze of overflowing tables and people, all strangers, and squeezed through the loud darkness. I went downstairs to the cigar room and found them there. The firefighters, some I recognized, dominated the room—the small tables, the booths against the walls, and the one long table in the middle of the room with leather chairs all around it. The last time I'd seen Kevin was Leo's funeral. When he saw me, he left the big middle table and came over.

“Hey, professor,” he said around his cigar. “Glad you could make it tonight.”

“This is quite a thing you've pulled off,” I said.

He shrugged. “I just asked. Kells is the one pulling it off. The owners knew Leo. They know the whole family. They wouldn't do it for just anybody.”

A waiter passed us and Kevin flagged him. “You want another drink?” he said.

“Sure,” I said. “Whatever you're having.”

“Let's sit.” We took a four top against the wall. He pointed at his cigar. “You want? Padrón. The Cadillac of cigars.”

“Why not.” He went back to the big table and came back with one and lit it for me. “Audrey wanted me to say thanks again,” I said.

“How's she doing?”

“One day at a time, I think,” I said.

“And what about you?” he said.

“I'm okay,” I said. “I'm putting in a lot of work every day. It's a good thing to have to do.”

“Oh, good, good, glad to hear it,” he said. “And how's shacking up? How's that coming?” He puffed the Padrón hands-free, his arms crossed over his chest.

I hadn't expected to have to throw my weight around, or be ready for a fight, not tonight. I crushed out the long cigar, barely smoked, in the ashtray. “Are you kidding me?” I said. “That's very stand up.” I pushed the chair back. “You're going to be an asshole, tonight? That's gallant.” I stood up.

“Come on, man,” Gallagher said. “Sit down. I'm just telling you what the talk is.”

“The
talk
.” I pushed the chair in. “You don't know me. I don't give a shit about your talk, Kevin. I loved him and I love his family. I've known him since we were kids. Talk it up all you want.”

“Will you sit down? Come on. We're his family too,” he said. “That's all. Relax. People have their opinions. We all have them every day when we walk down the street. Nothing you can do about it. But if you're going to be here like you are I wanted to say something. Like I'd want to know if it was me. Sit.” He flung his hands at my empty chair.

I slid the chair out and sat again, leaning back, my legs stretched out in front of me. “You drive a truck, Kevin?” I said. “A really big truck?”

He laughed. “Nah, minivan. Not my choice. My wife and I have three daughters.”

I smirked and shook my head. “I understand.”

He laughed again. “How about you, Garrett?” he said. “Everyone know your big truck around campus?”

“Prius.”

“Prius,” he snorted.

We let that sit there.

“You doing it by yourself?” He puffed. “The work? I could come by. I helped Leo quite a bit.”

“I'll let you know,” I said. “I work pretty well alone.”

“What's your number?” He pulled out his phone and punched it in when I told him, then dialed. My phone lit up. “That's me,” he said. “Call me if you want. Many hands, light work. Up to you.”

“I appreciate the offer,” I said.

“Sure thing,” he said.

He tapped his ash. “You know what never leaves the firehouse, Garrett?” he said.

“Is this a joke?” I said.

“No,” he said. “It's a question. Do you know the answer?”

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” I said.

“Trucks and wives,” said Kevin.

I didn't get it at first. He looked at me and waited.

“Oh, right,” I said. “Like the mob? That's reassuring. For the trucks and wives, I mean.”

“Jesus, don't get all assed up,” Kevin said. “It's an expression. What I'm saying is that Audrey and the boys will be taken care of. We'll take care of them. It's what we do. You can't stay here forever, right? Don't you have to get back to school?”

Audrey was still awake, wrapped in a blanket watching TV, when I got home after midnight.

“Wow.” She looked at her watch. “Did they hold you against your will?”

I sat down next to her. She fanned at the cigar stink that clung to me.

“No,” I said. “It was a big night down there. I talked to Kevin for a while. I told him thanks for you. Despite being kind of a dick, he offered to help with the work. I may call him, I may not. I don't know.”

“No, he's a good guy,” she said.

“Good and macho,” I said.

“Posturing. They can't help it. Don't buy into any of their bullshit.”

“Like ‘Wives and trucks never leave the firehouse'?” I said.

She shook her head and closed her eyes.

“You know they're donating fifty percent from tonight,” I said.

Audrey pulled the blanket up to her chin. “Shit,” she said. “Shit, shit.”

“Just wait,” I said. “Wait until they offer you something. You can always have them hang on to it and tell them you'll let them know. You don't have to do anything tonight. Or even tomorrow.”

She nodded.

“It was a nice night,” I said. “Leo would have been there if it had been for someone else. It was a good party. Any party with Leo was always a good one, and tonight was no exception.”

“I'm glad,” she said. “I'm going to bed.” She stood up and made a big show of holding her breath before she hugged me. “God, you reek.”