“Open up, you useless fat fuck!”
Someone is banging on Heath’s front door. It’s late. Heath lives in the upstairs apartment of a rundown duplex. The person banging looks like a slimmer version of Heath with the same red hair, the beginnings of a red beard.
“Leave your father alone!” Heath’s girlfriend, Nancy, yells out of the second story window.
“Shut up, you fucking whore.”
“That’s it,” Heath declares as he heaves himself off the sofa. He lumbers down the stairs and opens the front door. His son spits in his face.
“That’s from me. And mom.” Heath’s son turns and jumps off the rotting wooden porch. He passes the cab to Heath’s truck, parked on the small patch of mangy grass that suffices for a front lawn and spits on it, too, before heading up the street.
Heath stands at the open door, light pouring out from the hallway. He wipes his face with his hand, turns around, and slowly walks up the stairs that groan with each step.
“Well, he was real upset,” Nancy says.
“I know. He’s always feisty when they let him out.” His son just spent another few months in Granite Valley Correctional Facility, this time for a DUI.
“That’s no excuse. The girl downstairs must be scared to death!”
The girl, Rachael, is their neighbor, in her late 20s, who lives alone in the first-floor apartment. Her bedroom is right next to the front door. Heath knows the commotion probably woke her up.
“I’ll talk to her tomorrow, tell her there’s nothing to worry about.”
“Is that true?” Nancy asks. She is a large, solid woman. She’s worked as a health aide in a memory care center for years. She’s seen a lot of erratic behavior, but this has unnerved her.
Heath is large too. His round fleshy face, often shiny, makes him look younger than his 40 years.
“Yeah, it’s true. Damn, I’ve got me a troubled kid.”
“22 isn’t exactly what I’d call a kid.”
“I know. But it’s like he’s missing something, you know?”
When Nancy and Heath met six months before at Muckenshnabel’s bar, they spent the night talking and realized they liked each other. A lot. They came to an unspoken pact not to delve too much into their pasts. They both had suffered in different ways but had separately steadied their lives and together, wanted to look forward, not back. This was mostly okay, but there was a lot that Nancy didn’t know so she took advantage of this opening.
“Like what?”
“Like a father. I wasn’t around much.”
“I’m sure you did the best you could.”
“I should have checked in on him more, but I couldn’t stand being around his mother. All we did was fight! I guess that rubbed off on him.”
“That might have done it.” Nancy has three kids. They all live on their own now, nearby. She sees them often and checks in by phone most days. Her kids’ father died in a motorcycle accident when they were young; she never had the chance to get sick of him.
“But that’s no excuse for his behavior now. He can make his own choices. He’s a man and needs to start acting like one,” Nancy adds.
“I know. I was hoping he’d grow out of it, but that doesn’t seem to be happening. I’ll try to find out where he’s staying, go around and talk to him. I hope it’s not too late,” Heath says.
“Too late for what?”
“To mend fences. For us to be a real father and son, you know, the way it’s supposed to be. The way I’d like it to be.”
He sits back on the sagging brown corduroy sofa. Nancy goes to the kitchen and brings him a can of Coke. She touches his face, leans down to give his forehead a kiss. He opens it; the TV is muted so the soft fizz fills the air.
“You’re a good one,” Heath says, taking a sip.
“So are you, baby.”
***
“It’s just for a few days, until I find him a home!”
There is a pit bull puppy, white with a ginger face, racing around their apartment. It’s wagging its tail so hard its entire body is shaking. It gets low to the ground and squirms up to Nancy.
“Okay, he is seriously cute.” She reaches down and scratches the puppy behind its ears. It tries to lick her hand, then rolls over to expose its pink belly.
“It’s a boy!” Nancy walks to the kitchen sink and fills a shallow bowl with water, putting it down on the floor. The puppy lopes over and starts slurping, getting water all over the scuffed beige linoleum. Nancy looks at Heath and shakes her head in mock disapproval.
“You remember Ray, right? Well, he’s staying at the Econo Lodge. And there’s this other guy who’s also staying there, and this guy has this puppy, just living in his truck! And he told Ray he was going to shoot it if someone didn’t take it within a week. That sounded sad to me, so I picked it up,” Heath explains.
“Ray is friends with jerks like that?”
“He’s down on his luck right about now but I don’t think this guy is his friend exactly.”
“We’re not keeping the dog, right?”
“Hell no! Just taking care of it for a few days until we can find it a proper home.”
Nancy starts looking through the kitchen cupboards.
“We don’t have anything for a dog to eat here.”
“I’ll go to the store,” Heath offers.
“Remember to get puppy food. It has to say ‘puppy’ on the label. They have different needs.”
“Of course,” Heath says. He makes a list. Kibble (puppy). Collar. Leash.
“And some bones,” he says, “maybe I’ll get him something to chew on, a toy or something.”
“Good idea.”
When Heath heads out the door, the puppy lays down by it and whimpers.
“You miss your Daddy already?” Nancy says. She can’t wait to tell Heath that the dog cried for him.
***
Heath is carrying a large brown bag, with a sack of dog food peering over the top, when he passes Rachael, who is sitting on the rickety porch with a mug.
“Who is that for?” she asks.
“Oh, a puppy I’m taking care of. Just for a few days.”
“I want to meet her!”
“It’s a him,” Heath says.
“I bet he’s cute,” Rachael says.
“He’s a rascal,” Heath answers then adds, “Hey, what do you think of the name Bruno?”
“For the dog?”
“Yeah.”
“I thought you weren’t keeping him.”
“I’m not. But I have to call him something.”
“I think it’s a great name,” she says. “Kind of tough. Like a guard dog. Which we could use around here.”
“Hey, listen. I’m sorry about the commotion the other night.”
“That’s okay.”
“Did you hear it?”
“Yeah, I mean, it was kind of hard to ignore.”
“Were you scared?”
“I was. He sounded really angry.”
“That’s my son. He only has a beef with me. I’m trying to work it out with him.”
“Good luck,” she says with a wave of her hand. “I haven’t talked to my dad in years.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’s an asshole.”
“I’m truly sorry about that.” Heath pauses then opens his door and heads upstairs.
***
Nancy wakes up early on Saturdays. Cleaning day. Heath is not dirty, but when Nancy moved into their two-bedroom rental three months earlier, she elevated scouring, vacuuming, mopping and laundry to high art. She even gave it its own day. She and Heath put on music, play it loudly, and talk over it as she cleans and he helps, usually futzing, moving things around while she follows closely behind with the vacuum cleaner with squeaky wheels. Add Bruno to the mixture and the ritual seems more like a circus, with him in the starring role as clown. He lunges for the vacuum cleaner, tries to bite it, then hurries away crying when Nancy pulls out the nozzle and holds it in his direction. He follows Heath, helping him to move things, and barks at the broom, trying to bite it and carry it away.
It’s a performance that Rachael hears. And they start it early, so it wakes her up. But the sounds of laughter and singing and now the puppy barking aren’t unpleasant. It sounds like a family. She hears Nancy screaming, “Bruno, stop it!” and then laughter as she and Heath keep talking over Bob Seger’s raspy voice.
“I’m going to see Shane today,” Heath is yelling.
“Hold on.” Nancy turns the music down.
“I found out he’s staying with his mom. She let him back in.”
“So, you thought you’d pay them a visit?”
“Well, him. Except he lives with her so I guess she’s part of it.”
“Will that be alright? I don’t want you getting in any trouble.”
“It’ll be fine. Or not. Hell, I really don’t know. The last time I was on the wrong side of the cell door, I was 19, and I don’t long for that view.”
“Just leave if it gets heated. Turn around. Bruno and I will be here, entertaining ourselves, won’t we Brunie Brun?” Nancy has leaned down to talk to the puppy.
“I heard there’s a dog park over by route 4, near the overpass,” Heath says.
“He’ll need shots before he’s around other dogs.”
“Well, we’ll let his next owner pay for those,” Heath says. Bruno is looking up at them, as if he knows he is the subject of conversation.
“Of course.” Nancy heads to the kitchen to get a milk-bone biscuit for the boy.
***
Heath gets out of Nancy’s Honda Fit. It looks like a toy car with his bulk; when he heaves himself out and puts his feet on the cracked asphalt, the car sighs with relief.
He’s holding a makeshift pack to his eye, some ice in a plastic bag the cashier at Circle K gave him. He usually gets a root beer float there - they have the best vanilla ice cream and the freshest soda, he maintains - but his stomach was feeling queasy.
Rachael is sitting outside again.
“Holy shit! What happened there?” She points to his face.
“Oh, I got into a bit of a scuffle.” Heath’s eyes are red and watery.
Rachael doesn’t say anything but keeps looking at him.
“With my son,” he says. She nods, moves her mouth to the side in a half grimace.
“Did you hit back?” she asks.
“No! No,” he says quickly. “I’ve never done that. Though now I wonder if I shouldn’t have. My boy is wild.”
“I can tell!”
“I just walked away. I turned and walked away. Nancy told me to, and I do what she says.”
“I like Nancy,” Rachael says. “She’s good for our building’s morale.”
“I went to try to make things right with him, that’s all. Any ideas about how to do that? To make the time up?” Heath asks.
“Nope, none at all. I’m no help in the family department,” she says.
“Well, I’m not done trying yet. Maybe I’ll take a breather, but I’m not giving up. Family is the most important thing,” he says. Rachael nods silently.
“You like it out here,” Heath comments.
“I do. It’s the last days of summer. I like to get as much of it as I can. I don’t know, autumn always makes me melancholy.”
“I’ve never thought of the seasons like that, but I guess I can see it. I sure hate long hauls in my truck when it’s minus 20 out,” Heath says.
“So, winter makes you melancholy.”
“I guess so. I guess it does.”
Heath reaches into his jeans pocket. “Look what I got!” He holds out a leather collar with a silver tag dangling from it.
Rachael leans over to read it. The name “Bruno” is engraved on it with a phone number in small letters below.
“Whose number is that?”
“Mine. I figured he needed a proper collar.”
“So you’re keeping him?”
“I haven’t decided yet,” Heath grins.
They can hear Bruno barking loudly at Heath’s door, excited for his owner’s return.
“Get up here before this monster has a heart attack!” Nancy yells from the window.
“Yes, dear.”
Heath waves goodbye and heads upstairs.
***
The leaves are turning colors, orange and red are popping up among the green. Even though it’s sunny, there’s a chill in the air, a faint smell of burnt wood, the juggernaut toward gray days, snow and ice, when people will hunker down inside, eat soup; a lonely time for some. Heath and Nancy walk out the front door, being led by Bruno who is straining at his leash. He’s wearing a bright blue sweater that’s too large for him; his tail is wagging under the fabric that is covering it.
“Hi,” Rachael says to them. She’s sitting on the porch with a large scarf wrapped around her shoulders, a book in her lap.
“Good sleeping weather,” Heath says.
“I never sleep that well,” she answers.
The three of them are focused on Bruno, who is sniffing in the grass. He starts squirming on his back, like he’s trying to scratch an itch in an out of the way spot.
“He’s not used to his sweater yet,” Nancy says.
“It’s a good color for him,” Rachael says.
“I picked it out. There were a lot of choices, but blue for a boy seemed right to me,” Heath explains.
“Your face is looking better,” Rachael says. The once-dark bruise below his right eye is fading, turning yellow at the edges.
“I wish I could forget how I got it.”
The three of them stare down at Bruno.
“I keep telling him that he’s got to forgive himself.” Nancy breaks the silence.
“Let me ask you something,” Heath looks towards Rachael. “Is there anything your dad could do to make things right? I mean, I know it’s probably not the same situation, but I’m racking my brain here and I just can’t figure it out. I refuse to think it’s hopeless, and I’m not someone who likes to give up on things. But I just cannot seem to get this father thing right at all, and I’m not going to lie, it sticks right here,” Heath pats his chest and looks down.
Nancy rubs Heath on the back, the way a parent would, to calm a child.
“If my dad had tried, even a tiny bit, yeah. It’s not rocket science. He doesn’t even know where I live, he’s not curious enough to find out.”
“Would you want to see him if he did?” Heath asks.
“No,” she says decisively. Heath’s still staring at her; his eyes are getting moist.
“But eventually, probably. Yeah, I probably would. I don’t have a lot of people in this world.”
“See? Persistence, baby.” Nancy sighs with relief.
“Okay,” Heath smiles. “Persistence,” he says with a nod. “Persistence!” He points at
Rachael.
Bruno starts whining, a low impatient cry.
“I think Bruno wants to get moving,” Rachael says.
“I’m outnumbered now.” Nancy takes hold of Heath’s hand. She, Heath and Bruno head down the street for their morning walk.
Rebecca Tiger teaches sociology at Middlebury College and in jails in Vermont and lives part-time in New York City. Her stories have appeared in Bending Genres, BULL, JMWW, MER, Peatsmoke, Tiny Molecules, trampset and elsewhere.
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