Matt Lennox - The Carpenter

— Don’t worry about that, Barry. I’ll find something to take care of it.

Barry clasped his hands together and smiled tightly: Can we agree it’s something to discuss with Donna?

— We can agree.

— Good. Are we still seeing you for supper next Thursday?

— I’ll be there. I’ll introduce you to my lady friend.

— We’ll be happy to meet her, said Barry.

— I’ll see you soon.

— Lee, there’s one other thing.

— What’s that?

Barry pushed a pamphlet towards him.

— It’s something to think about. Everybody is here to help, Brother Lee.

Barry went back to Irene’s room and Lee got into the elevator. The pamphlet showed a drawing of a figure contemplating a bottle. It advertised Alcoholics Anonymous. The meeting was held weekly at the Charles Grady Memorial Community Centre. Lee wondered if Barry had even noticed that part. Probably not. He managed a thin chuckle.

He carried the pamphlet with him into the smoking section in the cafeteria. He had a smoke among the ill and the dying, the relatives, the attendants. He put the pamphlet on the table and took his leave.

As he went outside, he thought of the call that faith was supposed to be, the call in your heart. He’d thought he’d heard it once or twice, perhaps, but now, everything that had gone before was doubtful. Everything, it seemed, was just words.

The sun was going down, making long shadows of the gas pumps. Duane was finishing with a customer and Pete was in the store. He kept looking at the clock on the wall.

— You seem like you’re in a hurry tonight, said Caroline. Big date?

Pete shifted his feet.

Caroline nodded: If it’s a date, you’ll have to tell us about it. Go take Duane a hot chocolate. Yes, you can have one too.

Pete went to the coffee stand and mixed powdered hot chocolate and hot water into two Styrofoam cups. He sealed the cups with plastic lids and went outside. The air smelled of cold concrete. He gave one of the hot chocolates to Duane. Duane spat a wad of chewing tobacco into an empty pop can.

— Thanks, said Duane. Feel like working, you dog-fucker?

— Not really, said Pete.

— I thought not. Hey, you know this guy?

Duane was pointing. A Camaro was parked across the lot. Billy was coming towards them at a brisk pace.

— What’s up? called Billy.

Pete crossed the distance to meet Billy halfway.

— What’s up? said Billy.

— I don’t know. What’s up?

— You tell me, you fucking traitor.

Pete did not reply. The heat through the Styrofoam cup was creeping into his fingers. Billy’s face was pale and etched.

— Where are you going tonight, Peter?

— I guess you know already.

— You fucking traitor.

Billy’s voice was gaining an edge. He was so angry that tears had formed in his eyes. He knocked the hot chocolate out of Pete’s hand. It hit the ground and the lid burst off. The hot chocolate steamed on the dark pavement.

— Say something, Peter.

— I don’t know what to say. It just … doesn’t have anything to do with you.

Billy pulled his fist back but then Duane swept between them, barrelled up against Billy, pushed him away. Billy kept calling Pete a fucking traitor. Pete happened to glance over at the store. Caroline was watching from the window. Duane walked Billy backwards, speaking to him all the while. There was no real fight in Billy anyway. There was only hurt etched on his face.

— You’re a fucking traitor, Peter.

A few feet farther on, Duane released Billy. Billy pushed Duane away and shook his shoulders. He pointed at Pete and said they were done. Then he slouched away in the direction of his car. Pete and Duane looked back at the gas pumps but no customers had come in the meantime.

— You okay? said Duane.

— I’m fine.

Pete bent down and numbly retrieved the Styrofoam cup. They walked back and Pete dropped the cup in a garbage can. His hands were shaking and the image of Billy’s hurt face seemed to have been burned into his mind. If there’d been anything to do or say before, the opportunity was lost now.

By this time Caroline had come outside. She came right up in front of Pete, not standing as tall as his chest.

— You, mister, keep your personal shit away from here. I’m trying to run a business. Understand?

— I’m sorry, said Pete.

She went wordlessly back to the store.

Duane leaned against one of the pumps. He looked amused. He said: A girl between buddies, I’m guessing.

— Everything changed when I met her. I just wish he could have seen that at the time.

Pete drove into town. He was stiff inside a brown tuxedo and dress shirt he’d rented. He didn’t know why, exactly, but he swung past Lee’s place first. For advice of some kind, perhaps? There was also a desire just to see the man, given the accident he’d survived a few weeks previous. But at Lee’s place, the windows were dark. That seemed to be the case lately. Maybe he was on one of his long, town-wide walks, hunched into his coat, smoking a cigarette. Pete drove on.

The address Emily had given him was the house of her friend Samantha, who lived on Harding Crescent, up near the golf course. It was a nice part of town. Snow lay on lawns and rooftops and the tops of hedges. There was light in the windows of Samantha’s house. Pete parked behind another car. A corsage of small roses he’d purchased sat in a box on the passenger seat. He took it and got out of the car and crossed over to the porch.

Samantha opened the door. He had a vague memory of her from the party at Nancy’s house in the fall-she’d spent the night conspiring in the kitchen. Samantha was wearing a purple formal gown and was heavily made up. She nodded, and she called out to Emily that Pete had arrived, but Emily had already appeared in the hallway.

She looked coolly elegant, much as she had the first time he’d ever seen her, in the church when she’d played the piano. She was dressed in a pale satin dress, fitted in the bodice, bare across the shoulders. She was smiling as she came forward, and Pete felt his breath catch in his throat. She smelled like lilacs, and when she said hello there was peppermint schnapps on her breath.

Pete held up the corsage. Emily told him to come in, that they’d go soon.

Samantha was in the living room with her boyfriend, Doug. Doug’s tuxedo trousers were short by a full two inches, and he’d paired white sports socks with the brown leather shoes he was wearing. Doug and the girls finished the drinks they’d been working on and they all went out and got into Pete’s car and set off for Heron Heights. Doug pawed at Samantha in the back seat. She was slapping his hand and laughing. They passed a mickey of rum between them and offered it to Emily. She had a sip of it, made a face, and passed it back. The corsage was pinned over her breast. She was wearing snow boots, but had brought along a pair of high heels to wear at the dance. Pete kept looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

They’d spent much of the past two weeks seeing each other. She’d called him at work one day, a little while after he’d seen her at the hospital. She’d admonished him for not calling her. The first two times they’d spent together, they barely touched. He’d not dared to put words to what might be happening. He avoided Billy entirely. Then, on a weekend afternoon, he and Emily had gone walking by the river and she’d stopped abruptly and said he’d better give her a kiss.

In the car now, Emily asked Pete how work was. He answered briefly, agreeably. He didn’t say anything about Billy’s visit.

They arrived at Heron Heights at a quarter past eight. Pete had only gone to a few dances at his old high school. He’d never gone to a formal.