David Gates - Preston Falls

"You're in the office?" says WiUis.

"Yes. Where else would I be? Ms. Schoemer's going to see him this afternoon." School psychologist. They've dealt with her too.

PRESTON FALLS

"Then I guess justice has been served," says Willis.

"Listen, I have a meeting. I just thought you should know. Are you aU right?"

"Never better," he says.

"Okay, I have to go," she says.

"So I guess I should come down."

"What for?"

"You know, to help deal with this. Did Carol get there?"

"Not yet," she says. "There's no need for you to interrupt what you're doing. I'm taking off early so I can pick him up, and I thought we'd go someplace, just the two of us, and try to talk."

"Hey, good luck."

"Well, what would you suggest? No/ talking?"

"No, you're right," he says. "What else can you do? It's just, you know, first the shrink talks his ear off and—"

"That's not what she does," Jean says. "Listen, I have to get going."

"I'll be down sometime this afternoon."

"Please don't. I don't want you to."

"Jean, this is my responsibility too."

"Is that supposed to be funny?" she says. "I have to go."

Willis goes down, gets more coffee, eats some Cheerios. When he comes back upstairs there's E-mail from Carey Wyman: here's a draft, would welcome your input, cheers, carey. And then the spiel. Willis dumps it without reading, hits Reply and types: suits me if it suits you. In case that sounds hostile, he adds: break a leg.

And a message comes back: thanks, it's with marty now, so i'm keeping my fingers crossed, cheers, carey. Meaning he'd already sent it on. So much for Willis's input.

The phone rings again.

"So what do you think?" says Marty. "He sent it to you, right?"

"Yeah. I told him it seemed fine."

"Including the 'hopefully'? You've heard Bucky on the subject of 'hopefully.' "

"Oh," says Willis. "Oopsy."

"I guess you've got other things on your mind."

"I do, actually," says Willis. "Jean just called and told me that Roger got in a fight with some kid at school."

"Yeah? Clean his clock for him?"

I 4 3

"Sounds like it. The other kid was the one they had to take to the nurse's office."

"Hey. Way to go."

"Well, opinions vary," says Willis. "At any rate, I've got to go down there this afternoon, so give a shout if you need me to come in tomorrow."

"For this} Nah, I can clean it up from here. But listen, while we're on the subject. You are coming back, right? Reason I ask, if anybody let me out of the cage for two solid months. . you know. Be like putting the toothpaste back in the tube."

"But you'd go" Willis says. "I mean, you'd have to."

''Have to, what's that?" Marty says. "You know? You have to breathe. I don't know, I just get a funny feeling."

"And it's what makes you the great sports-drink executive you are," says Willis. "Marty. I have a house— two houses — two sets of bills, wife and family, car payments. . Believe me: if ever a man was gotten by the balls."

"I hate to pop your bubble," says Marty, "but your situation is not absolutely unique. The thing is, I just know how quickly everything can disappear from a person's screen. Shit, I don't know, this is verging on the weird."

"No no no, I appreciate the concern," says Willis. "Though I guess I'm not sure what this is about, exactly. They don't have any tramp steamers up here."

"Forget it," Marty says. "I'm probably just projecting. Read: envious. Listen, thanks for helping out."

"Hey, my parting gift to the world," says Willis. " 'Tis a far, far better thing I do. What is the answer? Very well, then, what is the question? On the whole, I'd rather be in Philadelphia."

"Ho-kay," says Marty. "I'll leave you to your whatever."

It's still daylight when Willis pulls into the driveway in Chesterton: two strips of pebbly concrete with grass between, from the days of cars with running boards. At least the people who owned the house before had the taste not to blacktop it, and not to replace the wooden Z-braced garage doors with an overhead one. Though more likely they couldn't afford to. The Cherokee's gone; he walks up the driveway, looking at the velvety green moss filling the cracks in the concrete, then cuts across the grass to the kitchen door. There's Rathbone, on his hind legs, looking out. Willis says "Bone-face!" and turns the knob — except the son of a bitch won't turn. He feels in his pocket for his house keys. Shit, He knocks, on the off chance. Well, if all else fails there's a key taped to the bottom of one of the garbage cans.

Footsteps, and here comes Mel.

She opens the door and says, "Daddy, what are you doing here?" Rathbone slithers out, his whole rear end wagging, and jumps up on WiUis.

"I live here. Good dog, yes, I'm glad to see you too." Rathbone has his paws around Willis's waist. Willis rubs him behind his silky ears. "How are you, sweetheart?"

"I'm all right," Mel says.

"You don't mind if I come in?"

"Dad-dy/' she says, and stands aside. He shuts the door behind him and tosses his jacket on the Cosco stool. Rathbone's still dancing around, toenails clicking.

"Yes, you're a good boy," says Willis. "Has he been out lately?"

"He's just glad to see you," says Mel.

"Where's the Mom?"

"She had to go shopping."

"Ah," he says. "She take Roger with her?"

I 4 S

"No. She tried to make him go, but he wouldn't, and then she got mad and made him go to his room. Do you want some tea. Daddy? O-kay, Rathbone. Chill. "

"No. No, thanks," he says. "I might make some coffee later. Sit." Rathbone sits, but his tail keeps sweeping.

"Tea's better for you."

He follows her into the living room. She sits, cross-legged, on the couch, where he's glad to see she has a book open, face-down, and a loose-leaf notebook. The soles of her white socks show hardly any dirt. Brooding over the couch is this picture Jean once painted of a bed with nobody in it. The folds of the quilt are some kind of tour de force, apparently, but you can't miss what it's fucking about.

"How's the homework this year?" he says. He sits on the wooden chair, so as not to get too comfortable; he's got to go up and deal.

"I don't know. It's just homework."

"Hey, I guess that's why they call it homework."

"Did you come because of Roger?"

"Well, it gave me an excuse," he says. Her book, he sees, is 1 Know Why the Caged Bird Sings.

"Yeah, like you really wanted to." She's twisting hair around a finger.

"Hey, it beats sitting in jail," he says, on sudden inspiration. It's a lighthearted way of broaching the unbroachable. Though now that he's said it, he's not so sure. Mel continues twisting her hair. Their first mistake with her was naming her Melanie: since he and Jean are both dark, he pictured her with this glistening black hair. (Trust Willis to know the etymology of every fucking thing.) But by the time she was six, her hair had turned brown-to-blond, and here she is, stuck with the name Melanie Willis. Like some Hollywood personage. He's thinking of Bruce Willis and Melanie What's-her-face, the slutty one. Though actually it's Bruce Willis and whoever the other one is. Willis prides himself on not keeping up.

"Listen, I'm very sorry you had to be there for that," he says. "I guess I was more stressed out than I'd, sort of, given myself credit for." Has he made this speech already?

"What were you stressed out about?" she says.

"I don't know. Work, mostly." She seems to accept this. At least she says nothing. "So the Mom left you guys here by yourselves?"

"Why wouldn't she?" says Melanie. "I've only been doing home-alones since I was like Roger's age. And don't call her the Mom, okay?"

PRESTON FALLS

"I guess you have, haven't you? God, I feel like Rip Van Winkle. Hey, there you go, that would be a good trivia question. What was the name of Rip Van Winkle's dog — no, wait. First, who was Rip Van Winkle?"