David Gates - Preston Falls

Mel shrugs. It's true, Jean does get this self-righteous tone when she talks to Mel about her work, as if she's doing it on feminist principle. Which she is, partly. Poor Mel was so bored when she brought her into the office on what Willis called Teach Our Daughters to Buy Into the Shit Day

"Listen," she says, "we really need to get Roger to bed. It would help tremendously if you got your things together and you were all ready to go, okay? And I'll try to get him moving."

She goes down into the kitchen, opens the door to the basement and calls hello. No answer; she clomps coming down the stairs, to give additional warning. Roger's sitting on the black leather sofa they have down there, and she sees him quickly slip a magazine between the arm and the seat cushion. Beside him she sees a copy oi Soldier of Fortune. Good God. So what was he reading that's even worse?

" 'Sup," Cody Miller calls, from the seat of some machine with weights and cables. He's wearing shorts and a soaked-through tank top, his broad face and bulging shoulders beaded with sweat. He bares his teeth, a vein bulges out in his forehead and tendons stiffen in his neck; he grunts, and twin stacks of black weights inch up on their cables.

"HeUo, Cody," she says. She turns to Roger. "And how's my guy?"

Roger says nothing.

"What are you reading?" she says. Useless with Cody here, but how can she not try?

"Nothing."

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She lets the silence go on for a few beats to let him know he's not fooling her, then says, "We have to get going, dear. Say goodbye to Cody? Cody, thanks for looking after Roger."

Cody, gasping, can only nod.

"Would you get your things together, please?" she says.

"They're upstairs," says Roger.

"So in that case…" She points her thumb up.

"O-kay" he says, and starts trudging up the steps. He hasn't, in fact, said goodbye to Cody. She walks over to the sofa and pulls out the magazine. It's some bodybuilding thing: color pictures of men with ugly oiled muscles and, apparently, no penises. Is this what Mel was talking about the other night? Maybe she'd better search his room. She sets the bodybuilding magazine on top of Soldier of Fortune, just to put Cody on notice. Well, Roger won't be coming back here — and if that's a wrong attitude, fine. So is this what all the push-ups and stuff are about? But what's she supposed to do now — confiscate his hand weights?

Upstairs in the foyer, Mel's pulling on her sweatshirt and lifting her long hair up out of the neck hole as Erin whispers to her. Rosellen Miller appears in the kitchen doorway, waving a bottle of Martini & Rossi vermouth. "Are you sure I can't tempt you?" She must have grabbed a bottle at random from the liquor cabinet to illustrate the idea of a drink.

"We really can't," says Jean. "Can I call you later, though? I still want to hear about what we were starting to discuss." She nods toward Roger, who's shouldering his backpack.

"Oh, that," says Rosellen. "Really, it wasn't anything. But sure, if you want. We're usually up right through Letterman. It's so funny: with my other two I'd be out like a light at ten. But this time I have all this energy? So weird. It's driving Wayne out of his mind, because I'm finding all these projects around the house? You know how wives used to send their husbands out for pistachio ice cream in the middle of the night? I'm always sending Wayne to Home Depot. He doesn't know this yet, but the next thing I want him to do is put a peephole. I mean, we have a chain but no peephole.''

Jean shakes her head to show sympathy. "Listen," she says, "thanks so much for doing this. Thank Wayne for me too, would you?"

"Don't even think about it," says Rosellen. "If you ever need help, Mel and Roger are always welcome."

"That's really nice of you." Jean should say she'd be glad to return the favor, but the fact is.

PRESTON FALLS

It's started raining: the flagstone walk gleams in the lantern's light, and sharp little drops sting their faces on their way to the Cherokee.

"Aren't we going to flip for shotgun?" says Roger.

"Let's just get in first." Jean starts the Cherokee and gets the blower going before clicking on the map light and finding a quarter in her change purse. This rain or whatever is ticking against the roof and bouncing off the windshield. Mel wins the toss; Roger says "Crap" — borderline permissible — and climbs into the back seat. The headlight beams pick out slants of what Jean hopes isn't actual sleet. She pulls the lever to go into four-wheel, and the thing lights up that reads PART TIME. The words always seem to have a bad meaning that she can't quite pin down. (Now, what could that be?)

Sounds like Rosellen Miller knows something's up. Did she worm it out of the kids directly, or did it come from Mel by way of Erin? And from Rosellen to the rest of the world. (Or is that unfair?) God, this is just what Carol was talking about: all this energy poured into maintaining the silence. But tonight really isn't the time to tell them. They're about to go to bed — then tomorrow she has to be away, and this is obviously not a thing you can just dump on them and merrily traipse off somewhere. Jerry did say it would be okay to skip this if there was a problem, but it would be stupid.to think he meant it was okay for there to be a problem.

"So," says Jean, turning left from Dogwood onto Lochbourne. "What did you guys have for dinner?"

"Tacos," says Mel.

''That sounds good," says Jean. "I heard there was some kind of a problem, though? At dinner? What was that about?" She glances in the mirror: Roger's staring straight ahead. Oncoming headlights whiten his face; then it goes dark again.

Mel says, "Well, Erin's mom—"

"You better shut up," says Roger.

"Then suppose you tell me what happened," says Jean.

"/ didn't do anything," he says.

"It wasn't Roger's fault," says Mel.

"I said shut up.''

"Roger, let your sister talk. It sounds like she's on your side, right?"

"You better not, Mel," he says.

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"Roger, enough," says Jean. "Mel?"

"Okay, Erin's mom was asking Roger all this stuff about Daddy?"

Jean checks the mirror again. Roger has his eyes closed. "What kind of stuff?"

"I don't know," says Mel. "Like when did we go up to the country the last time, and she's like, Well, you talk to him on the phone, don't you? Kind of like she was picking on Roger. Or not picking on him but trying to get him to say stuff?"

"Is that how you felt, Rog?" says Jean. "That she was questioning you?"

Roger says nothing.

"She was" says Mel. "Roger's sitting there going, I don't know, I don't know — you know, the way he does? And she's like. You don't know if you talk to him on the phone, Roger? And so Erin's dad finally goes. Leave the poor kid alone. To Erin's mom. But by now Roger's like really upset, and he calls Erin's dad a bad word. Not her mom. I would've called her the word."

"So would I," says Jean. "Is that pretty much what happened, Rog?"

"No."

"But Roger, it is J' Mel says.

"Is there something she said that you want to disagree with?" says Jean.

"No."

"I see. Well, from what Mel's saying, it sounds to me like Mrs. Miller was out of line. You were out of line for using bad language, but I can understand why you were upset. It's a really uncomfortable thing, telling a grownup that you don't feel like talking about something. But for the future, it's perfectly okay not to answer things you think are too personal. You can just say, T'm sorry, but I don't feel like talking about that.' Okay?"

No answer.

The light at the corner of Main Street turns yellow, then red, and Jean pulls up behind a Grand Cherokee. Roger has been complaining because they only have a regular Cherokee; at least he's too preoccupied now to get into that. (Mel, on the other hand, hates all sports-utility vehicles because they waste fuel.)