Miriam Toews - A Boy of Good Breeding

A couple of men in the café noticed S.F. and pointed at her and stared for a while and then went back to their coffee.

When she and S.F. got back to the house they saw Combine Jo lying on the ground in front of the front door. Tom was sitting in a lawn chair beside her wearing a tuque and a down-filled jacket and reading a Dick Francis novel.

“Hello, ladies, how’d the interview go?” asked Tom.

“What the hell is she doing here?” said Knute.

“Do you mean what the hell is she doing here?” said Tom, “or what the hell is she doing here?”

S.F. crawled onto Tom’s lap and peered down at Combine Jo. “Is she dead?” she asked Tom, who looked at Knute and winked.

“No, she’s just resting.” Tom put his head back and swallowed a couple of times for the benefit of S.F. who had, recently, become intrigued with his Adam’s apple and liked to follow its course with her fingertips. “Aack, not so hard, S.F. I’ll choke.” He bulged his eyes and Summer Feelin’ giggled.

“This is ridiculous,” Knute said and went inside the house. She had to step over Combine Jo’s right arm, which was stretched out as a pillow for her head. She had almost made it into the house. Her bloated fingers grazed the sill of the door and, as Knute stepped over her, lifted slightly as if she were waving.

Knute stormed into the house and flung her jacket onto the floor.

“Why the hell is Combine Jo here and what the hell is she doing lying on the ground?” she yelled in the general direction of the den, where Dory had been painting for the past few days.

“Oh, Knutie?” came Dory’s reply. “I’m glad you’re here. Jo fainted and she’s too heavy for Tom and me to move so I just sent Tom out to sit beside her and keep an eye on her ‘til she woke up. You know, it’s warm enough out there today for her to lie there, and anyway he’d likely have another heart attack if he tried to lift her, you know, and my back isn’t—”

“She did not faint, Mother, she passed out. She’s drunk. I’m not a child. I know when somebody is drunk. You know, I’ve been drunk myself, I realize when something like this is happening.”

By now Dory had come out to the kitchen. She was covered in paint and wearing her SoHo T-shirt. Knute was sitting on the counter, swinging her legs like a kid and drinking milk directly from the carton.

“I’m not hauling her inside if that’s what you think,” she sputtered through a mouthful of milk. “Forget it.”

“Okay, okay, Knutie, calm down, okay? Just calm down.” Dory put her hands on Knute’s thighs and looked at her imploringly in very much the same way Knute looked at S.F. when she flapped.

Just then Combine Jo came thrashing through the door holding S.F. in her arms with Tom behind her, invisible except for his arms moving wildly around her trying to make sure she didn’t drop S.F. or smash any part of her against the walls of the front entrance. As Combine Jo and S.F. ricocheted from wall to wall one of Jo’s sleeves caught on the hall mirror, which yanked it right off, sending bits of glass and plaster flying and Tom, still in his tuque, started doing a sort of jig to avoid stepping on it, saying, “Dory? Dory? Dory, you gotta help me here.”

“Goddamn it!” Combine Jo slurred as one of her feet involuntarily slid out in front of her like Fred Astaire and then began to plow her way to the living room couch. “Christ, girl, hang on! We’re almost there!” she told S.F., who answered meekly, “I am. I am.” By this time Tom and Dory were flanking her like two tugs bringing in the Queen Mary , and Knute was frozen to the spot, livid.

“Ho!” Combine Jo belched out as she fell onto the couch. S.F. kind of dropped beside her and then attempted to climb off the couch, but before she could escape Combine Jo grabbed her by the shirt and said, “Not so fast, you little devil. I want to have a good look at you.”

At this point Knute intervened. “Leave her alone, Jo. S.F., come here, sweetie.”

“S.F., come here, sweetie,” Combine Jo mimicked, moving her head back and forth. “Jesus, Knuter, I’m not gonna kill the kid. When the hell are you gonna bury the hatchet, eh, Knute? I’ve apologized until I’m fucking blue in the face.”

“Coffee, Jo?” Dory asked.

“Thanks, honey.” Combine Jo sat on the couch. She was wearing giant Hush Puppies and a tent dress with tiny anchors all over it. She stared at S.F. “God, she’s an angel, Knute. She’s an angel made in heaven. Aw c’mon, let me have her. Let her sit with me for a second. Doncha want to, eh, Summer Feelin’?”

“No.” S.F. tightened her grip on Knute’s hand. Tom was busy sweeping up the broken glass in the hallway. He asked S.F. if she would like to do a puzzle with him in the den and she nodded and flew out of the room.

“Lookit her go. Runnin’ like the goddamn dickens. How old is she, anyway, Knuter? Five, six?”

“Four.”

Combine Jo sighed heavily. “I heard you two were in town, Knute. I had to come and see you. See her. You know I’ve got no way of getting to the city to see you. How was I gonna see you and S.F.?”

“Nobody invited you.”

At this Combine Jo slapped her thigh and barked, “Ha! You haven’t changed at all, Knute. Not one iota. Still a spark plug, you crazy kid. You and I should have a drink together some day. But, you know I like your spunk. I’ve always loved your spunk. And you know what? So did Max. Of all Max’s girlfriends you were my goddamn favourite and that’s no lie. The rest were pffhh … In fact, that’s another reason why I’m here.”

Dory handed Combine Jo her coffee and immediately Jo spilled a few drops on her anchor dress. “Whoops. Shit.” Then Jo did it again. “I’ll be goddamned!” she said. Dory attempted a tortured smile. Knute stood a ways away with her arms folded across her chest. The thought of a drink wasn’t a bad one. But not with her. Knute looked at her and raised her eyebrows placidly in an unfriendly gesture, egging her on.

“Max called me. Finally, the little bastard, and he’s coming home. He’s broke and tired of Europe. Who wouldn’t be? He’s coming back, Knuter. And he wants to see his goddamned daughter!”

“Are you serious?” Marilyn muttered over the phone later that evening. “That’s what she said? Just like that?”

“Yeah. Can you believe it?” Knute was soaking in a tub of hot water and talking to Marilyn on Tom’s new cordless phone. Tom and Dory and S.F. were all in bed together eating popcorn and watching TV. She could hear an occasional laugh track through the bathroom wall.

“I can believe that he’s broke,” said Marilyn.

“Some things never change,” Knute answered.

“What are you gonna do?” she asked.

“I don’t know. What can I do? I can’t keep him from coming back. I’m not gonna leave just because he’s coming back. And besides, he’s not a terrible person or anything, he’s just completely hopeless. I don’t know.”

“Well, he’s an asshole, Knute. He knew you were pregnant and he took off.”

“Well, I kind of told him to get lost.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean get lost, get lost like for five years. It means just fuck off for a while and don’t bug you.”

“Yeah, but he might have figured that out himself if he wasn’t such a slave to his mother. She’s the one who told him his life would be ruined forever if he became a father and stayed in Algren.”

“Well, that’s probably true.”

“Thanks, Marilyn.”

“Well, for Christ’s sake. He’d have to be a total moron to believe her.”

“Yeah, shhh, I know. I know. Actually I think he just wanted to leave. He couldn’t deal with it. I don’t think he ever listened to his mom.”