A. Rich - The Hand That Feeds You

• • •

I had once read a story with a scene between a man and woman in a long and turbulent relationship; the woman turns to her companion and says, “It could be so easy.” That comment moved me, its resignation and still the simple wish. What is ever easy?

The news from McKenzie later that afternoon was not what I wanted to hear: the judge had rejected the appeal for a stay of execution for George. He would be killed by lethal injection the next day. McKenzie’s voice was strained. He said he was about to file an appeal for Cloud to be allowed to go home, if muzzled and insured as prescribed by law. “I’m so sorry,” he said.

I could not believe there was nothing more to be done.

“Would you like me to go with you to see him at the shelter?” McKenzie asked. “I can meet you there in the morning.”

“That’s nice of you to offer.” I was already planning a visit within the hour. We agreed to meet in the filthy lobby of the shelter at 11:00 a.m.

I phoned Billie and told her I wanted to bring George a good dinner, and could she slip me in to give it to him? She told me she wouldn’t officially be on duty, but that she would show up anyway, and, yes, we’d give him his special dinner.

I went to a market and bought two pounds of rare roast beef. Then I bought a pound of honey-glazed ham. And a bag of wavy Lay’s potato chips. What the hell, old boy.

• • •

On the subway to the shelter, I distracted myself with music. I scrolled through my playlists until I found Jack White’s “Love Interruption.” It haunted me at the best of times, and now I sought it to match my state of mind. Love is always interrupted, is it not? “I want love / to… stick a knife inside me /…”

I got off at 116th Street and headed up to 119th Street and then toward the river. Gusts of wind buffeted me. Volunteers walked dogs dressed in thin jackets that had ADOPT ME printed in large block letters on them. Like the viral video of the woman dancing alone at a bus stop, an old Hispanic woman was swaying to a tune in her head, waiting for the crosstown bus. From a second-story apartment window, a hand reached through the bars to empty a Dustbuster onto the sidewalk, which was already littered with the usual mystery of chicken bones. A trio of Dominican women flirted with a couple of men who’d caught their eye; I noticed this because it was the women who had the power and knew it.

Billie was waiting for me outside the shelter annex. She gave me a warm hug and took me in the side entrance, bypassing the lobby. I avoided eye contact with kennel workers and acted as though I belonged here. Billie slipped us into the locked ward where my dogs were housed. She reminded me of a practiced hostess, keeping others’ spirits up, choreographing gently, showing one where to sit, not giving in, in this terrible place, to the feelings one expected. I was grateful to her for taking over in this casual and kind way. It calmed me and had the same effect on the dogs.

Billie and I sat on the filthy ward floor, so close together that our shoulders touched. We took turns rolling up slices of meat and slipping them through the bars for both dogs. We tried to help them savor it by holding one end of the treat, forcing them to taste before swallowing. When we had emptied the bag of roast beef and ham and chips, we fed them the Scottish shortbread that Billie had brought.

Despite the heavy dinner, the dogs looked surprised that there wasn’t more.

• • •

The next morning, McKenzie met me at the entrance to the shelter. He said, “I tried to reach you. They took him early.”

I would be lying to myself if I didn’t acknowledge how relieved I was that my last memory of him would be joyous, him downing the greatest dinner of his life. But that didn’t keep me from simultaneously stumbling backward, McKenzie’s arms steadying me. He kept his arms around me and we just stood there in the cold, not talking. He knew better than to try to console me.

I was on my way to Steven’s for a halfhearted nod to Thanksgiving. He had offered to pick up the basics from Citarella and said I only needed to show up with the pie. I was about a block from his apartment when Billie called on my cell.

“I know how you’re feeling and I wanted you to know that you’re not alone with that.”

“What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” I asked, thinking that if she had no plans, I might invite her along to Steven’s.

“I volunteer at a soup kitchen — St. Cecilia RC parish in Greenpoint.”

I felt one-upped and tried to shake off the feeling. It was nice what she was doing; it didn’t have to mean I was selfish to celebrate with my brother.

“If you finish by eight, you’re welcome to stop by my brother’s for some pumpkin pie.”

“That’s a nice invitation, but McKenzie asked me to have a drink with him when I finished.”

I saw the aura that migraine victims experience before the pain kicks in. I felt helpless and blinded by fizzing light.

“Are you there?”

I realized I had said nothing in response to this news. “I’m here.”

“Did I upset you? Wait — you’re not interested in McKenzie, are you?”

“It’s too soon for me to think about something like that,” I managed.

“Of course. But you can see why I am. Humane and handsome.”

“I’m getting on the subway,” I lied.

Billie sent her best to my brother.

• • •

Steven had bought enough food for a dozen guests.

“I hope you have room in your freezer,” I said.

The TV was on, a documentary we’d already seen twice, about Danny Way, the guy who jumped the Great Wall of China on a skateboard. Waiting for Lightning was part of Steven’s collection of DVDs on extreme-sports heroes. We often watched together: Laird Hamilton and Travis Pastrana were in it, too. We found it inspiring to see the person who was the best in the world at what he did, and who had achieved this against heavy odds.

Steven had already set the table, even lighting candles. The effect would have been complete if he hadn’t been wearing flannel pajama pants and a THRASHER T-shirt.

“I could watch him every day,” I said.

“You want some wine?”

“I want a drink drink. You have any vodka?”

He took a bottle of Stoli out of the freezer. “You’ve earned it,” he said, handing it to me.

I poured myself a double. Steven did the same. We raised our glasses.

“To George,” he said.

We took our places at the table, surrounded by food pretty enough to be photographed. I put some of everything on my plate, knowing I wouldn’t be able to eat.

“I heard from Billie on my way over just now. I invited her to join us but she’s meeting up with McKenzie later,” I said, fishing for a reaction. Sometimes we ask for the very thing that will undo us.

“He’s seeing her again?” Steven asked, then saw in my face the weight of the word again. “Listen, it’s going to last about three minutes. In fact, the three minutes are probably up.”

“Shit, he slept with her already?”

“She has one setting: high.”

“Did he say that, or is that your observation?”

“You’ve seen her.”

What had I seen? A beautiful and energetic woman whose confidence carried her past roadblocks. What man would turn her down?

“But I didn’t see it coming,” Steven said.

“Why not?”

“You never met McKenzie’s wife, Louise. Don’t think he’s quite over her. She was in law school with us. Her gaze was focused outward, not on herself. I had a thing for her myself. So did every guy in the class.”

“Was she that compelling?”

“She was just so comfortable in her skin. She had a kind of confidence. There was nothing coy about her. I never understood why some women think coyness is appealing to a man. It’s just silly. Claire had it, too, that confidence; you can’t meet it halfway.”