Brock Clarke - The Happiest People in the World

“They’re so small,” he said to Ellen, who was standing behind the bar. “Are these really the wings of a chicken?”

“Yes,” Ellen said. Although really she had no idea. Now that he mentioned it, they didn’t look like the wings of any chicken she’d ever seen. Some of them were drumsticks, not wings at all. But they did come in an enormous bag that said CHICKEN WINGS. “That’s what it says on the bag,” Ellen said. But it didn’t seem to matter to him what they were: Henry kept eating them. If he didn’t stop, eventually he’d get fat, like everyone else. But for now, here he was, the slimmest, most handsome chicken-wing-eating Swede Ellen had ever seen. A Swede, not a Dane, right? She wondered that, because why would a Swede be calling Denmark at 5:17 at night from Matty’s phone? Did you call Denmark from Matty’s office phone last night at five seventeen? Ellen almost asked him, for the fourth time. But she didn’t. There is a kind of IOU embedded in the psyche of the about-to-be-wed, the postponement of the paying of the bet that is the marriage itself. I’ll forgive, or ignore, this latest thing, the engaged thinks. But if there’s one more thing. . Although maybe this wasn’t limited to people who were preparing to be married. After all, Ellen had made similar promises to herself about Matty when she was still married to him, until finally there was the one more thing, which was Henry.

“Did I ever tell you,” Ellen said, “the name of the woman Matty cheated on me with?” When Ellen said that, she thought of Matty — not of him cheating on her, but of how he, in their distant past life together, had gently teased her about ending sentences with prepositions. Later on, in their more recent past life together, the teasing had been so ungentle that it couldn’t be called teasing. But back further, when Kurt was a baby, a toddler, the teasing was gentle, full of love. Those were good times, Ellen thought, and then thought, Why am I thinking about this now? Meanwhile, Henry was still working on his wings. She’d never talked about this before with Henry. In some ridiculous but definite way, she thought talking about it would diminish her in Henry’s eyes. And if it did that now, if she told him about Locs and Matty, and Henry looked or acted or talked about it as though her talking about it made her a lesser person, then that would be the one more thing. “Her name was Locs.” Henry didn’t react; he was busy stripping the meat from the bones with his teeth . Had he always eaten this loudly? Maybe he hadn’t even heard her over the deafening crunching of his disgusting wing eating. Ellen said, louder this time, “Locs!” This time Henry flinched.

“Yes, I heard you,” Henry said. He placed the last gnawed bone in the basket, wiped his hands on a napkin, crumpled it, threw it in the basket also. “Locs,” he repeated. “Was that her first or last name?”

“Neither.”

Henry nodded as though this made sense. He stood up and walked behind the bar until he was standing in front of her. He put his hands on her shoulders, gently. “I knew about this,” he said.

“This what?”

“This Locs.”

“How?”

He shrugged. “People talking,” he said. And there, he’d done it! He’d made her feel diminished! But now he was looking at her like she wasn’t diminished in the slightest. “I am going to marry you in two days,” he said. And then he kissed her, and then she didn’t feel diminished anymore. She did almost ask him, for the fifth time, Did you call Denmark from Matty’s office phone last night at five seventeen? But then she didn’t because they were kissing. But one more thing, she thought. And then she stopped kissing him and refilled the old guys’ juice glasses, and then she and Henry started putting up streamers in preparation for their wedding, day after next. They worked in silence — hammer, nail, streamer, repeat — until Ellen said, “Kurt’s band concert is tomorrow.” Henry nodded. He looked at her as if wanting more information. “You don’t have to go, you know.” Because unlike the baseball game, faculty and staff attendance at the concert wasn’t required. Henry got down off his ladder, and Ellen hers. They moved both several feet to the right and then climbed their ladders again, holding another streamer between them.

“Kurt is going to be my stepson,” Henry finally said. It was just another declarative sentence; Henry was locally famous for them — famous for approving or disapproving of them, famous for speaking them. But this one felt more important — for Ellen, and maybe for Henry, too. “I want to go,” he said.

“I want you to go,” Ellen said.

“Then I will go,” Henry said.

Downstairs, Matty and Lawrence were drinking their drinks, sitting next to the woodstove. Upstairs, Kurt was messing around with his trumpet. You could not call it practicing, although a few minutes earlier Matty had reminded Kurt that he needed to go practice his trumpet for the concert tomorrow. Now, intermittent aggrieved noises drifted downstairs; it sounded, to Matty, like a lamb who every now and then remembered that it was supposed to bleat. Meanwhile, Lawrence was looking thoughtfully at the woodstove, bobbing his head as though in actual appreciation of the sounds coming from upstairs.

“Vienna!” he started to say, but Matty interrupted.

“Yesterday,” he said, “Kurt thought Henry was a spy.” Lawrence listened — to Matty, to Kurt and his trumpet — nodding, nodding. “Today, he’s not so sure.”

“No?” Lawrence stopped nodding. He looked at his brother. “What do you think?”

“I think he’s the guy who stole my wife,” Matty said, and Lawrence started nodding again. “I think he’s also the person who called Denmark on my office phone last night.” And then he told Lawrence the story: Of how Gina had told him about the phone call. Of how Ellen had come into the office. Of how Matty was pretty sure she and he were reaching the same conclusion about the phone call. Of how. . and wow, Matty really wanted to tell Lawrence the truth. Ever since Ellen had left him, ever since Locs had disappeared, Matty had really wanted to be able to confide in someone; he had really wanted someone to trust. He had always loved Lawrence, but he had never exactly trusted him. Things were different now. Besides, if you can’t trust your brother. . But that was a rhetorical question and not worth finishing. Matty told his brother the truth anyway. “According the phone records, the call was made just after eleven. But I told Ellen that it was made at five seventeen.”

Lawrence stopped nodding again. He looked at his brother with wide eyes, as if seeing him for the very first time. “Which was when our Henry was out perambulating.”

“I guess.”

“By himself.”

“I miss Ellen.”

“Do you miss Locs?” Lawrence said. Matty had never mentioned Locs to Lawrence. But he’d assumed he knew; he assumed everyone in Broomeville knew. Now he knew they knew; he knew his brother knew. Matty felt it again: shame, regret, defiance, loss, shame. But Lawrence was nodding in an encouraging way. You can tell me anything, the nod seemed to say.

“That doesn’t matter anymore,” Matty finally said.

“Probably not.”

“I shouldn’t have lied to Ellen about that phone call.”

“Probably not.” But Lawrence was smiling when he said it. That made Matty feel very good. For the first time in a long time, maybe ever, Matty felt what a lucky thing it was to have a brother. “The great game!” Lawrence shouted.

“What does that mean?” Matty asked, and then he was sorry he had, because all the joy drained out of Lawrence’s face. Lawrence sipped a little raki in a transparent attempt to try to compose himself and then tried to explain his meaning.