Callan Wink - Dog Run Moon

It took them two loads of sandbags until they had something that seemed capable of holding back the water. The rain had slackened, and they sat on the back porch, exhausted. Jeannette had gotten them beers and they drank watching the water rush by, still rising.

Eventually Jeannette stood and gathered their empties. “I want you both to go home and get cleaned up,” she said. “And then I want you both to come right back over for dinner. I’ve got lasagna that I made last week and froze. I can heat it up and make a salad and some garlic bread.” Dale’s father was starting to say something to protest but she held up her hand to cut him off. “I insist,” she said. “Dinner in forty-five minutes. Hit the showers. I make a damn good lasagna.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

—

After dinner, Dale’s father thanked Jeannette, and she hugged him, kissed his cheek, his face going red. Dale walked him out to the porch.

“I guess you’ll not be needing a ride home?”

Dale shook his head. “Guess not.”

“Can’t say that I blame you there.”

“Yep.”

“That was good lasagna.”

“Not bad.”

“Well.” He was looking down, scratching at his beard. He cleared his throat and spit. “Good work, son.” He stomped down the steps and Dale could hear him belching as he swung into the cab of his truck.

Dale went back inside and helped Jeannette with the dishes. They went to the porch with a blanket wrapped around them, listening, trying to gauge the depth of the water in the dim broadcast of the moon, not talking much. Eventually she fell asleep with her head on his chest, her arms and legs twitching occasionally.

Dale woke, sun just peeking up over the lilac bushes in the backyard. One of the boys was crying, he could hear it coming through the upstairs window. Jeannette was still sleeping, curled, knees to chest with her back to him. He waited for a moment for her to wake up, but the boy continued to wail, and she showed no sign of movement. He nudged her and she groaned and rolled over, her face still under the blanket.

“One of the boys is up,” he said.

She said something, mostly unintelligible, that might have been, “It’s your turn.”

Dale lay there listening to the boy wail for a few more moments. He slipped from under the blanket and squelched across the soggy, cold lawn in his bare feet. There was a brown scum line on the sandbags marking the high point the creek had reached. Their wall had held. The creek was still rushing but it had settled back within its banks, running straight and hard and tea colored. He walked back to the porch, and the lump under the blanket that was Jeannette had not stirred. It was silent, and then another sob from upstairs. Dale deliberated for a moment.

He went inside. They’re just kids, he was thinking, why are you nervous? He opened the door to the boys’ room and immediately, the crying stopped. They looked at him expectantly, red faced.

“Mom?” one of them said, trying to look around Dale to see if she was back there.

“She’s still sleeping,” Dale said. “Let’s let her sleep.” They were staring at him. The younger one was looking like he was going to start crying again. “Do you guys like coffee?”

Silence. The older one shook his head.

“I bet your mom doesn’t let you have coffee, does she? No? Well, she’s asleep so we can do whatever we want. Let’s go. We’re going to have to hurry before she wakes up and shuts us down.” Dale headed downstairs, not sure if they were going to follow. He was filling the carafe with water when they came into the kitchen, blinking, hair standing on end.

“It’s very important to do this correctly,” he said. “Come here and watch this. You’ve got to put five scoops of grounds in the filter. Okay? Five. Your mom makes coffee and she puts in four, on a good day. We’re men. Right? We want strong coffee. Five scoops. Got it?”

Serious nods.

“Okay. We need mugs. Lots of Cream. Lots of Sugar. When you get older you’ll drink it black. But this is how you start. It’s how my dad used to make mine. You don’t want to go right to the hard stuff.” They sat at the kitchen island. Each with a mug in front of him.

“Now what?” one of them asked.

“We drink our coffee. We talk about the weather.”

“It stopped raining,” one of them said, looking out the window.

“Yep,” Dale said. “I think it’s going to be a nice day.”

“It’s been raining a lot.”

“I like snow better than rain.”

“I like it when it’s sunny.”

“You guys are naturals at this,” Dale said.

Jeannette came in the back door. She had the blanket wrapped around her shoulders and her eyes were puffy. She stopped when she saw them sitting there, Dale with her two boys. He could imagine the way it looked to her. The scene almost the way it should be, one note off. If she was jarred by it, she hid it well.

“Dale made us coffee,” one of the boys said. “And we’re talking about the weather.”

Jeannette sat down. “Girls allowed?”

“I guess.”

She reached for Dale’s mug. I can’t believe I slept for so long,” she said. “Jesus. My back. I’m too old for sleeping on porches.” She was squeezing his knee under the counter, smiling at him.

“We didn’t flood,” Dale said.

“I noticed. I’m going to bake your dad a pie or something. My god, this coffee is horrible. Are you boys actually drinking this?”

“It’s good,” one of them said.

“Because we’re men,” said the other.

—

The summer progressed. Dale studied for his test. He ran in the mornings when it was still cool. Sometimes there was fog coming off the river, and when this happened he found himself picking up the pace, unable to see more than an arm’s length in front of his face, a headlong feeling. Less like running, more like falling.

He did a few more ride-alongs. A few minor incidents, nothing like that first night. He was there for a shooting. An accident, two kids playing with their dad’s handgun. The one kid shot through the leg, a puckered purple hole, his face white. Dale helped carry the stretcher and load the kid into the ambulance. “My dad is going to be so pissed,” the kid was saying. “Is this expensive? It is, isn’t it? He’s going to kill me.”

“You’re all right, man,” Dale said to him. “Your dad’s just going to be happy that you’re going to be fine. Don’t worry.”

He was feeling quietly confident about the test. About things in general. He’d made flashcards and sometimes Jeannette quizzed him, lying on the couch in the evenings after she’d put the boys to bed. She’d have her bare feet in his lap so he could rub them.

“What are the two types of cerebral vascular accidents?”

“Embolic or ischemic strokes and hemorrhagic strokes.”

“Correct-o. You’re going to kill this.”

“I don’t know. We’ll see.”

“Nonsense. You know all these forward and backward.”

“Until I sit down in that room with the clock.”

“Just imagine everyone else in the room naked. Right? Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?”

“That’s if you’re scared of public speaking.”

“It might still help, though.”

“I’ll try it and let you know.”

—

The morning of the test, Dale rose early. Jeannette, a soft, sleep-warmed shape next to him. He hadn’t seen his own bed in weeks.

She’d recently told him that if he wanted to move his stuff in, that would be fine with her. It actually sounded like a pretty good plan. He was spending so much time there anyway, it made sense. He’d be able to help with money too, just as soon as he passed the test, and the fire department could formally hire him. They’d already given him a verbal agreement. The test would make it official, and then he’d be making a decent wage.