“You aren’t at work. You’re drinking something hot.”
“Just woke up. Plus it’s Saturday,” he said.
“I forgot,” I said.
“Yeah, speaking of forgot, I hope you’re better at remembering which hook you took that spade from than you are at remembering to lock the shed door.”
I had locked the shed door. “It’s locked,” I said.
“Sure,” said my father. “I can see it’s locked now, but it wasn’t while you did whatever you were doing with my spade over there for however long you did it.”
“No one would’ve broken in while I was standing in sight of it.”
“I didn’t say they would. I’m talking about habits. The more often you fail to lock the shed when you leave it, the more likely you are to forget to lock the shed.”
“Maybe,” I said.
“Trust me,” he said.
“I trust you,” I said.
“Don’t get all autistic. I’m fucking with you, Billy. Lighten up. Take it easy. What were you doing out back here, anyway? With the spade, I mean.”
“Digging. Backfilling.”
“Yeah, no shit, but that’s not what I meant.”
“Lighten up. Take it easy.”
“So, alright. Touché. You want to hang out?”
“Hang out?”
“Like brunch or something.”
“Since when do we brunch?”
“My friends are all fishing.”
“Since when do you brunch?”
“I’ve still got the week off.”
“I’m going to the bank.”
“I didn’t know you banked.”
“Did I say that I banked?”
“I thought it was implied and, tell you the truth, there’s no way I can imagine, given you just told me you were going to the bank, that I shouldn’t have thought that. So either you’re working some kind of deadpan humor thing I’m failing to get where you’re impersonating maybe like a gumshoe or something, or you’re just fucken weird.”
“Apple and the tree.”
“This tree banks.”
“I lack a response.”
“Last night, right before I left the brothel,” said my father, “I bought a cure off this cuddlefarmer at the bar. She said it was two, but it looked a lot older. Maybe even four. I caught a good deal, and I was thinking, at the time, we’d dact it together, you and me, I mean. I was thinking all kinds of bondy, father-son thoughts.”
“At the brothel.”
“So what? Don’t interrupt. I bought it, brought it home, set it down on the table, and then I went upstairs to invite you to join me, but your lights were out, and the farmer, when I bought it, she said it would keep. She guaranteed a minimum of forty-eight hours before it started grieving, so I figured, you know, I’d wait til tomorrow, which that would be today, but then, when I went back down to put it in the drawer, like, right when I was about to pick it up off the table, it did this kinda thing, like…” He stood, stepped off the patio, performed a quick tap dance. “So it did that,” he said, and did it again, “and then it said—I swear to you—it said, ‘Ta-da!’ You ever seen anything like that? I mean, not on TV? It was so adorable, Billy. It was just too much. Make a long story short, I couldn’t even get it to my mouth in time. I mean, I was so blown away, I think I deactivated it without even realizing. It was like my fist itself went into overload, like separate from me.”
“Were you drunk?”
“A little, probably, but not that drunk. Anyway, I just wanted you to know I was thinking of you. It doesn’t seem that important right now, but it did last night, so I figured: honor that. I figured: mention it. Can’t hurt to mention to your son that you thought of him.”
“Thanks for thinking of me,” I said.
“Is that sincere, or are you doing the gumshoe voice? I can’t tell.”
“Me neither,” I said.
“We should work on that.”
“On what?”
“I don’t know. Forget it. I don’t like this conversation, but I miss your mom, you know? I mean, you do know. That’s the thing. You’re the only one who knows except for me. Why can’t we just be normal about it?”
“Normal how?”
“Get drunk and go fishing and have gratitude for each other’s company or whatever. By a fire. Roasting the fish we caught on a fire we built together, and, like, understanding.”
“Understanding what?”
“How lonely and ugly everything is? But that it didn’t used to be like that? That it was fine before she died?”
“I understand that, sometimes.”
“And then you forget, right?”
“I can’t help it.”
“I can’t help it either. And what does that make us?”
“Assholes,” I said. “Like everyone else. But all this is, Dad, is you went to the brothel. Sleeping with prostitutes makes you sad.”
“Don’t moralize at me.”
“I’m not.”
“You just told me sleeping with prostitutes make you sad, like, ‘Of course you’re sad. You just engaged in an evil activity.’ ”
“I said it makes you sad. Not one, but you.”
“What?” He had a Quill lipped, but he didn’t have a lighter. I tossed him mine.
“I’m saying,” I said, “I was making an observation, not accusing you of anything.”
“Oh,” he said. “And so what were you doing with my spade?” he said.
“I have to get going.”
“I’ll dig up whatever it was you buried.”
“Out of my hands.”
“You didn’t!” he said.
“Didn’t what?”
“You did! Holy shit!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“But why would you do that? Bury it, I mean? I guess you don’t like to swallow them, but…Is it outta spite you buried it? I mean, it must be, right? It must be spite. It must be you buried it so I’d see you bury it, and then I’d know that you didn’t share. Except the thing is that maybe…Maybe that’s the sunny side, huh? Not the sunny side, but, yeah—the sunny side. Because maybe I deserve it. Maybe we both do. Maybe that’s justice. I mean that, Billy. I’m having a moment, here. I’m not mad you didn’t share. Usually I’d be mad, but I didn’t share, either. My intentions were to share, and then it did that ta-da thing, which, another man, or maybe even me on another day might’ve thought, ‘Oh, this cure’s really gonna make for a great overload experience for me to have with my son, and I’m so looking forward to tomorrow morning, gee whiz!’ but instead I dacted it all by myself, didn’t wait til the morning, and then there’s you, who didn’t wait for me to do the one you buried. So that’s what I get for not being a better dad. Or that’s what you get for not being a better son. In this justice scenario I’m talking about. We’re evey-steves, I’m suggesting. Eye for an eye. I guess the only question is: Who did the deed first? If it was you, I’m a little more justified, maybe. If I did it first, though, you’re a little more justified. What time did you do it?”