After dinner, he drove his old Dodge Ram over to St. Mary’s and plowed the driveway. And listened to some thrash metal while he did. Ginette heard a muted version of the loud, thrashy music as she passed by the church. And wondered why anyone would ever want to listen to music like that.
When Chad finished plowing, he shoveled the path to the front entrance of the church, poured some sand on the steps so people wouldn’t slip, and then went inside and made sure the heat was working. And then he swept a little and made sure the bathroom was clean and made sure Father Tom had vestments and that there were candles and that everything was ready for Clair Gudreau’s funeral the next morning.
When he was sure everything was ready, he closed up the church and headed outside to his truck and was about to get in and head home when a Ford F-250 pulled into the church’s parking lot. The F-250 belonged to Chad’s best friend, Randy Lowery, who got out of his truck and seemed agitated. Randy had a brown paper bag in one arm and a flashlight in his other hand.
“Hey,” called Chad.
Randy didn’t answer and turned and started heading toward the snowbank behind the church.
“You okay?”
Randy didn’t answer again.
“Hey, where ya goin’?” Chad asked.
“I need a beer,” called Randy. He had a six-pack of Natural Light beer in the bag he was carrying, and he didn’t want to drink it in the church parking lot, because that just didn’t seem right.
Chad grabbed his flashlight from his truck and followed Randy, who had climbed to the top of the snowbank and was climbing down the other side.
When Randy reached the base of the other side of the snowbank, he plunked himself down on a snow boulder, jammed the butt of his flashlight into the packed snow so it could serve as a torch, and looked out over the cemetery behind St. Mary’s—which looked no different than the potato fields that surrounded it, because the snow was deeper than the headstones were high.
Eventually, Chad plunked down on the snow boulder next to the one Randy was sitting on, jammed his flashlight into the packed snow, and asked, “Are you okay?”
Randy scoffed and looked out across the cemetery and into the Norsworthys’ potato fields.
“What’s up?” asked Chad.
Randy made a pshh sound and shook his head. “Things with Yvonne went about as bad as they coulda gone.”
“Oh. Sorry, pal.” Chad watched his best friend take a swig of his beer. “If it makes you feel any better, my date with Sally didn’t go so good, either.”
“Naw,” grunted Randy. “Don’t even. There’s no way it was anywhere near as bad as my night, so…”
“Mmm, I don’t know—”
“It was bad, Chad. Bad!”
“I hear ya, but—”
“Yeah, but you’re not listenin’!”
“No, you’re not listenin’, Randy, ’cause I’m tryin’ to tell ya that I had a pretty bad time, myself!” exploded Chad, surprising himself, because he wasn’t an explosive guy.
“Whoa, okay, relax,” said Randy. And he felt bad that he had been so wrapped up in how awful his own date had gone that he hadn’t bothered to check to see how his best friend’s date had gone. And, while he was sure that there was no way that Chad’s date had gone worse than his, Chad had just kind of lost it a little. So maybe it had gone worse. So Randy offered his buddy a Natty Light—and the proverbial floor—and said, “Let’s hear it.”
Chad cracked the beer open. And took a swig. And didn’t say anything for about a minute. He was really hurting. And Randy was concerned. Because Chad looked sadder than Randy had ever seen him look—sadder than he looked when his rabbit died. And when his grandpa died. And when his last girlfriend broke up with him. In fact, Randy hadn’t seen Chad hurt like he was hurting since he was eleven—when he burned half his house down when he was playing with sparklers indoors.
Randy felt his ears and his head and his neck get all hot, because he felt like Chad was going to cry, and he didn’t like crying. And he had dealt with a lot of crying that night already.
So he looked away from Chad and tried to figure out if he was going to stay or go—and he almost got up and left. But something inside him told him he needed to stay. So he did. And he looked at Chad and said impatiently, “What’s up, bud? What happened?”
Chad was about to answer when his breathing hitched. And a wave of sadness overcame him. But he quickly pulled himself together and began his sad story. “She said she didn’t like the way I smelled.”
Randy looked at Chad. And then furrowed his brow and screwed up his face and shrugged and asked, “What?!?”
“Sally told me she didn’t like the way I smelled,” repeated Chad. “Never has.”
Sally Dunleavy was a great girl. She was the receptionist for Visiting Nurses of Aroostook up in Fort Kent. She and Chad had known each other for years, but when Chad called to inquire about having a nurse come in to take care of his mom as she started breast cancer treatment, they really hit it off.
But a couple of months later, when Sally called to let Chad know that a new nurse named Pam would be looking in on his mom, she asked him out. Apparently she wasn’t seeing Randy’s cousin Tim anymore. And so they went out on a date on the Friday night when all the extraordinary things did or didn’t happen.
And it hadn’t gone so well.
“Sally Dunleavy told you that she didn’t like the way you smelled?” asked Randy, flabbergasted.
“Yeah.”
“When?” Randy really wanted to know when you would tell someone you’re out on a date with that you don’t like the way they smell.
“Pretty much as soon as I met her.”
Well, at least she didn’t lead him on, thought Randy.
“I picked her up,” continued Chad. “And she got in the truck. And we’re backin’ outta her driveway—and all of a sudden, she started breathin’ hard and coverin’ her mouth and nose with her scarf and asked me to stop. And she got outta the truck and said she was sorry and that I was a nice guy—but she couldn’t go out with me because she didn’t like the way I smelled, never had.”
“What?!?” Randy winced.
“And she slammed the door and left me sittin’ right there in her driveway.”
Randy was stunned. “’Cause she didn’t like the way you smelled?” he asked in disbelief.
“Yeah.”
“Well what kinda…?” Sally was a really nice person. But telling someone that you don’t like the way they smell on a first date … is just not nice. And didn’t sound like the Sally Dunleavy he knew. “Well, want me to talk to her?”
“No.”
“I could talk to her.”
“No!” Chad really didn’t want Randy to talk to her because he’d probably just yell at her, because that’s how he dealt with people who crossed his friends.
“Jeez.” Randy sneered a little and got a little sad because he really liked Sally and thought she and Chad would make a great pair. Then he laughed a little and tried to make light of the situation. “I mean, I don’t mind the way you smell.”