Archives for August 20, 2026

Chapter 1
Ron was riding shotgun in the pink Cadillac. It was dark and he was trying to see in back of him. Quimpy was driving. It was the beginning of July. Quimpy was calculating how long it would take to empty his apartment and wipe down every piece so that he was sure there were no cockroaches. In the back seat, Angel was almost asleep, and Celeste was sitting still and hoping that meant that Angel would sleep through the night.
Ron cast a sidelong glance at Quimpy, who was on cruise control and heading for the end of the night. Ron wanted to look into Celeste’s eyes. He wanted to see her baby’s eyes again. He was confused. Maybe he should have just gone home at the end of the day. He was helping Quimpy to move one antique piece of furniture at a time from one end of Paterson to the other in a pink Cadillac convertible. It occurred to Ron that if he ever had to live out of a car, a Cadillac would be an excellent choice. He wanted to see her face. He wanted her to look at him. He wanted the baby to open her eyes and gaze into his soul again.
The Caddy rolled to a stop in front of Celeste’s home. She gathered Angel into her arms. Ron wanted her to turn around. He told himself that if she was interested, she would look back at him. He watched the roll of her hips disappear as she walked up the stairs and into the small, brick Cape Cod. The baby was asleep and Celeste did not look back.
Quimpy said, “Too bad about her, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know,” said Ron.
“That big guinea family, married twice, already popped out a kid. It’s over,” said Quimpy.
Ron was silent. He wondered if that was why she hadn’t turned around.
The next day Ron was back at Quimpy’s place. The move was in its second week. They took two or three wooden pieces at a time. They made at least three trips a day. There was a lot more to go. Quimpy was a collector and he liked spindly-legged oak. Ron’s summer checks were coming in. He was working out on the track. Quimpy was an old friend and Ron didn’t mind doing him a favor. Besides, Quimpy was giving him excellent pot.
Celeste startled them both when she appeared. Ron stood but seemed paralyzed. She kissed Quimpy on the cheek and moved towards Ron.
“You were talking about going on vacation last night,” she said.
Ron was confused. “I was?”
“I think that you should consider Arcosanti. It’s a great place to think about.” She extended her right hand and presented a stapled collection of copied library research pages to him.
Ron looked over at Quimpy and then into her eyes. “I’m not sure that I know what you mean.”
Celeste said, “If you have any questions about this or anything else, I put my phone number right here.” She pointed to the hand written number at the top of one of the photocopied pages. Ron looked down at it. He was pretty sure that his mouth had dropped open, but then she was turning and leaving.
She had been wearing jeans and a white cotton top. Ron was stunned. Quimpy wasn’t saying anything. She didn’t made eye contact with Quimpy on the way out. Quimpy felt strangely dismissed.
“Do you think she just gave me her phone number?”
“Looks that way,” said Quimpy.
Ron said, “I don’t know what to do about that.”
` “Give her a call,” said Quimpy.
Remembering Celeste, Ron agonized. They had spent a day together in Quimpy’s old converted garage. Then she was living in the City and drove a red Italian sports car. Ron felt lucky that he had transportation. She was tan and beautiful and the way the she laughed made him feel warm and excited at the same time. But she was talking about clubbing in New York and making that scene or a different scene. Ron knew that he did not have anything that interested her but his smile. He smiled for her as much as he could and the next thing he heard, she was gone and married.
A few weeks ago, Quimpy had brought her up again. She was now twice divorced and living back home with a baby. “Imagine your life just being over and settled that way,” said Quimpy.
Ron had felt a pang of sadness when Quimpy had said that. “So are you gonna start seeing her again?” he’d asked.
“Too many guineas and with that kid they will be all over her. But if she wants to drop over and get laid it will be ok.”
Ron replayed that conversation in his head. He wondered if that was why she had come to see Quimpy. He tried to read the stuff she had given him about Arcosanti, but he couldn’t understand why she thought he would have been at all interested in it.
As they packed Quimpy’s huge collection of clothing into the back of the Caddy, Ron wondered if they should check those things for roaches too. Maybe roaches didn’t like clothing. “So you’re sure that it’s ok if I call her?” he said to Quimpy.
“Sure,” said Quimpy smiling. “Why would you want to call her?”
“She gave me her phone number,” said Ron.
“You know she’s a crazy bitch, right?”
“I don’t know. I remember liking her a lot when I spent that day with her in your garage.”
Quimpy was scratching his beard. He wasn’t really paying attention to Ron. He didn’t know why Celeste had done the stupid thing with the phone number, but he was pretty sure that he didn’t care.
Quimpy’s old place was going into foreclosure. The landlord was in jail and his wife had not been able to afford to heat it last winter. He wasn’t spending another winter with his balls clinking together like ice cubes. When he had bought her a tank of oil, she had turned the heat way up and used it all as fast as she could. Quimpy didn’t like moving. It was a project that required help and took time and threw him out of his routines. Ron was alright, but Quimpy didn’t like seeing anyone every day. His new place was an ethnic mixture of Blacks, Arabs, and Hispanics. It was actually closer to his school. It was an easier shot to the bowling alley. The move was going to be a good thing. Then he saw Ron’s lips moving and realized that Ron had been talking to him. He tuned back in.
“You’re sure you don’t mind if I call her?” Ron was asking again.
“I’m sure,” said Quimpy, telegraphing his exasperation. “I just mind that you keep asking me about it.”
That Sunday morning Ron stayed in bed and read the newspaper. Then he drove over to the track and ran. He started calling Celeste about three o’clock in the afternoon. There was no answer. He played his guitar. He called again. Still no answer. He went for a walk. He called again. He considered ditching the whole idea. He smoked a joint and played his guitar again. He listened to some music. He took a shower. He watched the Yankees lose to the Angels and go into the All Star break two games under .500. He went out and brought home some Chinese food. By ten o’clock, he was sure that this was just a stupid idea, but he had called so many times that day and he couldn’t let it go.
When she picked up the phone and said “hello” he began to sweat. He looked down to see that he his body had jerked in the bed at the sound of her voice and brown sauce from his order of hot spiced shredded beef was leaking onto his sheets. He pulled back the corner of the sheet and covered it so that he didn’t have to look at it or get distracted.
“Hi, it’s Ron Tuck.”
“Oh, hi,” she said brightly.
Ron felt himself smiling. She was happy to hear from him. “I was just calling to tell you that I finished that article about Arcosanti.”
“Yes,” she said. “What did you think of it?”
“I think I need to talk to you about it some.”
“Why don’t you come over now,” she said.

Chapter 2
Ron tugged the splattered sheet from the bed …balled it and through it into the corner of his closet. Then he slipped on a pair of fresh jeans and a dark blue, button down shirt. He combed his hair looking in the mirror. He brushed his teeth. Then he was out the door and into his car.
The summer night was warm and the breeze from the open windows of the moving car cooled him down. He felt his hands sweating and rubbed them on his jeans. Jesus, he was acting like a school boy. The drive was smooth. On Sunday nights most of the world was home, or headed there, and thinking about Monday morning work. Ron smiled and thought about how much he loved having the summers off. The parkway lights glowed yellowish, soft, and hazy. Ron glanced down at his hastily written directions. He couldn’t see them. He paid the toll and pulled the car off to the side of the road. He tried to read his scribble and cursed his handwriting. He couldn’t make it out. She’d never understand if he didn’t get there. He thought this was the right exit. He’d pulled off the parkway and looked for a phone booth. It was then that he realized that he hadn’t taken her number with him. Ron said, “I’m too stupid to live.”
He did have the address and so he decided that he would let his instincts take over. He drove towards his school. She did say that it was close to there in Fair Lawn, the next town over. He stopped at a light on Paramus Road and made a left. It felt right. The streets were dark. The road was wide and silent and winding
The he came to another light. Instinct told him to turn left. And there was something that he recognized. He knew where he was! Ron looked up at the twinkle of stars and smiled to them. They seemed to be giggling. He felt himself concentrating. He turned the Ford to the right, the springs squeaked. He hated that the springs squeaked so much. It felt like people could tell that he was coming and would refer to him as Squeaky. Ron saw the circle and knew it was her house. He felt his body begin to relax. At least he had gotten here. When he got out, he looked up and thanked the giggling stars.
Celeste came out of the door just as he moved towards her house. She looked gorgeous. She was wearing a long, flowing ankle length skirt and a white cotton top. He brown hair was below her shoulders and bounced as she walked. She took his hand quickly and turned him around. “Let’s go for a drink,” she said. “It will be easier to talk.”
They got into Ron’s car and he winced each time the springs squeaked. She didn’t seem to notice. He had the sense that he could feel her smiling next to him as they drove to the bar.
When the waitress came over to their booth, Ron really didn’t know what to order. Other than having naked women gyrating in front of him, his time in bars had been negligible. He always blamed it on the dives that his dad had taken him to when he was a kid, when his dad was fixing juke boxes and pinball machines and pool tables in Newark. A thought that the business for which his dad worked must have been connected to organized crime struck him, and for a second he fixated on it and then he pushed it away and grinned his best dimpled grin for her. She returned the smile.
“I don’t think that I’m much of an Arcosanti type,” said Ron.
“I really didn’t think that you were either,” said Celeste with a mischievous grin.
“Really, the reason that I was calling was that I wanted to see you and talk with you and the Arcosanti thing gave me an excuse.”
“Let’s forget about Arcosanti,” she said. “It was a pretty thin reason for giving you my phone number but it was all that I had.”
Ron felt his heart begin to pound. “You wanted to see me too?”
“Yes,” said Celeste. “I don’t know why but it feels like I know you.”
“We did meet a long time ago,” said Ron. “I mean, really a long time ago.”
Celeste said, “Quimpy told me that we had, but I must have had you mixed up with someone else. I thought you had thick glasses and blondish, curly hair.”
Ron was confused. She didn’t remember him. She was describing his friend Hank. Would she have been happier if it had been Hank who showed up?
“That was an old friend of mine. His name is Hank. I’m not sure what he’s doing these days, but I think Quimpy told me that he is a golf pro.”
Two glasses of wine appeared at their table and Ron reached into his pants and pulled out a wad of bills. He never had his money neatly arranged. He felt his cheeks redden as he fished for something other than a single. He wondered if all the singles would let on to her that he went to go-go bars and wondered if she would be disgusted by that and just want him to take her home. Then he sighed visibly with relief and saw a ten dollar ball and slipped it onto the waitress’s tray.
“But we did spend an afternoon talking at Quimpy’s garage,” he said.
She turned her eyes towards him and shifted her body so that it was angled to face him. He felt her foot touch his leg and then move away. “What did we do?” she asked lightly. She was still smiling. She had a great smile that spread from her mouth up to her eyes. They were large and brown and searching his face in the most delightfully teasing way.
Ron swallowed. “Um, we got high. We talked about politics. You told me that you were working on the Underground Railroad and helping guys to get to Canada. You told me that you were also writing to guys who were in Viet Nam because you didn’t think that it was their fault that they were there, and that you hoped that it helped that they had someone to write to.”
Celeste felt a jolt race through her body. He wasn’t fooling. He did remember her and he remembered details. That was such a long time ago. How could he possibly remember that?
“That must have been me,” she said.
Ron grinned to himself. He loved his memory. He could just picture things and bring back those pictures and his mind would move like a camera through the recollections and he could see himself and he could hear what people were saying to him. It didn’t happen all the time, but it happened often enough. He had decided a while back that he remembered the things that were important to him, even if he didn’t know why they had been important. It was like his memory was his guardian angel.
“You drove a red sports car,” Ron continued. “And you were working at this food company.”
“Nabisco,” she said. She wondered if she should feel uneasy, but she didn’t. She felt complimented. “How do you remember all that?”
Ron grinned again and put his head down. “I don’t know. Sometimes things just stick in my head.”
She smiled. “And I stuck in your head?”
“I guess so,” said Ron. He paused thoughtfully. “Well you did and then you didn’t. I’ve been thinking about you since we saw each other last and I guess that’s when I remembered those things.”
Celeste sipped at her wine. “Maybe Quimpy helped you fill in the details.”
Ron laughed. “Not exactly. He just got tired of me asking if it was ok for me to call you.”
Her eyebrows gathered. “Why did you ask?”
Ron was silent. He wasn’t sure how he should say this. How did he explain that in the code she still belonged to Quimpy? “I just felt like I should,” he said.
“Quimpy knows that I’m not going to go out with him under any circumstances. I made that clear from the start,” said Celeste.
“Your daughter is beautiful,” said Ron. “She looks at you and you know that she understands everything that is happening around her.”
Celeste offered another of those smiles that made him want to gaze into her eyes and bask in their light. “Of course I think she’s very special but I’m prejudiced.”
“Does she see her father much?”
“He’s allowed to visit in our living room. He stays a while and then he loses interest and wants to talk with me or my family, but no one is really interested in talking to him.”
“Was he abusive to you?”
“Not physically, but emotionally he was. He called me every day and asked me to have an abortion and then he had his father call and ask me to have an abortion and I wasn’t doing that again.” Celeste stared into Ron’s green eyes and wondered if she had said too much. She was more of a private person than this, but the way that he made her feel just put her at ease and caused her to want to open herself and answer honestly. She wanted him to know what he was getting into. Celeste was sure that this was going to be a summer fling, but from the time that he walked into her parents’ house with Quimpy, she had known that she wanted to sleep with him. It was really the first time she’d felt a strong sexual urge in a long time, and she knew that she didn’t deserve this but she wanted it. She knew that was not part of the deal that she made with her parents when she left Peter and came back home then found out that she was pregnant. They had been very clear. It was time for her to stop running around and start thinking of this child before herself. She had her fun, now it was time to settle into becoming a good mother. They would accept the humiliation of her dissolving another marriage but this was it. This was the end.
Ron let her words sink in. He waited for the alarm to go off in his head. It didn’t ring. He waited to feel the urge to get away. It didn’t come. He said, “We all say things that we don’t mean. I’m sure that he’s happy now. Is there any chance of reconciliation?”
Celeste’s face hardened. “No, not even a slight chance.”
Her mind flashed on her wedding day. Her cousin Janine was saying, “We can just walk out the back door and get into the car. You don’t have to go through with this.” If there had been a time when she should have rebelled that was it. Of all the times to pick to be the good girl and do what was expected of her, she picked that one.
She tried to see what was going on in back of his eyes. When she looked into them, it was as if she could see his mind working.
“Well, she’s a beautiful girl and you should be very proud of her.”
“I am. We all are. My whole family is. She is our princess.”
Ron smiled but he was sure that he didn’t know what she was talking about.
“So tell me about you,” she said.
“Not much to tell,” said Ron. He folded his hands on the table in front of his wine glass. “I live alone in a small apartment in Bloomfield. I’m off this summer. This school that I teach at now gives us 26 pay checks year round and so I’m not really looking for work. Quimpy was agonizing about how he was ever going to get this move done, so I offered to help him. He’s done a lot in the past to help me. This fall, I start my second year as a football coach. I’m not very political any more. There just doesn’t seem to be anything to be political about. I’m pretty certain that there isn’t anything that I can do to change anything anymore. But I can work with kids and try to help them to see the value of literature and being about to write and speak their minds in an articulate way. I’m thirty-two but it feels like I should be younger.”
As she listened, she thought that he sounded very free of entanglements. It frightened her that they would have this glass of wine and that he would promise to call and that she would never hear from him again. She knew that she could not bring herself to really chase after him.
“Do you enjoy your teaching?” she asked.
“More than I ever thought that I would. I didn’t know what I wanted to do when I left college. I wanted to be a poet.” He looked at her with a reflection of that grin in his eyes. “It didn’t take long to find out that there isn’t much work for poets.”
They both laughed. They both sipped from their wine. She slid a little closer to him and he found that he had reached for her hand and now they were holding hands. He hadn’t thought about doing it. How did that happen?
She said, “I’m not sure that I get poetry. I think it sounds beautiful but I’m never sure what it’s supposed to mean.”
Ron blushed. “I used to try to tell people what my poems meant. I even corrected them if the poem meant something different to them. How stupid was that?”
Celeste smiled. He felt himself melting. “It probably didn’t go over really well with them and they probably didn’t want to talk with you about your poetry after that.”
Ron grinned broadly. “You are a mind reader.”
They finished the wine and were back in his car. Ron didn’t wince at the squeaks. They didn’t say anything. The night seemed soft. Ron thought about John Keats calling the night “tender” and he felt that he knew what the poet meant.
They pulled up in front of her house. Ron said, “I’m really not ready for this conversation to be over but I understand if you’re tired.”
Celeste said, “Would you like to see my basement.”

The ceiling was low, the walls were paneled. The floor was carpeted. They embraced as soon as they entered the room. The kiss was a marathon of lips and tongues. Their sense of time disappeared. The tactile exchange became their language and they communicated longing and passion and although their minds could not quite fathom it, their bodies were in love.
They did not have sex or undress. They did not touch each other’s genitals. They hardly breathed. It was a slow, undulating dance and they felt revealed to each other. After endless kisses, they went outside and sat on her porch, so that they could talk again. The visibility to the community allowed them to keep their hands off of each other. It was about 4am when Ron said, “Do you think that we should get married?”
Celeste felt her head began to spin. The tightness in her belly threatened to double her over. She could see his eyes though the darkness and they were like searchlights that had found her in the night and would not release her. She was too frightened to speak. Then she said, “Don’t say that.”
“I think we should,” said Ron. He knew it with certainty that allowed for no doubts.
Celeste hoped that he couldn’t see her hands shaking.

Chapter 3

Ron was walking back from Branch Brook Park. It was cold. The sky was dark. Along Broadway, a steady line of car lights headed in both directions. The streetlights illuminated the side walk. He was trying to keep his jacket closed, but he was sweating underneath and the urge to pull it open was strong. His cheeks were flushed red. There was a friendly ache in his shoulders. It had been a great game, probably the last one of the season. They had worn the grass away and the ground was hard dirt. He could still see the play in back of his eyes.
Joey Pena had the ball curled into the crook of his left arm and when Ron put his shoulder into him, Joey left his feet and the ball bounced with the crazy agitation that only a football had. Ron rolled and was up and he had it in his hands and he was running. All around him the shadows of kids were changing direction and running after him. He smiled now, reliving the way that they had bounced off of him as he charged towards the goal line. He had been unstoppable. He pulled open his jacket and breathed deeply. The cold air dried the sweat on his body but he felt too good to shiver.
He turned into his alley way and smelled the aromas of cooking meat that filtered through the open kitchen windows. They always kept the apartments very warm. He burst into their basement apartment and Marjorie was sitting at the kitchenette table that was part of their living room, bedroom combination. When she saw him, she said, “You’d better not get sick.”
“I feel fine, Mom. I’m just going to go and clean up.”
While he was in the bathroom washing his face and trying to clean the cut on his elbow, he heard voices in the other room. He recognized Rocky’s voice but there were two others. He turned off the water and held some toilet tissue to his elbow. He watched it begin to turn crimson as he listened to what the voices were saying. It was then that he heard his mother begin to sob.
“Rocky, don’t do this to me. Don’t do this to us.”
“Marjorie, there is no more us and I’m doing this so that you know it and have no doubts or think that there is any chance that I will come back to you.”
His mother cried harder. “But I love you. You have your clothes here. We made plans. We have the bank that we were using to save for vacation.”
Donna said, “Can’t you see that he doesn’t want you anymore?”
Donna’s mother Clara said to Rocky, “This little run down hole in the ground is where you spent the last ten years? You’d better not think that my daughter will be willing to live like this.”
Marjorie looked up and said, “Did you know that he was here last weekend, and that we went away and that we made love.”
Rocky said, “Margi, don’t lie like that. No one is going to believe you.”
Ron bit into his finger. But his mother was telling the truth. They had all been together last weekend. He heard his mother cry harder.
“Well, “said Donna, “there really isn’t much more to say is there?”
“There is one more thing,” said Clara. “Tell her that you don’t love her and that you don’t want her to call you anymore and that you don’t want to ever see her. Tell her that you will have someone pick up your things.”
Ron heard Rocky say the unthinkable. “I don’t love you Margi. I haven’t loved you for a long time. I have my divorce now and I’m going to marry Donna.”
His mother’s voice was small and pathetic. “I know that you still love me,” she said. “And I want you to know that I love you and that I always will love you.”
Ron’s eyes were filled with tears. They had lived with Rocky since he was two years old. Next to his father, Rocky was the man that he admired most in his life. Rocky’s family had told him that he was one of them and that they loved him. They told him that he was family.
“I’m not staying to hear anymore of this nonsense,” said Clara.
Donna added, “Tell her that you don’t want to see her anymore.”
Rocky said, “We had some good times Marjorie, but I don’t want to see you anymore and I don’t want to hear from you.”
Marjorie cried very hard. She sounded like a wounded animal. Rocky turned to Donna, “Are you satisfied now?”
Donna smirked, “Yes.”
Rocky turned to Clara, “Are you satisfied?”
“For now I am,” said Clara.
Ron burst out of the bathroom and into the room. His eyes were streaming tears.
“Ronald,” wailed his mother. “I forgot that you were back there.”
Ron glared at Rocky, hot hatred mixing with confused love. “Tell me you don’t love me anymore.”
Rocky’s mouth dropped open at the sight of him. “Go on!” screamed Ron. “Tell me, I want to hear you say it.”
“This is no place for children,” said Clara.
Ron wheeled on her. “Shut up lady, or I will smack you. Shut up!” he screamed. His voice was deafening and shook the room.
Rocky took Donna by the arm and turned to leave. Ron ran up in back of him and pushed him as hard as he could. Rocky stumbled against the wall and whirled in surprise. Ron snarled, “She may love you, but not me. I’ll hate you forever. I want you to die.”
Then we went to his mother and stood there holding her as she sat bent over in the chair. “Get out,” he screamed. “Get out. Your clothes will be in the garbage, pick them out of the cans.”
“Ronald, you don’t understand this,” said Rocky.
Ron started to cry at the sound of Rocky speaking his name. “You’re nothing. Get out!”
As they went through the door, he yelled, “I was there last weekend too, wasn’t I, Rocky?”
No one said anything else and he held his mother as she cried for a very long time.

Chapter 4
When school was out, Ron walked along Summer Avenue to Grafton and then down Grafton to Broadway. He avoided friends and took streets where he knew no one he knew would be. The American Legion Hospital was at the corner of Grafton and Broadway. Her room was in the front, and if she was sitting up, she would wave to him. They said that she needed rest. He wasn’t allowed to visit her there. He stood at the chain link fence and smiled and waved. Sometimes he called out, but they didn’t like him doing that, and a nurse had come to the window and put her finger to her lips to quiet him. Ron saw the street sign that read, “Quiet, Hospital Zone” and put his head down. He stood with his fingers curled into the chain link fence that surrounded the very small hospital. He always waited a few minutes if she wasn’t at the window. Then he walked to his aunt’s house where he was staying until she got home.
Rocky’s friend Ray owned the Esso station that he passed, but Ray never seemed to be looking at the street when Ron walked passed, but he slammed his heels down on the pavement and balled his fists as he went by anyway.
Sometimes he went to their apartment and let himself in. It seemed lonely and happy to see him. It was as if the place knew something was wrong. Ron felt badly that his home had been called a hole in the ground. He would sit at the table for a few minutes and be very quiet. He didn’t want anyone knowing that he was there. He didn’t know how to answer questions from the neighbors about what he was doing there. Giving his aunt’s phone number to the school had been bad enough.
When he got to Aunt Dottie’s building, he always felt better. She always greeted him with a smile and a plate of cookies and some milk from one the tin cups that he liked because they kept the milk so cold.
“When do you think she’s coming home?” said Ron.
“Maybe next week, Ronald,” said his Aunt. Some women wore Rhinestones in the upper part of the frames of their glasses. His Aunt had real diamond chips embedded in hers and they sparkled in the light in a real and classy way.
“Do you think that she’s going to be ok?”
“Of course she is. She gets nervous and we both know that she’s a big baby, Ronald.”
“I hate him. I want to find him and do something really bad to him, Aunt Dot.”
“I know that you do. People will tell you that it’s wrong to feel that way. That it’s better to let go of bad feelings. I say don’t let go of them. Use them to make sure that you don’t ever get suckered again.”
Ron met her eyes. “You’re right.”
“That’s between us, Ronald. Don’t tell anyone that I told you that. They’ll just think that I’m being a bitter old woman, but the way this world is, whenever you let your guard down, you are one step closer to being a fool. Keep your private thoughts to yourself. Sometimes that’s the best way to be.”
When Marjorie came home, things were rough. She cried all the time and went to a bar every night. She played sad songs on the hi-fi and never laughed or smiled. They had no money and she was not able to work. There was only the $20 that came from his father each week.
Ron rang the doorbell to the landlady’s apartment. Mrs. Cody was a short, squat woman who wore her glasses on a chain around her neck. “Hello, Ronald.”
“Mrs. Cody, I’m here with the rent.”
“All of it, this time?”
“No Ma’am. We only have $50, but I’ll be back with the other $15 on Sunday, after I see my father.”
She reached for the envelope. “Alright, Ronnie. Please tell your mother that I hope that she’s feeling better.”
“Mrs. Cody, is there anything that I could do around here to earn some of that money?”
“I’m afraid that we aren’t allowed to do that with tenants, Ronnie, but if you get here very early when it snows, I’m sure that Mr. Cody could pay you to help shovel and…” The woman thought for a moment and then called over her shoulder, back into the apartment, “Could you use any help tying up newspapers and getting the garbage cans out, Dennis?”
“Who wants to know?” called a gruff voice that coughed after it spoke.
“Ronnie Tuck, Marjorie’s kid.”
“They ain’t got the rent again, huh?”
“Could you use the help?”
“Not really.”
Mrs. Cody turned back to Ronald. “Come and see me when it snows,” she said and shut the door.
Ron trailed his fingers along the rough plaster wall as he went back to their apartment, but instead of turning right to go in, he turned left and went to the washing machine room. He knew a trick, and sometimes it was worth thirty-five cents.

Chapter 5
As the pink Cadillac made its way across Paterson carrying a load of books, magazines and vinyl records, Ron told Quimpy that he was in love. Quimpy laughed at the impulsivity of his fucked-up friend. “Are you paying attention to yourself at all?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that you know how stupid you sound, right?”
“Why?”
Quimpy’s sardonic grin stayed on his face as he formed his phrasing. “Let’s see, you know nothing about her. She has a kid. You’re barely able to take care of yourself. You’re a pothead. You’re thinking with your cock and you really don’t know how she feels. That’s just for starters.”
“It’s how I feel,” said Ron. “I’m not thinking with my cock. I’m thinking with my heart.”
“That might even be worse than thinking with your cock!” Quimpy laughed.
Inwardly, Ron smiled as Quimpy’s ridicule slid off of him like water on glass. Was this what it felt like when someone was jealous of you? Maybe Quimpy wasn’t jealous. He’d had his chance with Celeste. Ron had asked him enough times if it was ok if he called her. Maybe Quimpy thought he was looking out for him and that he was being a good friend. Ron didn’t care. What Quimpy thought about this was no longer a concern.
“When are you going to see her again?” said Quimpy.
“As soon as we’re done for the day.”
“I’m not saying that she isn’t ok, but I’m saying that you better think about the baggage that comes along with her.”
“Quimpy, we all have baggage.”
“Not her kind,” said Quimpy definitively.
Celeste Was conflicted. She wanted to tell someone about Ron but she wasn’t sure who she could trust to keep her secret. It was definitely too soon to say anything at home. Last night had been magical but like many magic things, maybe it was an illusion. There was risk involved. Her sister was out of the question. Number one, she wouldn’t approve. Sure she paid lip service to wanting to see Celeste happy, but Celeste really believed that she gloried in the status quo where she was the good daughter, the one who had a husband who was a truck driver and worked at the same plant as her father. She had a son and she didn’t need any help raising him. Secondly, it would take her about ten minutes to find some excuse to put their mother on to Celeste’s latest folly. She definitely wasn’t ready for that war.
She did have friends that she could talk to. There was Barbara from across the street and Jane from around the other side of the circle, but they weren’t family. When it all came down to it, she had been raised to be closest to her family. They were the ones who accepted you. They were the ones who you should be able to tell anything, except of course her mother and her sister. Really there were two choices: Cynthia and Janine.
Cynthia had been divorced and had gone through the added humiliation of everyone finding out that her husband liked to wear women’s clothes and probably was gay. Janine, had kept her marriage a secret for months. It was true that she was older and had two great kids, both of whom loved Angel, but she was also enough of a screwball so that Celeste felt comfortable talking with her. It was Janine that suggested that she slip out the back door a few minutes before she married her second husband. She dialed the phone.
“Hello,” said a low hard edged voice that paradoxically also sounded warm
Celeste responded in her Jersey Twang, “Janine.”
“What’s the matter?”
“He’s gorgeous.”
“He called?”
“Last night. We went for a drink after the baby was asleep and then we talked till five this morning.”
“You’re shittin’ me.”
“No, it might one of the best conversations that I ever had with a guy and when we kissed it was, you know, Janine it was great.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“I wanted to.”
“In your mother’s basement?”
They both laughed. “It wouldn’t be the first time,” said Celeste, feeling better and thinking that she’d made the right choice by calling Janine.
“Janine, I don’t know. I don’t think he wants a fling.”
“What’s wrong with him?” said Janine.
“I don’t know, but what we talked about was serious.”
“Serious how?” Janine was starting to sound frightened.
“Scary serious.”
There was a silence on the other end. Celeste could hear Janine lighting a cigarette. As she exhaled she said, “You know that you’re out of your fucking mind right?”
“There’s a way that I feel around him. I haven’t felt that way since Matt.”
Janine blew out smoke hard into the receiver. “Look you got a right to get laid and god knows you need to get laid, but please don’t go off the deep end.”
“I know what you mean, but suppose it’s the right guy. The one that I was sure was never gonna come along?”
“Do you want to come over and I’ll read your cards? Bring the baby. Stay for dinner.”
“I can’t, said Celeste. “I’m waiting for him to call.”
“Holy shit,” said Janine.

Chapter 6
A few months later Marjorie borrowed money from her Aunt Dottie and bought a car. She learned that Rocky had sold the ’56 Chevy that they had bought together in favor of a newer model and she tracked down the person that bought the car and overpaid to get it back. She was back to work now, waitressing across the street from their apartment. Her customers remembered her and welcomed her back with $.50 tips and sometimes an entire dollar. Life was developing a new pattern and Ron began to feel settled in.
One summer night when he got home from stickball under the parking lot lights of the Davis Pharmaceutical Company, Marjorie said, “Come on, we’re going for a ride.” They put the top down on the convertible and drove down up to Newark City Stadium and then across Roseville Avenue. Ron stiffened in the seat next to her when he realized where they were heading.
“Why are we going to the Catanzaro house?” he asked.
“Don’t you miss seeing Sally and Honey and Anthony?”
“I don’t know,” said Ron. “Why haven’t they called us?”
“They are in a tough spot. Rocky is their family.”
“Yeah,” said Ron. “They used to say that about us too.”
“When they see you, that’s exactly how they will feel,” said Marjorie.
She didn’t tell him that she had been speaking to Honey Chapel and that she promised to be there when she and Ron arrived. There was a bond between Honey and Marjorie, and though she loved her Uncle Rocky with an undying loyalty and worship, it had been Marjorie who had gone to bat for her when she had gotten pregnant and her father Anthony wanted to ship her off somewhere, so that the problem could be taken care of. Then he would visit Vincent Chapel with his brothers and teach the young prick some manners.
Marjorie had stood up to Anthony in his own house. Honey’s mother wasn’t able to do anything but cry and say that her husband knew best. Marjorie had gone there night after night and reasoned and begged and had the audacity to say that it didn’t matter that Vincent was only half Italian, and that she knew that they were in love and that he would make her a good husband. Marjorie had even outflanked him by bringing Rocky’s mother into it by telling her that her grand-daughter wanted to get married, and that someone needed to talk sense into Anthony. What was done was done and there was no reason to make a mistake into a tragedy.
Rocky had quietly endured being told that he should tell his girlfriend to shut her big mouth and stop meddling in things that she didn’t understand. But Marjorie had prevailed and Honey was now married and her husband was back from the Marines and had a good job as an electrician. Honey promised that she never would forget what Marjorie had done for her. She’d just turned seventeen when it all happened and that was five years ago and something that had been rewritten in Catanzaro family history by everyone except Honey.
Sally Catanzaro’s face registered shock when she saw Marjorie and Ron at her back door. The back door was for family and no one ever rang that bell. They just knocked as they walked in. Sally forced a smile at them. She had been Ron’s favorite, and he felt the rush of good feeling when he saw her smooth face and wanted to feel her warm hands hugging him the way that they always had. He advanced towards her for his hug, but she took a step back and put out her hand to ward him off. Ron stood there with his arms open and wondered if she had a cold that she was afraid to pass along to him. It was awkward. Marjorie and Sally’s eyes met and then Sally looked over her shoulder almost fearfully and then at Ron. Confusion was spreading across his face like the stain of a drink that had been spilled on a dinner’s tablecloth. Finally, she hugged him stiffly and Ron felt the stiffness and pulled back. She did not meet his eyes either.
“Marjorie, we didn’t expect you.”
Honey came into the room and hugged Marjorie warmly. Sally retreated further back against her stove. Marjorie and Honey laughed and Marjorie said that Honey looked so good when she was pregnant.
“Vincent feels that way too,” laughed Honey.
Ron saw Sally flush with embarrassment and he understood that something was very wrong here. He wanted to leave but they hadn’t even really gotten into the house.
Anthony’s heavy footsteps plodded into the kitchen. He was still wearing his uniform shirt and pants from Mechanic’s Overall, where he was a route rider, and now had his brother-in-law Rocky for a supervisor. His eyes met Marjorie and he stopped in his tracks, unsure of what to do. He was on his way for a beer but the outsiders were standing in front of the refrigerator. Without greeting them, he said to his daughter. “Get me a Miller” and turned to go back to the TV.
Marjorie stood there stunned. Ron said, “Hello Anthony, don’t you see me?”
“I see you kid. You look ok,” he said, over his shoulder.
Ron was ill at ease and very confused. He saw Cookie by her dog bed and went to her. The dog wagged her tail and licked Ron’s face. He got down on the floor and nuzzled her. They women stood there watching him.
“I guess this wasn’t such a good idea,” said Marjorie.
Sally said, “Don’t feel that way. You know how Anthony is. He doesn’t like surprises. You should call first and maybe it would be better if you came during the day when he was at work. You know, just until he gets used to the idea.”
Ron wanted to ask if Connie, their younger daughter on whom he had a crush was in her favorite spot in the basement, but maybe that wasn’t such a good idea either.

Chapter 7
Celeste, Ron and Angel rode in the squeak mobile. They were on the way to the park so Angel could feed the ducks. In the last days, the three of them had been together every night, and though she had not yet said Ron’s name, she loved to hold his hand and ride on his shoulders. Before Ron, she had been afraid of the ducks because they were almost as big as she was and their beaks and their feet and the noises that they made frightened her. But from the safety of his shoulders, with his arms wrapped around her knees, she was taller than everyone.
Her tiny fingers stroked the sides of his face and rested on top of his head and outlined the curve of his ears. She weighed almost nothing. He held her by her ankles. Euphoria swept over them both. Ducks quacked and scuttled at his feet. Celeste watched, feeling her heart carried along with them. Sometimes a pang of how hard it would be on her if this came to an abrupt end made her shiver, but there were lots of people in Angel’s life. Ron was a newcomer. She didn’t even really talk to him yet. They just did things together and Celeste knew that Angel thought of him as a big, flexible toy. At least, she did so far.
Celeste was quickly considering him something else. After that first night there had been the second night and then, right away, a third night. That was when they slept together. He was gentle with her, until the passion drove them both into a worked up froth. Then the gentleness returned and the ache between her legs felt warm and good and she wanted him back there again, thrusting himself in and out of her until he was poking at her cervix and the sweet hurt caused eruption after eruption inside of her.
Back in the red Ford they went for ice cream and Ron asked Angel what she wanted.
She grinned and her huge brown eyes lit up his face when she said, “Strawberry.”
“Everything is strawberry right now,” said Celeste, who had taken Angel to meet Strawberry Shortcake at a breakfast the week before she and Ron had met.
Ron smiled, “Strawberry is the best,” he said.
Back in the car, face sticky, hands wiped clean but also almost like Velcro with everything that she touched Angel said, “Ron, the water tower,” and pointed.
Ron pulled the car to the side of the road and turned to face the two of them. Angel was pointing out the window to the water tower that announced the name “Fairlawn” in faded block letters.
His face was ecstatic and his reached back and lightly stroked her chubby calf. “That’s our water tower,” he said.
Celeste saw the pure joy on his face and knew that it was because she had finally said his name. When he dropped them off at their house, Celeste unstrapped Angel from the car seat and handed her to Ron so that she could take the chair out and bring it back inside. Angel threw her arms around Ron’s neck and hugged him as tightly as she could.
“I’ll call you when I get home,” said Ron.
Celeste carried Angel into her house and Ron squeaked around the corner and disappeared. They both watched him go and then the porch light came on and Barbara was coming out the door.
Barbara was Celeste’s cousin. She had been Celeste’s dance teacher and she loved Angel with the pure devotion of a spinster who saw her role as giving all that she had to this newest member of the family. “Where were you, young lady?”
Angel smiled and tilted her head to the side in a dreamy gaze. “With Ron. We had ice cream.”
Barb took the baby from Celeste’s arms and laughing in pure delight, repeated, “With Ron? And you had ice cream?”
“We fed the ducks,” Angel giggled.
“You are a sticky girl who needs a bath is what I think.”
And she carried her back inside with Celeste trailing behind. Celeste’s mother and Barb’s mother, Vivian were at the table drinking coffee. Celeste’s father was stretched out on the floor watching a blaring TV. All three shouted “There’s the princess,” not quite in unison.
“We’re very sticky,” said Barb and we’ll be right back after we have a bath. No one really said hello to Celeste but she didn’t mind. They were such a help to her. They had saved her life and she knew what the priorities were.
Celeste put down the ever present baby bag that she had learned to carry with here everywhere. “Do you want to undress her while I run the water?” she asked Barb.
After her bath, after they had passed her naked body around the table and took turns kissing her baby soft bottom, after Barb had gotten her dressed for bed and she had gone to lie on her Papa’s stomach and watch TV, Celeste’s mother said, “I suppose it’s time we met this Ron, before this little girl gets her heart broken.” Her mother was neither smiling nor happy.
Before Celeste answered, the phone rang and she felt herself jumping at it. “Hi,” she cooed into the receiver. “Give me as second to get downstairs.”
Vivian and her sister shook their heads as she disappeared into the basement and then called up, “Please hang up the phone.”
Barb went to the wall phone and clicked it off.

Chapter 8
Walking back towards the school after lunch, Ron felt the thick hard blade of the butcher knife that against his chest. He wasn’t sure if he was gonna need it, but he was sure that if it came down to anything, he wanted to have the biggest knife. His nervousness caused sweat to trickle down his back with an unamusing tickle. His friend were waiting in a loose circle at the corner.
“You got anything?” said Kenny Bonet.
“Yeah,” said Ron.
He slid the blade out from under his jacket and showed it to the other guys. There were the Zarro brothers, Jimmy Lucas, Kenny Bonet and him. They stared hard down Grafton Avenue, and waited for the kids from Broadway Junior High who had been there before lunch making dirty comments to some of the girls that Ron and his friends went to school with. There had been words and a stare down, but when they saw Mr. Boyden coming into the playground, the Broadway guys said, “After lunch, jerkoffs. We’ll see you then and make you eat shit.” They’d see about who was gonna be eating shit now. The Zarro’s each had a pocket knife. Kenny Bonet had an actual switch blade that he could snap open in one quick motion. Ron felt important.
Broadway showed just like they said. They were black. They walked with a hop in their steps. They fanned out as they approached. Ron stood in the center next to Kenny. “You mother-fuckers got some sweet little pussy in this school. Too good for your little dicks. They told us they want to see what it’s like when they meet somebody who can make them want to get on their backs and spread their legs.”
“Yeah nigger,” said Kenny. “Show us what you got and we’ll cut it right off, and then you’ll learn that you should be leaving white girls alone. Stay with you own frizzy headed, dirty pigs.”
Fists clenched, eyes darkened Ron opened his jacket and pulled out the butcher knife. The eyes of the boy glaring a few yards away from him got saucer big. Ron held it down low, blade pointed out. He prepared to rush in swinging it and slashing at anybody that came close to him. But in a moment one of the Black kids pointed over Ron’s shoulder, and the rest of the Broadway group froze and then turned and ran. Ron was too focused and he surely wasn’t gonna fall for the ‘look who’s in back of you’ trick. Then he heard Kenny say, “Cops.”
The boys scattered and ran through the playground as the two cars raced down the street and pulled up in front of the gate. Ron ran through the playground and out the other side. There was a chain link fence that was lined with high bushes just on the other side of it. He stopped, stooped down and slid the knife through an opening in the fence until he couldn’t see it anymore. The kids had scattered. He couldn’t see any of his friends now. He was panting and sweating. He heard the bell ring. He could go right in through this side door. No one had seen him. He was safe.
The afternoon in Mrs. Kennedy’s 6A class got off to a slow start. Ron looked around. Jimmy Lucas was in his seat but he had his head down and didn’t turn around to look at Ron, who only glanced at the back of Jimmy’s head and then looked away. The Zarro brothers were in another class but he didn’t see Kenny anywhere. His empty seat glared like an accusation. Ron was worried but he knew that Kenny was a tough kid who played hooky a lot. It wouldn’t be unusual if Kenny just took off and didn’t come back to school that day. It was probably the smart thing to do. It was what Ron should have done. He looked over at Valerie Scaretti and she smiled at him. Ron smiled back. Valerie knew what was going on. She had been one of the insulted girls. She was one of the girls that Ron was defending. The least she could do was smile for him.
There was a knock at Mrs. Kennedy’s door. She turned, looked down the aisle, nodded her head and made eye contact with Ron as she nodded her head. Ron felt his body go tighter. He had an urge to clasp his hand, against the edge of his desk like he was taught to do when he was being punished. He fought the urge. Nothing had happened. He hadn’t done anything. He tried to look innocent. Then he saw Mrs. Kennedy point to him and crook her index finger. Motioning him to come to the front of the room. He got up slowly.
“Ronald, you’re wanted in the main office,” said Mrs. Kennedy. There was a worried look on her face. She was Ron’s favorite teacher since 3rd grade. She wanted to skip him a half year because of his reading ability and his vocabulary. She had helped to get the “Y” on his library card that allowed him to borrow books from the adult library, as long as certain books were off limits. She told him that she couldn’t skip him because his asthma caused him to miss too many days. She didn’t know that some of the asthma days were times when his mother kept him home to help her go downtown and look for better jobs than waitressing.
Ron walked down the two flights of stairs to the main office. He would just play dumb. He didn’t know anything about anything. He had gone home for lunch and the come back to school like always. He was pretty sure that he could get away with it.
“Ronald,” said the principal’s secretary, “there’s a call for you from home. It’s a little unusual but I’m going to let you take it but I have to listen in on this line.”
“Sure,” said Ron. He picked up the phone.
Marjorie Tuck said, “Ronald, did you take a knife from the kitchen drawer at lunchtime?”
Ron closed his eyes. Busted by his own mother. How could she possibly have figured that out so fast? “Yes, Mom, I did.”
Marjorie’s voice was choked. “Why?” she managed to say.
“For protection,” said Ron, almost defiantly.
Then the door to the principal’s office opened and Ron saw the two policemen sitting there. They were listening too. Kenny Bonet was in the corner of the principal’s office. He looked like he was crying. The secretary took the phone away from Ron’s ear. Ralph Lattimere’s deep voice said “Come in here, Ronald.”
Ron felt himself moving towards the door at the same time that he wanted to turn and run. He could get passed the secretary. He could be unstoppable. The cops were smiling.
“Where’s the knife now Ron?” said principal Lattimere.
“I hid it,” said Ron.
One of the detectives stood up. “I’ll go with you,” he said. “Show me where it is.”
Kenny was looking at the wall. Ron thought that he looked like a little boy who wasn’t so tough after all.
Ron took the cop to the spot in the chain link fence and pointed. “In there,” he said.
“Get it for me,” said the cop.
Ron crouched down and worked it out from between the links of the fence, thinking that they never would have found it. They never would have known to look there. Why did his mother have to call?
He handed the knife over and the detective whistled as he saw it. “You know that you’re in big trouble, right?”
“I didn’t do anything,” protested Ron.
“Let me show you something kid. “The law says that anything with a blade more than four fingers long is illegal to carry.” He laid four fingers at the base of the blade. It extended out at least six more fingers beyond the detectives hand. Ron stared at it. “Still think that you didn’t do anything wrong?”
Ron shook his head.
“Do you know where Jamesburg is, kid?”
Ron shook his head again.
“Who else was with you?”
Ron didn’t answer.
“Did anyone have brass knuckles?”
Ron thought that he knew what brass knuckles were but he wasn’t sure. He shook his head.
“You really think that your mother needs this aggravation from you?” said the detective in a gruff, harsh whisper.
It was then that Ron began to cry.

Back at their apartment, Marjorie said little to Ron. She was terrified. The cops had been non-committal about whether or not there was a way that he could avoid charges. One thing was for certain; something had to be done. He couldn’t just walk away from this. Denny Galveston was a cop that Marjorie knew. He was a good guy. When he got free coffee, he left her a tip. “Some of your son’s friends are on a bad path, Margi. We’re gonna slam them before this gets any worse. Your boy hasn’t been in trouble before, but Jesus, he had a butcher knife.”
Marjorie winced and then she cried. “Isn’t there something that we can do? I need him Denny. He’s all that I have.”
“Maybe it would be better to straighten him out now. Six months in Jamesburg, and he would think twice about ever doing something like this again.”
Marjorie looked into his eyes with her own large hazel eyes. “Six months in there and he might never be the same. He’s a good boy. Can’t we do something?”
“No promises but I’ll see what I can do. I’ll stop by the diner tomorrow or the next day, as soon as I know something.”
Marjorie made two phone calls. The first was to Ron’s father. The second was to Mechanics Overall. She was convinced that what Ron needed was a man to talk to him. It was about time that she brought her ex-husband into this, and Rocky was someone that she always went to when she didn’t know what to do.
“I can stop over after work,” said Rocky, “but do you really think that Ron will listen to anything that I say?”
“I’ll try anything, “said Marjorie. “Rocky, they are talking about sending him away. I can’t bear the thought of him being in a place like that. It will kill me.”
She had difficulty contacting Harry. He was on the road and his boss said that he would get a message to him to call as soon as he called in. Marjorie explained that it was about Ron and that it wasn’t good news.
Ron was sitting at the kitchenette table in the living room looking down at the pattern on the table top when Rocky arrived. He didn’t look up.
“Ron, it looks like you gotten yourself in a bit of a scrape.” Ron didn’t answer. Rocky and Marjorie exchanged a look.
“You know enough to answer when someone is talking to you Ronald,” said Marjorie. “Rocky is here to try to help you.”
“I thought he promised never to see us again,” said Ron, looking only at his mother.
“Ron, sometimes adults say things because they have to say them. It doesn’t mean that they believe them,” said Rocky.
“So basically you’re just a liar, right?” said Ron.
There was a silence and then Marjorie said, “I’m going across the street to talk with John Pappas, maybe he can do something.” John Pappas was her boss and he liked Ron. He sometimes paid him a dollar to kill flies in the back section of the diner. Ron watched her leave and then he watched Rocky move over to the table and sit down. He sat in the chair that he usually sat in when they all had dinner together and Ron felt the hatred rise in him and blot of his fear.
“What were you thinking?” said Rocky.
Silence.
“Do you know what you were thinking?”
“Yeah, I was thinking that the Negro kid looked a little Italian and that if I couldn’t stab you, maybe I could stab him.” He watched Rocky’s face turn red with anger. He noted with satisfaction that it took Rocky a minute to compose himself.
“So you’re just going to make smart assed comments to me and make yourself feel better that way. Is that your plan? What about your mother?”
Ron felt the tears immediate rise to his eyes and threaten to fall. He bit off his words hard. “You got no right to talk to me about hurting her. You didn’t care what happened to her or what happened to me. Don’t be here now trying to make up for it, because I hate you. You want to know what my plan is? My plan is to hate you until you die. My plan is to hate your daughter, to hate your sisters, and to hate your whole lying family.” Ron stared at him. The tears were running out of his eyes now and he wiped them with his sleeve.
“I can’t talk to you,” said Rocky.
“That’s right, you can’t,” spit Ron.
Quietly, Rocky left and Ron looked up to the windows that were at ground level and watched him walk across the street.
Ron’s dad wanted to speak with him alone. Harry was careful not to show any sense of pride about what Ron had done, but the fact that he was standing up to the niggers was pleasing to him. He loaded Ron into his car and they went for a ride. It was where they had their best talks because Harry had an excuse for not making eye contact. Ron never seemed to notice, and the passing scenery seemed to allow Harry to open up more easily.
“Ronald, it was stupid of you to get caught. If you are gonna get caught doing these things, you’re better off not to do them, and since you seem to get caught as often as you get away with anything, maybe you are better off not doing them.”
“Dad, I didn’t get caught. I stashed the knife. They never would have found it. Mom came home and saw that it was missing from the kitchen drawer and called the school.”
Harry shook his head back and forth. “And you believe that’s what happened?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you believe that you mother came home and for some strange reason immediately checked the kitchen drawer and saw that the knife was missing?”
Ron stared straight out the window. He felt stupid because what his father had just said sounded stupid, and he felt more stupid because he didn’t know what the real answer was.
“Your friend Kenny ratted you out,” said Harry. “He gave your name to the police and they called your mother and she pretended to call the school.” Harry glanced at Ron and saw that his son was sitting there with his mouth hanging open. Harry knew that this whole thing was a tough lesson, and that it might even get tougher still but he believed that his son would learn. “Any time that you trust somebody, Ron, you leave yourself open. You need to learn to leave yourself open less often.”
“How do I do that, dad?”
“You keep your mouth shut and keep things to yourself. You don’t ever brag about anything. Bragging leaves you open. You let the other guy brag and you listen and size up where he is weak from his bragging.”
“I don’t know how to do that.”
“I know that you don’t,” said Harry. “That’s why I’m telling you that you aren’t cut out to do the kind of things that you’re doing. Even now, you don’t know what to do, do you?”
“No,” said Ron quietly.
Harry debated telling his son that the next thing to do was to kick the shit out of Kenny and decided that it wasn’t a good idea. “When we get back to your apartment, tell your mother that I told you that you were too smart to be wasting your time with knives and gangs and that you have a better future than that.”
“Ok,” said Ron.
“Don’t tell her about the rest of what we talked about. It will only upset her.”
“Ok.”
“Ron, it isn’t a lie. You are too smart to be doing these things.”
“I don’t feel very smart at all, dad.”
When they got back home, Marjorie was smiling. “They’re not pressing any charges,” she said. “Ronald, you are going to Catholic school.”

Chapter 9
Angel sat waiting by the bay window to the side of the front door. Her mother was in the bathroom combing her hair and her grandmother was on the telephone in the kitchen. When she smelled her mom’s perfume, she decided that Ron must be on his way over, and she listened and watched for his car. It had been two weeks since they had met. Angel didn’t know that it was that long, but she did know that he liked to play with her and she liked to make him smile. In her play room, she had her tea party set all assembled. She heard his car come around the corner just as her mom went down into the basement to change her clothes.
She took Ron by the hand and used it to steady her walking as she brought him into the playroom. She was very quiet and Ron hadn’t said anything. She had been worried about how she would open the door but when he saw her on the other side of the screen door, standing there, smiling, he had opened it for her. When they got back into the playroom, she used her weight and both hands to shut the door. Now she had him all to herself.
Ron sat cross-legged on the floor and drank imaginary tea from a plastic cup. Then she served imaginary cakes. Her dark eyes were very serious, and Ron watched with a glowing warmth that spread through him like he was high. Angel was just over three feet tall and would be two years old next week.
“Would you like more tea?” she said in a perfectly enunciated sentence.
“Yes, please,” said Ron. He hadn’t really been around that many children in his life. He didn’t realize how extraordinary it was that she had gone from saying single words to speaking in complete sentences before her second birthday, but when she looked into his eyes with her huge brown windows, he felt himself absorbed.
After about fifteen minutes, the door opened. Angel frowned and Celeste came into the room smiling. “I didn’t know you were here.”
“I was kidnapped,” said Ron shrugging his shoulders.
Angel got to her feet turned to her mother and pressed both hands on her thighs and tried to push her back out of the room. “No,” she said.

At dinner, Celeste’s mother Anna, a stout woman with short mixed red and grey hair, said, “Angel has become very attached to you in a very short period of time.” She sat hunched over her plate when she said it and raised her eyes up and turned her head only slightly to make eye contact with Ron.
“She’s just wonderful,” said Ron.
“I know that she is,” said Anna. “Do you really think that it is a good idea that you spend so much time together?”
Ron looked confused. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not sure that it’s good for Angel to become so attached to you,” said Anna.
“Can we talk about this later?” said Celeste.
Celeste’s father Mario said nothing as he ate. He had always opened his home for his daughters’ friends and tried to make them feel comfortable, but he could see that his wife was on a mission and decided to stay out of it.
Ron’s eyes moved from Celeste to Angel and then back to Anna. He was no stranger to dinner time confrontations, but he believed that if he could hold his own with Marjorie, he could hold his own with anyone.
“I think that we should talk about it now before Trudy and Angela come over.”
Ron met Celeste’s eyes and there was an imperceptible nod between them. He said, “I want Angel to become attached to me because I want to marry your daughter.”
Both Mario and Anna stopped eating. They turned to look at their elder daughter in unison. Celeste felt like she was going to swallow her tongue.
Anna’s voice was low and menacing. “And just when did the two of you decide that?”
“We’ve known it since the first night that we were together,” said Ron happily.
Anna felt like she was going to vomit. Mario looked at his wife. Images of the last two weddings and the last two divorces flooded his brain. Of course his daughter was still young, but she was a mother and he wanted his grand-daughter with him. He didn’t want upheaval. He didn’t like this guy with his light brown hair and green eyes and his squeaky wreck of a car. What kind of life was this going to be for Angel? She was happy here. Things were settled. There was no reason for this. He glared at Ron but Ron seemed oblivious. He was smiling at Anna, but Anna wasn’t smiling back.
Anna turned to her daughter. “And this is how you are going to take responsibility for your life and the life of your child now? You plan to rip her away from the only home that she has ever known. A home where she is happy and well cared for and run off with this.” At that she raised her fork from which hung a stray strand of dangling spaghetti, and pointed it at Ron.
Ron found himself staring at the saucy fork. “I think it’s going to be great for everyone, especially Angel,” he said.
He waited but no one answered him. Finally, Celeste said, “We’re going over to the park to feed the ducks. We’ll be back later.”
She dreaded what later was going to be, but she was going to have to address it eventually.

Chapter 10
“Mom, I met a girl and I think that I’m going to marry her.”
Marjorie Bombasco looked up from her coffee with a dazed expression. “Ronald, I just woke up.”
Ron continued, “I’m in love with her and I love her daughter too.”
“Her daughter? She has a daughter?”
“Yes, she was married before.”
“Why do you want a girl who was married before? You were never married before?” Marjorie could feel her stomach beginning to churn. She could tell that this wasn’t going to make her happy and the way that he was just springing it on her meant that there must be more.
“Technically, no, I wasn’t,” said Ron. Then he continued with his reasoning, “But I lived with Robin, I lived with Zoe.”
“Are you telling me that you would have wanted to marry the mouse?”
“I really wish that you’d stop calling her that. She wasn’t a mouse.”
“She squinted like a mouse.”
“OK, mom, there’s not need to argue about Zoe. That isn’t the question.”
“And how long have you been seeing this new love of your life and why is this the first time that you are telling me about it?”
“I’ve seen her almost every day for the last two weeks.”
“Two entire weeks,” said Marjorie. “Well then I’m sure that you know what you are doing.”
“You’re right mom, I do know exactly what I’m doing. And I’d like you to meet her.”
“Before you marry her? That’s very thoughtful of you, Ronald.”
“Is this how you’re going to be, sarcastic and unsupportive?”
“Just what is it that you would like me to support Ronald? You’ve met a girl. That’s wonderful. Of course it’s not a girl that I introduced you to or a girl that I even know, but that would be asking too much wouldn’t it?”
Ron said nothing. He stared into her eyes with resolve. She knew the look. He got it from his father. It meant that his mind was made up and Marjorie felt the room begin to spin. She put her hands flat on the table. “And just where did you meet this girl?”
“She used to be Quimpy’s girlfriend,” said Ron.
“So, you couldn’t even find a girl of your own. You had to steal your friend’s girlfriend that he didn’t want anymore. After she had gone off and gotten married and had a child. How old is this girl?”
“We’re the same age,” said Ron. He felt himself bristling from the Quimpy remark.
“And how old is her kid?”
“Angel is going to be two next week.”
Marjorie’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of a name is Angel?”
“They’re Italian,” said Ron. His eyes met his mother’s eyes. Their gazes held each other for a long time.
Marjorie felt her chin begin to quiver. “I thought you said that you didn’t want anything to do with an Italian girl? You’ve never even really dated an Italian girl.”
“I know, it’s funny isn’t it.”
A tear ran out of her left eye. “No Ronald, I would not say that it’s funny.”

Chapter 11

“Ronald, this is George’s Mother and his grandmother and his Uncle John. This is his sister Linda and her husband Robert and their children Roberta and Robert Junior.”
Ron tried to smile a hello to everyone and put his hands in his pockets and stood there looking at his shoes. His mother had married George Bombasco two months earlier but they had kept their marriage a secret, until George could find a way to break the news to his family. He had started spending some nights at their apartment and though Ron had kind of liked him initially, when George started telling Ron what to do, difficulties began.
“You can sit there until it’s time for dinner, Ronald,” said George’s mother.
Ron sat and watched women work at the table in the basement of the house. Uncle John had the newspaper spread open on one section of the table and he was looking at the ads from the food circulars. “Look here,” said John, “carrots for 12 cents for two pounds at Pathmark and bacon for 67 cents a pound at the Acme. We can go out and get both of those things tomorrow.”
“I saw a box of Cheerios for 24 cents at the A&P,” said George’s mother. “Isn’t that good?”
Ron listened and tried to find something about the conversation that was interesting.
George’s mother said more emphatically, “Isn’t that good?” She was looking at George. Her chins wobbled. She scrunched her glasses back up against her face with a questioning grimace.
“I think so,” said George, “but I’ll have the Foodtown circular tomorrow and you can see if it’s better there.”
Ron stared out the back window at the garden. He saw the plump tomatoes bulging the vines, and the white strips of cloth that were used to tie them to the wooden stakes fluttering in the late summer breeze. He closed his eyes and inhaled the smell of the tomato sauce and felt a little sick to his stomach.
When he stood up, it seemed to signal everyone to stop and stare at him. “I’m going to go outside for a little while.”
“Stay close,” said Uncle John. “The shines are out on their porches down on Broad Street.”
Ron looked at him with a quizzical expression. “I just wanted to see the garden.”
John shifted, a little uncomfortable with this information. His thin grey hair sprouted out to the sides over the top of the black rims of his glasses. “Be careful not to touch anything,” he said.
Linda came out of the back of the basement holding Junior in her arms. Roberta followed her with her hand holding her mother’s skirt like it was a reassuring tether. Ron did not make eye contact with any of them as he went out the door.
Ron had never seen a vegetable garden before, and he looked at it with some reverence. Then he found a spot in the shade back by the garage and squatted back against the wall. The garden was split in the center and had distinct rows on each side. It was very green. Ron saw the tomatoes and the peppers on the vine. He thought that they looked like magical apparitions. He had seen pictures on the early morning show, The Modern Farmer, but this was so much more real and alive. At least he had found one thing that he liked.

Chapter 12

Jake Clifford smiled broadly when he saw Celeste and Angel getting out of Ron’s squeak mobile. He walked towards them with an athletic glide in his step. “So this is the lucky guy that has you smiling,” said Jake. He extended his hand to Ron and they shook.
“How’s everything, Jake?” said Celeste.
“Things are great. I heard from Spalding and I think that they are going to buy it.” Jake grinned and put his head down and shuffled his feet back and forth a little.
Celeste turned to Ron with an excited grin on her face. “Jake has an invention that he’s about to become famous for,” she said.
“Why don’t you and Ron come over later? We can toot some lines.” He sized Ron up and asked, “Do you play ping pong?”

When school was over Ron was out the door like a sprinter. His book bag was slung over his shoulder and he was running south on Summer Avenue towards Bloomfield Avenue. He veered left at Elwood and then picked up speed when he got to Lincoln. He ran the length of Lincoln Avenue and right up the stairs and into the Boys Club.
Off to the back of the huge room, under a hanging cloud of smoke, the old men were playing chess. Ron’s book bag dangled from his shoulder as he walked over trying to look inconspicuous. He really wasn’t supposed to be there yet. On Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, the Club was taken over by the Retired Men’s Club and they played chess and pool and cards until 3 in the afternoon. The chess players were allowed to stay longer though. They were out of the way and brought their own pieces and plastic chess mats.
Ron was always very quiet and careful not to move around. The men were cranky and usually his presence was more tolerated than accepted, but he loved to smell their pipe smoke and watch the way that they manipulated the pieces and sometimes, if there was no one else to play, he was allowed to sit in for a game.
Some of the men were happy to teach him and it didn’t take Ron long to become a regular at the end of these Tuesday and Thursday gatherings. Ron thought that they played the game with an elegant flair and though he knew none of their names, he did have his favorites.
He was just settled into his second game of watching when he felt a hand on his shoulder. “Ron, can I speak to you for a moment?”
It was Danny McCarthy, a short red faced man in his thirties who always wore a lanyard and whistle around his neck.
“Sure,” said Ron. He got up and walked past the pool table and towards the windows where there were six ping pong tables set up next to each other.
They sat on the low window ledge in back of the table and in front of the windows. Danny looked very serious. “Ron, you know that there is no gambling here, don’t you?”
Feeling the heat rise to his face, Ron tried to control his reaction. “Sure, I know.”
“Is it true that you beat Joey Baltiari for so much money playing ping pong that he gave you his bankbook?”
“I didn’t take any of his money,” said Ron.
“How much did you beat him for Ron?”
“I don’t know. I kept saying that I wanted to quit and he kept wanting to do double or nothing and he couldn’t beat me.”
“But you know that there is no gambling here. You told me that you knew.”
“I took $4 in cash and he owes me another $125,” said Ron. The guilt had overtaken him and he wanted to be rid of it.
“Ron, this is wrong. You know that it’s wrong. You knew it was wrong when you did it.”
“I gave him a spot,” said Ron defensively.
“But you knew that he couldn’t beat you, didn’t you?”
Ron nodded and hung his head.
“And now the boy is so upset that he got sick and wasn’t able to go to school today and finally he told his mother what you had done to him and she called me.”
Ron stared out the window. Then he looked over at the smoky cloud of chess players. He waited for what was going to happen next.
“I want you to return his bankbook, Ron and promise me that you’ll never do anything like this again.”
Ron reached down into his book bag where he’d kept the bankbook hidden. He fished it out and gave it to Danny without saying anything.
The Director took the book and opened it to look at the balance. He was interested to see how much Joey had, and he wanted to check to see that Ron hadn’t been able to make any withdrawls. “Ron, I want you to tell your parents what happened and I’m going to take your membership card until one of them comes it with you to get it back.”
Ron’s mind went blank. The words “Oh shit” formed in his brain. This was going to be bad. This was going to be really bad.
He didn’t eat much of his dinner. He sat across from George and Marjorie in their third floor apartment toying with his food. They didn’t seem to notice that he wasn’t eating and George was shoveling the food in at a rate that did not allow for conversation.
“Something happened today,” started Ron.
George stopped eating and Marjorie lit a cigarette. “What happened?” she said.
“Sometimes at the Boys Club we play ping pong for a dime or a quarter a game,” said Ron trying to ease into it. George and Marjorie exchanged a look that was a mixture of anger and fear.
“How much did you lose?” said George.
“I didn’t lose,” said Ron. “I beat this kid for all his money and he went home and told his mother that he had to give me his bankbook and she called the Boys Club, and now they won’t let me back in unless you go down there with me to pick up my membership card.”
“You’re just becoming a hoodlum, aren’t you?” said Marjorie. “Is this the way that I raised you?”
“Look, I didn’t try to take all his money. He kept wanting to play double or nothing and I kept winning.”
“Why didn’t you just say no and give the boy his money back?” said Marjorie. She began to cry. “Is this what I’ve raised you to be? Your grandmother would be spinning in her grave.”
George looked at Ron and gave him a disgusted grimace and before Ron knew what he did he said, “Well at least I won.”
George’s face got very red. Ron knew that they were still paying off George’s gambling debts. He knew that George had to work a second job just to keep up on the payments.
“You’re a bastard,” cried Marjorie.
“What you need is a good beating,” said George.
Ron had gone too far to quit now and he said, “Look my dad taught me how to gamble. It’s not my fault that I did it right.”
“Let your father go and get your card back,” said Marjorie. “I’m sure that he’ll be very proud of you.”

Chapter 13
Anna spent her mornings on the telephone. She sat in the kitchen with her Chesterfields and her coffee. She lived a sedentary life, but seemed to come very alive when she was on the telephone. It would not be unusual for her morning telephone marathons to go on for several hours.
There was a list of people with whom she spoke daily. These included her sisters, several cousins, and her daughter. The fact that she would see many of these people on a daily basis did not change the need for the morning calls.
Today’s theme was her outrage at the ungrateful Celeste, who never seemed to pass up the chance to find a new way to screw up her life. She began with Vivian.
“Can you believe the shit that she is trying to pull now?” said Anna in a rhetorical opening.
“What’s wrong with her?” said Vivian. “She has a nice home and a safe place for her daughter. There’s no pressure on her and she wants to throw all that away.”
“Stars in her eyes over another loser,” said Anna. “It wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t for Angel. That baby is happy here.”
“Wouldn’t you think that she would have learned to start putting her child first? She’s not twenty-one anymore. The party is over.”
Vivian had been a hard worker in her youth and it was true that Celeste had never been afraid of work either. But in their eyes she had thrown away nursing school, then married a photographer who considered himself too much of an artist to open a shop and take graduation and wedding pictures. She’d left him and hooked up with Angel’s father who they both knew was a humorless jerk the first time that they met him. At least he worked. She left him and found out she was pregnant and had run back home. Everyone in the family had pitched in to help her. Janine’s husband had redone what had been the girls’ shared room upstairs and turned it into a beautiful nursery. Tina’s husband had helped her refinish the basement. Mario had kept quiet about her being back home. Everything had been perfect, but now Celeste had dragged home this stray dog and his squeaky junk of a car.
They reviewed this litany together and Anna was sure that Vivian was on her side. “I swear that when I see my precious Angel strapped into a seat in the back of that deathtrap that my heart is in my mouth.”
“If you don’t think that his car is safe, you shouldn’t let her go,” said Vivian.
“How am I supposed to stop her?”
“Raise a stink,” said Vivian.
Anna laughed bitterly but thought that an event like that might drive Ron off.
Her conversation with Janine didn’t go as well.
“Is he cute,” Janine made the mistake of asking.
“I don’t know,” said Anna. “I can’t bring myself to stand to look at him. Besides, what difference does that make to me?”
“I’m not disagreeing, Anna, but if Celeste sees a future with him, shouldn’t you try to make the best of it?”
“No,” said Anna resolutely.
The she added, “Can Jimmy find out about this guy?”
Janine’s husband Jimmy was Angel’s godfather. He had a good job working in a school and he coached and knew other coaches.
“Find out what?” said Janine.
“If it turns out that this guy is a loser, like her other losers, maybe she would listen to Jimmy and not want to screw things up again.”
“I’ll ask him but you know how Jimmy is.”
Anna laughed, “Ask him after he’s just had a ride on that Napoli ass of yours.” Napoli was Anna’s maiden name and the power of their posteriors had been a running family joke among the women for a long time.
Janine and Anna giggled.

Chapter 14

Sister Wilma Dolores inspected the boy that the rectory had called about. She had been directed to accept him into the school, but she insisted that she wanted to meet him first. The idea of a non-Catholic boy in her school angered her and made her queasy at the same time. This one would be going into 7th grade, an age when things could get out of hand if the school wasn’t careful.
Ron sat in the hard wooden chair with his hands folded. He was nervous. He had never spoken with a nun before and their costumes made them look other worldly.
“What brings you to us, Ronald?”
“I’m not sure, Sister,” said Ron. He’d been told that he should call of them that. It was respectful and it saved having to remember their names.
“Why aren’t you sure, Ronald? This is no place for the undecided.”
“To be honest, Sister, it was decided for me,” said Ron, quite honestly. Then he hurried to add, “But I like to read and I think that I can be a good student.”
“You know that you’ll be expected to study Religion, just as all of the students here do and that you’ll be expected to take part in daily prayers and attend Mass.”
“I know, Sister.”
“Of course you won’t be allowed Communion and you’ll be expected to able to recite the necessary prayers, which you will learn as soon as possible.”
“I think that I already know most of them,” said Ron.
“Oh?” Wilma Dolores raised an eyebrow. She was wearing summer whites, but the tightly fitting, starched habit gave her face a puffiness in the heat. It fitted across the forehead and over her ears and under her chin. A round white heavily starched bib projected from under her neck and the black nylon strings that held her crucifix lay across it.
“I remember things easily,” said Ron.
“They aren’t just words to us, Ronald. They have a sacred meaning.”
“I can recite scripture too,” said Ron, trying hard to be cooperative.
This last piece of information was troubling to the school principal. She doubted if any of the students in the school had read the Bible. They read their catechism, lives of the saints, and the children’s book of New Testament bible stories. “That might be something that you should keep to yourself, Ronald. No one likes a showoff.”
“Yes, Sister.”
“Now, I know that you’ve been in trouble and that kind of behavior will not be tolerated here. You will be on a short leash Mr. Tuck and any whiff of incorrigibility and you will find yourself on the outside looking in.”
Ron thought that there wouldn’t be anything new about that, but it was the first time that he remembered anyone ever calling him Mr. Tuck. He kind of liked it.

Chapter 15
Dorothy Thomas told her nephew that she had something for him. She walked back through her kitchen and into her bedroom, the room furthest away from the place where her third and final husband slept. Even though it was midday and sunny, she needed to switch on the light to see. Ron had never remembered the drapes to his aunt’s bedroom being open. They were heavy drapes and contained multiple layers that both kept out light and muffled sound. They also blotted out the fact that this was a basement apartment that was given to the superintendent and family rent free.
Her bed roomset was pure and polished mahogany. It glistened under the overhead light, which she switched on as she opened her closet door. Ron’s eyes followed. There were two minks, one a full length coat and the other a jacket. Next to them hung a heavy black lamb’s wool coat. Dorothy pushed them to the side and revealed a stack of shoeboxes. The shoes, though not new, were in their original boxes and were still wrapped and rewrapped after each wearing into their tissue paper. Inside one of the boxes there was a velvet pouch tucked next black high heels. Ron’s eyes widened. It looked like treasure.
She opened the pouch and removed a set of black beads. It was a rosary. She slipped it into Ron’s hand and said, “Don’t tell anyone that I gave this to you. Your mother would have a fit.”
Ron’s family had always been staunchly anti-Catholic. When his great grandmother had been told that she had the “map of Ireland” on her face, she took it as a great insult. Dorothy was actually his great aunt. Marjorie had always suspected that she was actually her mother, but that family history had been so mangled over time, that there was no way to discover the truth. Dorothy certainly wasn’t going to tell anyone.
Ron fingered the beads. “Why do you have these?”
“When I was younger Ronald, I used to sneak into Catholic churches. I got these so that I wouldn’t look out of place.”
Ron was astonished. He stared down at the crucifix. She had kept them all these years. She was a woman of endless secrets. “Why did you go there, Aunt Dot?”
“Because they were beautiful and I loved the stained glass windows and all the gold. Our church was drab. I loved the smell of incense. I liked the pageantry. It was like going to a show and I didn’t have to buy a ticket.”
Ron smiled. He wanted to ask if it had anything to do with the religion but he didn’t. He didn’t want to spoil her secret by cluttering it up with facts. He slipped the beads into his pocket. She hadn’t given him the pouch, which she placed back into the box and then restacked with her other boxes. Ron wondered if more strangely wonderful things were concealed in them, but she was closing the closet door and turning out the light and then they were back in her kitchen and she wanted him to stay for dinner. Marjorie was working and she liked having him around.
“Sure,” said Ron.
“Go and say hello to your Uncle John,” she said.
Ron walked passed the birdcage and glanced down at the ceramic boxer that she kept of the floor guarding the entrance to her parlor. It was a long narrow corridor that led back to his Uncle’s room.
John Thomas was watching the Mets. They were an awful team and his love had been the Dodgers, but like his first wife, they had gone and he was stuck with this.
He didn’t mind the boy but when he stayed overnight John was forced into the twin bed in Dorothy’s bedroom, which only further reminded him of what he didn’t have.
“Hi, Uncle John.”
“Hello, Ronald.”
John was sitting in a Danish rocker and smoking his pipe. Ron slid down to the floor in front of the couch. He hated the Mets. He was a Yankee through and through. John disliked the Yankees and had tried to explain to Ron that they bought their success. Ron didn’t understand what that meant and rested his argument on his two favorite players, Mickey Mantle and Whitey Ford.

Chapter 16
Ron was invited to Sunday dinner with Celeste’s family. The men were in the backyard and the women were in the kitchen. Celeste came out to greet him when she heard his nearby squeaks. They kissed and he squeezed her ass. She grinned and said, “Not here,” smiling and looking around to see if anyone had seen. Then she said, “My father and Joey are in the backyard.”
“OK,” said Ron. He knew the drill but strangely he didn’t mind. “Do you want me to go into the kitchen and say hello first?” Then his face brightened. “Where’s Angel?”
“Barb came and got her this morning. She took her on an adventure. And yes, you better say hello first. They’ll say something to me if you don’t.”
Celeste led him around to the front door. Ron stared at the twitch of her hips as she walked. She didn’t wiggle or roll her hips. They seemed to snap from side to side, like a metronome. He gloried in the way that they moved.
The house was cool and the hum of the air conditioner was loud. Anna sat smoking her Chesterfields in her chair at the table. Tina was getting things out of the refrigerator and there was a pot of water being brought to a boil on the electric cooktop. The woman all hated the electric cooktop and longed for the days of fire. They complained that you just couldn’t regulate it properly, but they would work with what they had.
Celeste led him through the dining room and back into the kitchen. Anna looked up, saw Ron with her elder daughter, and reached for her cigarettes.
“Hello, Mrs. Brago,” said Ron.
Tina turned at the sound of his voice. She sized him up. She had been in love with Celeste’s first husband, David. She was still a girl then and David was dashing and exciting and funny. He’d taken Celeste to Europe and Tina had almost died with envy. Everyone in the family had loved David. They had hated her second husband, Norman, just as much. Tina had already decided that she wasn’t giving this one a chance.
Anna said, “I suppose that you’d better call me Anna. Mrs. Brago just sounds stupid.”
Ron took it as an act of conciliation, not noticing that Anna had avoided saying hello to him or using his name. Ron grinned his best dimpled grin. Tina turned away and rolled her eyes. “Anna” said Ron.
Anna looked at Celeste and said, “Janine and Jimmy are coming for coffee after dinner.”
Ron saw Tina’s back turned to him, inwardly shrugged and opened the back door to the yard.
Mario was stretched back in his hammock watching Joey play with his grandson, Little Joey in the above ground pool. Ron moved toward the Hammock and stretched out his hand to Mario. He wanted to avoid the name thing again and so he said, “How’s it going?”
Mario grasped Ron’s hand and they shook. He had large beefy hands. He was a big man with a barrel chest. Joey was the son that he never had and the kid had learned to drive a trailer truck in no time. Mario hated them and pretended that he couldn’t learn so that they would keep him with straight jobs.
Ron turned to the pool and repeated, “How’s it going?” in the direction of Joey, whose wet hands were holding his son. To his surprise, Joey curled young Joey under his left arm and extended his right hand towards Ron.
Ron said, “I think there’s a game on.” He hoped that they weren’t Mets fans.
“I don’t like sports,” said Mario.
“Me either,” said Joey.
It was gonna be a long afternoon.

Chapter 17
The classroom was arranged with boys on one side and girls on the other. The students were seated in the order of last year’s final grades. The best performing girls and boys were seated next to each other, the top rows. The arrangement was meant to be a constant reminder of performance and sent the subliminal message that only those who had proven that they could handle distraction would be allowed proximity to the opposite sex. Ron was assigned the last seat of the row furthest away from the center.
Sister Mary Salvatore was their teacher. She had been informed about Ron’s special circumstances. Ron had been staring at the girls’ heads on the other side of the room. He wanted to see more of them. Then, to his utter disbelief, the nun said, “Ronald Tuck, would you please stand up.”
Ron felt heat on his face as he stood. He had been thinking about the girls and he had an erection. It was tenting out the front of his pants and she was making him stand there. Everyone’s head turned to look at him. He had stashed Aunt Dottie’s rosary in his pants pocket. He put it there because it reminded him of his Aunt. Ron prayed that no one would notice how he was sticking out. He heard some of the girls giggle. Now he was blushing furiously. He cursed his penis and how often it became hard without him really realizing it.
“Ronald is a new student here,” said Mary Salvatore. “And it is important that we all help him to learn to be at home. Ronald isn’t a Catholic boy and so a lot of what we do will seem very strange to him. I am sure that none of you will hesitate to give him all the help that he requires.”
Ron prayed to be allowed to sit down. He wondered if he could get away with adjusting his pants, moving it to the side so that it didn’t stick out so obviously, but then he would be sticking the crucifix on the rosary with his penis. He wondered if that was a sin.
“Do you have anything that you would like to add, Ronald”
Maybe it was going to be over and she would let him sink back down into the oblivion of the last seat in the last row. “No, Sister.”
“Do any of you have any questions for Ronald?” said the nun. She seemed to want to prolong this and continue the torment. No one asked anything and mercifully, Ron sat.

Chapter 18
Ron wandered around the Brago backyard. He couldn’t remember having been in a place quite like this one. Their Cape Cod house was situated on a circle and from one back yard you could see into all the other back yards next to yours and those from the other side of the circle.
Sometimes they would cook the food on a grill that was linked to the house’s natural gas supply. Ron had never seen one that didn’t have to be refilled.
Mario was cooking at the grill and Joey was inside changing little Joey. Ron lit a cigarette and walked around the yard. In one corner was a large tree with a tire suspended from a rope. Ron looked at the makeshift swing and thought it had a friendly feel to it. Along the back of the chain link fence was an old grape vine. It was in bloom and Ron could see the deep purple luster of the fruit. He reached out and touched one of the grapes, thought about plucking it off to taste it, and decided it wasn’t a good idea. Along the other side of the yard was a vegetable garden. For a second, Ron was flooded with memories. They made him uncomfortable and he wondered if he knew what he was doing, but then Celeste was walking towards him and his doubts vanished.
She was wearing a sleeveless yellow top that tied in back of her neck. Her breasts jiggled as she moved. Her dark hair was tied back in a ponytail. Her tan skin radiated. She was carrying a clam on a half shell and held it out to Ron. He took it and slurped it down. The hot sauce had a sweet burn in his throat. They grinned at each other.
“You don’t fool around with the hot sauce, do you?” said Ron.
She shook her head from side to side with a wide grin. Then she said, “Do you like the garden?”
“I like gardens,” said Ron. He wanted to tell her what he had been thinking, but decided it wasn’t a good time. He didn’t understand this urge to just tell her everything. Could he really tell her everything? He wasn’t sure that he could ever tell anyone everything. If they knew what ran through his head, they would think him too fucked up for words. He had learned that from the few times, that he had taken a chance and revealed some of what he was thinking. People grew silent and sometimes horrified, or laughed uncontrollably and told him that he was crazy. Quimpy had referred to him as a “crazy fucked up kid” from the time that he was sixteen years old. Chris thought he was nuts. Robin, his first love, had said that he wasn’t real. Why did he feel this freedom with Celeste? His answer came in a flash. If I don’t tell her, I will never be able to really open up to her, and what kind of a marriage would we have then? If I do tell her, and it drives her away, maybe she would have left anyway and it would better if she found out before they were married. He resolved to tell her later, when they were alone and he could gaze into her face and see her reactions. He wondered if everyone who was planning to get married went through this kind of doubting about how much of themselves they should be revealing. He thought that they should. It also struck him that it seemed women wanted to know these things, but that didn’t mean that they were necessarily revealing the same kinds of things about themselves.
Celeste watched Ron’s eyes go a little dreamy and for a second he was lost in thought. She wondered if this family thing was just going to be too much for him, but wasn’t sure that she should ask. He’d told her that he wanted her to tell him everything, but guys just say that. What she believed was that they wanted you to tell them everything that they wanted to hear. Then she said, “We’d better go inside for dinner.”
“Aren’t we eating out here?”
“No,” said Celeste. “My mother doesn’t like to eat outside.”
This was very true. Anna was overweight and didn’t like to sweat. She had allergies and hated being around plants. And then there were the flies. Anna hated flies with a passion that bordered on obsession. Next to a telephone, a cigarette, or a cup of coffee in her hand, the thing that you were most apt to see there was a fly swatter. If one got into the house, she would hunt it to distraction, cursing it each time that she swung and the fly escaped. Anna did not move quickly and had to use stealth in order to be successful. Mario had bought her the fly swatter soon after they were married and he found her banging her shoe against the wall and crying. That had been many fly swatters ago.
Ron got to the door and held it open for Celeste.
“Don’t let the flies in,” hollered Anna. Ron didn’t understand and waited for Celeste to climb the three stone steps to the back door. Anna glared. Celeste hurried and shut the door in back of her. Just as Barb came through the front door with Angel. The house went into immediate celebration and the flies were forgotten.
Angel exuded the radiance of discovery. The world was always new, and then some parts were always the same. Her Grandmother’s face, soft and warm and sweet and waiting for her. Her Papa’s chuckle at whatever she decided to do. Her mother, her mother, her mother. And there was Ron standing in back of Aunt Tina, his hand on the door. He looked so happy to see her. He missed her being there. This was home. This was the warm place after adventures.

Chapter 19
Ron knew exactly one kid at Our Lady of the Forlorn, but luckily it was a good friend. Rich D’Orio and Ron played stickball or football or some kind of sport most days. Ron was often invited to the D’Orio house for dinner. The D’Orios were happy when they heard that Ron was going to Our Lady of the Forlorn. Richie hadn’t told them about the incident with the knife. He knew that would not go over well. Richie was popular in school and he introduced Ron to all of his friends. There was a tentative acceptance. Some of the girls even said hello to him now
Ron spent hours doing homework each night. As much as he didn’t care what his teachers at Elliott Street School thought, he found that he had this instinctual desire to please the nuns. He wondered if it was because they frightened him. Or if it was because of their strange costumes, or if maybe it was because of some dedication. But to what?

One afternoon during his second week there, Richie said, “The guys are going to the park to play football this afternoon. I told them that you were good, and they want you to play.”
Since George and Marjorie had gotten married and moved to an apartment over two miles away, Ron hadn’t been able to play with Richie in the afternoons. In order to get to the park in time, he would have to run home, change quickly and then make it double time up to the park. The rest of the guys would take their bikes. Ron didn’t know how to ride a bike. He didn’t want the other guys to know. He didn’t realize that Richie had already told them.
He was sweating when he got to the park. Dave Spenelli watched him arrive and laughed. “Long walk?” The other guys laughed and Ron, glared at Richie. Anger flashed through him like electricity. They chose up sides. Ron was picked somewhere in the middle of the pack, mostly because of what Richie had said and his size. He was tall, muscular and lean.
It was a tough game. They had no equipment. They wore sneakers, jeans and sweatshirts. There were always bumps and bruises and cuts after the game, but they were badges of honor.
Richie was faster than Ron but he was smaller. Baseball was really his game and he could pick it at shortstop. During football season, he played end and liked to catch the passes, fake like he was going to the inside and then dart along the sidelines. Ron knew the move. Richie had burned him with it enough times. When Ron saw the play developing, he sprinted from the middle of the field to the sideline. Richie caught it with his back to the defender and used his fake. The kid bit on it, and Richie pivoted to the outside and rammed face first into Ron’s thrusting shoulder. He left his feet and the ball flew into the air and rolled out of bounds. Richie lay on the ground, his hands covering the blood that spurted from his broken nose. At first Ron was sorry when he saw him there crying in front of his friends, bleeding and covering his face with his hands. Then he thought that his father would be proud. The game ended on the hit. Somebody had to take Richie home. He was bleeding too much to ride his bike. Ron didn’t volunteer to walk with him.
As they were walking away, Ron heard Dave Spenelli say, “That was some hit!”
He swelled with pride but didn’t turn over his shoulder when a faceless voice said, “I don’t want to get hit like that.”
Richie didn’t come to school for the rest of the week. Ron was ashamed and noticed that fewer kids were talking to him. He didn’t realize that they were frightened.
Word had gotten out. Ron was the kid who brought a butcher knife to school and threatened people with it. Maybe he was better left alone.

Chapter 20

Ron expected the meal to be noisy and it was. The air conditioner was a wall unit in the dining room and when they sat around the long table, it caused them to raise their already elevated voices. Ron was seated next to Celeste who had Angel, in her high chair, on her other side. Angel was not happy with this arrangement and started to cry.
Mario bellowed, “What’s the matter, Princess?”
Angel cried louder.

“Don’t let this baby cry,” hollered Mario. He was looking at Celeste. “Do something to help her.”
Celeste unstrapped her from the high chair and took Angel into her arms. She scrambled across her mother’s lap and held her arms up to Ron. Anna’s mouth dropped open. Tina grimaced. Mario grew quiet.
Barb said, “Oh she wants to be next to him,” and got up and moved the high chair so that it was between Celeste and Ron. Angel stopped crying immediately. Ron lifted her up and strapped her into the chair.
“Check those straps and make sure that they are secure,” Anna said to Celeste.
The hum of the air conditioner was now the only sound. Little Joey pointed at Angel and said, “Crying.”
Angel ignored him. Tina took Joey’s arm and said gently, “Don’t point at your cousin.”
After dinner, the men went into the living room to lay down and wait to be called back for coffee and dessert and for the arrival of the after dinner guests. Ron started to help clear the table. He had been taught that it was what he should do and the lesson had stayed with him. It made the women nervous. They were not used to him to begin with and now he was in their kitchen and doing things, like a woman.
Tina called Celeste into the dining room and whispered, “Tell him to go into the living room with Joey and Daddy.”
“Did you even bother to say hello to him?” said Celeste.
Tina turned and walked away. Celeste motioned for Ron, but he didn’t see her. “Ron, could you come here a minute?”
Ron put the plates on the counter and Tina quickly lifted them up and brought them to the sink.
Celeste said, “Do you want to go downstairs and have a cigarette?”
“Sure,” said Ron.
“Go ahead, I’ll be right there.”
This was going to be an afternoon of juggling, thought Celeste as she went back into the kitchen.
Anna was sitting at the kitchen table smoking and watching her kitchen be cleaned. “If he breaks that baby’s heart, I’ll beat him with a shoe.”

Chapter 21
It was a Monday night and Ron was stretched out on the floor watching TV and reading Damien the Leper for his English class. Then he saw President Kennedy’s face come on the screen. He began talking about missiles in Cuba and saying that the United States was placing a naval blockade around the island. Then he said that any attack on the United States by Cuba would be considered an attack by the Soviet Union and that we would respond by attacking the Soviet Union. Ron stared. Was the world going to end? Would he never get to grow up?
George was out working his second job as a bartender. Marjorie wasn’t home. Ron lay there listening to the President who didn’t smile once. Ron loved watching his press conferences because of the way that he joked with everyone, but he wasn’t in any mood to be joking tonight. He wondered if we could beat the Russians. He felt his anger begin to rise. He was too young to fight. He wondered if they would make an exception because of his size. He had broken Richie D’Orio’s nose. Would that make a difference?
After the president was done speaking, a commentator showed a map of Cuba and showed the places that the missiles could reach. New Jersey wasn’t on the map. Did that make a difference? Maybe New Jersey wasn’t important enough to be on a map of the United States when they showed it on TV. New York was there. So was Washington. Miami was there. Ron pushed thoughts of Miami out of his head. He had gone there with Marjorie and Rocky a long time ago and Rocky had taken him fishing. Ron felt something burning in his throat and then he vomited.
The next morning the world looked very different. There were lines outside of the church when he went to school. They said special prayers in the classroom and then Mary Salvatore said that they would be going over to the church to attend a special mass and pray for peace and for God to give President Kennedy the wisdom to do what was best. Ron stared up at the picture of Kennedy that was on the wall and wondered if the picture would be there if he was not a Catholic.
The church was warm and crowded. As the students were marched down the aisle, Ron thought that he heard someone gasp at the sight of them and then begin to cry. Then he saw that many of the women were holding tissues to their eyes. The nuns looked serene. Ron wondered if they were anticipating heaven.
The priest, Monsignor Gerard, was in the pulpit. Before the mass began, he said, “I’m sure that Our Heavenly Father is pleased to see so many of you in His house today. I’m sure that he wished that his house was this full when people were not frightened, but in His wisdom, he knows that we are weak.” Then he turned his back on them and began to celebrate mass. Ron thought, that sure will make folks feel better.
The days wore on and the tension built. After the first rushes of panic, a sameness set in about it, almost a grim acceptance. There was a spike in the construction of fallout shelters. In school they practiced what to do in the case of an attack. The nuns assured frightened children that the best place in the world to be was in the church. And then when things seemed to be inevitable, it was over.
The United States had prevailed. Kennedy had backed down the Russians. Ron got a copy of Profiles in Courage from the library and read it. Then he read Why England Slept, although he didn’t understand much of it. Then he read The Making of the President.
When report cards came out, Ron was moved from the last seat in the last row to the last seat in the middle row. He was seated across from Barbara Infante. She smiled at him. Sometimes when they exchanged papers, they graded each other’s papers. Her penmanship was beautiful and she wrote with a light touch. Ron’s handwriting was sloppy and he wrote hard.
Marjorie was thrilled with his grades. Of the 16 graded areas, Ron had earned an “E” in nine of them. “E” stood for excellent. Mary Salvatore gave him a “G” in religion. The nun knew that Ron had earned an “E” but she just could not bring herself to give it to him. He was a smart boy and she liked him, but she certainly wasn’t going to make the mistake of trusting him. Everything else was either a “G” for good or an “S” for satisfactory. Richie was in the first seat of Ron’s row. He had gotten straight E’s.
Things were different after Ron broke his nose. Richie was angry and embarrassed, and he was sure that Ron had done it on purpose. They never talked about it and Ron would have told him that it was just a play and that he didn’t mean anything by it.
After the Cuban thing and his impressive report card, Ron’s popularity began to rise again. He learned that while he hid his love of reading in public school because he didn’t want to appear to be brainy, in Catholic school, brainy was good.

Chapter 22

Janine and Jimmy arrived for coffee and the after dinner stupor seemed broken. Ron was still in the basement and Celeste was just finishing setting the table for coffee. Jimmy kissed Celeste on the cheek and said, “So where is he? You keep him chained to your bed downstairs?”
Celeste blushed. Janine came over and said, “Better to keep him chained than to have him chaining you.”
Mario and Joey came into the dining room and sat back down. Mario shook Jimmy’s hand and said, “Mr. Lattimore.”
Jimmy grinned, “So I hear that you are going to have a new son-in-law.”
Joey added, “Again.”
Anna tensed and put her head down. Mario just nodded. Janine said, “Well, three is a charm.”
Celeste knew that Anna had passed this information along during her morning phone calls and she was sure that it wasn’t accompanied by an endorsement.
The door to the downstairs basement opened and Ron tried to slide into the room unnoticed. That wasn’t going to happen.
“We need another chair,” said Anna.
Ron moved to get it and Anna thought in spite of herself that at least he tried to help. Celeste introduced Ron to Jimmy and Janine.
Jimmy smiled and stick out a large hard hand. It engulfed Ron’s hand but he tried his best for a manly shake.
“Good to meet you,” said Ron figuring a smile at Janine would cover his response to go along with the handshake.
“So,” said Jimmy, “you’re a football coach.”
“I’m just an assistant, said Ron. “This will be my second year.”
“Good money?” said Jimmy laughing.
Ron flushed. The money was awful. He calculated it last year to work out to be about fifty cents an hour. Ron laughed. “Not so much for the money. But it’s good to work with the kids that way.”
Jimmy didn’t answer. It had been a joke and Ron had given his a straight answer. Jimmy hoped that Ron had a sense of humor. He was going to need it in this house.
Neither Mario nor Joey understood why someone would work when the money wasn’t any good and the hours were long. But he was a teacher and they both had a mistrust of teachers. It was true that Jimmy was a teacher, but he taught drivers education and gym. That was different and Jimmy was family. He liked to work with his hands.
The last thing in the world that Ron wanted was a hot cup of coffee. He didn’t drink coffee after dinner. They had consumed too much food. He wished that he could go for a long walk and maybe even a run, but that was out of the question. Angel took his hand and Ron lifted her up onto his knee after he sat.

Chapter 23
Ron was invited to his first party. It was at Barbara Infante’s house. He took a very long and hot shower. He combed his hair about six times. He used some of George’s aftershave. He made sure that there was copious amounts of deodorant under his arms. He selected a white on white high roll and used gold colored cuff links with it. He slid on a pair of black mohair and silk slacks that had a knife sharp crease. His socks were thin and almost see through except for the black ribs that Ron made sure were very straight as they slid up over his ankles. He tied his feather-tipped shoes tightly and made sure that their shine was high gloss. Then he slipped on his three quarter length black leather jacket from Cooper leather, where his mother had taken him when he said that he needed to have one.
He wanted to slip on his sunglasses but it was night and George said that he was trying to look like a wise guy when he wore them. Marjorie said, “You look very nice,” when he came out of his room. Ron had the sunglasses safely tucked away in his inside pocket. “Do you have money?” she asked.
“I have a few dollars,” said Ron. “I don’t think that I’ll need any.”
“Where is this party?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he lied.
“How can you be going to a party and not know where it is?” said Marjorie.
Ron lied again. “I’m meeting Richie and some of the other guys up at the school. They know where she lives.”
It had been a pointless lie and Ron knew that it probably was, but the thought of her driving over there if he was late, or calling her house if she felt like it, was reason enough to keep her in the dark.
“Stay out of trouble,” said George.
“He isn’t going to get into any trouble!” snapped Marjorie. “He’s going to a party.” Then a thought hit her. “What is this girl’s name?”
“Barbara.”
“Does she have a last name?”
“Infante.”
“I know a Tony Infante from 4th Street,” said George.
Ron thought, who cares?
“Are her parents going to be at home?” said Marjorie.
“I don’t know,” said Ron. “I’m sure that they will be.” And then he was moving towards the door. He needed to get out of there. He slid on his shades as he bounced down the stairs. The evening air felt like freedom.

Chapter 24
Later that night Ron and Celeste lay in bed talking. They had mastered the art of having quiet sex and Angel was two floors away in her bedroom. Celeste had an intercom set up so that she could respond if Angel woke up.
They were facing each other and searching each other’s faces as they spoke.
“Life is going to change a lot in a couple of weeks,” said Ron.
Celeste felt a quiver in her stomach. “Because of work?”
“Yes, and coaching and then tutoring. I get very busy and we have to plan for it.”
“Will I ever see you?”
“Every day,” Ron blurted. “As long as we can find a way.”
“At least we’ll be able to talk on the phone, won’t we?’
“Every night,” said Ron. “I know this is going to sound screwy, but I don’t think that I could manage to get to sleep if I hadn’t spoken to you.”
Celeste felt her heart swell. She decided that she needed a job and maybe needed to go back to school. She was going to have to do something to work towards their goals and keep from sitting by the phone or listening for his squeaks.
Ron drove home at about two am. He was smiling and at the same time he was worried. Her family didn’t like him. His family wasn’t ready for her. Did they have any chance that things would work out for them? What about Angel? This wasn’t like having a girlfriend or even someone with whom he lived. This was like acquiring an instant family, most of which didn’t like him. It confused him.
When he got home, the phone was ringing. It was Celeste calling to say good night. Ron was tempted to tell her about the doubts that he was having but decided that it was a conversation that was better had in person.

Chapter 25
The party bored Ron and he wondered if there was someplace else that he wanted to be. The girls were pretty and were wearing makeup. Some had their hair teased up. Ron danced with Barbara Infante. It was a slow dance and he could feel the buds of her breasts pressing against him and the motion of her hips pressing against him and he knew it was going to happen and it did. He was sticking out against her. He was sure that she could feel it. He blushed with embarrassment.
When the dance ended he gulped down a paper cup’s worth of fruit punch. It reminded him of the “bug juice” that they served on his one disastrous trip to camp. They had been on a hike and his asthma had kicked in and he had to be taken to the infirmary and the kids nicknamed him “wheezer” because of the sounds that came out of him when he tried to breathe. Marjorie and Rocky had come for him the next day, and he was able to sneak into his cabin while the other kids were at the lake. He was able to pack his things and slip out and never see any of them again.
It wasn’t like that here. If you made a fool of yourself, it followed you forever. He was pretty sure that his erection had gone unnoticed. Barbara Infante was whispering to her friend Carol that she had felt his thing get hard while they were dancing. Ron heard the girls giggle and his entire body stiffened.
He and Richie and Phillip and Dennis walked together after the party. They were talking about how boring it was and how they hated having adults watch them like they were swimming in a fishbowl.
Ron blurted, “Do you think Barbara likes me?”
When he heard the laughter from his friends he knew that he had done one of those stupid things that just wasn’t going to go away.
“So, you’re in love with Barbara Infante,” said Richie.
“No,” said Ron.
“Why did you ask that?” said Phillip.
Ron stammered. He was glad that it was dark and they couldn’t see the way that he was blushing. “I don’t know.”
They laughed again. This was just getting worse.
“Want me to ask her if she likes you?” said Dennis.
“Maybe we should all ask her,” said Richie.
When Ron got home, his mother said, “Ronald you are eleven years old.”
“I know,” said Ron.
“Ten-thirty is far too late to be coming home for an eleven year old boy.”
“It’s because I have to walk so much further than the other kids do,” said Ron.
“Then plan ahead,” said George. He had been drinking. Ron could tell from the red bloat of his face and the smell of beer. His father told him that fools got drunk. Ron thought, right again Dad.
Ron didn’t answer. He wasn’t going to give George the satisfaction of answering him.
“Did you have a good time?” said Marjorie.
“Up until now,” snapped Ron before he thought about it.
“What this kid needs is a good beating,” said George.
Ron snapped again. It was like his mouth was no longer attached to his brain. “Not from you.”
George got up. Marjorie screamed, “George don’t.”
“Go ahead,” said Ron. “I’ll tell my father.”
“You think I’m afraid of Harry Tuck?”
“Say it to his face,” said Ron.
Marjorie began to cry.
Chapter 26

Before Ron had known Robin and before he had known Zoe, he’d been with Julie. She had long straight dark hair. She loved Marjorie. They had a bond. When Ron left her, Marjorie had cried but then she had written and over the years she learned that Julie had won an award for being a reporter in Texas. She’d gotten a promotion to a station in Windsor Canada that broadcasted into Detroit.
Marjorie wrote, “Ronald is making a terrible mistake and I think that you are the only one who can save him. I know that he loves you and that you have never wanted anything but what was best for the both of you. I want you to come here. I’ve always wanted to embrace you like my daughter.”
When Julie got the message, she stared at it for a long time. Did Marjorie know that she had a daughter now? What was she asking her to do? She looked over at her sleeping child and felt a pang. She had dreamed more than once that it was Ron’s child, but she knew that it wasn’t. In the final analysis, he just hadn’t wanted her.
Maybe he would now? Maybe the years and the experiences had changed him. Maybe he was ready. If he was, she was too. She felt a fire inside of her when she thought about him. He was unabashed. She felt that tingle between her legs and cursed her pussy. Except that her vagina had produced her daughter. It wasn’t all bad. And if he saw her daughter and met her, he would be captivated. That was how he was and she knew it. But why was Marjorie so insistent and what was this mistake? It could only be another woman who was not Robin. Marjorie wouldn’t have written if it was Robin. She’d sent her into that battle before and hugged her after she was bruised and cut from previous skirmishes. Most of all, Marjorie knew that Julie couldn’t win. She wouldn’t do that to her again. She picked up the phone and dialed Marjorie’s number.
“Marge, it’s Julie.”
“I’m so glad that you called.”
“What’s wrong?”
“He wants to get married.”
“To who?”
“Some Italian girl that he hardly knows.”
“Why?”
“I think that he feels like time is passing him by, and he wants to start a real life.”
“I think that we all get that way sometimes,” said Julie.
“Do you still love him?”
“Yes.”
“After all this time and everything that he’s done?”
“I know I sound stupid Marjorie, but yes.”
“Then you’d better get out here.”
“How can I do that? I have no reason.”
“It’s going to be George’s birthday and you’re invited.”
“This is the last time that I’m going to do anything like this,” said Julie.
“It should be,” said Marjorie.
It was easy for Julie to schedule a flight. Her Dad was a pilot and she had a card that allowed her to fly for the price of the tax. Newark Airport was a hub. She thought about how she met Ron and the roller coaster that had been their relationship. She had been taking a summer course at the local community college when they met. By the time the fall began, they were an item and spent each weekend together. One weekend he would drive up to her college and spend the nights in her dorm room and the other she would drive down to his house and stay in his room. That was when she grew close with Marjorie. They played with each other’s hair. They shared secrets. Marjorie told Ron that as long as he was on the couch when she woke up in the morning that she wouldn’t give him a hard time. She stopped walking into Ron’s room without knocking on the door. He introduced Julie to Chris and Laureen and the four of them went places together. She gave him a guitar and he played it horribly. She smiled and grimaced at the same time thinking about the way that he abused that poor guitar. Then she remembered the feel of his hands and the incredibly long eye lashes that he had. She pictured the broadness of his shoulders and smiled. Warren Lashly had been the death of them. Maybe that was unfair but she had grown to hate Warren and his interrogations. She hated the way that Ron looked up to him and let Lashly’s words and ideas become his guiding principles.
Then she met Jeff. He went to her school and she began sleeping with him during the week. He knew about Ron but didn’t care. He managed the radio station and there were plenty of girls that he could have. If she wanted her shift to be regular, she knew what he expected. She brought Ron to the radio station and instantly the two young men took a dislike to each other. Ron had gone with her into Manhattan when she was getting her 3rd class broadcaster’s license. He quizzed her on the train ride in and then decided to take the test as well. It had amazed her that he passed and she let him talk on the air during her show.
Then they drifted. Every weekend became every other weekend and then it was one weekend a month and then he was gone. It had been tearful but she was relieved. She felt it was coming.
Years later he came to see her while she was doing news updates on the AM dial. She was lonely and he felt so good. He was working in a jail trying to teach kids to read and write, and she had just been named woman broadcaster of the year for a ten part series that she’d done on women in Texas. When he left, she cried and decided that their timing was just so bad that it just wasn’t going to work. Now they were in their 30’s and she knew that she looked good. It was time. She had a failed marriage and a daughter and he had been ripped apart by a relationship with a woman who enjoyed watching him suffer. She could see where that could become addictive.

Chapter 27

What actually happened was Phillip confided to Carol that Ron wanted to know if Barbara liked him.
Carol scrunched up her face and said, “I don’t think so but I’ll ask her.”
Among the girls it was known that Barbara really liked Richie, but that wasn’t something that she would share with a boy. It would be a betrayal that would make Barbara her enemy forever.
When she told Barbara, the girl let out one of her patented, “Eww’s”
Carol giggled. “Well you did say that his thing got all excited.”
“Exactly,” said Barbara.
The girls giggled again. Then a thought struck Barbara. “He sits right next to me. How am I going to look at him?”
“And not get his thing excited?” teased Carol.
“I’m serious, Carol. How am I supposed to look at him now and read his sloppy papers?”
“How bad are they?”
“The answers are mostly right and he studies but he writes like he is using some kind of tool and needs to cut the words into the paper.”
“In other words, he’s rough and careless?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe he’s just nervous,” said Carol. “Being the new kid and those rumors about him and then he broke Richie’s nose.”
“Did you know that he doesn’t know how to ride a bike?”
“You’re kidding!” said Carol.
“Nope, Richie told me that the guys all made fun about him because of it.”
Carol felt sorry for Ron but she could understand why Barbara didn’t want to be linked to him.

During the next day of classes, Barbara was careful not to look at him. He seemed oblivious. That angered her. She wanted him to look at her so that she could ignore him, but he didn’t seem to care. She thought of passing him a note that read, I don’t like you. Leave me alone. But he was leaving her alone and the note would look stupid.
All Ron was able to think about was how much he hated George. His mother had punished him for his outburst and he hadn’t been allowed to go out of the house the next day. He just stayed in his room and read. He came out for dinner and ate without saying anything. He helped to clean up and then he was back in his room.
Ron was wallowing in his reverie of hostility when he heard his name. He looked up to see the faces of the kids in the class turned in his direction. Mary Salvatore was coming down the aisle in his direction.
“So nice of you to join us, Mr. Tuck. May I see what you have been so absorbed with that you didn’t hear me call on you twice?” She picked up the book that was on his desk. It was the same book that they were all reading from and there wasn’t anything hidden in it but he was two pages behind. She stared hard at him. “So you’ve been daydreaming. Would you like to share what you were daydreaming about with everyone?”
“No, Sister.”
“Do you find what we are doing here so boring that you are unable to concentrate?”
“No, Sister.”
“That’s good. Then you’ll be happy to stand up and read for us.”
Carol wrote a quick note and passed it to Phillip. “Maybe he’s thinking about Barbara.” They both grinned.

Ron stood and read flawlessly. It was written in children’s language. It retold the story of the Prodigal Son. Ron almost stopped and asked if would be ok if he read it from an actual bible, but he knew that he was being reprimanded for not paying attention. It was time for him to learn how to make things easier on himself. Hadn’t his mother done that when she married George? At least, wasn’t that what she thought that she doing?
That night at dinner Ron announced, “I want to convert to being a Catholic.”
Marjorie looked stunned. George didn’t react. He was born Catholic. He was staying that way. That’s what you were supposed to do. You looked at your plate saw what was there and ate it without complaining.
“And just when did you decide this?”
“While I was walking home,” said Ron.
“Your grand-mother would turn over in her grave.”
“You’re the one who made me go to that school. It’s not my fault.”
“You know very well why you were sent to that school, Ronald. Would you have rathered that I let them send you to a reformatory?”
“Well, now I want to be a Catholic.”
“Do we have to have these conversations at dinner?” said George.
Marjorie took the opportunity to turn on him. “When would suggest that we have them? Whenever anyone starts talking about anything that has any importance, you get up and walk away. Maybe he figures that as long as there is food, at least you’ll stay and listen.” Then she turned back to Ron. “You’re not becoming a Catholic. You were born a Protestant. You were raised a Protestant and that’s how it’s going to stay.”
“No it isn’t, Mom. We have freedom of religion in this country.”
“I don’t know what’s happening to you,” she said staring into his eyes. “You used to be such a nice boy.”
“Look where that got me.”
“Why are you doing this to me? Why do you need to hurt me?”
“You said that I should think for myself and that’s what I’m doing.”
Marjorie hated it when he gave her that look and sounded like his father.

Chapter 28
Ron tried to be cheerful as he drove Celeste and Angel down to meet Marjorie and George for the first time, but he had a sense that it might be tense. Celeste was nervous about it. They had waited a while, but things were moving quickly now. It was hard to realize that she had only been with him for a little over two weeks. It seemed so much longer.
The plan was for dinner in the backyard and the weather was cooperating. It was a mild evening with a light breeze. Maybe that was an omen that everything was going to be ok, thought Ron.
Marjorie had cooked and the kitchen was very warm. She was sweating and she blamed it on Ron and this girl, whoever she was. He still had his key to the house, but it didn’t seem right to use it on this occasion. He walked up to the front door with angel in his left arm. Her hands were around his neck as he rang the doorbell. George came to the door. Dandy barked. Angel tensed. Celeste said, “I didn’t know your mom had a dog”
George opened to the door and said, “You forget your key?”
Ron shrugged. “George, this is Celeste and this is Angel.”
“Nice to meet you,” said George smiling.
They walked down the hall nest to the flight of stairs that led up to the second floor apartment. In the dark blocking the side door that was never used, Ron glanced down at his Aunt’s old record player. He missed her and sure could have used her help tonight.
“They’re here,” announced George as they walked into the dining room that had once been their bedroom when Ron still lived there. Marjorie came out of the kitchen and smiled politely.
“Mom, this is Celeste and this is Angel.”
The sight of the little girl in his arms made Marjorie want to cry. “Well, it’s nice to finally meet you, Celeste.” Marjorie tried not to look at Angel who was waiting to be greeted and made a fuss over.
“I’m happy to meet you too,” said Celeste, noticing that neither one of them had said anything to Angel, who did not want Ron to put her down.
“We should go out into the yard. It’s too hot in this kitchen,” said Marjorie. She picked up her cigarettes and led them out the back door.
Celeste glanced around. It was a large kitchen, the kind that she loved. She could see immediately that a lot of time was spent there. They walked out into a backyard that was good sized, long and more narrow than hers was. Marjorie sat down at redwood table and lit a cigarette. Then she said, “Ron, would you go into the kitchen and get my Crystal Lite?”
“Sure.” Ron handed Angel to Celeste.
“Would you like something to drink, Angel?” said Marjorie.
Angel felt shy and a little frightened of the white dog who was energetically wagging his tail and wanting to play. She didn’t answer for a moment and then said, “No, thank you.”
“Oh you do know how to talk?” said Marjorie smiling. Celeste wasn’t sure that’s he liked the comment, but knew that Marjorie would find out soon enough how well-spoken Angel was.
“That’s a great tree,” said Celeste, looking at the massive oak that shaded the entire yard.
“It’s been here longer than we have,” said Marjorie.
Ron came back with his mother’s glass of ice tea in one hand and a pitcher of the stuff in his other. He set them down and said to Angel, “Watch this.”
He picked up a beach ball that was lying on the grass and Dandy barked and wagged his fluffy tail furiously. Ron tossed the ball to Dandy who perfectly head butted it back up into Ron’s hands. Angel giggled and said, “Make him do it again.”
Ron happily obliged as they all watched and Marjorie smoked. He was showing off for them. It was cute but she hated it.
“Would you like some Crystal Lite before dinner?” said Marjorie, looking at Celeste.
“Thank you.” Celeste put Angel down and reached for the pitcher but Angel clung hard to her back and Celeste dropped the glass. It spread across the tablecloth that Marjorie had laid out. George got up and hurried into the house for some paper towels. “I’m sorry,” said Celeste. “I guess she’s a little nervous.”
“Nothing to be sorry for,” said Marjorie in a tone that implied that there was. The Crystal Lite had almost reached the stack of paper plates, when George came out with a roll of paper towels. “Hurry up! We don’t want it to ruin them too.” George caught it in time. Ron dropped the ball and came over to the table. Angel clung to Celeste. Dandy followed him eagerly. Ron picked up the stack of plates as George wiped the table.
“You’ll have to wipe it down with a sponge,” said Marjorie. “Otherwise it will be a sticky mess.”
“I’ll get it,” said Ron.
Celeste wondered if they could just leave and come back again like this never happened. She said, “What a way to make an impression.”
Marjorie said, “Well, let’s eat.”

It took several trips in and out the backdoor to carry out the bowls and platter. George and Ron and Marjorie made the trips. Celeste sat there wanting to help but Angel was back in her arms. She wasn’t used to not helping.

“I made one of your favorites,” said Marjorie.
Ron smiled at the platter of pork chops mixed with sauerkraut and potatoes. “Did you use Aunt Dottie’s pot?”
“Of course I did. It won’t be as good as hers was though.”

Chapter 29
Ron stayed after school the next day and asked Sister Mary Salvatore what he should do if he was interested in converting. She looked very surprised and pleased.
“This is an important decision Ronald. Are you sure that it is what you want?”
“I’m pretty sure.”
“Why is it what you want?”
That was a good question and Ron wasn’t sure how to answer. He thought for a moment. Suppose he said the wrong thing and they wouldn’t let him. “This Church goes back to the time of Jesus,” said Ron. “It’s the religion that he wanted.”
“Well that’s a good reason. Is it your only reason?”
Ron decided that he would tell this nun the truth. “No, but it’s my best one.”
“What are your other reasons?”
“The Church I used to go to closed. I really don’t feel like I have a church now and I don’t think that’s good for me.”
“You don’t go to church at all anymore?” The nun looked concerned. No wonder he had gotten into trouble.
“At Christmas time and at Easter. That’s pretty much it.”
“Is there any other reason?” the nun probed.
Ron sighed. “I want to fit in.”
“That’s the first reason that you’ve mentioned that isn’t a good one. But you knew that already, didn’t you?”
“Yes, Sister.”
“Have you spoken to your mother about this and your father?”
“I told my mother.”
“Does she support your choice?”
“She’ll get used to it.”
“Have you told your father?”
“Not yet.”
“May I ask why?”
“I don’t see him very much anymore. He plays golf now, and sometimes he forgets to come and pick me up.”
“Don’t you think that you should tell him?”
“To be honest Sister, I don’t think he’ll care. He’s not a religious man. He’ll say that I should do what I think I should do.”
“I’ll set up an appointment at the rectory for you Ronald.”

Chapter 30

After the dinner during which Angel pissed Marjorie off by being clingy with both Ron and Celeste, Marjorie caught Ron in the kitchen and said, “This girl isn’t for you.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Didn’t you learn from happened to me?” she said flatly.
“I learned,” said Ron. “I learned not to believe people’s promises. Is that how you want me to go through life, not trusting anyone?”
“I’m just saying that I know you better than anyone, and I telling you that you can do better than this.”
“It isn’t a contest, Mom.”
“Don’t pretend that you don’t know what I’m talking about.”
“I love her and that’s what matters to me. She loves me as well.”
“She’s desperate and you’re her way out.”
“That’s unfair.”
“I might as well tell you now then. I’ve invited Julie to come to George’s birthday party.”
Ron was stunned. He hadn’t spoken to Julie in years. He didn’t even know where she was and he surely didn’t know that his mother was in touch with her. “That’s great Mom. I’m bringing Celeste.”
“Julie is a nice girl who cares about you.”
“Just stop it, OK?”
“Sure, I’ll just sit by and watch my only son ruin his life.”
Ron went out the back door and found Celeste sitting with Angel in her arms. She looked nervous and Angel looked sleepy.
His mother followed him out the door and Ron said, “I think we are going to get going. Angel needs to have a bath and she’s getting sleepy.”
‘Do what you want,” said Marjorie. “You will anyway.”
George said, “It was nice to meet you, Celeste. I hope that I see you at my birthday party.”
Marjorie looked at George like she wanted to spit on him. Ron decided that a quick exit was in order. Celeste thanked Marjorie for having her and Angel to dinner.
“I’m sure we’ll get to know each other sooner or later,” said Marjorie.

Chapter 31
The next day Ron was sent out of class and told to report to the principal’s office. This was never a good sign but Ron was pretty sure that he hadn’t done anything wrong. Sister Wilma Delores smiled broadly when she saw him.
“Ronald, Father Joyce is waiting to see you over at the rectory. Don’t be nervous and just tell him what you told Sister Mary Salvatore.”
Ron rang the bell and waited outside of the rectory. It was a long wait and he was unsure if the bell had rung or if he should ring it again. If he rang it again they might think that he was pushy and lacked patience. If he didn’t ring it again, he might just be standing here while the priest was inside waiting for him to appear. He rang it again. He could see motion through the small window in the center of the door.
Father Richard Joyce was disappointed by Ron’s age and size. Ron was almost as tall as he was and the priest did not get that powerful rush that he felt when he looked down at smaller, younger boys. A convert was a convert though.
“It’s my understanding that you have an interest in Catholicism,” said Father Joyce.
“Yes, I do Father,”
“And how did this interest arise?”
“I attend the grammar school.”
“What is your current religion?”
“I’m Protestant.”
“Which denomination?”
“Well I was Presbyterian, but my church closed and so I attended a Reformed Lutheran church for a while because it was the only one that I could get to.”
“Your parents didn’t attend with you?”
“No, Father.”
“And why was that?”
“My parents are divorced, Father.” Ron hated the endless repetition of this litany. He hated the way that people looked at him with baleful eyes after he said it. Joyce’s eyes and face showed no expression, except for a hint of disapproval.
“And how did you come to attend Our Lady of the Forlorn’s grammar school?” Joyce of course knew the answer to this question but he wanted to make the boy describe it.
“My mother got me admitted,” said Ron. He didn’t want to go through it again and was taking the chance that it was just one of the questions on the list and that Joyce really didn’t care about his answers.
“Why did your mother, a non-practicing Protestant, want you in a religious school?”
Anger flashed through Ron. He’s going to make me say it, he thought.
“I got into some trouble, Father and the police thought that it would be best if I didn’t attend Broadway Junior High.”
“Were you arrested?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You don’t know?”
“No one said that I was under arrest.”
“What had you done?”
“I brought a knife to school.”
“Did you hurt anyone?”
“No Father.”
“Well, everyone makes mistakes Ronald.”
That was the first really kind thing that he’d said to him. Maybe the worst was over.
“Thank you, Father.”
“A boy your age would have already been confirmed and would have studied his religion extensively.”
“I have studied religion a lot.”
“The Catholic faith, Ronald.”
For a moment Ron’s pride was stung. Part of him wanted to say, go ahead ask me things. That wouldn’t be a good idea. Ron didn’t answer.
“You’ve read the bible haven’t you, Ronald?”
“Yes.”
“Knowing scripture isn’t a bad thing, but it really has very little to do with being a good Catholic.”
“First of all you have to convince me that you are sincere. Then we can do the study together.”
“How do I convince you of that?”
“First of all by being patient.”
“Yes Father.”
“Secondly you will come here this Saturday and each Saturday after that until I feel that you are ready to be baptized.”
“What time?”

Chapter 32

Ron left Celeste’s house early that evening. He didn’t rush his departure, but there was something he needed to do. He parked the car in front of his mother’s house. Again, for maybe the one thousandth time, he wished that his Aunt Dottie was still alive.
You only get so many guardian angels. She had been his. They had blood between them and there was an acceptance and a soul to their connection.
Ron opened the door with his key. Dandy barked. Marjorie and George were in the living room watching TV. His entrance startled her.
George was half in the bag.
“Ronald, I didn’t expect you.”
“Would another time be better?”
“She got up and said, “Come into the kitchen.”
The settled in their customary chairs. The gazed into each other’s eyes and there was that love, that honey sweet flow of love that a mother and child share, if only sometimes.
Ron spoke softly. “I want you to know that this thing with Celeste is serious. She’s going to become my wife. She’s the woman that I’ve chosen.”
“What about Robin?”
Ron was shocked that she said her name. “It didn’t work. We tried. She tried more than you know.”
“What about the mouse?”
Ron could not help a grin. She refused to stop calling Zoe that. “Too crazy,” said Ron. He thought a moment. “Maybe she just scared me.”
“Sometimes it’s right to be scared.”
“I’m not scared of Celeste or Angel.”
“You should be.”
“I’m going to do this. Please don’t make me fight you for it tooth and nail.”
“What about Julie?”
Ron said, “Why did you do that?”
“She’s a nice girl.”
“I know.”
“She loves you.”
“I know.”
Ron looked deep into her eyes. “You know the feeling that you had with Rocky, before it went bad?”
“Of course I do.”
“Robin was like my Harry Tuck.” Ron smiled. “We should have had a kid but we didn’t want one. We thought that the world was full and that we needed to learn to take care of those who were already here. It still wouldn’t have worked and there would be a child who needed protection and raising.”
“You’re breaking my heart,” said Marjorie.
“This little girl needs protection and care too. The bonus for me is that I’m in love with her mother.”
“She has a family. Why don’t you want a family of your own?”
“The way that I feel about her is very special. I’ve been in love.” Ron tried his best to speak as earnestly as he could. “This feels more real and stronger than anything I have ever felt.”
“You’re making a mistake,” said Marjorie. “Please listen to me. I know that you’re sincere. And I know that you are making a huge mistake.”
“How do you know?”
“I feel it”
“I don’t trust your feelings about this. I’m going to marry her.”

End of Part 1

Chapter 33
The heat baked the asphalt so hot that Ron could feel it radiating up through his sneakers. He walked across the parking lot and into the back door of the school. It was the team entrance and opened into a low slightly darkened narrow hallway. To his left was the door to the boys’ locker room. Ron entered and walked through the empty room that soon enough would carry the sounds and the yearlong smell of perspiration soaked equipment and clothing of teen aged boys.
Steve Ferry was a bull of a man who did not seem to fit in the desk chair. He stood about six feet and three inches. He had a huge back and head that was covered with a baseball cap out of which stuck the ends of greyish white hair. He looked like he could pull a plow.
Laying on the worn couch that many people suspected was his only bed, Artie Harris looked up and opened his eyes at the sound of Ron’s entrance. “Hey Crazy Ron is here. Now things will get lively.”
Ron smiled. “Hiya, Artie. How was your summer?”
It was still the end of August but it was pretty much acknowledged that summer was over when practices began. There wouldn’t be any more quiet mornings. No more endless days that could be filled any way that a person wanted to fill them.
Steve turned from the clipboard that had multiple sheets of paper with templates for designing football plays attached to it. “Ron, it’s good to see you.”
“Good to see you too Steve. How was your summer?”
“They get shorter all the time,” said Steve.
Ron didn’t really understand that and just nodded. “Where are we going to meet?”
Air conditioned rooms were at a premium on this side of the building, but Artie knew where they all were and Ron was pretty sure that he had scouted out a room and turned the air on so that it would be cool.
Artie said, “They put air in the teacher’s room over the summer. That’s a good spot.”
Steve shook his head back and forth. “No chalkboard in there. We’ll need one.”
Artie looked crestfallen. There were no classrooms with air conditioners. Ron said, “We could bring in one or two of the rolling boards.”
“Fine with me,” said Steve, flicking his eyes over at the rotund and now happier Artie and then winking at Ron.
Ron and Steve were classroom teachers. They were not unaccustomed to oppressive heat. It didn’t really bother them as much as it did people like Artie who roamed the halls searching for any place to cool off on a day like this. Classroom teachers had to be models for their students or else the complaining and moaning would never allow them to finish or start the school year. No one was really sure what Artie did. He worked around the school. That was it. He coached Hockey. He got up and waddled out to find the rolling chalkboards and bring them to the magnificently cooled teachers’ lounge.
Larry Voila arrived just as Artie was leaving. They just nodded as they passed one another in the hall. Larry thought that Artie was bad to have around kids. Artie felt the same way about Larry.
Greetings exchanged. Ron was happy not to be working with Larry this year. Larry had gone to Steve complaining that Ron had undermined his authority last year. The truth was that Larry had never played the game and they all knew it. When he denied the freshman team water after a poor showing at a scrimmage, Ron had instinctively blown his whistle and called for a water break. It happened ten minutes after Larry said, “No, they’ve got to get tougher.” Larry had stomped off the field like an angry child who had his toy taken away. He was even more humiliated when Steve moved Ron up to the varsity staff. Steve was always politely condescending to Larry, who never realized it.
When Paul Pamenteri arrived, they were ready to start. It was a meagre staff for the one hundred players that would be in the program. They settled in the teacher’s lounge and drank cans of soda that Artie had pilfered from one of the soda machines for which he had a secret key.
Steve stood and passed out play books. “We need to go through it all,” said Steve. “I made a lot of changes over the summer.” Steve was a physics teacher and a farm boy. To him, football was purely a matter of leverage, angle, strength, speed and desire, but he did like to scheme. They would begin with the offense. This afternoon he would lecture on the defense. Tomorrow he would continue with the same pattern. The next day, his players would arrive and he would begin to see what he actually had.
Young men’s bodies changed quickly. A boy could go away for the summer standing five foot seven and come back a few months later at having grown inches and thinned out considerably and be in need of bulking up. You had to actually see them before you truly knew what you had. That kind of change might necessitate the need for changes in the scheme. His team was going to be white and slow. He didn’t expect a good year, but in his thirty-fifth year of coaching, his second after retiring from public school, taking a pension and coming to teach and coach here. It was just what he did. Besides, you could always be surprised.

Chapter 34
Ron knelt at the altar rail, opened his mouth and extended his tongue. His mouth was dry and the Communion wafer was dry. It felt a moment of panic as he walked back to his pew with his hands clasped and his eyes down. The wafer had stuck to the roof of his mouth. What was he supposed to do now? He couldn’t reach in and scrape it off. He wasn’t supposed to let his teeth touch it. He rubbed against it with his tongue and hoped that it would dislodge.
He wanted that magical feeling of having Jesus inside of him. When he had Communion in his former church they drank grape juice. It was made clear that this was a commemoration of what Christ had done. Ron knew about transubstantiation. This was really God that Ron had inside of him. His tongue couldn’t get the wafer to move. His mind said, Oh Fuck. Then he panicked. He had sinned while the host was in his mouth. There might be a special place in hell for people who did that. Maybe he was the only one who had ever done it. Maybe God didn’t realize. Another lightening thought hit him. He had just sinned again! God was supposed to know everything and here he was doubting Jesus who had bled every drop of his precious blood for him.
After Mass, Ron ran across the street to the candy store and bought a bottle of coke. He washed his Savior down with a long relished swallow. What a way to begin! Some first Communion he screamed at himself as he walked home alone.
George was spreading a dirty white rug across the living room floor of their apartment. Marjorie was watching him with a sick look on her face. It covered the hard wood floor that she loved with an ugly combination of white and stain. George contended that it would muffle the sound and that it was important to be considerate of the people downstairs.
Ron and Marjorie just stared at each other when he said it. They had lived in apartments all their lives. This was George’s first experience.
“Where did you get this thing?” said Ron.
“This used to belong to Wobbles,” said George proudly.
“Who’s that?” said Ron.
George smirked at Ron’s ignorance. “He’s a friend of George’s,” said Marjorie glumly trying to be patient.
“He’s probably the most important man in Newark and one of the most important men in the state,” George explained.
“Never heard of him.”
“You wouldn’t,” said George.
Marjorie stayed silent and Ron could see that she hated the thing. He said, “Why is he giving away his dirty rugs?”
“Maybe we can cover some of the stains with furniture,” said Marjorie.
George looked up, exasperated. Each stain felt like a thorn stuck up his ass and these two were going to mention each and every one. “Do you know how expensive this rug was?”
“You bought this thing?” said Ron.
George turned redder. “I mean originally.”

Chapter 35
Ron drove from the school to Celeste’s house. Anna heard his squeaking approach and saw the delight that spread across Angel’s face. Celeste got up and ran downstairs to change like a love sick school girl. What was happening to her house? He came and went like some storm that you could hear approaching and then had to clean up after.
Angel was running towards the picture window to look out. Anna waited in her chair at the kitchen table. She lifted her fly swatter and smacked it down at some imaginary bug. If only she could eliminate him the same way.
Before the doorbell rang Angel was pulling the door open. Ron scooped her up into his arms and kissed her. She squealed with delight.
Anna said, “Can’t you do something about that squeaking?”
“I tried. They told me that old Fords get that way but that there was nothing wrong with the car. It isn’t dangerous,” he tried to reassure her.
Anna didn’t answer. Danger wasn’t the only consideration. It was embarrassing to have the neighbors hear the squeaks and say, “Oh, Ron’s on his way.” She wouldn’t give him that satisfaction of saying that to him, but she had said it to Celeste.
Celeste hadn’t cared. She opened the door to the basement and came into the dining room. She embraced Ron. They kissed softly. Anna scowled. They did that right in front of the baby. Who knew what else they had done in front of her.
“Would you like to go for ice cream and to feed the ducks after dinner,” said Ron.
“Yes!” squealed Angel.
“You shouldn’t tell her that before dinner,” objected Anna. “Now she won’t eat anything.”
“If you want ice cream, you have to be a member of the clean plate club,” said Celeste.
“Ron already said that we could.”
“Well if Ron said,” Anna repeated bitterly staring at Celeste.
“Let’s go into the yard, “said Celeste.

Chapter 36

George took Ron to the Arrow Bar that afternoon. It was a place that he worked on the weekends and Ron hadn’t ever been there before. It was a long dark narrow place with a mahogany bar and some round tables set off opposite it. There was a group of men sitting around one of the tables and George lit up when he saw them. He left Ron standing at the bar. Ron’s eyes instinctively searched for the juke box or the pinball machine but he couldn’t find either. What kind of a joint was this?
The bartender was an old guy who wore an apron that swelled out over a large stomach. His beefy arms were partially covered by a long sleeve shirt that was turned up at the cuffs. “Ain’t nothing for you in here, kid.”
Ron didn’t answer. He gestured over at George who had his back to him and said, “I’m with him.”
“You’re with Father George?”
“Who?”
“George Bombasco. Around here everyone calls him Father George.”
“Why?”
“Just a nickname.”
“What’s it mean?”
“You better ask him.”
Ron had no intentions of asking George anything that he didn’t have to ask him and decided to just let it go. The bartender saw an opportunity for a little fun.
“Hey, Father George, kid here wants to know how you got your nickname.”
GimmeTwo laughed, “Because he was always preaching to everybody about how bad gambling was while he’s making bets.”
George flushed. It wasn’t information that he wanted Ron to have. He knew that the kid would throw it up at him.
GimmeTwo waved Ron over. ‘Come on over kid, let’s get a look at you.”
Ron walked over hesitantly. There were four men at the table and George was standing facing them. He half turned as Ron walked over. “Everybody, this is my son, Ronald.”
The shock of the words hit Ron like ice water being thrown into his face. They immobilized him. He had never once thought of himself as George’s son and George had never said those words before. Then it hit him. It was for show. But if it was for show, did that mean that he was proud of him? He never acted in the least bit proud.
George said, “Ronald this is GimmeTwo,” he stopped and looked confused, “I mean this is Mr. Rossi.” Everyone at the table chuckled and George laughed with them.
Babootz said, “I want to see you remember my name.”
Everyone laughed again.
George said, “Lemme think.”
Babootz said, “Call me Babootz, Ronnie. These guys won’t know who you are talking about if you call me Mr. Bontafacio.”
“OK, Mr. Bontafacio,” said Ron.
George said, “I never would have remembered it.”
Ron thought that Babootz made him sound like some kind of monkey and wondered if his hairy body was the reason that he got the name. That wasn’t a good question to ask.
Jimmy the Gigolo said, “Nice to meet you Ronnie. So, you’re George’s son?”
Ron felt trapped. If he said no it would seem like he was contradicting George and instinctively he knew that contradiction was either ball busting or an insult. Now the table was staring at him, waiting for him to respond. Saying yes would be betraying his dad. For the first time in his life he said, “I’m his stepson.” He felt nausea sweep over him when he said it.
George said, “This is Jimmy the Gigolo.” He was smiling. Ron hadn’t let him down or said anything smart-assed.
“Good to meet you, Mr. Gigolo.”
The table burst out in raucous laughter. Ron didn’t know why.
“Just Jimmy will be fine, Ronnie.”
Now Ron was confused again. He had been taught that it was impolite to address adults by their first name. “OK.” It wasn’t like he was ever going to be seeing very much of these men.
Now they were all having fun with this little game. A man with diamond rings on each of his pinkies said, “My name is easy. I’m just Whitey.”
Ron smiled. “Like Whitey Ford.”
The table exploded again. Whitey had earned his name by betting a bundle against Ford twice during the 1955 World Series. He’d lost both times.
“Yeah,” said Whitey, shaking his head with a self-deprecating grin, “just like him.”
“You want a soda, Ronnie?”
George spoke up and said, “Nah, we got to go. His mother will be worried.”
“She afraid that you’re taking him to the track, Father George?”
Ron could have used the soda but he was happy that they were leaving.

Chapter 37
Ferry lectured endlessly and Ron could tell that that Artie was having a hard time staying awake. He drank soda after soda and kept wiping his face with his hands. Larry pretended to understand and took lots of notes so that he could parrot back Steve Ferry’s words and sound like he knew what he was talking about. Paul did understand. He’s been a quarterback who was fast and smart. He’s just been too short and slow to play college ball.
It was the second afternoon and Ferry was talking defense. He was really talking about reads. His belief was that you could only coach the first couple of steps of a play on defense. It was read and react. He didn’t have the talent for an attack defense, at least he didn’t think he did. Ferry was talking about the strong side safety in a four/four alignment. The middle defensive back would always shade to the opponent’s tight end side. “This man has an excellent view of the field and can see how the play is starting to develop. He watches the strong side guard and if he pulls to the right,” Steve stopped and positioned himself in front of them with his knees bent and his hands in front of him elbows crooked. He moved his left foot forward and gave his body a quarter turn. “This is his first step. Now, if he sees the wide receiver release towards the middle of the field, he squares up and plays football from here. If that receiver tries to come towards him, he needs to be ready to cover or deflect a block, but he can’t lose sight of what’s happening in the backfield. This man is our last line of defense and no one is to get in back of him.”
Ron thought you could draw things up this way, but when you were on the field, you had to let your instincts take over. Sometimes you just knew what was going to happen. You couldn’t stop and think about all these things. You’d be standing there when the play flew by you.
Ferry looked at Ron’s face like he was reading his mind. “We have to train his instincts by doing it over and over in practice so that he no longer thinks about it.”
Ron and Paul nodded. Larry wrote down …train his instincts. Artie yawned and said, “I gotta take a leak.”
Ron stood up. He wanted a cigarette. Steve said, “I think we’re about done. Tomorrow, Ron, you take shoulder pads,”
Ron nodded.
“Artie, you handle girdles.”
“Paul, you and I will do helmets.”
“You got it,” said Paul.
Steve said, “I want you to lay aside about ten of the new ones. I don’t want the bench riders who are seniors to gobble them up. When we’re all done we’ll see what we have left and swap out some of the better helmets to the younger kids who will be on the field.”
All of the coaches nodded. They were interested again. This endless lecture was actually coming to an end.
“Larry, you handle pants and practice jerseys. Make sure they fit tight. Nothing looks worse that a football player with a saggy ass.”
Larry beamed. He didn’t realize that Ferry had given him the one area that did not include any real equipment. It had the least to do with football aside from the entertainment factor when the new players sometimes put in their thigh pads upside down. Everyone was sure that Larry had learned the correct way to insert a thigh-pad by now.
Out in the parking lot, Ron talked with Paul Pamenteri. “How’s married life?” said Ron.
Paul beamed. “Paula is pregnant. It’s a boy.”
“How do you know?”
“There’s this test.”
Ron grinned. He liked Paul and the rep among the students was that Mr. Pamenteri was ok. He didn’t rat kids out unnecessarily like it was a search and destroy mission, but he was smart enough to define boundaries. Ron was in the process of doing that but this was just his second year.
Perpetual Hope was a strange school in an affluent area of a wealthy county that was a combination bedroom community for New York City and wealthy people who had made small fortunes in New Jersey. If they were Catholic, they enjoyed the status of sending their sons to private school. It was would be necessary that the level of education at the private school be above average. There had to be some success with sports. The tuition was not a factor, unless expectations weren’t met.
Paul was from Paterson. Now he lived in Totowa. He was a history teacher who Ron had been told took it seriously and tried to get his students to see concepts in history, not just dates and names.
Ron said, “They gave me an honors class.”
“Hey Ron?”
“Yeah?”
“Can I tell you something without you saying anything before the announcement?”
“Sure.”
“They’re expanding the Guidance Department, and I’m in.”
“Is that what you wanted?”
“Yeah, I’m taking classes at William Paterson and getting my guidance certificate and now I’ll have the credentials and the experience to move over to a public school.”
“That’s what you want?”
“Ron, I got a wife and a kid on the way. I can’t work for peanuts anymore.”
“That makes sense,” said Ron. His brain was grasping at it. “So how many games do you think we win this year?”
Paul laughed. “Maybe three.”

Chapter 38
The apartment building where George, Marjorie and Ron lived was shaped like a U with a center court entrance. There were shrubs that grew on a dirt island and along the inner sides of the building. There was a backyard but it was dingy and littered with broken glass and very little grew there. But next door was a vacant lot where someone had planted grass at one time.
Then a Baptist Church bought it and mowed the grass. Now it was a perfect football field. Ron played with guys that he met from the Boys Club. It was before he had ever experienced an injury and the game showed him at his best. He played with abandon and fury. They would have games until it was too dark to see and then they would wander home tired, spent and dirty.
Tina Poleski used to watch them from the window in her room and when she saw that the game was breaking up, she would comb her hair out and run downstairs to be sitting on the steps when Ron came home.
“Hi, Ronnie.”
“Hi, Tina.”
“Was it a good game?”
“Yeah.”
“Ronnie, would you do me a favor?”
“Sure, if I can.”
“There’s a place in the backyard that frightens me. Would you take me there?”
“Why?”
“So I won’t be frightened of it anymore.”
They got up and walked around the side of the building and then opened the low chain link fence that led into the backyard. Tina reached out for Ron’s hand and he took it. As they were walking along the concrete pathway, a window opened.
“Tina Poleski, I told you that the next time that I caught you back here with a boy after dark that I was telling your mother. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
Tina whispered, “Oh shit” to Ron and then called up. “Mrs. Kresge, we weren’t doing anything. We were just going in the back way.”
“Don’t give me that nonsense. Tina you’re a little liar. Does that boy even live in this building?”
“Hello, Mrs. Kresge. It’s Ronald Tuck.”
“Ronald, your mother is going to hear about this!”
“Hear about what? Tina asked me if I would show her something.”
“I’ll bet she did.”
Tina whispered, “I’d love to see it.”
Ron blushed. “We’re leaving Mrs. Kresge. Nothing to worry about.”
They both heard the window slam down.
“Would you show it to me, sometime, Ronnie?” Ron blushed again. “I’ll bet it gets really hard and big.”
“We’d better go inside,” said Ron.
That night Ron lay in bed masturbating to Tina’s words over and over again. He would hear them in his head like a record that was stuck in a grove saying, “I’ll bet it gets really hard and big.” It was the first time a girl had ever said anything like that to him before.

Chapter 39
The first day of real practice was a scorcher. They baked in the sun and Ferry ended the practice session early when he saw that some of his players were starting to wobble on their feet. There would be a two hour break before they would start again. Ferry reminded them that they had to shower, they had to drink a lot of fluids but they should try not to gulp mass quantities down.
When they got into the coaches’ office, Artie peeled off his outer shirt revealing a Mizuna that was made of a rubberized material that didn’t breathe. He lifted it and several ounces of gathered perspiration splashed down onto the floor.
“That’s disgusting Artie,” said Paul.
Artie laughed.
Ferry gave him a disapproving look and said, “Either do that outside or in the shower room. Artie pulled the shirt up over his head and several more ounces of sweat splashed down onto the floor. Ferry raised his tone. “I’m not fucking around Artie. Do that again and I won’t allow you back in here.”
Artie Ferris slunk away.
Larry said, “Someone should tell Brother Ward about how disgusting that man is.”
The room grew silent. Larry Viola was actually saying that he was going to do it and they all understood that immediately.
Steve Ferry said, “It won’t be you. I’ll speak to Artie. Housebreak him a little better but coaches don’t squeal on each other Larry. There’s a code. And nobody works better with the grunts up front than he does.”
Paul added, “Artie’s alright. He just doesn’t have any manners.”
“He lives in a cave,” said Larry.
Steve said, “Ron, this afternoon, I want you to take the d-backs under those trees at the other end of the field and work the reaction to ball drill when we break off into groups.”
“Shorts and helmets?” said Ron.
“Yeah, I think so. It’s just too damn hot. Paul, how’s the wing?”
“It’s fine, said Paul. He rotated his arm up over his head and stretched it until he could touch the center of his back.
“Do some throwing with the qb’s and the ends. We’re going to be running a lot of crossing patterns and they have to learn how to lead the receiver and not telegraph where the ball is going.”
Paul nodded but he knew that it was probably beyond the quarterbacks that they had to be doing this kind of work this soon.
“I want you to set up the slap drill, Larry. Wait. We can’t run that one in shorts and helmets. Nevermind. Let me think about it and we’ll save that for tomorrow.”
“Whatever you want, coach.”
“I’m going to have the team report at 8 am. Maybe we should scrap the afternoon practice and try to do one long session that starts before it gets so miserable out.”
The coaches grinned.
Steve Ferry could do whatever he wanted to do with their schedules, but this sounded like an unexpected afternoon off in the precious dwindling days before classes started. Artie was waddling back into the offices naked. “Put something on,” shouted Ferry. “Anyone can come down here.”

Chapter 40
Ron drove home late. He was too tired to eat. He just wanted to peel off his clothes and crawl into bed in his tiny air conditioned bedroom that had a folding door to separate it from the living room and a sheet that was tacked over the entry to the living room to keep the cool air consolidated.
He’d wanted to run and tried to tell himself that he would gain energy from a run, but his body had whimpered back its response. He needed to call it a day. He stripped and climbed into bed and brought the phone with him for company. He dialed her number and closed his eyes.
“Hello?”
“Hi.”
They felt the mutual smile through the connection. “Did you have dinner?” said Celeste.
“I’ll have breakfast,” said Ron. He felt her wanting to feed him through the phone. “I was surprised. Ferry said we were going to send the kids home today after one session, then he sprung on us that we needed this marathon film session.”
“Are you exhausted?”
“Yeah. Listen I want to talk to you about something.”
“OK.”
“We’re going to need more money to live than we have.”
“I need to go to work,” said Celeste.
“What about Angel?”
“If I could get something part-time, there’s a day care center at the Community College.”
“How is that news going to be received?”
“Things are going to change,” said Celeste.
“That’s an understatement,” said Ron.
They giggled a mutual laugh that was more of a coo. Ron felt himself relax into the feel of her. The silence was warm as the night air.
He added. “After football, I’m going to take on a Forensics Team and between that and tutoring, I’ll make more.”
“We’ll have enough,” said Celeste. “We don’t need that much.”
Ron wasn’t sure that he liked the sound of that completely. He hadn’t given a lot of thought to money since he had worked at Our Lady of the Forlorn that first year and that summer had to live on Swiss cheese and pasta. He’d drunk tap water because he couldn’t afford coffee. He’d even tried flavoring it with condiments that he’d picked up at his mother’s house. He hadn’t liked feeling poor. It brought back hot memories that he needed to push away.
“I wish that I was there with you,” he said.
There was silence.
Celeste answered, “If you spent the night here, you’d be closer to work in the morning.
Energy that he didn’t know that he had, surged in him. “You think it would be ok?”
“I’ll make it ok,” said Celeste.

Chapter 41
Marjorie was tight lipped when she and George told Ron that there was going to be a baby. She tried to smile but Ron could see that her heart wasn’t in it. George didn’t know that though. He was worried about money. His gambling debts had worsened since he had the added expenses that came with not living at home. It was true that Marjorie earned a good salary for a woman. But each Thursday, George forked over half of his paycheck from the printing company to the two guys that showed up and were friendly enough but wanted to be paid.
“Who are these guys?” said Ron.
“They’re friends of George’s.”
“They don’t look like friends.”
“You’re better off not knowing some things Ronald.”
Ron felt stung. “Since when?”
Marjorie was at her wits end. She had already taken out two finance company loans. She couldn’t get a third. He had promised her twice that he was done gambling. Each time he had lied. Each time he’d promised that it would be the last time. Ron had listened to these late night confessions while they thought that he was sleep.
“I don’t know what to do, Margie. I just can’t seem to stop.”
“Don’t you care about anybody but yourself?”
“That’s not it.”
“It must be the case. Otherwise you wouldn’t do this to me.”
George said, “What about the other bankbook?”
Marjorie looked at him in shocked disbelief. “You can’t be serious. I’ve never touched that. Not even when we didn’t have the rent. It’s not my money.”
Ron knew what they were talking about now. When he was in second grade, they had begun a bank savings program in his school. Whenever he was given any money for birthdays or holidays, at least half of it went into the bank. His mother kept it for him. He didn’t know how much was there.
“We could use it to get out from under this,” said George.
“George, the two of you don’t get along. How can I ask him for this?”
“You don’t ask him, you tell him.”
“You don’t understand. You don’t know what it used to be like between him and me. I can’t just tell him.”
“If I miss a payment, you know what will happen.”
“They aren’t going to damage someone who pays George. That wouldn’t be good business. You know these guys most of your life.”
“That doesn’t matter,” said George morosely.
Two days later, Marjorie told Ron what she needed to do. She had gone to see Vinnie Caputo, the shy. He tallied up George’s number for her. In addition to the one thousand dollar loan that they had at each of the finance companies, George was into Vinnie for fifteen hundred more. Ron’s bankbook could wipe that out. The vig was ten percent of the balance each week. That meant that on the fifteen hundred dollars, George was paying one hundred and fifty dollar a week in interest. It had to stop. The numbers would never allow them to climb out from under and George would keep dreaming for that big hit that would make everything even.
“If I pay it off, will you promise not to loan him anymore money?”
“I really can’t do that, Marjorie. George is a friend.”
The irony of this would not allow her to hold her tongue. “Is this what a friend does? What kind of a person ruins his friend’s life?”
Vinnie the Shy was a short squat man with salt and pepper hair. They were Caruso’s Ristorante. As a silent partner, Vinnie owned half of the place. It gave him a declarable income and a spot to do business. Marjorie sat in front of her cold cup of coffee thinking that none of these places knew how to make a good cup of coffee. She stared up at Vinnie the Shy. “If you loan him anymore money, I’ll leave him.”
“That’s none of my business,” said Vinnie.
For two days Marjorie agonized about what to do. She was sick in the mornings now. It was an effort to get herself to work each day, but George said that it would pass and that she would feel better soon.
“Ronald, I need a favor.”
“Sure.” He knew it was coming. He had heard the conversation. He could read the resolute look on her face.
“George and I need to borrow the money in your bankbook.” She said it flatly. She had forced the words out. She hadn’t wanted to say them but here it was and now she had said it. “I’ll make sure that you get it back,” she added.
Ron felt the anger rise up in him that George wasn’t even there. He’d left this shitty job to his mother. “Just take it,” said Ron.
“Ronald, I’m sorry.”
“It isn’t you. I know that.”
“Yes, it is. It’s me here asking you.”
“It’s your money Mom. There wouldn’t be a me without you.”
“Would you like to go and visit Aunt Dottie? See if any of your old friends are around?”
“Sure. When?”
“Let’s go now.”
From the appearance of the way that her life was now, a person who didn’t know would not think that Dorothy Thomas had any important friends. Sure she dolled up in her minks and diamonds on Saturday nights when they went to the corner bar, but that didn’t mean anything really. Dorothy had once been married to the president of the teamsters in Newark. She was on a first name basis with Newark’s mayor. She had been friends with Peter Rodino was a member of the House of Representatives.
Marjorie explained what had happened. Dorothy’s scowl was deep.
“What are you doing with this loser?”
“He’s a hard worker.”
“He’s dumb. He thinks being a hard worker entitles him to be stupid.”
“Will you make a phone call?”
“And say what?”
“Get them to stop loaning him money.”
“I’d rather get them to break his legs.”
“Don’t say that. Aunt Dottie, I’m pregnant.”
“Oh for Christ’s sake. Why did you do that?”
“It just happened.”
“It never just happens. Does Ron know?”
“Yes.” Marjorie paused. This last part was going to be more difficult. “He said that I could take his bankbook to pay off the Shy.”
Dorothy’s gaze felt like a razor blade. “You really should be ashamed of yourself.”
Marjorie wanted with all her heart to remind her aunt that she had been a little girl in a rooming house with her grandmother, Dorothy’s mother, when they were too poor to ride the bus and Dorothy was spending weekends on yachts.
Dorothy shook her head. “I’ll make the call, but Margi if a man is hungry to gamble, he’ll find a way to get the money.”

Chapter 42
“When’s Ron coming over?” said Angel.
“Not until much later. He’s working,” said Celeste.
“I don’t like it when he works. Why does he have to do that?”
“That’s what adults have to do.”
“Are you an adult?”
Barbara and Anna grinned at the precocious question.
“Yes,” said Celeste, ignoring the smirks.
“Why can’t you work? Ron can stay here and play with me.”
Part of Celeste had dreaded springing this information on her mother and cousin, but the time was right. “I am going to start working,” said Celeste.
Anna and Barb froze. What was she talking about? What kind of shit did she think she was going to pull now?
Angel wandered away to play with her tea set. She had wanted to play tea party with Ron. She didn’t understand the implications for her and Celeste had decided that she would explain all of that to her later. Right now, she had dropped a bomb and was waiting for the explosion.
Anna began slowly. “What do you mean that you are going to work?”
Celeste’s income consisted of her support checks from Angel’s father and her welfare checks. She hated taking public assistance, but Anna and Mario had assured her that was what it was there for. Mario had never been proud about taking handouts and this wasn’t even in his name.
“I’m taking a part time job at a doctor’s office.”
“You have a baby!” said Anna. Barb nodded in a very quiet and supportive way that told Celeste that she had no ally in this situation. “I’m sorry Celeste. I’m just not able to take care of her. She’s too much.”
“I know that Mom. I’m going to enroll her in daycare.”
“At her age? Are you crazy?”
Barb spoke up for the first time. “Horrible things happen at those places, Cele. It’s a bad idea.”
“I won’t allow it,” said Anna.
“It’s not your decision, Mom.”
“What kind of a mother are you?” said Anna.
“You always worked,” said Celeste.
“I had no choice,” glared Anna. “And you were never left with strangers. You were always with family.”
“It’s a good day care center. It’s right at the Community College. It will only be for four hours a day.”
“Four hours a day!” screamed Anna. In her younger days, Anna would have taken off her shoe and thrown it at Celeste. Now the pain in her back made the bending too difficult for it to be her response.
Celeste got up and left the room to check on Angel.
Barb said, “She won’t really do it.”
“Yes, she will,” said Anna. “She wants this guy and she is willing to anything that she has to do in order to have him.”
“Foolish girl. She has a beautiful baby. That should be enough,” said Barb.
“Nothing has ever been enough for her,” said Anna.

Chapter 43

Marjorie sat George down. Ron was with Harry. She’d called him and said that golf or no golf that he needed to see his son, and Harry had agreed. He’d stopped taking Ron to work with him on a regular basis. That had stopped a while ago. Harry was learning a new game. He’d gotten too old for softball. Bowling held limited interest. Then he discovered golf. He knew that he’d gone overboard. His new wife didn’t know how to complain as long as food was on the table and her bills were paid and her daughter provided for. Now she was pregnant with another one. But Marjorie was right. He’d neglected his son.
“George, I went to the doctor’s yesterday.”
“What did he say?” George’s tone and the expectation of the question telegraphed the need to hear that everything was alright. He wanted a rubber stamp. He expected it.
“George, there are problems. The doctor says that I’ve got to slow down and take it easy.”
“What does he mean?”
“He thinks that I should work less and spend more time in bed. He thinks that I shouldn’t be lifting things or scrubbing floors.”
“I’ll mop the floors,” said George. “I don’t think that we can afford to have you cut back at work.”
Marjorie agreed. She might lose her job.

Harry Tuck snapped a quick throw at Ron. He snagged it and whipped it back. Harry smiled. The throw stung his hand. His son had a decent arm. He blooped a toss. He watched Ron hold the glove up. He saw him squint, but he caught it and a grin spread from his face through his body as it winged it back.

“George, I’m not sure that I can do it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m tired. I’m trying. I don’t feel right.”
“You’ll feel better soon,” said George.

Chapter 44
The miscarriage hit the day before Ron’s birthday. It happened in the kitchen. Marjorie was on her knees with the pain. The blood was flowing out of her along with pieces of something else. She screamed but it wouldn’t stop and she couldn’t move and even though she was home, she was alone.
Marjorie clawed at the linoleum floor. George walked into the house and stood there horrified at the sight of her. He called an ambulance. He rode with her to the hospital.
It was officially determined that she’d had a miscarriage and needed what was known as a D&C. Marjorie, who was now more than half crazed, said no. It was her son’s birthday and she had to be there for him. She needed to see him. If he wasn’t there, she was alone in the world.
Against the objections of doctors, nurses and two hospital administrators, Marjorie signed herself out. They had her in an adult diaper because she was still leaking blood.
Ron was at home watching TV. It was late on a Saturday afternoon in June and he had been out all day. After dinner he wanted to go out again. These were the long days when summer had almost started. He could play ball until it was almost nine o’clock.
He looked up when they came in. Something was very wrong. His mother was walking very slowly and painfully. She was pale. George was holding her arm. Something was very wrong.
Ron was on his feet. “What happened?”
“They took me to the hospital,” wailed Marjorie.
Ron ran to her and then stopped. Would it hurt if he held her? “What’s wrong?”
“I lost the baby,” said Marjorie with a tint of shame.
“You’re hurt,” said Ron.
“They want me to have an operation.”
“Why?”
“Because I lost the baby.” Marjorie made it sound like it was a punishment.
George watched as a different kind of look overcame Ron. He became very composed. He straightened. His eyes were dark green when they flicked to George. “Why isn’t she still in the hospital?”
Marjorie seemed to shrink a little. George said, “She signed herself out.”
“You let her?”
“What was I supposed to do?”
The look of disdain that crossed Ron’s face reminded Marjorie of Harry and she felt, for that instant, safer. “You’re right,” said Ron. He turned to his mother. “We have to go back there right now.”
“Can’t we wait until after your birthday?”
Ron’s face softened when he gazed into her eyes. “No, we can’t.”
George was stunned when she just turned around and let them take her back through the door. She would have never done that for him.

Chapter 45
After baking in the sun for the last several days and spending most of the summer in shorts and t-shirts, Ron fidgeted uncomfortably in his jacket and tie. He had traded his over the shoulder, green canvas bag for a book salesman’s sample bag. It looked like a medium sized piece of luggage, but Ron found that if it stood it on his desk that it was the perfect height for a podium. It might weigh as much as thirty pounds at different times of the year, but it was durable and had room for everything that he needed.
He didn’t have his own classroom at Perpetual Help. There was no place to hang his Lincoln and he missed having it in the classroom. There were no pictures on the walls and no decorations of any kind expected or allowed and Ron was also pleased with this.
He undid he top shirt button and ran his finger around the inside of his collar as he watched the students for his American Literature class file in. They were not required to wear uniforms of any kind. They were expected to be presentable at all times.
There was little freedom in his curriculum and the finals were departmental so the pacing of what was covered when was also of some importance. He hadn’t chafed against these restrictions in his first year. He’d just been trying to make a good impression. He knew that this was considered one of the most academically challenging private high schools in the northern part of the state. If he didn’t cut it, they would cut him in an eye blink.
His class sizes were larger. The total number of students that he had in his five classes had climbed to a staggering one hundred and fifty students. It was almost twice as many as he had at his previous school and Ron had learned that a series of frequent vocab quizzes were essential.
Some of his students knew him as Coach Tuck and others just called him Mr. Tuck. Ron noted with some pleasure that their faces had the same eager looks that all the students he’d ever taught had.
“Good morning. My name is Mr. Tuck and this is American Literature Honors. Check your schedules and make sure that you’re in the right place.” He paused a moment as the students stared at the computer generated printouts of schedules that they received in the mail. “Some people believe that American Literature starts of slowly. That for the longest time, it was just a parody of English Literature. Early American settlers didn’t have much time or use for books and reading.” Ron heard a soft cheer go up from two guys sitting in the back of the room. He smiled up at them and made eyes contact. “Oh, so you both like that philosophy?” They grinned and nodded. “I see. You and I may have an area of disagreement there. Here is how we are going to resolve it. You will embrace literature like it was a pretty sixteen year old girl in a bikini.” The class laughed.
“What is your name please?” said Ron. He pointed. “You, cheerleader on the left.” The class laughed again.
“Mark Simon.”
“Would you like to embrace a pretty sixteen year old who was wearing a bikini?”
Mark nodded enthusiastically.
“Then you must learn to use the language properly and have some sophistication about what you read. Do you know why?”
Mark shook his head back and forth.
“In frontier times, you might need a good plow, a good horse, maybe a cow if you were lucky. Have you ever milked a cow, Mr. Simon?”
“No,” said Mark blushing and laughing at the same time.
“Neither have I. Now we have machines that milk them. Do you understand what that means?”
Ron let Mark Simon off the hook. He swiveled his head. “Cheerleader on the right. What is your name?”
“Paul Panini.”
“Do you know what that means?”
“You’re saying that the world has changed.”
“Very good Paul. The world has changed and now, in order to get the little passionate girl in the bikini, it’s better to be smart than brawny. Using the language helps you to get smarter.” Now Ron could borrow from some other openings that he’d used when he taught all girls. His class was grinning and interested. He had them. They had been easy.
Ron circled back to his book bag. “Literature book,” he held it up for them to see. “Vocabulary book,” he held up the thin, narrow paperback. “You are to have a notebook with you each and every day. I’ll tell you when we will be using the grammar books.” Ron paused and stared at them. “I would like to have to use the grammar books as little as possible, but that will depend on your essays. I’ll want a writing sample as soon as possible and so for tonight you will begin with this.
Ron read a poem that he’d found in a book of Native American Poetry. It was called, We The First People. Then he passed out a copy to each of them.
“I know that not all of you have your books yet, so we will start with them at the next class. For now, I would like a short five paragraph essay on your responses to this poem. That’s right guys, you are to write it tonight.”

Chapter 46
During the middle of his eighth grade year, students began talking about where they were going to go to high school. In Ron’s part of Newark, if you weren’t going to Barringer, you had to compete for entrance into a school.
“I don’t understand why he can’t go to public school,” said George.
“I don’t want him there.”
“How are we going to pay for it?”
“We’ll find a way.”
Ron listened to them talking and his face showed his utter contempt for George. George caught the look and said, “I’m just saying Ronald.”
“Saying what?”
“That Barringer is a good school.”
“It’s not as good as the private schools and they don’t put up with any nonsense,” said Marjorie.
George felt defeated. They never listened to him. He couldn’t even tell them that he’d won $50 in a card game because she would be crazy about him gambling.
The entrance exams were on Saturdays. They staggered them so that guys would have a chance to apply to the big three, which were Seton Hall, St. Benedicts and New Jersey Catholic. St. Peters was an even better school but it was in Jersey City and that thought frightened Marjorie.
The tests were long. At St. Benedicts, it was a three hour exam. Seton Hall and NJ Catholic were both two hours long. Each came with a $20 application fee.
For girls, the choices were more limited. Of course the nuns encouraged them to attend Our lady of the Forlorn, and there was East Orange Catholic but that was about it unless someone wanted the trek across the Passaic River to a co-ed high school called Queen of Peace.
His friends talked of little else. It caused a gender separation because none of them wanted to consider Queen of Peace.
Richie announced, “I’m going to Seton Hall.”
Dave Spenelli said, “I think I’m going to Jersey. My parents think it’s a good school and it’s the closest.”
Ron didn’t say anything. He’d been accepted into all three schools, but wasn’t sure if there was enough money for any of them. He would have liked to go to The Hall with Richie, but he didn’t want to get his hopes up.
“Ronald, I’m really proud that you did so well on the entrance exams.”
“Thanks Mom.”
“George is proud too,” said Marjorie. She was trying to cue George to say something. George nodded and grunted.
“New Jersey Catholic is a good school,” said Marjorie.
Ron nodded.
“The tuition isn’t a lot more than where you are now.”
“It’ll be fine,” said Ron. He was trying really hard to hide his disappointment. He was relieved that it wasn’t going to be Barringer.
He went into his room and tore up the acceptance letters to Seton Hall and Benedicts. Through the door he heard George’s muffled voice say, “I don’t know how we’re going to do it.” Ron punched his mattress as hard as he was able. He felt stupid. Why should he care if the sent him to Barringer or Seton Hall or New Jersey Catholic? Things still wouldn’t feel right. Right now the best thing about George that Ron could conceive was that he belonged to a club that had a rotation of paperback porn.
He found that certain lines excited him. He didn’t know why. He would just feel this rush after he’d read them and want to read them again and again, and then it would happen. At the same time that he loved his time alone with those books, they caused his disdain for George to even grow deeper.
He hid them, buried in the dirty clothes of the laundry basket in the bathroom. Ron would take them out and bring them back into his room and then return them. He knew that it was his mother who emptied the laundry. He wondered what she did with the books when she found them.

Chapter 47
Ron read and was impressed.
Paul Panini wrote: Not all Indian cultures were peaceful. Some were as brutal as the Europeans.
Mark Simon wrote: I liked the first part. How do you find a people?
Ron smiled. These two were smart and the classroom had been a catalyst. He thought, maybe a classroom has less to do with being a physical place than I thought it did. Maybe a classroom is only special for that time and those moments when it’s functioning.
His mind flashed to classrooms that he’s been in. The first one that he remembered was Mrs. Francis kindergarten class. It was a huge room with wooden floors that creaked and lots to do. He loved it. Things got darker. He saw himself in 4th grade hurling his books when he was told that he had detention for something that he didn’t do.
Ron glanced back at the papers. Edward Lang had written: Civilization comes at a price, but it’s good. Ron smiled and relaxed into his papers and forgot the time or where he was expected to be.
Celeste came into the basement quietly. Ron was sprawled on the bed and there were stacks of papers everywhere. His incredibly large and clumsy book bag was open. She smiled. She approached. He didn’t know she was in the room until a blur caught the corner of his eye. Now she was standing there naked. Ron scrambled to put the papers away. He knew that his boys would understand.
Celeste slept quietly and Ron put on the desk lamp. He finished reading William Bradford for the second time and tried not to hate it. Then he smiled. They would read it and hate it too. Maybe he could teach them to find a new perspective on the things that they seemed to hate but were forced to accept.
“This is what we have in our literature book as the first piece of reading. Let’s look at it. A hard crossing. Illness. Only a fragment left of what had come.
This is our fragment. Our piece of what has survived. That’s why I wanted you to read it,” said Ron.
Paul Panini said, “Don’t we have to read it?”
“That too,” said Ron. “I tried for a while to find some way to come here and tell you why I think that you should read this. It’s not great writing. It’s not even good. Why then? How can I stand here and expect you to trust me when I have to choose from a selected group of material? Answer is that I’m trying to work that out and giving it my best shot. Let’s see how it goes. I have an idea.”
Ron picked up their literature book. It was his copy. The pages were dog-eared. There were foreign objects slid between the pages. “I’ve taken a hard look at this and decided that it would benefit you to know what is in here.”
Ron looked out into the room. There were the two in the back, Panini and Simon, but there were two more. Sal Taleno could catch, He’d always been able to catch. He could run and he wasn’t afraid to take a hit, but he also was under some pressure to read. It was parentally induced. Ron understood that. But Sal was now in his class. Even though they had little contact on the field, they were on the team. There was a tentative bond. Sal looked up and met his eyes.
Sal grinned. “Tell us what it is.”
“This book isn’t what’s important here. It’s our minds meeting and exploring. There is some really good stuff in here. I’ll cut out the crap as best as I am able. This is what I want. You gotta read what I tell you to read.”
They were quiet. They weren’t sure what he was telling them to do. What was the assignment?
“I want you to read it until you understand it. When I assign too much, tell me. That’s what I want from each assignment.” Ron looked the football player in the eyes. “Can you do that Taleno?”
“Yes, Coach.”

Chapter 48
On the day that Ron graduated from Our Lady of the Forlorn’s Grammar School, his father and his mother and his Aunt Dottie embraced him with a warm feel of approval that was genuine.
His Aunt took him aside. “People seem to be pinning their hopes on you.”
“I know. What happens if I let them all down? Will my mother get sick again?”
She looked into his eyes. “Ron, it’s your life, not theirs.”
“What do you mean?”
“Their expectations don’t have to be your expectations.”
“Aunt Dot, I’m still not sure what that means.”
“That’s ok,” she said grinning.
They took photographs of him standing with each of them. There was always an arm around his shoulder. He was supposed to smile, but he was scared. What was he supposed to be?
Students who were accepted into Jersey Catholic were required to do summer reading. Ron smiled to himself as he scanned the list. He’d read four of the six. There was just these books called Lord of the Flies and another called Animal Farm.

Ron Tuck was an avid reader. He’d plowed his way through book after book that was supposed to be over his head and gleaned whatever he could and hoped that somehow, osmotically, enough would filter into him. He opened Animal Farm and began to read.
Neither book was long. He felt that they were his introduction to the high school. These books would tell him what the school expected of him. He grinned as he listened to Major. He wondered if pigs were that smart and told himself that he would look that up the next time that he was in the library.
When Boxer collapsed Ron’s heart sunk. He knew that horse was hurt and he believed so deeply in the farm and in the rights of the other animals to govern themselves.
Boxer had worked himself too hard. He needed to take more breaks and to relax once in a while. He wanted for the other animals to take care of their hero. His hands gripped the book tightly when he realized what was happening to the horse. Then he saw and felt his tears. They were rolling down his face and plopping onto the pages. He forced himself to keep reading. He couldn’t hear or see anything but the book which was now blurry.
His mind screamed for Boxer to break out of the cart that was taking him to the glue factory and to stomp those worthless, traitor pigs with his powerful hooves. It didn’t happen, and then they lied about what had become of Boxer. Some of the other animals knew but were too frightened to say anything. They had screamed for Boxer to break out of the cart.
The unfairness of it all seared into his brain as something that he couldn’t accept. He wanted to get it out of his head but it was stuck there and he was crying like a baby laying in his bed.
When he finished the book, his reaction continued. He couldn’t look at the cover without seeing Boxer too weak to break out of his confinement. His mind hadn’t processed Orwell’s ideas, but it felt the pain. Ron slid the book under a stack of others so that he wouldn’t have to look at it, but he still knew it was there. He fished it out of the pile and put it under the clothes in the bottom drawer of his dresser. Maybe he should toss it into the hamper with George’s porn. He pictured George as one of the pigs. His mind saw him sitting at their kitchen table shoveling food into his face. He did grunt a lot. Ron walked into their living room and stared down at one of the stains on the white rug. It was further evidence.
George looked up from his TV program and saw Ron standing there. His face was tear streaked and there was a sick look on his face. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” said Ron. He didn’t want to talk to the pig.

Chapter 49
The season opener was against Ridgefield. Larry volunteered to organize a pregame rally. Ferry looked at him with disdain. “You’re a coach, not a cheerleader.”
Larry Viola walked away, shoulders slumped. He stood next to Ron’s locker and mumbled, “He made it sound like an insult that I wanted to organize a rally.”
Ron pulled on his brand new coach’s game day jersey. It was gold with black lettering. His cap was black with an interlocking PH in the center of the front. When he and Larry had scouted together last year, Ron had been puzzled when Viola had said that he couldn’t wait for halftime because Bergenfield had one of the best bands that he’d ever seen.
None of the other teams scouting the game had coaches who watched the halftime. The stood in a circle eating hotdogs and talking about what they had seen in the first half. They tried to pick up on tendencies that the others had seen and maybe they had missed. It was friendly but competitive and no one ever showed anyone else what they had drawn on their play pads.
Ron stood towards the side of the circle of men who were wearing their team hats so that everyone knew who they were. He saw Larry up in the stands clapping loudly as the band finished a number. He was a good guy, thought Ron. He just wasn’t a football coach.
Ron was happy that he wouldn’t have to go to those games with Larry anymore. He’d been embarrassed to be seen with him. Now he felt sorry for Larry. He’d wanted to do it to make things fun for the kids and for him.
Ron would be in the booth wearing a headset that was connected to Steve Ferry. He was to tell him what the defense was doing and to make any suggestions that he thought would be useful. This would be one of the first times Ron got to see the varsity play live. Last year he was always out scouting with Larry.
Paul Pamenteri pulled Ron aside in the hallway. “Remember that I’m on the system too.”
“What do you want me to look for?”
“We can’t see the line splits from field level as good as you can see them from up top.”
“Got it.”
“Ronnie, listen sometimes during the game, Steve loses it. He gets disgusted by mistakes. He’s bitter about being overmatched. He forgets and starts calling plays that he hasn’t put into the playbook.”
“What do you mean?”
“Old plays from teams that he’s had in the past.”
“What do we do then?”
“I talked to him about it. This year, I’m going to send the plays that he calls in. I need you to be ready with something if he starts to lose it.”
“Ok.”
Paul looked at Ron seriously. “No one else knows. Not Artie and certainly not Larry. You can’t let Steve know that I told you.”
The game was evenly matched. In the first quarter, Ridgefield almost scored on a long pass play that was wide open but the pass wasn’t any good.
“What happened there?” growled Ferry.
“We bit on the short pass fake. It was wide open,” said Ron.
“God damn it! Why do we practice these things?”
Paul voice was composed. “Coach, we need a play.”
“Run the damn dive to the left. Maybe we can do that without screwing up.”
The blare of the loud speaker drowned out everyone’s voice. The play went for six yards. Ron said, “Paul, run it to the other side.”
Ferry said, “Ok, let’s see if we can educate them and get them to pack it in tight.”
The play ran for six more yards and they had a first down.
“Run that baby again,” said a gleeful Ferry.
This time the inside linebacker for Ridgefield anticipated the play and stuffed the hole for just a two yard gain.
“Linebacker cheated up,” said Ron.
“We saw it,” said Paul.
The quarter ended scoreless. Ferry said, “Now we fake the dive and run a toss to the same side. Go to the left, Paul.”
Ridgefield came out in an odd man front. Both guards were covered and when the onside guard pulled out to lead the sweep, the inside linebacker crashed the hole and blew the play up. The ball bounced crazily in the center of the field and then they were on it.
“Where the fuck did that come from?” screamed Ferry. “Ron didn’t you say that when you scouted the game scrimmage that they only ran an even front?”
“I wasn’t there, Coach. That was Larry.”
“Call a defense, Steve,” said Paul.
“Artie, set them in a 4/4.”
Ridgefield scored and then scored again. Perpetual Hope’s defensive back bit on the short pass fake again and this time the pass was true. It was 13-0 at the half because Artie had put in a play that defeated their second extra point attempt. It was an illegal play but Artie was betting that he could get away with it once a game. The defensive man over the center pulled his man forward just as he was snapping the ball. Things happened in the interior of the line. One ref was watching to see that the kick was good. The other was looking for an offside. They couldn’t see it.
At halftime, Ron came down to the locker room. The players ate oranges. There were no real injuries. The coaches gathered in the office. This had to be quick. They had maybe ten minutes and then they had to talk to the players.
Ferry said, “Well, we look as confused as a three legged cat on ice trying to take a shit.”
“We haven’t practiced against an odd man front all week,” said Artie. “Can’t blame the kids for being confused.”
“Can we protect?” said Ferry.
“Can’t run those sprint passes without exposing the backside and they have some speed. Now that the linebacker has a sniff of it, he’ll be up our asses every time,” said Artie.
“How do the flats look, Ron?’
“They’re packed in. If we can get it out there, there’s space.”
“Paul, two things. Get that fucking numbnuts who bit on that fake twice off the field. Sit him down. We’ll work with him this week.”
Paul nodded.
“Instead of carrying through with the fake on the dive, I want Scutero to teach that crashing linebacker a little lesson. Ring his bell.”
Artie laughed. This was his kind of football.
At the start of the second half Sal Taleno caught three passes in a row and when the defender fell on the third one, Sal scored. There was jubilation on the sideline. Ron pumped his fast from on top of the announcer’s box.
Ridgefield couldn’t move the ball. They went back to the wider splits of their even front. Scutero had rung number 51’s bell good. He was on the sidelines.
“Run the dive,” crowed Ferry.
“Stick it right down their throats,” screamed Artie. He had run over and yelled in Ferry’s ear. It was loud enough for Ron to hear. He looked down to see an animated Artie waving his arms and snorting as he stomped around in a circle.
On the third play of this drive, Perpetual Help fumbled again. This time they got it back but lost fourteen yards on the play. Ridgefield finally closed up the line splits and continued to sprinkle in the off man front. They were content to sit on their lead. The game ended 13-7.
Larry Viola walked into the coach’s room excited. “That was a great game. We almost had them.”
Ferry was in no mood. “It ain’t fucking horseshoes, Larry.”
Larry slumped again. Sure he could understand that losing wasn’t what they were after, but it was a sunny day. The stands were filled. Both bands sounded good. Didn’t you have to enjoy that?
Ferry picked up Larry Viola’s scouting report. “Didn’t you tell us that they exclusively ran an even front?”
“Yeah,” said Larry.
“Were you surprised today?” said Ferry with a note of menace in his voice.
Looking back on it, Ferry realized that he just should have said yes, but he didn’t. He was still stung about Ferry’s attitude about the rally. He blurted, “I didn’t notice.”
“That’s just great, Larry.” Ferry was already thinking about beer.
Ron needed Celeste and Angel. He didn’t shower or change. He drove to their house. Everyone was in the backyard. Ron walked around the side and up the driveway. Celeste loved the squeak mobile. It always alerted her. It was her friend.
Joey watched young Joey in the pool with Angel. She had water-wings. She was splashing. Joey cuddled his son and splashed back. He was getting soaked but didn’t care. Anna and Mario were watching. The garden was in full early September bloom. Tomatoes needed to be picked. There were peppers and zucchini. Tina was in the kitchen. The sauce was simmering. She added some fresh basil.
Celeste and Ron embraced. She felt ripe and warm and good. It stirred him. He wanted to take her into the basement and lay her face down and pump himself into her. The urge was strong. He resisted it.
Angel’s face lit up when she caught sight of him. She tried to climb out of the pool. Joey let his son flat in his tube and helped her. Then Ron was there and he swept her up into his arms and held her drippingly wet and her happy body clung to him.
“I’m so happy to see you,” he whispered.
She grinned with the feel of him. Lost herself for a moment in the embrace. Then she said, “I missed you.”
“I was working.”
She hugged him with her entire body. “Don’t work anymore.”
Ron’s heart was flipping in his chest. He lifted her back into the air and carried her to the pool. He plunked her squirmy little body back into the water and continued the embrace.
“I need some help to put dinner in the table,” called Tina.
Celeste went inside. No one asked if they won or lost. Ron didn’t care.

Chapter 50
Ron was nervous as he walked to school. It was the day after Labor Day and it was hot. Ron wondered why the weather always seemed to get hotter after school started. There would be those sometimes cool and rainy days of August and then he’d go back to school and SPLAT. Summer would seem to come back with a vengeance.
His blazer was gray wool and had the emblem of the school on its breast pocket. His slacks were black and his tie felt tight. After one block, he was sweating.
His books had been expensive and they were heavy. He thought that it was probably a mistake to try to cram them all into his book bag on the first day, but he wanted to make a good impression.
Although Jersey Catholic was one of the newer parochial schools in Newark, it was the largest. There were 2000 students and all of them were male. Students came from as far away as Cedar Grove and Verona to attend. Their bus ride was an hour long. Ron had a three block walk.
The school was housed in a huge stone building on Broadway that used to belong to an insurance company. Now it was run by the Christian Brothers. It was ten stories high and covered an entire city block.
The sight of it intimidated Ron. It was him feel small and weak. What was even more intimidating was the throng on young men who were gathered on the side steps waiting for the doors to be opened. They were packed in and all were wearing the same blazers. Ron tried to tell himself that he was one of them but it was a hard sell.
The way that the building was organized allowed for a floor for each year of students. Students were assigned a classroom and that’s where they stayed. Their teachers came to them. It had the unintended effect of making it difficult to get to know very many students outside of the ones that were in your class.
Freshman were assigned to the fifth floor. There were twenty-five freshman classes and each held thirty-five students. Ron looked at his schedule. Algebra was his first class, then French, then Latin, then History, Religion and English and Physical Education. Students were not allowed out of their rooms between classes. They were only allowed to visit their lockers before and after lunch. They were not permitted to use the elevators.
The room was hot and Ron tried to forget about the heat. Brother O’Shea was a short blonde man with a reddish tinge to his skin. Ron wondered if he was sun burned. He rocked back and forth on his heels as he spoke to the class.
“Take off your jackets men.” There was a wave of relief and activity as the guys removed their blazers and draped them over the backs of their desks. “After class make sure that you put them back on. It is the prerogative of each teacher to allow or not allow you this privilege.” He rocked back and forth on his heels. “My rules are simple. One chapter a week and a quiz each Friday. The only times that we will not have a Friday quiz is when we will be having a unit test. Your tests will be returned on Monday and then we will begin the cycle again.”
Rob thought that it seemed simple enough, but Algebra intimidated him. He’d never been great with numbers. He hadn’t really liked fractions and when Richie had tried to explain the concept of equations to him, his mind just went blank and wandered.
“Let’s begin,” said Brother O’Shea. “Take out your books.”
Now Ron was happy that he’d carried the heavy bag to school. He looked around. Not everyone had their books, and the kids that didn’t had this kind of frozen look on their faces and their bodies seem to have gone a little rigid.
O’Shea looked around and then he smiled. “Not all of you are prepared. What did you boys think we were going to do today? Did you think we were going to play Let’s Get to Know Each Other? We aren’t here to get to know each other. We’re here to get to know Algebra. You men without books, put your jackets back on.” Ron heard a groan from in back of him. He turned to see a slender kid with red hair in back of him outing his jacket back on. “Bookless boys, stand up!” said O’Shea. Move into the aisle and take a step either forwards or backwards and stand next to one of your classmates who did knew enough to come prepared. You can follow along.”
O’Shea ran his hands underneath the broad waistband that cinched his brown habit. “A quick review on the multiplication and division of fractions he said.”
Ron looked down. That was Chapter 1. His mind said, how do you review something that you never really learned the first time? Maybe he would get it this time. O’Shea spoke quickly but not loudly. He had the habit of sometimes speaking to the chalkboard instead of the classroom and this made him both difficult to hear and to understand. Ron did understand a lot of it. Maybe he would be ok. What O’Shea basically did for the rest of the class was say exactly what was in the book, using the exact words from the book, and writing the exact some examples that were in the book on the chalk board. He finished talking just before the bell rang. Then he quickly packed up and left.
They were alone. The guys looked around and grinned at each other. Somebody said, “Let’s get our jackets on.”

Two minutes later Brother Alvin appeared at the doorway. “Bonjour.” He said. The class silenced. He was a very tall man and he carried just his French textbook in his hands. “Bonjour, is the French form of greeting. Loosely translated, it means hello. It is expected that when someone says Bonjour, that you respond in kind.” He paused dramatically. “Bonjour!” There was a smattering of mumbled responses. He walked to the teacher’s desk in the front of the room and slammed the textbook down onto it. The sound was like the explosion of a gunshot and the boys jumped. They sat up straighter. “Bonjour!” he said loudly.
“Bonjour,” said the frightened students.
Brother Alvin did not mention their jackets and the temperature had risen. The students were sweating. The class seemed to go on forever. When it ended and Brother Alvin left…the students took off their blazers and fanned themselves with their books.
Ron barely tolerated Latin. There would be declensions and conjugations. His mind screamed, what the fuck for? Brother Delban was wirey. There was grit in his voice. He expected cooperation. The lack of it would result in punishment.
Ron’s mind ached. Was that the message? He was one of the animals on the farm. He’d be penned and instructed. His mind howled. It was time for lunch.

Chapter 51
Ron smiled as he saw his students enter. Their disheveled youth amused him. He felt kindly towards them. “So, good morning. I hope the weekend was good but good or not it’s over and time to go back to work.” He paused. He stared at them. They gazed back, proud and young and waiting to be filled. “Your responses were good. Some of you have learned how to write. That was satisfying to see. The others of you who do not, catch up. This is an honors English class. If you don’t know how to write, I’ll help you to find a more suitable placement. Otherwise, get to work.”
He passed on their essays complete with comments. He said, “Take a moment. If you have trouble with my handwriting let me see it. I didn’t take time writing those comments because I wish them disregarded. Your grades will be a reflection of how you perform on tests. But your learning will be a conversation between the two of us. Please read my responses to your papers.”
He waited and watched. They read. His heart missed his girls and their shyness coupled with their sometimes brazen approach. These guys deserved his best. He didn’t intend to short change them. One by one, their heads raised and let him know that they had read what he’d written. He surveyed them. “Questions?”
Mark Simon said, “What does suspend disbelief mean?”
“It means that literature requires imagination and that if you keep what you think weighted down by the hard facts of life that you will find it much harder to dream.”
He let that sink in.
Paul Panini said, “I don’t think that too much of that is any good.”
Ron tried to absorb that. It was an unexpected comment. He liked that it surprised and challenged him His mind reached back. Something that Lashly had taught him. “Balance is everything, Paul. But one person’s balance is another’s tipping point.” The look on Paul’s face told Ron that he didn’t understand, but Ron did.
Edward Lang said, I didn’t find William Bradford boring. I thought that the poem was boring.” The poem that Ron read that first class went:
We The First People

I’m proud to belong to one of the original clans
Whose Ancestors occupied all of these lands
Before we were “found” by some wandering seaman
Who knew just where he was and we became “Indian”

Talk to me of our victories, and I will listen
Tell me about our history, a tear will glisten
Stories of how life use to be, bring a rueful smile
Drums and flutes will find me dreaming all the while

In order to “save” us, they killed us
Our peaceful cultures were “dangerous”
And they thought they could just ravage us
But by fighting back, we became “savages”

Call us lazy indeed – we’re not driven by their greed
To gather “materials” about them
But my question is
How did we exist
For hundreds of centuries without them?

— Unknown

Ron picked up the book and read it again. He knew now that poems were like songs. The more that you heard them, the deeper their effect would be. “Why does this bore you, Ed?”
“When you read it, it didn’t. When I read it, it did.”
Ron thought hard about that. He had the sense that the information was important, but he wasn’t sure what to do with it. When the class ended, he walked down to the teachers’ lounge with it still on his mind.
His department chairman was Sam Felice. Sam was hunched over a book and eating an egg salad sandwich at 10:30 in the morning. Ron slid in across from him.
“Hi, Sam.”
Sam looked up and wiped his mouth. He had dark hair and glasses that had slipped down his nose. He pushed them back. “How’re things Ron?”
“Kid just stopped me with a question.”
Sam laughed. “You’re letting them ask questions already?”
Ron grinned. They’d had many conversations about teaching. Sam was serious about it and Ron respected him. “Yeah well, it’s my honors class. You get them next year. I figured that I’d get all their questions out.”
They shared a chuckle and Sam said, “What did he say?”
“He said the poem wasn’t boring when I read it but that it was when he did.”
Sam smiled. “Did you tell him that it was because he didn’t know how to read?”
That comment hit Ron hard. They knew words but they weren’t sure how to hear them. He nodded. “Thanks Sam.”
Ron drank coffee while Sam finished his sandwich. “How’s the football team?”
“We lost on Saturday.”
“I know,” said Sam. “But how does it look?”
“Like we are 0-1,” said Ron.

Chapter 51
There were two lunches at Jersey Catholic. The cafeteria was vast and crammed full of long lunch tables that were set in identical rows spanning both the length and width of the room. Once you were down, getting up was a navigation. Ron sat with Phillip from Our Lady of the Forlorn.
Phillip said, “Seniors are allowed to smoke at their table.”
“Really?” said Ron. “Where’d you hear that?”
“I forget,” said Phillip. “But if one of us gets caught at their table we’re in big trouble.”
“I got no reason to be over there,” said Ron.
“No, but good to know, isn’t it? I mean suppose one of them invited us over there just to laugh at us when we get in trouble?”
Phillip was right. Anything that they could figure out about the way that things really were could be helpful. It would be like that until they had things figured out.
To some extent, seniors were allowed to pick on the freshman. It was considered a rite of passage. The younger kids stayed away from them and the seniors were always on the lookout for some easy fun during lunch. They had gone through it. Now it was their turn to be in charge. They’d looked forward to this for three years.
“You going to play football, Phillip?”
“I’m gonna try. Tryouts are tomorrow.”
Phillip and Ron were about the same size. They had been the best two players when their friends lined up. They were never allowed on the same team and now they would be. “We’ll both make it,” said Ron.
“I don’t know. I heard there are a hundred guys who want to play and the team only carries forty.”
That rumor was true, but it was hard to tell what was true from what was just a story. They ate quickly. Looking around at the noisy throng of guys and in the distance seeing the cloud of smoke that hung over the senior table in the low ceilinged room. From the corner of his eye, Ron watched one of the seniors walk passed. His mouth dropped open. The guy looked like he shaved every day. Ron had never shaved but he wanted to. Phillip shaved about once every two weeks. Ron wondered if that meant that he was less of a man.
Ron got his books from his locker with a feeling that he had gotten through the first morning and could see the pattern. It was simple. Shut up, stay put and do your work. That message was loud and clear.
History was taught by the first lay teacher that Ron had seen. He was a slight man with thin hair and a redeeming hairline. He appeared to be in good shape. He smiled at them and said, “My name is Mr. Connor. This is World History.” He paused for a moment and looked over the class. “There sure are a lot of you. Take your jackets off fellas, it’s too hot for this.” He stopped and removed his own jacket across the back of his chair. His students did the same thing.
Connor peered out into the class. “Are any of my runners here?”
Everyone looked around. Ron hadn’t known that Connor was a coach. Two hands went into the air. One was the red haired kid who sat in back of Ron. He’d been one the kids who had to stand during Algebra. Ron thought I guess that’s how it goes. You can be a jerkoff in the morning and distinguished in the afternoon.
Connor spent the rest of the class talking to them about why he felt history as worth knowing. “The President’s knowledge of history probably saved us from annihilation during this Cuban thing. He knew that the Bear had more growl than bite.” Ron wasn’t sure who the Bear was but he did like the easy way that Connor seemed to be running his class. They didn’t take out their books until the end when he provided them with an assignment. It was five pages of reading. Ron flipped through the pages. There were more words to a page on these books then there had been in the books that they used in grammar school. He took that to mean that he was growing up. He flipped through the pages delighted when he saw pictures that took up large parts of the page.
There were two of his classmates standing at the door waiting for a teacher to arrive to start the next class. Brother Cecil looked down at them from the doorway.
Tim DeFalco said, “Brother, can I use the bathroom?”
Cecil had arrived early and some of the students still had their jackets off. Brother Cecil had a baritone voice that spread out from his mouth like a rumble. “What a wonderful greeting. I walk into the room and the first thing that is said to me is ‘can I urinate.’ He eyed DeFalco. “I surely hope that you have the capacity to urinate. What is your name?”
Tim face was now fire engine red. “Tim DeFalco, Brother.”
“Do you think that you can urinate, Mr. DeFalco?”
“I don’t know, Brother, but I need to.”
“The proper way to express yourself is to ask ‘may I use the rest room?’ Saying can I use it implies that perhaps you don’t know how. I assume that you know how, or am I incorrect?”
“No Brother.”
The class had gotten back into their jackets as they watched DeFalco suffer. Ron could see that his hand kept starting to reach for his penis to squeeze it and try to hold it back, but he kept checking himself and stopping. Brother Cecil saw it too. “Hurry up, DeFalco, but I’m not waiting for you.” Brother Cecil turned to the class and said, “Welcome to our study of Christianity.”
Ron couldn’t help it and began to laugh out loud. Brother Cecil shot him a harsh look and Ron attempted to stifle his laughter. But the sight of Tim resisting the urge to try to squeeze his penis shut combined with the enjoyment that Cecil took in the exchange had him laughing and he couldn’t stop. He bit his lip hard. Cecil was walking towards him. “May I ask exactly what was so funny?”
Ron couldn’t help it. “Sure you can,” he said and the giggles erupted again.
Brother Cecil rocked back on his heels and slapped Ron hard across his face. His giggles vanished into shock. Ron’s eyes widened as they looked up at him. “I hope that I’ve been able to help you,” said Brother Cecil.
Ron couldn’t resist the urge to bring his hands to his face. It wasn’t fury or fear that raged in him. His reaction was mixed. He’d stopped laughing. His face hurt. The rest of the class faded back in his mind. He floated for that instant. “Thank you, Brother,” he said and lowered his eyes.
Cecil smiled. “What is your name?”
“Ron Tuck.”
“Where are you from?”
“I live about three blocks from here.”
“Not the first time that you’ve had your face slapped then?”
“No Brother.”
“Let’s make it the last time that I have to do that.”
Brother Cecil continued with his introduction.

Chapter 52
After the JV game on Monday, the coaches gathered to watch the game film of the varsity’s loss. If The varsity played at home, the JV played away. Some players participated in both games. It was a lot to ask, but Ferry wanted to give them a taste of victory and although it wasn’t really a second chance, it could be something. Paul Pamenteri was the head JV coach. Artie was his assistant. Artie also had the advantage of being able to do fast and good tapings and acted as their trainer. Ron broke down the film with Ferry and the starters who were beyond playing in a JV game.
Ron had expected Steve to rail, but the coach silently let the film run through most of the first quarter. Then he stopped it. “Watch here,” he clicked it forward again. “See this? We run the hell out of this dive to both sides. Let’s make it even better.” He let the film run. The players were viewing it intently. They either liked or hated seeing themselves but it was never a neutral reaction. Ferry stopped it again for the pass plays to the flat. Ron felt a rush of pride. Those were plays that he’d suggested. Well almost. Ferry had asked him about the flats and he’s been correct.
“Those are the things that we can build on men. We can run and we have a quarterback who can play catch with a wide receiver. We also have a pretty tough defense.”
Ron thought Steve Ferry was masterful and his respect for him deepened. It had been the first game of the year. They had been outflanked by a new defense. Maybe it was new. For now, Steve was giving that the benefit of the doubt. Ron tried to absorb that.
“Let’s stretch and jog a couple of easy laps and call it a day, boys.”

They sat in the coaches’ room with two pizza boxes in front of them and watched the game film for the second time. This time Ferry stopped it after each play and dissected what he saw. Ron watched as he ran it forwards and then backwards…in slow motion. Each play was dissected. Ron took notes. So did Paul. Artie tried to stay awake and ate one entire pizza by himself.
“We did pretty well up front,” said Ferry. “But we aren’t all coming off the ball at the same time. Artie, see how the left side is just a half step behind?”
“I see it,” said Artie.
“Time for more sled work,” said Ferry.
Artie grinned. He loved to ride the seven man sled. And you could feel the slightest variation when the players didn’t fire out together and put a shoulder into it.
“Paul, watch the quarterback’s feet.”
Ferry ran the play again. They all watched the quarterback. “He’s taking extra steps. It’s slowing the play down and the running back has to hesitate before he gets the ball.”
“I didn’t see it on the field,” said Paul. “I see it now.”
“I didn’t see it on the field either.

Larry Viola did not join them for this film work. He sat in Brother Howard’s office explaining his idea. “I think that pre-game rallies would help our attendance. It would get people to the games earlier and the concessions would sell more. Our students would feel like they were more part of the team.”
Brother Howard puffed on his after dinner cigar and listened. He could see the benefits. “What about your scouting?”
“I can still get to the games and three of the teams that we play have their games on Friday nights, so that won’t be a problem.”
Brother Howard rubbed the ash off into his ashtray. “What did Steve say?”
“He said that I wasn’t a cheerleader. But I am Brother. I’m a cheerleader for this school and you know that.”
“I do,” said Brother Howard. “I’ll speak to Steve. Our next home game isn’t until a week from Saturday, so you’ll have time to put something together.”
Larry Viola preened. This was going to be fun. He thought about whether it was a good time to bring Artie up and decided that it wasn’t.
“If this works out the way that you think it will, there will be a little something extra
for you Larry.”
Viola smiled. “Thank you Brother, but you know that’s not why I’m doing it, don’t you?”
“Everybody has to live, Larry.”

Chapter 53
The day seemed to stretch on forever. Mr. Wisnewski was their English teacher. He was tall, slender and had dark brown hair. What was striking about his appearance was that he taught in a long black, cap and gown style robe that was zippered up tight and revealed only the knot of his tie and the white, starched collar of his shirt. He spoke in clipped tones. He did not allow them to remove their jackets
The clock did not seem to be moving. Ron’s mind wandered. Wisnewski did not seem to ever look at his students. He kept his eyes fixed at a point on the rear wall up over their heads. He didn’t smile or ask for questions. When it was finally over, Ron felt like cheering.
Out as his locker, he noticed that several of the guys were hanging their blazers in the locker. That seemed like a good idea. At least he wouldn’t have to wear the thing to and from school.
Ron went home that night, ate dinner with Marjorie and George. They asked the obligatory questions about how his first day was. He didn’t tell them that he had been slapped in the mouth. He wanted to forget that it had happened. Besides, he wasn’t a baby. He could take it.
After dinner, he read. He was lying on his bed with a transistor radio playing Surfer Girl. His door was closed to blot out the sound of the TV and their voices. His eyes felt heavy. Then he was asleep with his book still open and still dressed.
The next day felt like a copy of the first. It was just as hot. It was just as interminably long. Gym at the end of the day felt like freedom. His mind was focused on the tryouts. He wouldn’t even have to change and he would be right there.
The freshman coaches lined them up on the track which was in back of the school and had once been a parking lot. The Brothers had dug up the asphalt and planted grass. The lot was surrounded by a pointy tipped, ten foot high, iron fence.
Ron’s belly felt like it was fluttering. He wanted this so badly. The coaches showed them how to stretch out their legs and arms. There were five coaches watching. They were going to run sprints, four across. Two coaches were at the starting line and three were at the finish. When it was Ron’s turn, he was placed in the lane closest to the school. He looked at the other three guys who also looked nervous. Coach Jensen said, “Ready,” He paused and then said in a louder, more urgent voice, “Go!”
Ron ran. He tried to run faster than he had ever run before. People were watching. He felt himself pulling ahead. When he crossed the finish line, Coach Peters said, “Good job.”
A few minutes later they had him lined up with another group. At “Go!” he felt himself flying. His arms pumped. The heat of the boring day in a jacket was behind him and he was putting as much distance as he could between it and him. This time it was a tighter finish, but he was still first. He felt Coach Peters’ eyes on him and then Peters turned to the other two coaches. Peters pointed at Ron and called him over. “Can you go again?”
Ron almost shouted his reply. “Yes, Coach.” He trotted back to the starting point. Peters signaled to Jensen to put him right on the track. Ron ran as hard as he could. This time he was second, just behind a lanky kid who really could fly.
Coach Peters called Ron over. “What’s your name, son?”
“Ron Tuck, Sir.”
“Ron, you’ve got some size and speed and endurance.”
Ron blushed.
“Do you love football, son?”
“Yes Sir.”
“Do you know how to use those shoulders?” Ron was confused and didn’t know how to answer. The coach waited for a reply. Were they going to cut him already? He won the first two races. Did you have to win three to make the team?
“I’m asking if you know how to block and tackle Ron.”
A light lit up Ron’s face. He smiled. “Yes Sir.”
“Wait over there.” Connors pointed to a spot on the grass on the field. Ron trotted over and sat down. Soon there were three other boys sitting with him. They watched the rest of the sprints. Then the other boys were taken into a group with Coach Jensen and Connors walked over to them with Coach Timlin.
“Well boys, got a little surprise for you. The sophomore team is a little light this year and we’re moving you three up. Go with coach Timlin and we’ll get you suited up.”
Ron’s heart sang an aria. He watched as Coach Jensen sent some of the other boys home and then started a second round of sprints.
The locker room that the football team used smelled of sweat and sweat soaked clothes and equipment. The Varsity had already been practicing for a week. Ron was fitted with a helmet. Coach Timlin picked up from a pile of neatly stacked helmets. It was a hard plastic and had a facemask with two bars running horizontally from ear to ear and two short, vertical bars that connected them. It was much heavier that the helmets that he had tried on in sporting goods stores.
Timlin said, “How’s that feel?”
Ron was almost giddy. “Heavy.”
Timlin grinned. “You’ll get used to it.”
Next they moved to shoulder pads. Timlin fitted him like a tailor. When the pads were on, he raised both of his fists and slapped them down hard on Ron’s shoulders. Except for the pressure of the contact, Ron hadn’t felt a thing. They shared a grin. Hip pads, thigh pads, knee pads, pants and a jersey went quickly.
“Get dressed and let’s have a look at you,” said Timlin and walked off to start with the next kid.
Ron stood in front of the mirror and looked at himself. He loved what he saw. He was still standing there when Peters walked into the locker room with a fourth kid. Now he had a team.

Phillip and Ron went to their lockers together. “I don’t know why they picked me out,” said Ron.
“You’re big and you’re fast,” said Phillip.
“I wish they picked you too,” said Ron.
“I’m glad they didn’t pick me, Ronnie.”
“Why?”
“They guys they picked you to play with are older and bigger and faster, and they’re gonna make you pay.”
“I figured that,” said Ron.
Chapter 54
Mr. Tuck picked up the literature book and skimmed passed Bradford.
“So now we know what it was like to get here,” he said. “And what they found after they arrived. For the most part they had nothing to go back to and so no choice.” Ron thought about his girls at Our Lady of the Forlorn. They would have understood exactly what he was saying. But they had also moved on with their lives and he had done that too. He felt a pang.
“Ben Franklin is something else. He may very well have been the most accomplished man in the world by the time that he died. People don’t talk about him the way that they talk about De Vinci, but they should. He had a wider sphere of influence.”
He had their attention. He walked to the window side of the room and sat on the combination heater and counter that spanned the length of the room. “Let’s start with this,” Ron read, “Observe all men, thyself most.” He repeated it and looked out to them. “Five words, easy enough. What do you think?”
The class looked down and read it again. They looked up. Mr. Tuck was waiting. Teachers normally hated silence in their classrooms. It gave them the uneasy feeling that nothing was happening. Usually they could wait a teacher out.
Ron was silent. Then he read it again. “What do you think?”
“Ok,” said Mark Simon. “I get it. Be aware of the people around you and what they do, but pay closer attention to what you do.”
Ron smiled. “Why?”
Chris Fortuna said, “What you do is more important.”
Mr. Tuck smiled at Chris. “Because?”
“Because you do it,” said Chris.
“Seems simple right? But is it? Is Franklin hinting that we need to both be aware of our environment and how we interact within it, but that personal growth increases from self-knowledge? Did that idea also lead him to take part in the Revolution?” It was a simple concept but he wanted them to see it. Who you were and what you did should be the results of self-awareness. “Now,” said Ron. He picked up the book and read, “Fish and visitors stink after three days.”
The class laughed and Ron laughed with them. He knew that if he repeated this line that they would just laugh again. “What do you think this means?”
Bobby Taylor raised his hand. “Well I know that my mom won’t even cook fish in the house. Either she buys it already cooked or they cook it outside.”
Ron thought about that. He wondered why. “And what does that have to do with visitors?”
The class was quiet. Ron paced back and forth rolling chalk between his palms. It clicked against his ring.
Chris said, “After a few days, you get tired of having them around.”
Ron nodded. Now back in the 18th century, it had more practical meanings as well. No refrigeration and so it was important to eat things fresh. They also didn’t know a lot about hygiene, and so visitors would probably not have bathed. That is one of the things that made Franklin uniquely American and popular. There was both wisdom and practicality in what he said and wrote.”
Back in the teachers’ room Ron huddled with Sam. “I want to skip over some of this stuff and go more in depth with other pieces,” said Ron.
“It’s your class,” said Sam.
“Yeah, I’m just concerned about the finals. But I figure that I did a couple of Native American things I’ll do Jonathan Edwards Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God, doing Franklin now, I’ll mix in some of Jefferson and Thomas Paine, but then I want to skip right to Poe and do a bunch of his things.”
Sam’s eyes got a little wider. “That’s a big skip, but I know why.”
“Yeah,” said Ron. “The writing sucked and I’ll lose them.”
Father Tom Orecchio was sitting there listening to their conversation while he puffed his cigarette. There was something about Ron’s mannerisms and his patterns of speech that he found familiar. “Where you from, Ron?”
Ron looked up, surprised by the question and lit a cigarette. “Newark,” he said exhaling.
Orecchio smiled. “Whereabouts?”
“Broadway, Lincoln Avenue.” Then it dawned on him. “You from there?
“First Ward,” said Orecchio nodding.
Sam said, “So I guess the message here is to never let either of you get really pissed off at me.”
Tom Orecchio and Ron Tuck shared a grin. That was always the reaction from people who didn’t grow up there unless they grew up in Paterson or Jersey City. Father Orecchio said, “It’s not that we’re that tough, just that vicious.”
“Where’d you go to school Tom?” There was a slight pause. Ron had never called him Tom before, neither had anyone else.
“St. Rose’s grammar school, then Jersey Catholic.” He noticed a tension in Ron’s face.
Then Tuck said, “I went to Jersey Catholic too.” He added, “For a while.”

Chapter 55
The next day’s practice was hard. After classes, they changed into their uniforms, carried their cleats and walked the mile up to Branch Brook Park. It was a huge park, more than 360 acres big, and it skirted the border of Newark. Ron felt that the park was designed to keep Newark caged in. He walked up 2nd Avenue with the other players. The sophomores didn’t talk to the freshman that had been added to their team. They were embarrassed to have them there.
The team stretched and Ron smelled the freshly cut grass. When he lay on his back and did leg lifts, he stared up at the sky and felt like his helmet was a cocoon. He felt relaxed and yet tense at the same time.
Coach Connors said, “OK men listen up. You all know we have some new players. They didn’t ask to be here. We picked them because we thought they could help us. They are on the team and I expect them to be treated like everybody else.”
A large red headed kid named Allen muttered out of the side of his mouth, “Yeah, like shit.”
Connors heard the comment but didn’t respond. Ron tried not to laugh. “Well, let’s see what we’ve got.” Connors explained the drill. He lined the team up facing each other about ten yards apart. There were twenty-six of them. Thirteen on a side. “On my whistle, squad on my left runs like they have the ball. Squad on my right, you tackle them. The idea is to run straight ahead guys. Ron was on the left. He could do this. He felt determined. In front of him was Allen, who was bigger than Ron. For a second Ron felt fear. Then he tugged on his face mask and thought, fuck it.
He ran straight at Allen. The impact was not like anything that he’d ever felt before. He felt that he’d run into a car and then he left his feet and came down on his back with a thud that made his head spin. He closed his eyes and opened them again. It was still spinning. He heard Coach Connor’s whistle and his voice say, “Ok, pop up.”
Ron wasn’t sure that he could move but then he found himself on his feet wondering how he’d gotten there. Now it was his turn to deliver a blow and he couldn’t wait to wipe the smirk that he say on Allen’s face right off. The whistle blew. Allen ran with a galloping churn of his legs. Ron tried to aim himself at Allen’s waist but it was covered with his churning legs. He reacted by going low. He cracked into his knees and wrapped his arms around and hung on tight. He thought this is what it feels like to tackle a moose. Allen went down hard. Ron didn’t feel dizzy this time. He felt completely alive.
Coach Connors walked over to them. “That was two good hits men.” He looked right at Ron. “Do you know why you got creamed?”
Ron shook his head.
“You gave him too big a target. You let him get into you where you were soft. You need to run low and pump your knees higher.”
Ron nodded. He wasn’t sure that he could change the way that he ran, but he would try. At the whistle, he ran hunched and pumped his knees high. It felt like it slowed him down. He felt Allen grab at his ankles and he pumped harder and then fell flat on his face. There was grass sticking out of his facemask when he got up. He didn’t care. He wanted to smack into the moose again.
As they walked back to the school, every part of him ached. He was smiling. He stripped off his jersey and shoulder pads and sat in front of his locker. Allen and two of the other sophomores came over to four freshman and said, “You take your showers when we’re done.”
They waited together. One of the four had stripped naked and sat with a towel draped over his thighs. Ron felt the ache spread through him like ease. It took the edges away. He could relax. He didn’t mind waiting.
By the time they’d finished showering there were position assignments on the bulletin board. Ron was listed at linebacker and guard. He understood. He wouldn’t get to run with the ball anymore.
Having the ball in your hands or even touching it was so much more special in football than in any other sport. You held the ball. You squeezed it tight. You didn’t let go like your life depended on it. Ron walked the three blocks to his house. He’d have to be able to steal the ball.
Marjorie was waiting for him. She smiled when he came through the door. She didn’t tell him how hard it had been for her to get home from work and that Harry Tuck had detoured in order to make sure that she got there ok. She was working downtown in a clothing store now. She saw a chance at some advancement. She could sell. But the manager wanted her to learn credit and she saw him more than once leering at the fullness of her breasts and her behind. She didn’t mind.
She saw her son and the slight bruise on her chin and the way that he seemed to glow. “How was your day?”
Ron grinned. “I don’t know. I got knocked down a lot but I got up and I loved it.”
Marjorie said, “What about school?”
“I didn’t get into trouble,” said Ron.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s different there.”
“Why?”
Part of Ron wanted to tell her that they made you afraid to do anything but what they wanted you to do. He fought the urge to tell her. “I’m one of the little kids again,” said Ron.
Marjorie smiled and stroked her fingers lightly over the bruise. She rarely touched him. She preferred to look at him. She felt him pull back, like his father.
She took her hand away.
“Do you want to go for a ride?” she said.
“I’m supposed to read.”
“You can read later,” she said.
They drove north back to Broadway. She stopped the car in front of their old basement apartment in the five story building. Ron tried to look into the windows and see who lived there now. He wondered if those people were anything like he was.
Marjorie turned the corner and headed the car up Montclair Avenue. They parked in front of number 89. It was his Aunt Dottie’s building. She gave them iced tea that was fresh brewed. That told Ron that she had been expecting them. The ache was almost gone. He missed it. He realized that he was hungry when he saw the plate of homemade corned beef hash on his plate. He launched into it with gusto. The women ate more slowly and smiled as they watched him devour the food.
After dinner, they sat in the living room. Ron sat on the floor and tried not to touch anything. Dorothy sat in her fan backed chair. Marjorie sat on a couch with an enormous, white, goose-down cushion that would take an hour to re-fluff. The evening light hardly filtered in through the drapes and they turned on a lamp that had a Chinese design. He gazed at the centerpiece which was also Chinese and depicted a lone fisherman waiting for a fish that he would never catch, but eternally hopeful.
Dorothy said, “A man that works hard is an asset. It hurts when you can’t talk to him.”
“I know,” said Marjorie. “Sometimes when I talk to him, I wish that I hadn’t.”
Ron was silent and listened. He stared at the fisherman and felt wisdom in his gaze.
“Has he hit you?”
“No, but he’s punched things to avoid it.”
“That shows that he knows how to hold back,” said Dorothy.
“I don’t love him.”
“So what? You think I love the old fart that I’m married to?”
Aunt Dottie met Ron’s eyes and let him know that he wasn’t allowed to laugh. He’d wanted to and she knew it. But he couldn’t and her look was communicating that in the sternest terms. Ron held it in and it passed. Marjorie hadn’t seen it. She was absorbed in the thoughts of a loveless marriage.
“I have an idea,” said Marjorie.
Dorothy listened.
“I want to put him into so much debt that he can’t even think about gambling again.”
Dorothy was genuinely surprised. “How?”
“I want to buy a house and get out of Newark.”
Ron’s heart was beating very fast as he listened. He wanted to be on the island with that Chinese fisherman, and the dwarf tree and the moss and the water. He might as well be there as out of Newark.
Marjorie continued. “There’s trouble coming here. This isn’t going to be a good place to live anymore. I want to take you with me.”
At first Dorothy bristled and then she smiled. “We’re getting too old for keeping up with this.” She spread her arms upward to indicate the 22 apartments over her head.
He knew that something had happened and that his life was changing in some unexpected way, but he didn’t understand it. The light was soft but the air was heavy. He breathed in the scent of her carpet. Ron looked up and she was gazing back at him. How he loved her and everything that she was. If they could all live together, he could be happy.
Dorothy said, “That could be a long way off. A lot could happen between now and then.”
Marjorie nodded. “But that’s my goal.”
Ron’s eyes lifted to his mother. He could see determination and fear.

Chapter 56
The meeting between the Bombascos and The Bragos happened at Marjorie’s house. Harry Tuck was also invited. They sat around the table in the dining room. They were there to discuss numbers. Ron and Celeste were nervous. It was his first wedding and her third. Her parents had been here before and were embarrassed at the prospect of being here again. Marjorie had waited to be sitting at a table like this forever. But not with them.
George served drinks. Mario and Anna took Scotch on the rocks. George was shocked when Marjorie said that she would have some wine. Ron had what Marjorie did. Harry took Scotch straight up. Celeste had the wine. George fixed himself a Manhattan and sat down.
Marjorie tried to smile. She clasped her hands together on the table and said, “So they want to get married.”
There was nervous laughter around the table. Mario said, “God only knows why.”
Marjorie frowned. They should feel grateful at the chance of having her son who was making the biggest mistake of his life. “Yes, I’ve wondered why as well.”
Eyes were on Ron and Celeste now. They sat there looking down at the table and then Celeste spoke. “I didn’t expect to have your son come into my life. I’d lost hope that he was out there. But he’s here now and I can’t help but love him and want to spend the rest of my life with him.”
Anna just closed her eyes. How had she raised such a fool to believe in true love at her age? “We don’t have a lot and we’d like to keep this small for obvious reasons.”
“What are they? said Marjorie.
The two women eyed each other and just when Ron wished for it, he thought he saw his Aunt Dottie come into the room. He blinked and squinted and she was gone. She would have known how to handle this. But she was dead and wasn’t coming in the door anymore.
“Celeste has been married before, twice.”
Marjorie’s face was grim. “My son hasn’t. Why should he have to pay for your daughter’s mistakes?”
“We’ve all paid for Celeste’s mistakes,” said Anna.
Celeste wished that she could shrink down to nothing and just disappear.
“We’re straying from the point,” said Harry. “Marjorie was married once before. I was married once before. We know that not all marriages work out. No one needs to pay. I thought we were here to discuss this wedding.”
Celeste smiled at Harry. Marjorie capitulated. Anna sulked but did not respond. In the back of her mind, she hoped that if she started a big enough fight that Ron and Celeste would call the whole thing off. Marjorie has been a willing participant and things would have escalated. But this Harry guy had thrown a pail of cold water on that and now she was stuck, but only for a moment. “I understand that you had the privilege of meeting my grand-daughter. Isn’t she beautiful?” said Anna.
“She’s cute,” said George.
Marjorie’s head snapped towards him. He never opened his mouth at the right time and he never, never said the right thing. “She alright,” said Marjorie.
Anna and Mario recoiled like they had been slapped in the face. Their Angel was being called ‘alright.’
“I think that she’s a very special little girl and so very smart,” said Ron.
Anna nodded. He’d better say that or she was getting up and walking right out of here this instant.
“We’d like to get married at the end of March,” said Ron. “I’ll have Easter vacation and so I won’t need to miss any time from work.”
Marjorie said, “Are you both really sure that this is what you want to do? I mean there is more involved here than just the two of you. There is a child to think about. And all the expenses that come along with her.” She turned to her son. “Where are you going to get the money to support a wife and child? A few years ago, you were taking cans out of our pantry so that you could eat in the summertime.”
Now it was Ron’s turn to want to disappear as he saw Anna and Mario exchange a look and both shake their heads.
Celeste started to say that she was going to get a job, but Harry spoke up first. “We were poor when we got married,” he said to Marjorie.
“That was different,” she said. “Everybody was poor then.”
That had been true of Mario and Anna too but they weren’t about to wash those dirty clothes in front of these people.
Marjorie stared at Harry and then said in a defeated voice, “I think we can give them $5000.”
Harry said, “I can do that too.”
Mario and Anna had decided on $2000 but Anna said, “We’ll help all we can, but we don’t have that kind of money. Maybe we can go $3000.”
Mario spoke before thinking. “I thought that we decided on $2000.”
Anna wanted to kick him in his shins until he bled. She hated that he never minded looking cheap.
George said, “I can also get all of the printing of invitations done for nothing.”
Marjorie smiled. He finally said something useful. She would make their wedding favors at her ceramics shop, but she wasn’t going to say that just then.
Ron and Celeste smiled at each other. They had a budget and an uneasy truce, but they had make progress.

Chapter 57

The sophomore team’s first game was against East Orange. They had no game uniforms and were told the night before to take their pants and jerseys home and have their mothers clean them. Ron was in a quandary. His mother hated doing laundry. There was no laundry room in this building. He sat on the edge of the tub that he’d filled with hot water and detergent and bleach and soaked his filthy uniform. He took a scrub brush to the harder stains. When he was pretty sure that he’s gotten everything acceptably clean, he hung them up to dry.
George got home before Marjorie. When he saw the uniform dripping into the now filthy tub, he said, “What are you doing?”
George had an idea. He got a plastic garbage bag and loaded the wet uniform in it. He could not fault Ron’s desire to look clean. He would help him with that. Secretly, he’s told all the guys at work that his son was playing football on the JV as just a freshman. His chest had swelled when they congratulated him and said that maybe this would keep Ron out of trouble.
When Marjorie came home, George said, “Let’s have dinner at my mother’s house. She has a washer and a dryer. Ronald has a game tomorrow and this fabric will never be dry like this.
Ron felt touched. For George it was a win win. He’d get to eat dinner with his family, and he’d done something for Ronald that he could use when he and Marjorie argued about Ron’s lack of respect. Marjorie was glum but agreed. She was hot and tired and the last thing that she wanted to do was have a noisy dinner at her mother in law’s house where the women didn’t trust that she knew how to do anything in the kitchen.
They ate escarole and beans. George was in heaven. It was accompanied by a tomato salad from the garden and the tomatoes were plump and juicy and ripe and swimming in olive oil with some onion.
Ron picked at his food and was grateful to George for helping him out. After dinner and while the dryer was running, George snuck down to the Arrow where he placed a $20 to win bet on Touchdown, a colt who was running in a qualifier down at Monmouth.
The next day’s classes went smoothly. Ron had been prepared both times that he was called on. He’d taken his Friday Algebra quiz. He wasn’t sure about that. He barely passed the first two and they were review.
In English, his black frocked teacher had asked the class to explain the difference between an adverb and an adjective. Ron had been tentative but correct and concise.
He hadn’t been hit and so it was a good day, but he’d watched other get slapped. In Religion, Brother Cecil had rapped his knuckles down on the top of Anthony Malone’s head for speaking out without raising his hand. The sound had echoed and Anthony held a hand on top of his head for several minutes afterwards.
Brother Alvin had pinched his fingers into Malone’s neck earlier that day. He said that he was helping him with his accent. The class bonded. They were all going to take a beating once in a while but that was the way that it was.
Ron lined up on the receiving team for the kickoff. He was on the front line. Just before the whistle blew he felt his gazed pulled up and saw his father standing alongside his car. His body froze and his mind went blank. The ball was kicked to his left and his team mate covered it. Ron stood there in shock at the thought that his father was watching him play as a large black boy from East Orange slammed his body down on top of the Jersey Catholic player who lay on the ground with the ball curled into his belly.
Ron felt a surge rush through him and felt like a river in his ears. He was on offense. The same kid was lined up across from him. Ron’s assignment was to drive on him and he fired off with low slanted speed and the need for collision. It came. His shoulder bucked into the kid like a kick. He heard the grunt and the play ran for eleven yards. He looked for his dad. He was still there, standing and watching.
When he heard the same play called in the huddle, he grinned. He was gonna get to do it again. He fired out but this time the boy tried to circle him. Ron changed his trajectory and lunged and hit and kid went down on his back. Helmet to helmet, Ron looked into his face. He saw fear. He liked what he saw. Jersey Catholic didn’t score but they drove and when they punted the ball was deep in East Orange territory.
Ron was second string on defense. At least he thought he was. When he got to sidelines, Coach Connors put his hands on his shoulder pads and slapped his ass. “Linebacker on the left,” he said. He gave Ron a shove and sent him back out to play.
The perspective was different when you weren’t down in a stance. Ron bent his knees and coiled his torso. The play went the other way, but he sprinted and got there just as it ended. Coach Peters turned to assistant and smiled, “Ronnie likes to play football.”
The game continued and Ron flew all over the field. He loved to tackle. He was unstoppable. His dad was watching. His team was up by one score. Then Allen Watkins fumbled in back of the line of scrimmage. There was a pile and Ron was in it. The ball was wedged under him. A hand punched him in the stomach. A knee came up into his groin. Ron was clutching for the ball, but other hands were clutching for it too. They heard whistles but no one was letting go or stopping. And then it was gone. He’d lost his tentative grip on it. When he got up, the fat Black kid was smiling. He held out the ball. “Lose something?” he said with a smirk.
Ron was about to go for him when he heard another whistle and a ref was between them and a yellow flag was fluttering in the air. “Unsportsman like conduct,” said the ref.
East Orange was backed up. Ron felt a fury rushing through him like the sound of a train whistle in his ears. He wanted to hit. He saw the play coming right at him. It was a sweep to his side. He moved towards it and felt a sharp pain in his back knock him off balance and send him sprawling onto his face. He jumped to his feet with fury in his eyes and a throbbing pain at the middle of his back. He saw another yellow flag.
The East Orange player who was called for clipping said, “Oh fuck these white refs and this white boy Jesus school.”
The field erupted and players were grabbing at each other. Whistles blew loudly. The coaches were instructed to get their players to the sidelines. They met with the refs in the middle of the field. They stood there talking and the coaches were gesticulating at each other. The whistle blew again and the ref raised his hands in the air and waved them. He picked up the ball trotted over to the East Orange sideline tossed them their ball and then the two refs, still completely dressed headed for their cars.
Coach Peters’ face was very red when he got back to his sideline. “Gather up our stuff men. We’re going home. Game’s over.”
The players looked shocked. They didn’t realize what was happening. “Fellas, I want you to stay together on the way back to the school.”
No one said anything until Allen asked, “Did we win?”
“I’ll tell you when we get back to the school,” said Peters.
Ron looked for his father’s car but it was gone.
Coach Peters circled around the team with his car. His assistant walked back with the team. Everyone was eerily quiet. Back in the locker room Connors explained that because they had a lead and that they hadn’t instigated the trouble, they were declared the winners. The guys cheered and smiled. Connors said, “It’s a lesson in self-control boys. We had it, they didn’t. Anyone bloodied up or have an injury to report?”
Two hands went up into the air almost ashamed. Each of the coaches went to one of the boys. Ron stripped out his jersey and shoulder pads. He sat in front of his locker waiting.
Allen walked over and said, “Come on Tuck, you need a shower.”

Chapter 58
The next time that the Bombascos and the Bragos met was at Angel’s birthday party. Celeste had planned a lavish meal and everyone, including Angel’s father and his family, was invited. It was scheduled for a Sunday and Ron was relieved that there would be no pressure for him to be anywhere else.
Joey and Mario worked all morning to set up the backyard with tables and tablecloths and chairs that they borrowed from neighbors. Anna sat in her kitchen holding her fly swatter. With all the ins and outs through the back door, she was sure that her house was now infested. Celeste was at the stove. She had four burners going and she felt tense and happy. Her daughter was two years old.
Anna said, “Any chance that Ron is intending to lend a hand?”
“He’s working, Mom.”
“On a Sunday morning? And you believe that?”
“He does his papers and prepares for the week on Sundays.”
“Jimmy never had to work on Sundays.”
Celeste unsuccessfully tried to hide the sarcasm in her voice, “Jimmy’s a gym teacher.”
“Oh,” said Anna. “So now this Ronnie-come-lately is more important than your cousin?”
“I didn’t say that or mean that.”
“Who knows what you are talking about half the time.”
Exasperated, Celeste reached for the pot of boiling water without a pot holder or a mitten. The hot metal pot burned into her hands. She dropped it and screamed.
“Oh, for God sakes.” Anna got up with difficulty. “Go into the bathroom so I can take care of you.”
Before Celeste had become a nurse and before Tina had become a nurse, Anna had nursed during World War 2. She’d seen burns. She dressed her daughter’s hands efficiently. Celeste watched as her sedentary mother’s hands worked with agility. The burns were minor. It wouldn’t be a problem. Anna gazed into her daughter’s eyes and saw her dreams and felt a pang of jealousy. It wasn’t jealousy without love. Maybe it was envy.
Anna had settled on a life. Mario had hardly been her first and only choice, but he was sensible and romantic. Most of all, he made her feel safe. He didn’t play an instrument anymore, but he’d serenaded her outside of her window when he courted her. The difference was that Mario no longer had ambition. The war had taken that away. Being a paratrooper as part of the preparation for D-day had taken that away. The people that he’d had to shoot had left him incapable of wanting more. Being peeled out of the night ice at the Battle of the Bulge had convinced him that he wanted a warm and easy life, with easy comforts. They had two children. They made a life. Anna looked into her daughter’s eyes. She had given her a grandchild who was beautiful and who Anna could tell embodied her spirit. She felt that Celeste’s choices in men had been astoundingly abysmal. They were either both entertaining and good for nothing or cold fish.
“How does it feel?”
“I’ll be ok,” said Celeste.
“He should have been here.”
“You don’t know him the way that I do. He’s kind and good and he’s really smart. He loves the baby.”
“I still don’t think that this is a good idea,” said Anna. “I don’t think that you know what you are getting yourself into.”
“Why?”
“I want to read his cards,” said Anna.

People began arriving for the party and there was still no sign of Ron. Celeste slipped off to dial his number and when there was no answer, she felt a twinge. She came upstairs and broke into a grin as she heard him squeaking around the corner. Barb was dressing Angel, who insisted that she wanted Aunt Barb to do it because she knew how to make her look the prettiest. Barb had beamed.
Tina arrived with little Joey and hollered, “Where’s the birthday girl?”
Mario had come in the back door. He smiled and picked up his grandson. “She’s upstairs making herself bea-ut-ti-ful.” He enunciated each syllable and drew them out so that the word had a feel of cacophony.
Celeste kissed little Joey and opened the front door just as Ron was coming up the stairs. He immediately saw the bandage on her hand and said, “What happened?”
“A little accident,” said Celeste. “It’s nothing.”
Anna was back in her chair, she reached for her cigarettes and found that Mario had slipped the clear plastic off and turned it around so that it covered the open pack. She frowned and tore it off. “You know Mario, it’s doesn’t do anything but annoy me.”
Mario didn’t answer.
Ron said, “Tell me what happened.”
“I burned my hand reaching for a pot and forgetting that it was hot. It was my own fault.”
Anna waited for her to add that her mother had bandaged it, but she didn’t. She looked at her grandson in Mario’s arms and smiled. He was a big boy and very happy. He slept through the night. He entertained himself in front of the TV. In short he was ten times less demanding than Angel was. Publically, she credited Tina with this. Privately she knew that Angel was just more of a problem child. It was good to keep Celeste in her place though. Then she frowned with the thought that all of that would be changing now. She grimaced at Ron.
Barb and Angel came downstairs. Angel was wearing a pink dress with white hearts on it. Her hair had a pink ribbon and hung down passed her shoulders with delightfully bouncing twirling curls. “Here’s the Princess,” announced Barb.
Angel took hold of the hem of her dress and did a little half curtsey, just the way that she and Barb had practice upstairs. Anna smiled until she laughed. Mario repeated, “You look bea-ut-i-ful,” elongating the word even more than the first time.
Ron crouched down as Angel ran to him. “Do I look pretty?” she said.
“You’re the prettiest two year old in the entire world,” said Ron.
Then Angel ran to her grandmother, who leaned over and hugged her and whispered into her ear. “You are a knockout.”
Angel wasn’t sure what that meant, but she grinned with the faith that her grandmother always said nice things to her.
Tina smiled. “Hello gorgeous girl and Happy Birthday!”
There were about fifty people in the backyard, when the Bombascos arrived. Ron grimaced when he saw that Lois was with Marjorie and George. He hoped that he didn’t have to explain that. There was a polite reception for them and introductions were made. Marjorie went up to Angel and said, “Happy Birthday” and handed her an elegantly wrapped gift.
Angel took it and ran over to the stack of presents that was taller than she was and twice as wide. Marjorie waited to be thanked. Celeste came over and kissed Marjorie on the cheek and said, “Thank you very much and please enjoy yourself.”
Marjorie’s eyes were fixed on the huge pile of presents. She watched Angel toss it onto the pile and saw it disappear. Well so much for the time that she had spent wrapping that.
Ron said, “Come over here. Let’s sit in the shade.”
Andrew Canigliaro arrived with his mother and father. There was a clear awkwardness. There were exchanged looks among the guests. He had a lot of nerve coming here after the way that he’d acted. They all knew that while Celeste was pregnant that he had called her repeatedly and begged her to have an abortion. Then his father had called her and told her that she should have an abortion. The general consensus was that he should hang his head in shame for the rest of his life.
The sight of the child and feel of the tension was just too much for Andrew’s father. Donald Canigliaro clutched at his chest and collapsed. Rose Canigliaro screamed. Tina and Celeste ran. Angel had not seen what happened and discreetly Barb took her inside so that she would not be frightened. The sisters acted quickly. Tina loosened his shirt. Celeste took his pulse. Their eyes met and exchanged a troubled glance.
Donald was unconscious and he wasn’t breathing. Celeste did CPR. Tina ran to call for an ambulance. Anna’s belief in god was reaffirmed. Marjorie thought, what kind of a party was this? George watched the efficiency with which Celeste worked and admired it. Ron tried to stay out of the way. He was caught between wanting to go to Angel and wanting to help Celeste and knowing that he needed to stay close to his mother so that she didn’t lose it.
It seemed that everything was moving in slow motion and then the siren could be heard. A stretcher was rolled up the along the side of the house. Celeste backed away when she saw the EMT’s there. She had done all that she could. She hoped that it was enough.
As quickly as they had arrived, the Canigliaros left.
Mario said, “Is he OK?’
Celeste answered, “I think he’s having a heart attack.”
Anna patted Celeste’s hand. “You and Tina did very well and Barb got Angel inside so that she didn’t get scared.”
Ron sat there watching and then turned to Marjorie. “Celeste may have saved his life.”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” said Marjorie. “It may just have been the heat. She isn’t a doctor.”
“You’re incredible,” said Ron. He got up and walked away.

Chapter 59

Harry Tuck was drinking coffee with Marjorie and George when Ron got home. Ron lit up at the sight of his mother and father together. He blocked out the existence of George Bombasco, or shoved him far enough away in his mind to make him irrelevant. It was the three of them. It was the way that it always should have been, without a Rocky and certainly without a Bombasco.
“How was the game?” said Marjorie.
Ron grinned and the two of his parents smiled at the way that his face dimpled. “Dad was there,” said Ron.
“I saw the way that those Coons tried to bully you,” said Harry.
Ron nodded. “But we won.”
“And they hate you all the more for it and will say that it was stolen from them.”
“They stopped the game because they were afraid,” said Ron. “We weren’t afraid. The kids on the field weren’t afraid.”
“I don’t know what they even play against a nigger school,” said George.
Ron ignored George. “I was excited to see you there Dad, thank you.”
Marjorie smiled. He’d always known what his father needed to hear and said it to him naturally. When would Harry realize that Ron only said the things that he knew that Harry wanted to hear because he was afraid of not seeing him anymore? Marjorie waited for Harry to say that he was proud of the way that his son played, but in her heart she knew that he wouldn’t say it. He just couldn’t.
Harry got up to leave. A look of disappointment spread over Ron’s face and then Marjorie watched him try to hide it. She hadn’t been wrong to leave Harry Tuck. She told herself that again. She was sure that it was what she had to do and it didn’t matter now anyway.
She both hated and loved Harry for the cool ease with which he slid out. She looked at George and closed her eyes. “Well, we better have dinner.”
Ron could feel that his teachers knew what had happened in the game yesterday. Each of the Brothers smiled at him. Nobody put him on the spot. Even Brother Cecil gave him a pass. Ron was doing his reading. His mind was not willing to submit to Latin or French. He did the assignments, but he just couldn’t commit the words to memory. They didn’t make sense to him. He had words. He was squeaking by in Algebra, but some of his classmates weren’t.
Brother O’Shea said, “Mr. Dalton, you got a 59 on the quiz didn’t you?”
Stan Dalton had been called up to the front of the room to receive his quiz. “Yes Brother.”
O’Shea rocked back on his heels. “And that isn’t good enough is it?”
“No Brother.” Stan Dalton’s left eye began to twitch.
“Would you prefer them on your palms or your backside?”
“I don’t understand Brother.”
Brother O’Shea removed a strap from his belt that looked like the one that Joe the Barber used to sharpen his razor when he was about to shave the back of Ron’s neck after a haircut. “Hold out your hands,” Mr. Dalton.
Stan Dalton extended his palms. They were shaking. The strap was a blur when it cracked down on the boys open palms. He yelped and pulled his palms back.
“One more,” said O’Shea. “You decide, which hand?”
Stan Dalton hesitantly extended his left hand, the one that he didn’t have to write with. The fingers were curled and O’Shea used the strap gently to straighten them. Then he raised it over his head and cracked it down on the trembling flesh. Dalton yelped and then whimpered. His shoulders slumped.
“You may take your seat, Mr. Dalton”
The class watched Stan Dalton meekly return to his desk. He was rubbing his hands on his thighs.
“Now,” said O’Shea, confident that he had their attention. “Let’s talk about Algebraic equations.”

Chapter 60
When it was time for Angel to open her presents, Celeste set up a lawn chair in front of the huge pile of gifts and placed her daughter between her thighs on the chair. Angel squirmed until she was comfy and then Celeste handed her the first gift. It was from her grandmother and grandfather and was a pink snow suit with a hood that had a fluffy white fringe on the top. Celeste smiled at her parents. It was just what she had asked them to buy. “Look,” she said, “It matches your dress.”
Angel couldn’t remember snow and didn’t know what the heavy garments were for but she said, “Thank you Papa. Thank you Nanna.”
There were smiles and a few “ohhs” from the party goers. Angel was on to the next gift. Celeste tried to fold the suit back up and get it into the box, but Angel was excitedly ripping into the wrapping paper of her next present. Barb came to help Celeste and took the snowsuit and box so she could re-box it and let Celeste concentrate on Angel. It was a summer dress. It was blue and had a huge pink heart on the chest with a picture of a kitten inside the heart. Celeste read the card to Angel. It was from Aunt Barb, one of the eleven presents that Barb had bought her for the day.
Ten presents into the process, Angel was bored. Everyone had gotten her clothes and they were nice but she felt hot and confined with her mother in the chair and wanted to run around. When Celeste handed her Marjorie and George’s gift, she said, “No more now,” and squirmed free.
Ron could feel the tension emanating from his mother. Marjorie turned to Lois and said, “They just let that child do whatever she wants to do.”
Lois nodded. “She spoiled and she’s too young for this kind of thing.”
Marjorie rolled her eyes and looked at Ron but directed her statement to Lois. “Oh no, she’s a prodigy. The smartest girl the earth has ever seen. Just ask my son.”
Ron’s green eyes flashed dark. “She’s two years old.”
“Then she should be treated like she’s two years old.”
“That’s enough now,” said George. His fear of embarrassment was one of his strongest emotions and Marjorie knew that he hadn’t wanted to be here in the first place.
Celeste realized her mistake. It had already been a long day for Angel and she had missed her nap. Celeste had let the party and the preparations and the tension of having the Canigliaros and the Bombascos there, along with her desire to just have the day run smoothly to cause her to forget the nap. Angel was cranky. She wanted Ron. She saw him sitting off to the side and ran over to him. She literally dove into his lap and Marjorie recoiled.
She turned to George and said, “You’re right, it’s more than enough.”
She turned to Ronald who was tossing Angel gently into the air and catching her and said. “We’re going to be going.”
“Just a second,” said Ron. “I’ll walk you to the car.”
“I think you should stay with what’s important to you, Ronald,” said his mother.
She and Lois walked away. George said, “You know how she is. Let her get over it.”
“Get over what?”
Angel no longer tossed and giggling ran off to find someone else to play with her. She was on overdrive and headed for a crash.
“You know how she is,” repeated George.
Janine had heard everything. At Anna’s request, she had positioned herself where she could hear what Marjorie and George were saying without interacting with them. It was going to be an interesting phone call tomorrow morning.
It was about eight o’clock in the evening. Just about everyone had left. Celeste brought Ron out of the basement where he’d been reviewing for the next day’s classes.
The dining room table had been cleared off except for the coffee that was in front of Anna along with her deck of Tarot Cards. Janine and Anna had taken classes together to learn how to read them and Anna was uncannily good with them. Janine’s mother Hannah was the best in the family, but her skills came from an old tradition of divining that was mysterious and involved pressing her thumb into the forehead of the person she was working with and sometimes stroking the tips of that person’s ears.
Ron sat down across from Anna. He didn’t tell her that he also had a Tarot deck and that he’d done readings and astrology charts in the past.
“Would you mind if I read your cards, Ron?”
“Not at all,” said Ron smiling.
She spread the cards on the table, face up. “Pick the card that you think best represents you,” she said.
Ron gave her his dimpled grin. “Well, let’s go with popular opinion,” he said. He selected The Fool. Janine giggled and Celeste smiled. Anna’s face was expressionless, except for the feel of a tired sadness.
She handed Ron the deck. “You shuffle them.”
Celeste and Janine watched along with Anna as Ron shuffled the cards again and again. Janine stared at his hands. They weren’t as big as Jimmy’s hands. She’d ask Celeste about his equipment the next time that they were alone.
Ron finished shuffling and laid the deck down in front of him. He waited.
“Cut them,” said Anna. Her short red hair was mixed with grey and white. Ron tried to read her face as she shuffled. He couldn’t.
Ron cut the cards and handed them back to Anna.
“Place them on the table,” said Anna.
“Do you know your question?” said Anna.
“Yes,” said Ron.
“Don’t tell me,” she said.
Ron obeyed and watched. Anna turned the deck towards her and picked it up. Slowly she laid the first card down, “This is in back of you.” The ten of Wands appeared. Ron stared at it. A man with his back turned was carrying a load of 10 wands or staffs. Out of the top of each one small green flowers were visible. In the distance was a house.
Anna turned the next card. “This covers you.” The ten of Cups came up reversed. Ron saw the cups in a semi-circle in the air. Underneath them a man and a woman were dancing. In the left corner of the card was the sun and it the other corner was the moon. Anna turned the next card saying, “This is in front of you.” Ron hoped that by doing this that maybe they would be closer together. Maybe she would give him a chance. The two of Swords was revealed. This depicted a blindfolded woman sitting on a rock with her arms crossed at her chest and a long sword projecting from each of her hands. She turned the next card. “This card indicates the emotional factors that are influencing you.” A Woman and a child were seated in a boat. A man standing behind them was using a staff to propel the boat and six Swords were lining the sides of the rowboat. Anna stared up at Ron’s face. She thought that she saw fear and that he was about to ask something. “Just wait until I’m finished” she said. Then you can ask questions. The fear seemed to vanish from Ron’s face and he nodded.
“This next card indicates the outside influences on you. The Queen of Swords came up reversed. A woman wearing a crown was seated on a throne and held up a single sword. “This card indicates your hopes and fears,” said Anna. She turned the card and The Hanged man appeared. A man with his hands behind his back was suspended upside down from a cross by one foot. His other foot was bent at the knee and in back of him. There was a halo around his head. “This last card indicates the outcome to the situation about which you have a question.” The Hierophant appeared. She looked like a priestess of a queen seated on a throne. Two monks were kneeling before her. In her left hand she held a scepter and right hand was raised in a symbol of peace.
Ron stared at the pictures. His emotional mind flicked from one to the other. He knew that The Fool meant hope. It was why he had chosen it. He wondered if there was any attempt to reach out to Anna that would meet with a measure of success. He tried again to reach into her.
“So what do you see?”
“A confused situation with a troubled past and influences that are stacked against things working out. Although, there is hope in these cards.”
Ron was drawn to the boat and the man standing with a staff, rowing a woman and child. He’d learned to trust what he saw in the cards as much as he trusted the written explanations of what was there.
Ho looked at Celeste. He saw that she didn’t see anything in the cards but was hopeful that maybe there was a place of agreement of peace. He felt the warmth of her there with him. Agreement and peace and a chance to make it work. That’s what they were asking for. Why was it so difficult to achieve?
Janine’s eyes flicked behind her tinted glasses from one card to the other. She knew what she saw. She didn’t need to be told, but it was Anna’s reading.
“The answer to your question is that there is a difficult path in front of you and no guarantee of success. You are haunted by a past that you could not control. You’re impetuous to believe that you can control your future. You’re wrong and you know it. But you want a fighting chance. You feel like you deserve it. That’s also wrong. You may get it but it won’t be because you deserve it.”
Janine felt her eyes widen. Anna truly was uncanny.

Chapter 61
It was a warm Saturday evening late in October. Ron was taking a walk up to Elwood Park to see if any of his friends were around. He was amazed at the reactions that people had to him playing on the upper level team. They seemed to look at him differently. He basked in the glow of it but not as much as he loved to play. He was as happy as he could remember being in a so long. He hadn’t been slapped since the football season had started. His grades had improved. He was evening passing French and Latin and Algebra, although the last was much in need of improvement and he hoped that somehow it would just begin to click for him.
The days were shorter now and it was dark early, but the streetlights that ringed the park created a twilight that allowed you to see. There was a large group of guys and they were playing football. Ron knew that he wasn’t allowed in these kinds of games anymore. It was against the team rules, but he wanted to play. He wanted be unstoppable and with these guys, he could still run with the ball.
He was invited into the game and quickly said yes. He’d dressed in jeans and a sweat shirt. If he had been honest with himself, he would have admitted that this was why he had come here. It was a seven on seven game. Ron was playing his position on defense, he was a linebacker. When his team had the ball, he was in the backfield.
On the sixth play of the game, he caught a short pass and pivoted the way that he had learned from Richie. The fake worked and he raced up the sidelines and scored. The elation sent waves of euphoria racing through him.
Instead of kicking the ball to the other team, these kids threw it. Ron was lined up on the left. The ball spiraled down the middle of the field. When it got higher than the lights, it couldn’t be seen. Ron raced to where he thought it would land and then it was coming down and bouncing and Larry Bonet picked it and ran up the middle of the field. Ron cut in towards him and lunged. As he lunged he planted his foot, the way that he did when he was wearing cleats. But he was wearing sneakers and they slipped and the lunge came up short and he felt his arm curl to grab Larry’s hip, but there was no force behind it.
Ron bounced off harmlessly and hit the ground hard. The pop that he heard was followed by electric jolts of pain. He’d never felt a pop in his body before. He tried to jump up and run after they play. He got to his feet, the adrenalin rushing through him, and ran. On the second step, her heard the pop again and went down hard, rolling and clutching at his left knee.
He tried to get to his feet but he was having trouble straightening his leg. It seemed to be bent like a dog’s leg and he couldn’t manage to straighten it out. He tried to take a step, but his leg wouldn’t move. He stood there with a helpless look of pain and embarrassment. “I don’t think that I can play anymore tonight,” he said.
His immediate problem was how to move. He couldn’t just stand there in the middle of the field. He needed to get home and look at his knee, but he couldn’t take a step.
Larry Bonet and Phillip Rolandelli, helped him to a car that was parked alongside of the park. He felt some relief when he leaned against it. Maybe if he just stood there until the throbbing went away, everything would be alright.
Ron felt his knee swelling. He looked down and to his horror it was pressing out against his jeans. They seemed trapped by the swollen knee. Ron leaned over and tried to pull the jeans down. Another wave of electric shocked rushed through him. This was bad. This was really bad. He watched the guys play a while longer and then the game broke up and the kids started home.
Ron found that if he pressed down on his toes when he tried to hobble that he could propel himself forward. Maybe if he had a stick, something to lean on when he stepped he could make it.
The six blocks he needed to cover to get to their apartment took over an hour. Once he sat down to rest on a porch, but the effort that it took to get back onto his feet convinced him that he shouldn’t do that anymore. He was sweating profusely. The pain just wouldn’t stop. When he reached the apartment he was shaking with the effort that it took to take a single step.
His mind went into shock when he looked at the steps. How the fuck was he supposed to manage them? He had an idea. He placed both hands on the railing and hopped on his good leg. The jolt squeezed tears out of his eyes. He had another idea. He sat on the steps, bent his arms and used them to raise his body to the next step. On his ass, he managed the two flights of stairs. The hallway of the apartment was dark. Ron could see the glow of the television coming from the living room. He hobbled slowly to his room.
Marjorie heard the noise and said, “Is that you Ronald?”
Ron tried to make his voice sound normal. “Yeah Mom.”
“Come in here a moment.”
“I can’t,”
“What do you mean, you can’t?”
“I fell. I’m having trouble walking. I think I did something to my leg.”
“Well, take your time. I want to talk to you.”
Marjorie had seen Ron come home bruised before. He always tried to hide his bumps and bruises so that Marjorie wouldn’t get angry with him. She waited.
Ron tried to take a couple of steps, but he had used all of his energy to get home and then to get up the stairs.
Marjorie heard it in his voice when he half cried, “I can’t.”
Marjorie and George left their TV program and the light went on in the hallway. Ron stood there hunched over. He was leaning against the wall and his left legs wasn’t touching the ground.
Marjorie gasped when she got closer. He was drenched in sweat. His hair was matted to his head. He had been crying. George moved towards him and Ron felt his supporting bulk. George said, “Just lean on me.” Ron could smell the beer on George’s breath as he half carried him into the living room. They laid him on the couch.
Marjorie said, “What did you do to yourself?”
“I don’t know. I tripped in the park.”
She suspected immediately. “Were you playing football?”
Ron shrugged.
“Don’t you get enough of football all week long? Now look at what you’ve done.”
Ron felt guilty, but angry too. Other kids’ mothers felt sorry for them when they got hurt. His mother took it as something that he had done to himself to hurt her.
George showed him how to use a kitchen chair to lean on when he tried to move. He would lean against the back of it and then slide it forward across the wooden floor, but it didn’t work on the stained, shaggy white rug. “I’m going to bed,” said Ron.
“Well I hope it’s better in the morning,” said Marjorie.
Ron slid his chair down the hallway and made it to his bedroom. When he finally got his jeans off, he saw that his left knee was twice the size of his right knee and it was hot to the touch.
Ron had trouble sleeping. Each time he turned in his sleep, the pain woke him up. In the middle of the night he sat up and rubbed his palms up and down the sides of his knee. It seemed ever larger and hotter. Ron knew that he was in trouble. He’d never been hurt like this before. The closest thing was when he fell from the top of a chain link fence and his right ankle had bounced up from the ground and been impaled on one of the twisted bottom ends of the fence. He’d hidden that one from his mother and still had a deep scar.
Why had he done it? How could he have been this stupid? Now he might have ruined everything.
The next morning was no better. They set him in the living room with his knee propped up on his chair and George covered it with an ice bag. Ron felt helpless. The least little thing that he tried to do was an ordeal. Trying to stand on one leg and urinate was impossible. He felt humiliated when he sat on the bowl to pee. He assured Marjorie and George that he was fine and they were to George’s mother’s house for dinner, promising to bring him a plate home for him. At least he’d gotten out of that.
Ron tried to do homework, but his mind would not allow him to concentrate. What was going to happen to him? What was wrong with his knee? How much trouble was he in? The questions tormented him as much as the pain.
After two ice bags, the swelling went down a bit and Ron was elated. Maybe it was going to be ok. He’d heard about sprained knees. Maybe that was what he had done. But in his ears, he could still hear that sickening pop.
On Sunday night, Marjorie said, “I don’t think that you can go to school tomorrow. I’m going to have to find some way to get you to the doctor. Of course I don’t know how I’m going to do that and I might lose my job, but I’m glad that you had fun playing football.” She spit the word football out like she hated it.
Ron kept the ice on his knee all night long. He listened to the radio, hiding it under his pillow and pressing his ear down to the music. Puff the Magic Dragon and You Don’t Have to be a Baby to Cry filtered up into him. He heard Louie Louie at least four times and still didn’t understand what the words meant. Every two hours, he used the chair and limped down the hall as quietly as he could and refilled the ice bag.
Marjorie thought she heard him each time but was too angry at him for getting hurt to get out of bed. He wasn’t supposed to get hurt and now she’d seen him hurt over and over. Was that the joy of being a mother?
By morning Ron said and showed that he could walk without the chair. He limped and he was tentative, but he was improved. “Mom, just let me stay home today, no doctor, you go to work. George was right. The ice is working.”
George had long since left for work. What Ron was offering made the day simple. It was routine. “Ok, but I need to call your father.”
Ron was watching a rerun of The People’s Choice when the phone rang. He liked that Cleo the dog talked. He wanted to see the mayor’s daughter without her clothes. Absently, he was stroking his penis when the phone rang.
“Ronald?”
His erection dissipated in an eye blink. “Hi Dad.”
“Tell me what happened.”
Ron closed his eyes. Now he needed to pee. “I was stupid. I got hurt because I was stupid again.”
“That’s how you learn,” said Harry. “How bad is it?”
“I’ve been putting ice on it. I can almost walk now. It hurts but it’s going to be ok.”
“I’ll call you later. Try not to be stupid again.”
Ron flushed at the admonishment. “OK.”
The receiver clicked. Ron looked back up at the screen to see the Mayor’s daughter walk away with her hips wiggling. He began to stroke it again.

Chapter 62

“Edger Allen Poe was way ahead of his time. So far ahead and so sophisticated that it took his country decades to really catch up to what he was doing. In France, he was loved and respected. Not here. He suffered from what he believed were certain demons inside of him and his stories always seem like an attempt at expiation.”
Ron turned to the chalkboard and wrote to expiate in block letters on the board. “What does this word mean?”
Mark Simon carried a pocket dictionary with his books. He fished it out of his bag and thumbed through pages. Ron saw him and waited. Other students tuned to a dictionary that was in the back of their literature books, but Ron doubted that they would find it there. Mark said, “To atone for as in atoning for one’s crimes.”
Ron smiled. “That’s right. Now after you read tonight’s story, I want you to give me a paragraph that discusses the connection between The Black Cat and expiation.” Ron knew that they had probably read the story before. He had been surprised to see it included in the book. It was something that was usually taught in middle school or perhaps ninth grade. It was a warm up to The Fall of The House of Usher. He gave them the writing assignment to assure that they would read and not try to rely on their younger memories of the story
.
Ron waited outside of Brother Todd O’Malley’s office. It was his prep and he had been given something shockingly disturbing in one of his freshman classes. A student, a rather strange, short and stocky kid named Carl Flack had signed his name in blood on his quiz. Then he’d announced it to the class as he walked his paper up and handed it in. Ron looked at the paper. The penmanship was good and perfectly in red was his name, written in blood. He had pricked his finger and managed to squeeze up a bubble of blood that he dipped his pen into as he worked the letters.
Brother O’Malley was a giant of a man. He stood six feet and six inches tall and weighed over three hundred pounds. He was in charge of disciple. His size, his demeanor, and his baritone voice made him feel imposing.
“How can I help you, Mr. Tuck?”
Brother O’Malley sat in back of his desk. He did not invite Ron to sit. Ron sat anyway and opened his large book bag. He extracted the quiz carefully. He had placed it between two blank sheets of paper. “A student, a freshman named Carl Flack, handed in this quiz and announced to the class that he had signed it in blood.” Ron extended the paper.
O’Malley’s eyes darkened as he took it. “I don’t believe that I’ve ever seen anything quite like this before,” said O’Malley.
“I haven’t either,” said Ron.
“Are you sure that it’s blood”
“Either it is or this kid has one heck of an imagination, Brother.”
Brother Todd O’Malley said flatly, “A diseased imagination.”
Ron’s mind flashed on Poe, but he wasn’t teaching Poe in this class.
“Let’s take a walk,” said Brother O’Malley. He stood heavily, and together they walked to the main office where he looked up the location of Carl Flack’s locker. Ron stashed his book bag in back of the counter and quietly followed O’Malley who was carrying a large ring of keys and his clipboard.
When O’Malley opened Flack’s locker, the disgusted look on his face caused its lines to deepen and become a menacing scowl. Hanging in Flack’s locker, on the hooks that were designed for coats or sweaters, were three strings. From each dangled a freshly amputated rabbit’s foot. He opened the door wider for Ron to see.
The color drained from Ron’s face when he looked. There was something seriously wrong with this kid. O’Malley shut the door without disturbing anything. He’d expected to find some kind of substance, but not this. He felt the anger rising in his massive body. Ron followed him to Flack’s class.
O’Malley opened the door without knocking, stood in the doorway silently. He’d looked at a picture of Flack when he found the location of the locker. Slowly his eyes panned the room. Students fidgeted and put their heads down. The teacher stopped speaking and stood frozen in the center of the class, half turned to the chalkboard. O’Malley’s eyes found Flack. He walked towards him, his long black habit swaying like the motion of a moving battleship. He towered over Flack’s desk. “What have you done?” rumbled the baritone voice.
Carl Flack tried to escape but he tripped and fell to the floor. Calmly O’Malley reached down, grabbed his heel and dragged him out of the classroom, holding his leg in the air.
Ron stood with his mouth open as O’Malley silently dragged the boy, still sprawled on his back, down the hallway to his office. He wasn’t invited to follow.

Chapter 63

On Monday night, Ron told Marjorie that his leg felt better and that he wanted to go to school. “Did you talk to your father?”
“He called. He told me to try not to be so stupid.”
“That sounds like him,” said Marjorie. She always pumped Ron for information about his conversations with his father. He always resisted, but she knew how to wear him down. Harry didn’t have the ability to express emotions like most people. He was uncomfortable with intimacy. He’d built walls around what was important to him for a very long time. Marjorie had been fool enough to think that she was inside those walls and that he trusted her. Now she knew that Harry wasn’t capable of trusting anyone. He had a good heart but he was short on trust and set in his ways. “No football practice.”
“I have to show up, but I’ll tell them that I’m hurt.”
“Will they know how you got hurt?”
“No.”
“Will you tell them?”
Instinctively Ron sensed the danger in the question. It invited conspiratorial confidence, but Ron didn’t trust it. There were always consequences. “Yes,” he lied.
Ron stood in front of Coach Peters in the coaches’ office.
“How did you hurt your leg?”
Ron had stripped off his shoes and pants but left his underwear and shirt on when he went to see the coach. He knew that Peters would want to see the knee. The day’s walking and the lack of ice had caused it to swell noticeably and it was warm to the touch.
“I fell.”
“What were you doing when you fell?”
“I was in the park running sprints, coach.”
“Were you alone?”
Coach Peters suspected that the answer wasn’t true but he wanted to know if any of his other players were involved. “No coach, I was with some friends.”
“Have you seen a doctor?”
“No, coach.”
“Looks to me like it should be looked at. I can’t have you practice on that leg, Ronnie.”
Ron felt the ease of relief flow through him. Coach Peters would never have called him Ronnie if he was pissed.

Chapter 64
Reading the paragraphs that his students had written about Poe, Ron was surprised that they seemed incapable of separating the actions of the author from the actions of the main character. They write about Poe’s cruelty to animals and about how guilt had driven Poe to write the story as a confession.
Ron was feeling pretty guilty himself. The sight of Carl Flack being dragged down the hallway and then the notice in his mailbox to remove him from the class lists and determine a grade for the work that he’d down so far, left Ron feeling that he had done the wrong thing. At Our Lady of the Forlorn, Ron would have talked to the student. He would have had input into what happened. But his girls would never have acted this way.
Mark Simon had written, “Poe is trying to expiate his thoughts by revealing them and turning them into something better than they were.” Ron smiled. Well at least he’d gotten the difference between author and character.
When the phone rang, Ron expected it to be Celeste, but Elena, one of his former and best students said, “Hello, Mr. Tuck, it’s Elena Rodriguez.”
Ron felt his face break into an immediate smile.
“I hope that I haven’t reached you at a bad time, have I?”
“Not at all Elena. I’m just reading essays. I could use a break.”
“Are they as good as our essays used to be?”
Ron laughed. There was no reason to tell her that these boys had been better prepared than her classmates had been. That was surely true but she didn’t need to hear it. What was also true was that they were nowhere near as sensitive as his girls were. “I don’t think that anything will quite touch me the way that you girls did,” said Ron. It was an honest response and it avoided hurting her feelings.
“Mr. Tuck, I need advice.”
Ron’s mind flashed on when she had called him from a bathroom with a boyfriend waiting in the next room and wanting to have sex with her and her asking him what she should do. Ron laughed in his best teasing way. “I think that you’re old enough to make that decision for yourself now, Elena.”
He could feel the girl blush right through the phone. She laughed. “Not about that, Mr. Tuck. I have that figured out. I can’t believe that I did that and that I was actually able to look you in the eyes for the rest of the year.”
“It was fine Elena. How can I help you?”
“I hate it here, Mr. Tuck. I never knew what racism really was until I got to Princeton.”
Ron face grew troubled. His mind flashed on his old friend Sister Bernadette who had accused Ron of setting his students up for failure because he wanted to be special by making them be more special. “Tell me what’s going on Elena.”
“They look down on the scholarship students. They keep us in our own dorm. They treat us like we are charity cases who need to remember how lucky we are to be here. One of my classmates actually said that her tuition was so high because she was also paying off my tuition.”
“How are your grades?”
“My grades are fine. It’s the people who suck. It’s Americans who suck.”
“Come on Elena. I’m American and so are you.”
“I’m Puerto Rican, Mr. Tuck, and the more I learn about what was done to my country the more I hate being American.”
“Maria, if you lower yourself to that, they win.”
“They already won and they want to make sure that I know it and never forget it.”
“So what do you want to do?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I called you.”
“Elena you are succeeding academically. You are too tough to let prejudice stop you at this point in your life.”
“You don’t know what it’s like here. They look at you like you are a lower life form, someone who should be waiting on them in a restaurant if you are lucky enough to have a job. They don’t care how smart you are. They want you to know that you will never be as good as they are.”
“Elena, do you have friends?”
“Sure I do. I have the other scholarship students who live with me and eat with me and who go to classes with me and also get treated like shit.”
Ron hesitated. He wasn’t sure what to say to her. He didn’t doubt her voracity but he didn’t want her to be weak. “Elena?”
“Yes?”
“Stop whining.” He knew that she must feel like he’d slapped her in the face. “You’re there to get an education and maybe this is part of your education. Did you think that it was going to be easy to change the world?”
Her voice seemed to shrink. “No.”
“You’re letting it get to you.”
Her voice got stronger again. “Of course I am. I’m human and I’m sensitive and I don’t want to be treated this way.”
“You’re Puerto Rican and you’re from Newark. You’ve seen more of life than they have. You haven’t been sheltered.”
“Believe it or not I was sheltered from this until now.”
“So you want to give up. You want to have come all this way just to give up?”
“No, I don’t want to give up.”
“Then stop whining and get on with it.”
They talked for a few more minutes, but he could tell that she wanted to hang up the phone now. She didn’t ask any questions about his life and so he never told her that he was getting married. It was harder to get back to his papers after the phone call. Was it possible that Bernadette had been right?

Chapter 65
The doctor’s office was in an old home that had a fireplace that had been stoned shut. There was a perimeter of chairs that had varying degrees of comfort. Marjorie was thumbing a magazine. Ron was staring at each aspect of the room and rubbing his hands along his jean covered thighs. Most of the people were old and sat patiently. It seemed incongruous when someone was there alone. Everybody went to the doctor’s office with someone.
The wait seemed to go on forever. People judged how many others were in front of them by surveying who was seated in the room when they arrived. There were pocket doors that led into Dr. Polino’s office. His desk was visible each time they opened. There was a second door through which patients left. The examining room was off to his right and just had an open arch between it and the front, conference room. The office smelled of antiseptic alcohol.
Dr. Polino treated Ron when he had asthma attacks. Ron used to go to a doctor who had been one of Rocky’s family. He liked Doctor Merck, but that was just something else that changed when Rocky left them. “So what seems to be the problem Ronald?”
“I hurt my knee.”
“How did that happen?”
“I was playing football. I landed wrong.”
“Let’s take a look at it.”
Ron pulled down his pants while Marjorie waited in the conference room. She didn’t want to see his swollen knee again. It made her start to cry.
The doctor probed and bent and twisted Ron’s leg. He could feel it starting to swell again. The doctor was making it worse. Ron winced and when he couldn’t help it, he yelped. His eyes were involuntarily fixed on the distant figure of Marjorie and he watched her, after each yelp had passed, recovering from it.
“You have what we call a hot knee, Ronald. It’s swollen and there is fluid that has built up inside of it. Sometimes, with rest and elevation, it can heal itself. Other times the fluid needs to be drawn out.”
“Ok,” said Ron.
“You can get dressed now.” Dr. Polino walked to his desk, sat down and took out his prescription pad. He was pretty certain that the knee was going to need to be drained, but there was a chance of reabsorption because he was so young.
When Ron was dressed, Marjorie came out of the corner of the conference room and sat in one of the chairs facing Dr. Polino’s desk. Ron limped over and sat in the other chair. His knee had felt so much better before he came here. “This will help the swelling to go down. I need to see him again in two weeks. Until then I want Ron,” Polino turned from Marjorie and directed his words to Ron. “Until then, no strenuous activity, no sports and you are to sleep with a pillow under your knee. Avoid stairs whenever you can. Do not take gym.”
Ron felt like each statement was a punch in his stomach. “What about school?” said Marjorie.
“Keep him home for the next few days. That knee really needs to stay elevated if it had any chance of draining. Ronald, use ice whenever it feels hot.”
For the next three days, Ron felt like he was living in a cocoon that brought him back to a time when he was happy. There was no homework. There was no time to go to bed or to wake up. There were morning TV programs that he’d almost forgotten had existed. As the swelling went down and his range of motion improved, his hopes soared. Football players had injuries, but they got better. Even the great Frank Gifford had been knocked out of commission for a season. Maybe everything was going to be ok.

Chapter 66

It was a seven on seven drill, something that was done for the linemen to improve the crispness of their timing and to learn to move like a unit. Ron was running the drill with Artie Harris but he felt that the holes were opening too slowly. Finally he handed the center a ball and said, “Oh my count, snap it back to me.” The players looked confused. Artie looked confused. “I’m going to run through the holes, don’t tackle me,” said Ron.
He stood in a shotgun position that would roughly mimic how far behind the line the running back would be. He would wait a beat to simulate the handoff, and then he would run through the hole. He felt the rush of adrenaline rush through him as he ran and planted and cut up into the hole. The play got crisper. He did it again and again. Bodies were flying around him, he loved it! He’d forgotten what this felt like. He had been sure that he would never feel it again.
When the drill ended, the coaches gave the team a water break. Artie came over and said out of the side of his mouth, “You’re fucking crazy.”
Ron nodded and grinned. “So they tell me.”
“God-damned craziest, animal, English teacher I ever met.”
Ron laughed and felt his chest swell.
In the coaches’ room, Artie said to Paul Pamenteri, gesturing at Ron, “This maniac was taking the ball up through the holes in a seven on seven.”
Paul looked up at Ron in disbelief, “What for?”
“I think that it improves our timing,” said Ron.
“I can’t afford to have you getting hurt,” said Steve Ferry.
Ron nodded. He had almost felt unstoppable, but maybe they were right. He couldn’t afford him getting hurt either.
Ron showered and changed back into his street clothes and walked down to the teachers’ room where he’d left his book bag. Larry Viola was there and he was working some scissors on a piece of cloth.
“Hi Larry.”
“Hey Ron, what do you think?”
Larry draped what Ron now saw was a sheet over his head. He had been cutting out eyeholes.
“What’s that for?”
Larry beamed excitedly. “I convinced Brother Howard to let me try my pre-game rally idea. This is going to be for when we play East Side.”
Ron eyes got larger. “What do you mean?”
“They’re known as the Ghosts, so when their bus pulls in, I’m going to be there with a group that I get together to help me and we’ll be wearing these.”
“You can’t do that,” hollered Ron.
“Brother said I could try it out. I have his permission.”
“Larry, do something else.”
“Why?”
“Paterson East Side is basically an all-Black and Hispanic school.”
“So?”
“Are you fucking crazy? They are going to come to an all-White suburban school and be met by a group of people with sheets over their heads?”
“They won’t take it that way.”
“They sure the fuck will and they’ll never get off the bus and they’ll go to the newspapers and you will be so screwed that you won’t even know what hit you.”
“Well, I’m doing it. It’s all in good fun. They’re the Ghosts.”
“And you’re a moron.”
“Fuck you. I don’t need your approval.”
Ron was in a quandary. When he had gone to Brother O’Malley before, the results had been brutal. If he went to Brother Howard about this, Larry Vila could be in serious trouble. Why were these things finding him? He’d just wanted to change and go to see Celeste and Angel but now here he was stuck with this mess. Larry couldn’t be that naïve to think that he could do something like that, could he? He was a history teacher for Christ’s sake.
Ron saw Brother Howard walking back to his office puffing his after dinner cigar. He sighed and put the book bag down. Damn that thing was heavy. “Brother can I have a moment?”
Brother Howard smiled and said, “Sure Ron, come on in.”
Ron sat in the office as Brother Howard turned the lights on and slide down in back of his desk. “How was practice?”
“We’re getting better.”
“Are your classes going well?”
“Yes, Brother. I’m enjoying them.”
Brother Howard looked perplexed. Classes were going well. Practice had been good. He hoped that Ron wasn’t going to need time off or worse still have found a new job and need to leave them. “How can I help you Mr. Tuck?”
“Brother, I know about the pep rallies that you gave Larry Viola permission to organize.”
“Alright.” He puffed his cigar and scarped the ash into the ashtray. This wasn’t going to be some foolish thing about coaches being above all of this was it? No, Tuck didn’t seem like the type.
“Brother he’s planning to have kids wear sheets over their heads when we play East Side.”
Brother Howard’s laugh was more like a guffaw. “You’re joking right?”
“I wish that I was. He’s in the faculty room now, cutting eyeholes into sheets.”
Howard guffawed again. “Well, he can’t do that.”
“I tried to tell him Brother but I honestly don’t think that he believes that it is a problem.”
“Why don’t you just go on home now, and I’ll casually wander in to see what’s going on. We’ll keep this conversation to ourselves.”
Ron felt relief. “Thank you Brother.”

It was about eight o’clock in the evening when Celeste carried Angel, straight from her bath, down into the basement. She still wore a diaper at night, and she was wearing a lilac nightgown. She crawled into his arms with her brown eyes filled with wonder and wrapped her very small and fragile arms around Ron’s neck. Celeste slid in next to them and entwined her feet with Ron’s feet.
A surge of the need to provide and protect rushed through Ron’s body with one of the most delightful jolts that he’d ever felt. Angel purred like a cat and put her small hands up against each of his ears and leaned in to kiss him. Ron felt his spirit soar. She was magical at this moment.
Celeste watched the love affair with a warm and heartfelt smile. She wished with everything had she had inside of her that this had been his baby, and would be his child.
Angel nestled between them and wiggled her body from one to the other and then drifted off to a contented sleep. Celeste and Ron gazed into each other’s eyes and smiled.

Chapter 67
Ron was standing in the main office, on the first floor of Jersey Catholic. He’d never been here before. The female clerk said, “What is it?” Her tone wasn’t hostile, just businesslike.
“I need an elevator pass,” said Ron. He offered up the note from the doctor’s prescription pad.
She read it. Ron watched her hands and then her face. “One moment.” Her tone was clipped and she turned away from the counter to prepare the pass. Elevators were reserved for faculty and those students who had incurred some form of injury that would grant them a temporary privilege. Anyone requiring that privilege on a continual basis was not considered for admission.
Brother Kelly was the school principal. He made it a point of delivering each elevator pass personally. The elevators were old and elegant and Kelly wished to keep their usage to a minimum. “What seems to be the problem with you, Ronald Tuck?” Kelly glanced down at the card to be sure of the name as he spoke it.
“I hurt my knee. The doctor says that I shouldn’t climb stairs.”
“And how did you hurt your knee?”
“I’m on the football team,” said Ron.
Kelly handed Ron the signed pass. “Let’s hope your recovery is speedy, Ronald Tuck.”
The elevators had steel grates that slid closed and Ron stood towards the back trying not to be conspicuous as he rode up to his floor. Teaches got on and then got off. Some of them eyed him suspiciously. Ron fought the urge to hold up his pass each time one of them looked at him.
In the class, he found that the position into which one piece desk molded him was uncomfortable. He could bend it far enough to put his foot on the floor but after a few minutes it began to throb. He tried sliding down and extending his legs until they straightened. Then that became uncomfortable and he tried sitting up again. It was this progression of positions that filled his next few hours.
Because he had missed three days of school, he was behind with everything. As his assignments mounted, so did his sense of panic. By lunchtime, he was depressed and anxious. He got into the elevator while some students walked quickly passed him. He could hear their feet going down the stairs quickly, the way that he used to be able to go down the stairs. In the lunchroom, he tried to avoid being jostled. Dr. Polino had wrapped his knee in an ace bandage, but when he’d tried to do it, it had creases. All of the sliding down and straightening had made the creases worse and now they dug into the back of his knee. They made it sore and impossible for him to think about anything other than his knee.
When Brother Delban asked him to conjugate the verb to carry, Ron explained that he had been absent. Delban walked over to him and rapped his knuckles down on top of Ron’s head. He recited the first three variations of the verb, accenting each part of the recitation with a rap on the top of Ron’s head with his knuckle. Ron closed his eyes and waited for Delban to finish. Now there was a throb on the top of his head, and he fought the urge to rub it. He stared at the clock, wishing that by some miracle it would move more quickly, but it didn’t.
By the time he climbed the stairs to his apartment, his leg was throbbing and the knee had swollen up again and was hot. With some effort, he got his shoes off and pulled his pants down and unwrapped the badly creased ace bandage. His leg felt better after he took the bandage off, like it could breathe. Why did everything that the doctor told him to do make his knee hurt worse?
Ron tried to think of something to look forward to, but he couldn’t. The tension of this was building inside of him and he had no way to get it out. He lay on his bed and turned on the radio. The End of the World was playing. He closed his eyes as Blue Velvet played and then he was asleep.

Chapter 68
Celeste and Ron were talking on the telephone. “We should start looking for places to have the reception,” she said.
“Isn’t it too soon for that?”
“Some people book these things a year in advance,” said Celeste.
“Why?”
“They just do. There’s a lot to consider. Ron, I have something to tell you.”
“OK.”
“I’m going to have my marriage annulled.”
“How can you do that? I thought you could only do that if you hadn’t had sex.”
“In the Catholic Church you can do it if one of the people tries to avoid having children.” Andrew Canigliaro had surely qualified for that. The problem was that there was now a baby and he had accepted the responsibility to contribute to her support. But Celeste was willing to trade. She would allow him unsupervised visitation if he agreed to the annulment.
“Are we just going to have like a cookie cutter wedding?” said Ron.
“I hope not. I think that we can do better than that.”
“I do too. I think it’s why I have always hated weddings.”
“We’ll make ours special and memorable,” said Celeste.
“I think so too.” Ron thought and felt and spoke. “I don’t blame anyone for having doubts about us.” He stopped and smiled and then laughed. “That’s not really true.” He heard The Rolling Stones in his head and Mick Jagger singing those words. Ron said, “I said that and then I heard that Rolling Stones song that begins I’m a leaping screaming monkey. All my friends are junkies, but that’s not really true. Do you remember that song?”
“I remember it. Why did you think about that?”
“Just because of the words I guess. I’m not sure. Things pop in and out of my head all the time.”
“I don’t blame them for doubting, but I wish they could be more kind about it.”
“My dad’s been ok,” said Ron hopefully. “The only thing is that I’m not sure if it’s just because he doesn’t care enough about what happens.”
Celeste heard that and it caused a ripple to pass through her. She knew that her parents cared, didn’t she? She felt herself drawn to his voice when he spoke again.
“Part of me is like him. I used to think that part was cool and strong.”
“What do you mean?”
“When you can put yourself in a place where nobody can get to you.”
“I never wanted to be in that kind of place,” said Celeste. Another ripple. Was that as honest as she could be? “Maybe I did, a little, but I like people.”
“So, my mom wants to have the ceremony at her church.”
“Ron, there has to be a priest. There just does.”
“I thought about that. There’s a guy that I teach with. He’s from my old neighborhood. Maybe he would do it. He’s Italian. They could do it together, Protestant and Catholic.”
“I need to get the annulment for him to be able to do that.”
“I’ll talk to him tomorrow,” said Ron.
They listened to each other breathe for a while. It was comforting.

Chapter 69
It was a twist to the right that caused the pop to happen again. He pressed his foot down when he felt it and thought that maybe it had popped back into place. Somehow he had told himself that his knee was just out of place and could pop back at any time. He smiled as he felt the jolt. He’d seen things like that on TV where an arm or leg could just be popped back into place. Maybe that was what was happening. He wished very hard for that to be what was happening.
His first step felt spongy. But at least he felt stable. Maybe that was it. A few moments later he felt it starting to swell and reached down and felt the heat coming from it.
It went on like that for several weeks. Ron was now being given a hard time about the elevator pass and told that he would have to renew it every week and that he would have to produce a new note from the doctor each time that it had to be renewed. Life had changed dramatically. There were few days that went by without him getting slapped for one thing of the other.
He told Coach Peters that he was going to have to leave the team.
“That knee hasn’t gotten any better?”
“No Coach, it seems to be getting worse.”
“Tuck, you know you have to want it to get better.” The coach eyed him with an unsympathetic gaze. Injury was weakness and when a player couldn’t respond, Peters never lost the feeling that it was at least in part due to a lack of desire, a lack of toughness.
“I do want it to get better, Coach. Football was the best thing about my life and now it’s gone.”
“Clear out your locker then, Tuck.”
Ron felt slapped again. That was it? Just clear out your locker?
“Make sure that you’ve turned everything in. We have records of everything that we issued to you.”
That was so not how anyone who was on the team was spoken to. Ron felt the distance. The team had moved on. The coach had moved on. He was no longer a part of it. He sat in front of his locker and tried to sort everything out. When it was empty, a locker room felt like a deserted hovel. There were only a few things there that belonged to him. He didn’t want them anymore and threw them into the garbage.
The limp home was now something that he was used to. It was weird how the pain became more manageable as he became accustomed to it. He replayed the scene in his mind. He felt like the discarded soda bottle that he saw lying in an alley. Then an anger rose up in him and he thought to himself that he really didn’t need the team or football or anything.
His knee was tapped for the first time in late November. It was a Friday. He was being taken to his Aunt Dottie’s house. The rules were absolutely no stairs, no walking, he was to keep his knee elevated and stay off it completely. The doctor gave him a set of crutches. Somehow they felt comforting. They were proof of his injury. They would tell everyone that he hadn’t been faking or had wanted to not get better. There would be another few days away from school.
The trip home took him passed Jersey Catholic and Ron was shocked to see that the school was being dismissed. Marjorie was driving the Chevy that reminded her of Rocky. Ron slid down in the seat as they passed the school. He didn’t want anyone to see him.
“I wonder why school is being let out?”
Marjorie didn’t answer. The doctor’s visit had been expensive. She felt shaken by the size of the needles that the doctor had inserted into his leg. She knew that he must be in pain, although Dr. Polino said that he’d given him a cortisone shot and that in a few days that his knee should feel a lot better and that the swelling would go down for good.
When they were a safe distance from the school, Ron reached out and turned on the radio. Instead of music he heard the announcer say, “At this point there is no way to know how badly the President has been injured. There are reports that he was hit in his head. To repeat, shots were fired at President John Kennedy’s motorcade in Dallas about forty five minutes ago. There are reports of multiple injuries. The President is believed to be among those who have been injured. Texas Governor John Connelly is also believed to be among the injured. The President and Governor Connelly have been taken to Parkland Hospital. Defense Forces have been placed on alert.”
Ron turned to his mother but she didn’t seem to be reacting. “Do you think that he’ll be alright?”
“I’m sure that he will,” said Marjorie. “Those people are trained to take care of him.” Marjorie was only half listening. She was worried about the bill and what George was going to say.
Dorothy had the back room all prepared for him. The crutches were of no use in her house and so Ron left them in the kitchen and limped slowly back down the long hall to his Uncle’s room. Dorothy had pulled out the sofa bed and added extra pillows for his knee.
“I’m going to fix you a plate of cookies and get you some milk,” said his aunt.
Ron tried to smile. The feel of her apartment was comforting and no one was going to holler at him or slap him here. Dorothy turned on the TV as she left to get the cookies and milk.
Ron saw Walter Cronkite in his shirt sleeves. There were people moving around in back of him. Everyone looked tense and nervous and busy. The scene shifted to a larger room and in back of a scene of milling and crying people, Ron heard that there were unconfirmed reports that the President was dead. He sat up bolt straight in the bed. His knee didn’t seem to mind. He blotted out everything else in the room and stared hard at the TV. The camera shifted back to Cronkite who reported that President Kennedy was receiving blood transfusions in the emergency room. That must mean that he was still alive! Ron hoped with all his might that everything w aging to be ok. Then a voice from off camera said that there was a rumor that was circulating that the President was dead. Ron felt his mind go numb and waited to hear what Cronkite said. Until Walter Cronkite said it, it wasn’t true and rumors were just rumors. Then there was another report from the hospital itself that said one of the doctors was now reporting that President Kennedy was dead. Ron felt his eyes welling up with tears. Then Cronkite said that Father Hubert had been called into the operating room to administer the sacrament of last rites to the President. Then Cronkite said that there was a twenty five year old man who had been taken into custody at the scene, he interrupted himself to say that correspondent Dan Rather was now confirming reports that the President was dead. Tears were streaming down Ron’s face as his aunt walked back into the room with the cookies and milk. She placed them on the table and sat down with Ron to watch.
The TV showed pictures of the ball room where President Kennedy was scheduled to speak. People were praying. Cronkite said that Vice President Lyndon Johnson had not been seen at Parkland but that there were unconfirmed reports that he had been wounded slightly in his arm. Ron thought, why couldn’t they have killed him instead? His aunt was sitting hunched forward with her hands clasped. Marjorie had gone back to work as soon as she dropped Ron off. He was worried about her because her face had that tense look that it seemed to always have now. Then Ron realized that his Aunt Dottie was praying. He had never seen her pray before. Cronkite reported that some four hundred police officers in Dallas had been called in on their day off because there had been reports that there might be trouble in Dallas. Instantly, Ron hated Texas and everyone who was from there. Cronkite reported that it had only been in late October when United Nations Ambassador Stevenson had been assaulted in Dallas. Ron thought, why does anyone go there? Why don’t we just stay the fuck out of Texas altogether? Then Cronkite said it. It was official. The President had died thirty-eight minutes earlier. Cronkite took off his glasses took a deep breath and appeared to be crying. Ron cried too. His Aunt Dottie cried. They sat staring at the TV in disbelief, tears rolling down their faces. Cronkite gathered himself and said, Lyndon Johnson would be sworn in as the thirty-sixth President of the United States shortly.
Ron watched the TV endlessly. He couldn’t stop. A man who had been there with his son and was waving to the President and the President was waving back and then he was shot and the man saw the expression on his face and then he was shot again and he was gone down into the limousine. Ron cried again. Four years ago, before Rocky left, before George intruded, they had taken him to a rally at the Newark Mosque to see JFK. Kennedy was late. They waited endlessly. Just when Marjorie was saying that she had to go to work at seven am, he was there. He was tan, he was filled with a light that seemed to shine from him. Ron was transfixed. Understanding what he said seemed less important than being able to have been there. Now he was dead. People were talking about watching him die. There were pictures of his wife and then a photo was released inside of an airplane. Johnson looked flabby and old and grisly. Jacqueline Kennedy looked like she didn’t really know where she was or what was happening.
Dorothy had switched the channel over to NBC. Robert Abernathy was reporting on the return of the President’s body, along with the garish presence of the new man who thought that he was the president. There were a couple thousand people waiting. Many were members of Congress. Ron watched the mostly dark screen that showed the blinking lights of the plane’s arrival. Somehow those lights seemed sacred and important. Then the plane was visible and the words The United States of America could be seen lettered along the side of it. A row of small windows were visible underneath the words but nothing could be seen from them. Diplomats and Cabinet officers waited for the arrival. Ron believed with all his heart that they waited to be in the presence of that person who had been John Kennedy. Lyndon Johnson, in his mind, was merely a passenger. It was so very dark as the honor guard walked up to the plane. Ron was alone now. It was late. Everyone else had gone to bed. Then he heard a shuffling and Dorothy came in. She sat down without saying anything.
“I just can’t sleep, Aunt Dot.”
“Me either,” she said.
They moved a special piece of apparatus out to accommodate the coffin. The men struggled to remove the casket. Each jostle felt almost like a slap. The dark brown casket glistened in the dark and Ron felt that it must be that light that he had seen, the light in back of the words that had listened to and read. They reported that it was a bronze casket.
“This is so bad,”
“It almost reminds me of the war,” said Dorothy.
A Navy ambulance arrived to transport the casket. JFK had always been Navy. It was fitting. No one knew exactly where the body would be taken. One report said that it would be flown directly by helicopter to the White House. Another said that it was going to Bethesda Naval Hospital.
“How many times have you seen this now?” said Dorothy.
“I don’t know, a few. It just seems wrong to stop watching.”
And then Robert was there and he was holding her hand and helping her down. Ron watched it for the third time. It wasn’t going to be any different but it right to be here right now. She got into the ambulance with the casket. One man in a military navy hat was opening the door. People were milling around.
“She’s lucky to be alive,” said Dorothy.
“I bet she doesn’t feel lucky,” said Ron.
Dorothy felt a twinge and stared at him. At this moment he seemed much older than he was.
People moved in formation as the ambulance drove away. Then they showed Lyndon Johnson and his wife who was called Lady Bird. They looked like vultures to Ron as they walked out from the plane. People were shaking his hand. Ron felt anger. The congressman and cabinet members advanced. They were there to greet him. They hadn’t come to see if anything was left of the light that he had seen and knew was still there. Only his wife and brother still saw it. But Ron had seen it. His Aunt Dottie has seen it too. Then Johnson came to a group of microphones to speak. Ron didn’t want to hear what he had to say. Ron closed his eyes and didn’t want to listen.
When he opened them, a man with short brown hair and a bruise over his left eye requested assistance. He said that he hadn’t been charged with any crime and that he was requesting legal representation. He said that he’d been hit by a policeman. Ron lay there and watched. His knee was an afterthought.
It was reported that a rifle with a telescopic site had been found in the Texas School Book Depository. There were there spent cartridges and one shell left in the chamber.
Oswald was just wearing a t-shirt now and he said, “I’m a patsy.”
Ron didn’t know what that meant but he hated the sight of Oswald.

Chapter 70
“What is it about death that is so intriguing?” Ron Tuck looked out at his class. “That was one of the themes that Poe wrote about almost endlessly. In last night’s story, he used the word ‘House’ in several different ways. For instance. There is an actual crack in the physical structure of the house. The word house here can also be used to represent the word family. It was once considered that a family could be identified by the word house which actually referred to its bloodlines and the branches of its family. On top of that, the house in this story seems to have the attributes of a character in the story. The way that Poe explores all of this and wraps it into a story is the use of an extended metaphor.” He turned and wrote that on the board. His students took notes. “What is an extended metaphor?”
He watched while his students turned to the back of the book and looked up the meaning. Mark Simon, who was always the first to raise his hand when Ron asked questions like this, shot his hand into the air. Ron waited. Slowly two more hand raised and then a fourth hand went into the air. Ron smiled. Patience and silence were two of the things that he had learned could serve a teacher very well in the classroom. It was learning to trust the power of the room. Then it hit him. The house and the classroom shared a power.
“When you read this story again tonight,” he paused and waited for their reaction, the groan was audible. “I want you to pay particular attention to Poe’s description of the house and compare it with his description of Roderick Usher. However, in Usher you will see evidence of the House of Usher, meaning the entirety of his family line. I want you to find examples of this and to also find five vocabulary words that you think will be of use to you.” The class wrote down the assignment. Ron was pleased with them and he showed it. “From what I see in this classroom, college level work is not going to be a problem. I see smart and capable students who are ready to do their study.”
Back in the teacher’s room, Father Tom Orecchio was smoking a cigarette. Ron slid in across from him and said, “Tom, I’m getting married.”
Orecchio exhaled and said, “Congratulations.”
“I was wondering if you are allowed to do an ecumenical service?”
Because he was not affiliated with a parish, Tom didn’t get a lot of call to do weddings and baptisms. They were easy money and most always went to the parish priests. Sometimes, a family member would ask, but they would expect that it would be done for nothing, or at the family discount as they called it. “Sure, I can pretty, much do any fucking thing that I want,” said father Tom. He was fond of cursing and enjoyed the reactions that people had to hearing the word fuck come from a man in a collar.
“Well, here’s the thing. I was a convert and really I’m not the best Catholic in the world.”
Orecchio laughed. “No, really? You’ve got to be shitting me,” His receding red hair and freckles led the students to believe that he had a diabolical side to him. He had come to the priesthood late. He was almost forty years old when he was ordained. But he had been stupid and gone on a diet of grapefruit in order to lose weight for his big day. Something had gone wrong and now his kidneys had stopped working. Every third day he went for dialysis and the sessions left him worn old, cold inside, and cranky. He’d had dialysis that morning and was in no mood for bullshit.
“Celeste is Italian and it would mean a lot to her family to have a priest there.”
“Sure, why not.”
“Where’s the wedding going to be?”
Ron swallowed. He knew this part wasn’t going to go over well. “The Glen Ridge Congregational Church.”
“You’re fucking kidding.”
“That’s where my family moved to when we left the old neighborhood.”
“You must have fit in really well there, Ronnie.”
It never ceased to surprise Ron that people from Newark always slipped into calling him Ronnie. He hated the name Ronnie and when he went to college he made sure that people knew him as Ron. “Not so well, no.”

Chapter 71
Cronkite reported that Evangelist Billy Graham had a premonition that something awful was going to happen to Kennedy in Dallas and had tried to reach him and warn him not to go. It did not occur to Ron how convenient that was to say afterwards. He had been taken to see Billy Graham in Madison Square Garden with Rocky and Marjorie. His mother had urged him to go forward and declare himself as saved, but he didn’t. Now he wished that he had.
Then Cronkite said that a small blonde boy followed by two pretty girls had plucked hibiscus blossoms and laid them in the doorway to a home where Kennedy used when he was in Florida. Things like that were happening all over the country. Ron felt bitter that he had to stay here, but did admit that his leg was feeling better today, and it was cold out and raining anyway.
The TV scene shifted to Washington DC, where a reporter named Herman said that while the Secret Service knew, and President Kennedy knew, that it was impossible to protect him in a motorcade through a large city with thousands of windows, that if it had been raining it Dallas, if the rain had lasted just one more hour, that the president would have been underneath the large, plastic protective bubble that would have saved his life. They said that the Secret Service had always urged the President to use the bubble but that it liked to be seen by the people. Ron felt another wave of anguish wash over him. Maybe if he had listened, none of this would happen. Why would anyone want to be seen by the people in Texas? The reporters discussed the love that Kennedy had for going beyond rope lines to shake hands and let the people of America feel as close to him as possible and how his predecessor, President Eisenhower did not share that view and more often than not acceded to the wishes of the military. Ron felt anger mixed with his grief. Were they trying to say that the President had brought this on himself?”
Then Cronkite was back. Ron wondered how long it had been since Walter Cronkite had slept. He reported that people were gathered in front of the White House and were silently standing and watching dignitaries file in to pay their last respects to the President, who was now lying in state in the East Room. A man said that he was trying to picture JFK as the way that he was, a hero and an inspiration to people and that he just couldn’t see him anymore. He was a tough looking man with a hard face and yet it was creasing and tears were running out of his eyes as he spoke. Ron had never seen so many men cry in his life. It made him feel better that he couldn’t control his tears. Then a Black man who was smartly dressed and wearing a tight brimmed hat like Ron saw his father sometimes wearing said that he had no words to describe his feelings and that the White House now seemed empty and that no one could fill it the way that JFK had. Ron felt himself nodding. Certainly it couldn’t be filled by a guy from Texas of all places. It was then that the thought occurred to him that maybe Texas had wanted their guy to be President and that maybe Texas had put Oswald up to it. Reporters were saying that the downpour of rain had driven most of the people standing across the street from the White House away but that large numbers of people had stood there all night just staring at the floodlit north portico.
Almost on cue the scene shifted to Texas. Police Chief Jessie Curry was surrounded by a group of reporters in the hallway. He was asked a lot of questions about how he knew that Oswald was the man and how Oswald had been apprehended and about whether Oswald had a lawyer. Ron didn’t quite understand the answers and he could care less if Oswald had a lawyer. The scene shifted to Cronkite who said that Oswald’s mother had stated that her son was a good boy and that she was willing to pay for a lawyer. Cronkite added that Lee Harvey Oswald had been the youngest of three sons that Mrs. Oswald had raised on her own after the death of her husband. He died shortly after Oswald was born. Ron thought that they were saying that somehow the birth of Oswald had caused his father’s death. The grim thought that hit him next was that they were saying that it was because Oswald had been raised without a father’s influence, that this was one of the causes for what he had done. Why did they always make everything about broken homes? Did that mean that somehow he would grow up to do something awful because his parents had been divorced? Isn’t that what the cops had implied when he was caught with the knife? That he was damaged goods. He looked down at his knee. Well, they were right about one thing. That was for sure.
Cronkite then shifted the scene back to Dallas and Captain Glen King of the Dallas Police force said that a man who had been an associate of Lee Harvey Oswald had his house searched and that he had been invited in to be interrogated by police and that the interrogation was happening at that moment. He then said that the Dallas Police Force was asking that anyone who had been in the vicinity of the assassination and had taken pictures of it to please turn all of those pictures into the Dallas police department at the request of the FBI. King refused to identify the man who was being interrogated. Then a bombshell. Oswald had been interrogated by the FBI two weeks prior to the assassination. Ron wanted to scream. They had him and then they let him go?
Cronkite then reported that John Kennedy’s body was now lying in state in the East Room of the White House and that the casket was resting on the same structure that had been used to hold Abraham Lincoln’s casket after he had been assassinated. He then said that Jaqueline Kennedy had informed reporters that she had told her children, Caroline, age six, and John, age three, that their father had died.

Chapter 72
Celeste said, “I have a friend named Ricky, but everyone calls him Bottles. He’s a bartender and he could get us the alcohol for the reception at wholesale and he knows somebody who can tend bar.”
“That sounds great,” said Ron.
“There’s a catch,” said Celeste. “He’s my first husband’s best friend.”
Ron grinned into the pillow. He’d told her some about Robin and now he wanted to hear about Alex. “Tell me more about Alex.”
Celeste hesitated. Ron was surely one of the stranger people that she’d ever met. He wanted to know everything. She’d expected him to ask her to handle it, and he’d surprised her again. “Alex was exciting. Life was one long, large party and he changed the games often enough so that I was always interested.”
“What do you mean?” she could hear in Ron’s vice that he was grinning into the pillow.
“In our first apartment, we had a large room. It was in Kearny and we had this great apartment and instead of a living room we had these board games set up everywhere. Friends were always there and we moved from one board game to the other and then and then we’d go out and play softball and go to one or two or three of the bars and come back and play the games until Alex passed out.”
“Didn’t that get boring?”
Celeste hesitated. Should she really tell him the truth? Did she know what the truth was? “No it didn’t get boring because he kept changing things and he was so talented and big time people recognized his talent, but he couldn’t help submarining himself.” Celeste found that she was breathing easily into the phone as she told him these things. She knew that whatever she said, he would not think any less of her. What a strange feeling that was. It was almost disconcerting and she understood why women were attracted to Ron and then ran away from him. She understood in that instant that he would never stop. There would always be a probing and a searching and a next question and maybe more questions than she was ready for.
“I think that you loved him,” said Ron.
“I’m sure that I did.”
“Did he love you?”
Now that was a question that she hadn’t expected. She felt her heart beat a little faster. “I think that he thought that he did.”
“Robin said that about me. What does it mean?”
Danger signs blinked in back of her eyes. What was he searching for now? “It means that love has got to be more than just in your head and in your imagination.”
Ron felt a jolt. He let it pass through him and then he whispered, “I know.” There was a silence and while it wasn’t comfortable, it was necessary. The quiet electric hum of the phone lines between them, and the intimacy that it created, flowed. “I think that we can really love each other.” He said finally.
The words washed through her stronger than a blow of cocaine, which she loved.

Chapter 73

On the evening of the second day, it occurred to Ron that Jesus had been crucified on a Friday. He felt like he was observing John Kennedy’s descent into hell. Some miniscule insanely-faithed part of him, dreamed of resurrection.
From Dallas, Captain Will Fritz, chief of detectives, announced that they had the case cinched but would not go into details. Brook Benton reported that Lee Harvey Oswald’s wife and mother had been up in the jail to see him. Ron wondered if they called him Lee Harvey. Had he really gone through life being called Lee Harvey? The route that Oswald would be soon taken from an upper floor to the garage on the ground floor in order to be transferred to the county jail was broadcast.
The scene shifted back to a view of the White House and Cronkite’s voice said that John Kennedy’s son, who the President referred to as John John, and who would be three on Monday the day of his father’s funeral, was reportedly walking through the halls of the White House saying, “ I don’t have anyone to play with.” Cronkite said that he was reported to have said that his father had been killed by a bad man. Then it was back to Brook Benton and Captain Will Fritz was described as one of the most astute law enforcement officials in the south west. He wore glasses and a white cowboy hat. He said that he felt very confident that he had his man in both the killings of the president and the killing of Officer Tippet. Ron hated the look of him and hated that he equated the killing of John Kennedy with the killing of some Texas cop.
Cronkite finally signed off saying that tonight there would be a memorial concert in honor of the president that was being performed by the Philadelphia Orchestra. He also announced that coverage of these events would continue nonstop through the President’s funeral on Monday.
When Ron woke up on Sunday morning his leg felt much better. He walked to the bathroom without a limp for the first time that he could remember he was actually able to urinate while standing up. Ron wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t seen his mother since Friday afternoon. She tended to stay away from him when he was sick. He didn’t take this as a lack of love on her part, rather he felt that she was letting him heal and didn’t like seeing him injured. He would tell his aunt to call her today and say that he wasn’t limping anymore.
Back at the TV, Ron heard Harry Reasoner say that they were shifting away from the coverage in Washington to go to Dallas, where Lee Harvey Oswald was being moved to the county jail. Turmoil was breaking loose and the report was that Oswald had been shot. An ambulance pulled into the garage, Oswald was wheeled out on a stretcher. The reporter said that he was ashen and unconscious and not moving. They had to wait while the armored truck that was supposed to transport Oswald was moved out of the way. People climbed into the back of the ambulance with Oswald. There was shouting and the newsmen were being cordoned off away from the actual place where the ambulance sat idling.
Then the scene shifted back to New York and Reasoner said, “We have re-racked that video tape that shows that whole scene of confusion. We will now roll it and you can see it as it happened.” It was dark and a bit confused and two men led Oswald out when suddenly a man who was described as wearing a black hat and a brown coat rushed forward and shot Oswald in the stomach. Ron stared in numb horror. What was happening? Was the world completely crazy? He felt frightened. Ron heard the reporter say over and over again, “Oswald has been shot, Oswald has been shot!” Then Reasoner was there again and said they were going back to Dallas for live coverage. The reporter asked a man in a police uniform how many shots had been fired. The man said, “One shot.” The reporter asked if the man was known to him and he said, “Yes, he is.” The reporter said that he knew that the officer could not divulge the name but would he tell them what business the man was in. The policeman answered, “I’d rather not say.”
Abruptly, the scene shifted back to Washington and Jacqueline Kennedy was standing dressed in black with a black veil over her face. Her daughter Caroline was on her left and her son John was on her right. The casket was being loaded onto a caisson. They carried it out as band music played a mournful brass song that seemed to blare and echo in the halls of the building as the honor guard carried out the body of President Kennedy. Dorothy came into the room and sat down next to Ron.
“Someone shot Oswald.”
“I knew they would. They were never letting him out of Dallas alive.”
“It’s just crazy. I don’t know how I feel. I’m glad that he’d dead but Texas is just a bad place. They’re all crazy.”
“His wife looks beautiful,” said Dorothy. She was holding a cup of coffee in her hands and staring at the TV. She put her coffee down and lit a cigarette.
Jacqueline Kennedy walked to the casket and kneeled and kissed it while Caroline held the hem of the flag that was draping it. John wasn’t with them. The reporter said that she was saying her last goodbye for today.
“Why are they putting her through this?” Aunt Dot. “With everybody watching this way?”
“They don’t know any better,” she answered.
“I don’t understand. I don’t understand any of it.”
“She’s numb. She isn’t feeling anything right now. Her grief will really come later. I was her age when your Uncle Charlie died. He just went out one morning and then his brother called me and told me that he was dead.”
“How did he die?”
Dorothy drew in on her cigarette and said as she exhaled, “He had a cerebral hemorrhage?” This of course wasn’t true but she had, over the years, made it true by repeating it and not varying from it. If she ever told anyone the truth it would probably be Ronald, but he was still too young and if she told him now, he would tell his mother and she would start in again with questions and wanting to know what had happened to her father.
Then they were showing the footage of Oswald being shot and Dorothy thought that they led him right into it like he was an animal that was about to be slaughtered, but that was how it was down there.
“Will you tell my mom that my knee feels better?”
Dorothy looked at him and laughed in spite of the situation. “You mean tell her that it’s safe to come out now?”
Ron laughed too, then he felt bad for laughing while people were being shot and kissing caskets and losing their father. “She just gets upset when anything bad happens to me.”
“I’ll fix you some lunch,” said Dorothy. “Do you want to try to come to the table and eat it?”
“Yes.”
When Ron got back to the TV, it was two thirty in the afternoon. Cronkite was back. Ron wondered if he hadn’t been there on Sunday morning because he went to church. Church seemed very far away right now. Walter Cronkite reported that Lee Harvey Oswald was dead and that he had died in a room that was just ten feet from the room where President Kennedy had died. Cronkite said that he was taken down but a single bullet. Cronkite said that the man who shot Oswald had been identified as Jack Rubenstein who was known in Dallas as Jack Ruby. He had moved to Dallas from Chicago and ran two nightclubs there. He was fifty-two years old and was balding with black hair. Dallas police were reporting that they would charge him with the murder of Lee Harvey Oswald.
The scene shifted back to Washington and a reporter said in a subdued voice that just as Walter Cronkite had just reported that word was coming through to people in the Capital Plaza, many of whom had transistor radios and that a cheer had gone up from the far right hand side of the plaza. Ron didn’t feel like cheering but wondered if he should.
Then they were back in the studio and Dan Rather was showing a picture of Jack Ruby who had moved to Dallas from Chicago in 1948, and left his real name behind. He said that they were going to run a film that had been taken by George Phoenix who was a camera man. Rather directed the audience to pay particular attention to a man on the right, in the lower right hand corner who was wearing a black hat. Ron wondered why all the policemen down there wore white cowboy hats.
Rather narrated the scene as they showed it slow motion. Ron felt sick to his stomach. Then Cronkite was back saying that here was an associated press still photograph of Oswald just a split second before he was shot. Ruby’s hat looked gray with a black headband, Ron thought. He guessed that things just got confused in the heat of the moment.

Chapter 74
Practice was going smoothly. Ron was standing next to Artie Harris when James Fitzpatrick knocked Kirk Hammerfield off balance and he staggered and crashed into the back of Ron’s legs. Ron never saw it coming or even heard it. He was concentrating on a chart that Steve Ferry had given them on new line splits for the upcoming game with the Ghosts.
Ron heard the pop before he hit the ground. His face was in the grass. Electric shocks were shooting up his leg. His mind screamed, “Not again! Not again!” Everyone crowded around Coach Tuck who lay on the ground and tried not to cry or scream or move. It was his right knee. The one on which he had the second surgery. How could this be happening again?
Steve Ferry blew his whistle and hurried over to see what had happened. He looked at Artie. “Was he doing something stupid?”
Artie shook his head. “No, it was an accident. We were just standing here.”
“Can you stand up, Ron?” said Ferry.
“I’m not sure,” said Ron. His entire leg was throbbing with that all too familiar pain. Ron wanted to pound his head into the grass. He felt Artie and Steve left him up between them. The two brawny men accomplished this with ease. Ron weighed 175 pounds but he was a solid 175 and it wasn’t that easy to just lift him that way.
When they got him into the coaches’ room, Artie said “I’ve got something here that will help you.” He produced an immobilizer and fitted it to Ron’s leg outside of his pants. “This will keep you from aggravating it further until you can get to a doctor.”
“Maybe I won’t need a doctor.”
Artie looked into his eyes. “I heard it, Ronnie. I was standing right there.”

Chapter 75
“This is Walter Cronkite back in our CBS newsroom in New York. Lee Harvey Oswald the twenty-four year old, Marxist, pro-Castroite, which the Dallas police said they had a cinched case against, accused assassin of President Kennedy, was himself shot to death in Dallas an hour and a half ago.”
Ron saw the photograph in his mind. The still picture taken just before it all happened. One policeman, wearing a white hat and on his right, had his arm held open. The other policeman was gripping his left arm. The gun got stuck right into his ribs. He was confused. It looked so brutal.
Ron’s attention drifted back to the TV. Cronkite was saying that Rubenstein or Ruby as he was known in Dallas had no expressed political affiliations. Cronkite shifted to an interview that Dan Rather was conducting with a comedian who had been employed by Jack Ruby. The comedian said that he was a good guy who had always done right by him. Rather asked what kind of place the Carousel club was and the Comedian said that it was a nightclub that employed five or six exotic dancers. For a moment, involuntarily, Ron tried to picture exotic dancers. Then the comedian said that he had seen Lee Oswald in the Carousel Cub’s audience about eight or nine days ago. The Comedian, who was also an MC, was doing a memory exercise and he asked for audience participation. He remembered Oswald because he had participated. Rather asked if Oswald had been seen talking to Jack Ruby and the Comedian said that was fairly certain that Jack never knew that he was in the club. The Comedian said that he was sure that Jack Ruby carried a gun in a bag that he carried with him, regularly. He’d seen it once. It was small and short-nosed. Bill Demar said, “He carried it with him because he had the money.”
Rather asked, “Do you ever recall seeing any unsavory characters around the club?
“No,” the man who was now described as an Entertainer and MC for Jack Ruby.
The scene shifted to Washington and the large crowd of people who had been waiting were allowed to file passed the coffin, two abreast One of the soldiers who stood guard was wearing a green beret and the significance of his headpiece was described. The paintings that hung from the walls were described as being done by an aide to General Washington. They depicted four events that led up to the formation of the federal government. Ron felt his chest swell with pride. His country. His history. The line of people was endless. It was reported that for the next six to eight hours that the people would have a chance to say good-bye to their president by following this path. It was an endlessly mournful progression. People’s hearts brought them there and they just kept coming. It felt like the outpouring of a sea. They had to change the plans to close the doors to the Capitol Rotunda and the White House announced that the doors would remain open as long as there were people waiting to say goodbye. A flag draped the coffin. The honor guard could not help but stand at attention, even though they were allowed to stand at ease. The crowd advanced slowly like small people with large hearts. Together, everything about them was large. It was reported that President Eisenhower had worn a black armband yesterday in honor of his successor.
Then Cronkite sent the coverage back to Dallas and Dan Rather reported that there was yet a different angle to show the shooting of Oswald and ran that tape. It was like they couldn’t get enough of seeing him shot over and over and Ron wondered if there was some solace in seeing him killed again and again. Rather reported that more and more comments were coming in from friends of Jack Rubenstein and that they were all shocked by the event and that Jack Ruby had been able to shoot anyone. It was also reported that Rubenstein was known to many on the Dallas police force. Rather said that the truth seemed to be that Ruby was so well known to the Dallas police that no one thought anything of him being there. Ruby had been around the police station each day for the last several days offering to give reporters free drinks if they came to one of his clubs. Then Cronkite reported that Captain Will Fritz of the Dallas Police Department was now saying that with the death of Oswald the case of the assassination of President Kennedy was now closed. Cronkite reported that the death of Oswald came almost exactly forty-eight hours after Kennedy’s assassination and that it happened while eulogies were being said over the casket of the late President as it lay in state in the Capitol rotunda.
The scene shifted back and showed that the endless line of mourners was continuing to wait for their chance to pay last respects to Kennedy and that the line was flanked by blue uniformed policeman who stood at parade rest. So many people thought Ron and they all loved him. He could not grasp how so much love could be mixed with such a violent act. He felt the sadness and grief welling up inside of him again and tried to force it back. Ron wondered if they were mourning the TV images that had led them to believe that they knew this man or if they were mourning the loss of hope that he seemed to embody. Cronkite was now reporting that numerous threats against various officials in Dallas were coming in from all over the country. Most notably there had been anonymous threats sent to the mayor of Dallas and to members of the Dallas police force who had been shown on TV and to a lawyer who had defended Jack Ruby at a time before the killings. He had said on TV that if asked, he would defend Jack Rubenstein.

Chapter 76

Ron was having difficulty driving. He stretched his encased leg out across the hump in the middle of the floor of the squeak-mobile. He tried to work the pedals for the gas and break with his left leg but he was unaccustomed to using his left leg and it caused his body to be at an angle that had him staring almost out the driver’s side window rather than through the windshield. His leg was throbbing and the squeaking of the car seemed to announce him as damaged goods. He definitely could not drive on the highway like this and decided that he had no option other than to go to Celeste’s house.
Then he pictured Angel being frightened by the way that he looked and Anna holding it against him and taking it out on Celeste. He pulled his car over to the side of the road and unstrapped the Velcro that was holding the immobilizer in place. He reseated himself and drove home, painfully. He reattached the immobilizer and found that the stairs that had so difficult when he had previously hurt his knee, were now manageable, one step at a time.
He lay on his bed and took off the immobilizer and his pants. The sight of his knee caused a grimace to wash over him. It was swollen to the point of looking distorted. He limped into the kitchen for some ice and then dialed Celeste.
“Where are you?” she said.
“I’m home.”
Her voice sounded hurt. “I thought that you were coming for dinner. Angel has been sitting by the window waiting and listening for you.”
“I know. I didn’t want to frighten her.”
“What do you mean?”
“I got hurt at practice. There was an accident and I hurt my leg.”
Ron expected this to be greeted by anger. It wasn’t that he thought that Celeste was anything like his mother, but it was what he was used to.
“How badly are you hurt?”
“I don’t know. I’ll give a day or so and see what happens with the swelling.”
“I’m coming down there,” said Celeste.
“It’s late,” said Ron. “What about Angel?”
“There are plenty of people here to take care of Angel. You didn’t eat dinner did you?”
“No.”
“I’ll bring you some food. Stay off of it until I get there.”
Ron felt himself smiling for the first time since the injury occurred. She wanted to take care of him. Ron rolled a joint and smoked it while he waited for her. He did not think about calling his mother’s house. He would have to take off from work tomorrow. His book bag was still in the car and he needed to prepare assignments that he could leave for his students. His mind whirled. He didn’t need the book bag. He could tell them what he wanted them to do. It would be simple. He’d assign a vocabulary lesson to each of his freshman classes. It would require them to write something that they had to turn in at the end of the class and so it would be easy for the substitute. He had Sam’s home phone number.
It took Celeste about an hour to gather the things that she needed and a plate of food. Anna’s mother said, “What happened to him?”
“He had an accident at football practice. He’s had two knee surgeries already Mom. This could be bad.”
Anna was different in an emergency than she was in everyday things. He nursing training kicked in and that part of her brain worked quickly and logically. “Make sure you bring him something for the pain. Call me when you get there.”
Celeste smiled and kissed her mother’s fleshy cheek. She looked more worn than she usually did.
She knew it was bad the minute she saw the knee. The swelling was much more pronounced above the knee than it was below the knee but she could feel the heat there too and the softness of the flesh told her that there was fluid buildup below the knee cap as well.
Ron didn’t own a bed. What he did have was a mattress and box spring that were on the floor. It made getting up much more difficult. The high that he felt from the joint along with Celeste rubbing and squeezing his thigh caused him to have an erection. They both laughed when they saw it sticking up. She took it out of his underwear and said, “You just lie back and relax. It will make you feel better.” Ron obeyed and closed his eyes as she stroked him.

Chapter 77

Dan Rather was reporting that there was going to be a news conference conducted by the Dallas County District Attorney that would provide every shred of evidence that they had gathered in their case against Lee Oswald. Ron was thankful that Rather at least left the Harvey out. He couldn’t help but picture Jimmy Stewart talking to his imaginary friend Harvey who was a gigantic rabbit in a movie that he half remembered.
“This evidence was gathered largely by the Dallas police department which has done an excellent job on this with the help of some of the federal agencies. I’m going to go through the evidence piece by piece for you. Number one some of this you will already know and some you won’t, I don’t think. As all of you know there are a number of witnesses who saw the person on the sixth floor of the book store building. Then there is the window from which he was looking out. Inside this window there were a number of bookcases and packages piled up, hiding someone who was at the window from people on the same floor looking in. There were some boxes in back of the bookcases where the person was apparently sitting because he was seen from that window. On this box that the defendant was sitting on, a palm print was found and was identified as his. The three ejected shells were found right by the box. The shells were of an odd caliber and found to fit the gun that was lying on the floor. The gun was hidden on this same floor behind some boxes and bookcases. As you know the gun was found to have been purchased through a mail order house under an assumed name, Hidell, and mailed to a post office box here in Dallas. On his person was a pocketbook and in that pocketbook was found identification with the same name on it. Pictures were found. Pictures were found of the defendant with this gun and a pistol on his holster. Oswald was brought to Dallas from Irving by a neighbor. Usually on Monday but this time he came home a day early and returned the next day and said that Oswald was carrying a package under his arm. He told his neighbor that it was window shades. The wife said that he had the gun the night before ad that it was missing that morning after he left.”
Ron felt his face harden. He had the gun. They had pictures of him with the gun. He brought the gun to work. Ron was glad that he was dead. He was glad that the police had him killed by their friend. The District Attorney went on to say that immediately after the assassination, a police officer had tried to arrest him but that the manager had said that he was alright, that he worked in the building. The District Attorney continued saying that after all of the other employees had been identified, a description of Oswald, who was no longer in the building, went out. Then Oswald was seen on a bus, laughing very loudly and saying that the president had been shot. He then got off the bus and caught a taxi. He went to his home in Oak Cliff, changed his clothes hurriedly and left. As he left, three witnesses said they saw a police officer, Officer Tippet, motion to him and say something to him. He walked up to the car and the police officer got out of the car and Oswald shot him three times and killed him.
He was just a madman, thought Ron. He half expected to hear that drool had been running out of his mouth after he killed the cop. He was then seen walking across a vacant lot and reloading his pistol. One of the witnesses reported seeing him go into the Texas Theatre. He was approached the movie theater and one of the arresting officers reported that he put the gun to his head and pulled the trigger but that the gun hadn’t been reloaded properly and that the shell didn’t come out. Ron almost smiled. He had been too stupid to load the gun right. The District Attorney then corrected himself and said that Oswald had placed the gun to Officer Mac Donald’s head when it jammed. There was some confusion about whether the gun had misfired or whether the officer had prevented him from pulling the trigger. Henry Wade, the District Attorney, had then given the press all of the information that they had collected in their case against Oswald. Then Dan Rather showed the film of Oswald being shot again. Ron wanted him shot over and over. He wanted him to suffer the way that he was suffering and the rest of the country was suffering over this thing, this horrible thing that he’d done. Rather concluded, “It’s been that kind of day in grim, shamed Dallas.”
Ron slept on the sofa-bed. The light from the TV illuminated the room. Marjorie hadn’t come there but she’d called and said that she would be there sometime on Monday. It was a national day of mourning. Everything was closed. Dorothy sat in her parlor smoking. She couldn’t bring herself to sleep in the same room as her third husband for one more night.
There had been times when she had thought about asking Marjorie to just let Ronald live with her, but she wasn’t sure that she had the energy for him. And Marjorie would never have agreed. There were few things that she couldn’t impose upon Marjorie. One was to stop asking questions about who her father had been and what had happened to him. The other would be to ask her to give up Ronald.
Dorothy’s first husband had been Mickey Fairmount. He was a boxer and she was twenty and wanting to escape the drudgery of caring for the young brothers and sisters that he father and weak mother were imposing upon her. She wanted out and she wanted better.
Mickey took her travelling with him. She met Jack Dempsey and George Bellows and Sugar Ray Robinson, who had the audacity to stare at the shimmy of her hips and lick his lips. Mickey was a lightweight and he took a lot of punches before he was able to use his hammer of a right hand to end a fight. Dorothy was excited by the sheer power of his masculinity and then she saw it decline and he started losing his eyesight. He only hit her once and it was out of frustration, but his blow had broken two of her ribs and sent her to a hospital. She had kept her mouth shut and sent herself flowers and when she was released, she left him. The cigarette smoke wafted over to encase the Chines man who was sitting by the pond with his ever hopeful fishing rod extended. She’d used nail polish to coat his fishing line in gold. It was just the right shade, a dulled burnish that fit with the muted surroundings.
Frank Hess had been another story altogether. She loved her second husband with a passion that caused her to accept whatever it took just to be close to him. Then the egotistical son-of-a-bitch had gotten himself killed. She lit another cigarette. This Kennedy thing had gotten to her in an unexpected way. Sure, she understood politics, but she understood it in a way that she could work it to her advantage. Frank had taught her that. He always told her that it was just a game about power and that power meant currency. That was his word, currency. She’d asked Frank if he didn’t just mean money. “There’s lots of kinds of money, Dot,” had been his answer. Frank was a gangster. She knew that. He had girlfriends and she knew that. The life that he showed her was an answer to her dreams and she knew that as well.
The procession came out of a gate that went passed Lafayette Park where a crowd had been waiting for several hours. Some of them had waited all night to file passed the President’s coffin and then they came here. The lonely procession carrying Jacqueline Kennedy, and Attorney General Robert Kennedy and Senator Ted Kennedy who stepped out of the black limousine. She wore a veil of heavy mourning and they wore formal mourning coats. She knelt. They stood. None of them tarried there.
A military guard brought the casket out to the east front. Behind the flag bearers walked two priests. The band played Hail to the Chief as the casket emerged. Ron felt his heart fill. That song was followed by a mournful version of Let Freedom Ring. The brothers and widow returned to their car. Robert was holding her hand. Ted walked a pace behind them. The sound of the hooves of the seven horse drawn caisson dominated. It was followed by a rider-less black horse. Then there were just muted drums. The procession made its way down Pennsylvania Avenue, which Ron heard called the Avenue of the Presidents for the first time. Then he could hear the drums and the hooves. The picture never changed. The casket was draped in an American flag. The caisson rolled smoothly. The pace was excruciating and Ron wanted to turn away but couldn’t. Then there were the sounds of coordinated boots marching. It blended with the hooves and the drums and the bells that now intoned with mournful remark. Then there were commands and a snap to of swords and guns was heard moving crisply from one position to the next. The bagpipes of the Black Watch drowned it all out in an eerie song of death.
The brothers and widow followed along behind on foot. They were followed by other members of the family and then President Johnson. Ron wanted to gag when he heard him called that. Dignitaries followed in no particular order. These were heads of state who had come to pay respect from their countries. Queen Fredrica of Greece was the only other woman who was scheduled to walk in the procession.

Chapter 78

Dr. Wilson Fulack was the first person that Celeste thought might be a good idea. After a night of ice, Ron made it downstairs with the immobilizer on his leg and then unstrapped it when he got into his red Ford. The ride up wasn’t horrible although pressing on the break caused him to wince and the position required of his leg caused it to throb by the time he got onto the parkway. At least there wouldn’t be any braking for a while. It was smooth shot to Bergen County.
Ron reapplied the immobilizer in front of Celeste’s house. She’d heard squeak and was out the door before he got himself out of the car. She walked over and said, “Can we take your car?”
“Sure.” Ron had never sat in the passenger seat before and it felt strange. The squeaks seemed louder. The ride seemed bumpier. It was a short ride to Fulack’s office.
The doctor removed the immobilizer and asked, “Where did you get this?”
“I’m a football coach,” said Ron. “We have a couple of them in case of emergencies.”
“This is an old style and the wrong size, but I have something that will help you.”
Ron knew what was coming and he wasn’t disappointed. Fulack pressed and twisted and bent his knee and Ron could not help but cry out.
“When did you have this open knee?”
Ron stared at the zipper on his right leg. The memories that it brought back were brutal. “When I was nineteen, that’s fourteen years ago.”
“And the other leg?”
“The year before when I was eighteen.”
“Things have changed quite a bit since then. We rarely cut into knees like this anymore, unless it’s a torn ligament or a reconstruction. Were they meniscus tears in both knees?”
“Yes,” said Ron, “but they also found bone chips and a benign tumor in my left knee.”
“Alright,” said Fulack. “I want to do an arthrogram of your knee. There is quite a bit of swelling so it will be necessary to do an aspiration first. Then we will inject the knee with a dye and use a fluoroscope to get a good look at it.”
Ron wanted to scream. He knew what an aspiration was. He had been subjected to more than twenty of them before surgery was done on his left leg. They were excruciating. He must have gone pale because Celeste said, “Will you be numbing his knee first?”
Dr. Fulack chuckled. “Of course. Why would anyone aspirate a knee without numbing it first?”
Ron stayed silent and Celeste spoke. “His was done repeatedly without anesthetic.”
“Well, surely we don’t do that anymore.”
Ron felt a sense of relief. Fulack walked to his phone and buzzed his nurse. The procedure was scheduled for the next day.
“Were you hurt on the job, Ron?”
“We were at football practice.”
“Are you a paid coach?”
“Yes, I get a stipend.”
“You’ll want to file a workman’s comp case then.”
“What does that mean?”
Celeste and Fulack exchanged a look. “If you are hurt at work you are entitled to compensation. Make sure that you have filed an accident report. It will all be paid for by your employer Ron.”
Ron felt fear. Suppose they fired him for getting hurt? Suppose they took away his honors class? “I’m not sure I want to do that.”
“Your employer carries insurance, Ron. They’ll expect it.”

Chapter 79
Luigi Vena sang Ave Maria in the church and underneath it the gritty voice of Cardinal Cushing could be heard praying in Latin. A group of priests with white lace tops covering their cassocks assisted. When it came time to read the gospel, a commentator in hushed tones, who was not Cronkite, told the people watching that this was the most solemn part of the mass and that all would stand in respect for the word of God. Ron wondered why he said that. The consecration was the most important part of the Mass. Ron felt Catholic.
The commentator translated. “As we offer our fruits and praise to God, we pray to God for John Fitzgerald Kennedy, the servant of God, that he may be given everlasting rest.”
The Communion precession began with his widow and brothers and then other moved up and opened their mouths and extended their tongues to receive the sacrament. They read passages from scripture that Kennedy loved and then the procession continued out of the church to Arlington National Cemetery, but first the Cardinal sprinkled holy water over the coffin and kissed the flag that draped it. Ron burst into tears when Kennedy’s three year old son saluted the casket of his father. It was explained that the children were deemed too young to attend the burial and that this is where they would say goodbye to their father. The tears were hot on his face and he didn’t try to wipe them away. He mouthed the words to the song that the band played. “Praise him all creatures here below. Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost.” St Mathews Cathedral was bathed in sunlight that contrasted with the black bunting that was draped over the door.
Then the tolling of bells and the distinct command to “Present arms.” The muffled drums began again as the caisson began to slowly roll. They moved down Rhode Island Avenue. People in overcoats lined the streets on both sides. Most of the women wore hats. Many of the men, in the fashion change popularized by Kennedy, did not. The funeral dirge moaned. The white gravestones of the cemetery stood in endless rows. The camera pulled back to show its proximity to the Lincoln Memorial and the Potomac River.
When the caisson was pulled to a stop, a band played, “Hail to the Chief.” Ron could almost feel the chill in the air as the brass notes rang out over the graves. Was there such a thing as another world? Was there an awareness? Ron wondered if this wasn’t what people did because, like him, they didn’t know what else to do. That song was followed by the Star Spangled Banner. Ron thought that it sounded proudly defiant. Everyone was standing still although Jacqueline seemed to be wavering just a bit. Ron wondered how much she was expected to take.
The bagpipes of the United States Air Force Bagpipe Contingent moaned and wailed as the men marched over the hill. They accompanied the casket as it was removed from the caisson. They carried it what seemed like a long way. Ron admired their strength and endurance and it caused him to look at his knee. Through his pants, it seemed just like the other. Jets in multiple combinations of threes flew over the grave. There were places for just a few people to sit while others stood in back of them. More jets flew overhead drowning out the voice of the commentator. The voice of Cardinal Cushing, in its rasping tone, invoked a blessing upon the grave. The flag had been stretched taunt over the casket during the blessing and now it was folded and music played again. The folds were precise and practiced. The flag changed hands many times and each time it was saluted before it was accepted. The music rose in a crescendo and Ron felt like he was watching a spectacle. It was a live and real spectacle, but that was what it was. Jacqueline, holding the folded flag under her arm, lit the flame. Holding her hand, Robert Kennedy led her away. The commentator’s simple statement was, “Now the president belongs to the ages.”

End of Part 2

Part 3
Chapter 80

Hank, Ron, and Robin sat in a circle on the floor around a coffee table smoking a joint in their apartment. It was very good pot, the kind with a golden tinge and a deep resin, which blackened the sides of the white Zig-zag in which it was rolled. They were listening to a new album from The Eagles. Hank bought it from the music store where he worked.
Robin stopped smoking halfway through the joint and sipped white wine from a delicately shaped pink glass that was shaped like a large V. She held it in both hands and grinned as she stared at their faces and listened to the music.
Ron rolled another joint as soon as they had finished the first. Hank said, “I can’t, man. I have to go to work.”
Robin smiled to herself and wished that they could get rid of him. It had been Ron’s idea to have him live with them. It allowed them to afford a much nicer apartment, but she didn’t like Hank and she hated the loss of privacy.
Ron lit the second joint and Hank walked on his toes to his room where he put on his shoes and walked down the stairs from their second floor apartment, got into his tan VW and was gone.
This was their third apartment together. The first had been when they decided to live together and spent a summer in Rahway, staying in Warren Lashly’s room while he was in Greece. Then they moved to Elizabeth and had a place that Robin loved in Bayway, but Ron hated it and found this place and convinced her to have Hank live with them. It was a nice apartment. Robin loved living with Hank’s two cats, Leni and Bob. She was going to school in New York City and working full time in Westfield. Her days were long and busy and she liked it that way. It made the weekends seem like so much more of a pleasure.
Ron was working an insurance scam that paid him $5000 a year, and was going to school at a State College. As he smoked the joint, he stroked the side of her face with the backs of the fingers of his left hand. Then he dipped his finger into her glass and coated her lips with the sweet, dry wine. He put down the joint and kissed her.
Robin moved into his lap and curled her arms around his neck. He felt the press of her breasts against his chest. The kiss was long. She gazed into his green eyes and saw them tinged with the red that came from the smoke. Then she stood up and slid her panties down as he watched her. She was wearing a light cotton summer dress that was loose and covered in small flowers. She straddled his lap, undid his belt, pulled down his zipper, found him hard and slid him into her. His hands squeezed her cheeks as she bobbed up and down like a happy cork on the ocean.
Then they heard the door open and heard footsteps on the stairs. Abruptly, she pulled off of him, picked up her panties and hurried into their bedroom while Ron fumbled with his pants. Hank didn’t come back into the living room but went to his room, picked up the check that he had forgotten and left the apartment again without a word.
Ron found her sitting on the bed.
“This isn’t working, Ron.”
“I know.”
“This is what you wanted. This is what you created. Fix it.”
“How do you want me to fix it?”
She fixed him with a hard stare. “Get rid of him or help me find my own place.”
Ron’s face looked hurt. His long brown hair was covering his right eye and he lifted it back over his ear. “You would want to live somewhere without me?”
Robin thought, how could he be so smart and at the same time so dense? She enunciated very clearly and spoke slowly in a very small voice. “No, Ron but I’m unhappy. You promised that if I was unhappy that I wouldn’t have to stick with it. When you were unhappy in Elizabeth, we moved, didn’t we?”
“He’s been my friend for a long time. I can’t just kick him out.”
“Do you love me?”
“You know I love you.”
“Do you like seeing me unhappy?”
“I didn’t know that you were unhappy.”
“Then you haven’t been paying attention.”
Robin knew that last thing would stick in his head. He hated the idea that he might be missing something. She watched his eyes flicker and saw his brain working.
“Can we wait until after the semester is over?”
“Maybe you can. I can’t.”
Ron reached out for her, but she pulled away and got off the bed. “I’m really not in the mood right now, Ron.” She grinned to herself. Leaving him flustered like this was fun and he never saw her doing it until it was too late. “I’m taking a ride down to see my mother.”
Ron nodded. She knew that he wouldn’t want to go with her there. Let him think about what she had said a little bit.
Robin still wasn’t back when Hank came home from work. Ron had two rolled joints waiting. Hank made himself a cup of coffee. He didn’t ask where Robin was. He didn’t realize that he had almost walked in on them.
Halfway through the first joint, Ron said, “Hank, we gotta move.”
“Where do you want to go?” said Hank.
“It’s not where exactly. Robin and I need to be alone. This just isn’t working anymore. It isn’t natural. It isn’t fair to her.”
Hank stopped smoking the joint and lit a cigarette. Ron lit one too. “So it’s her idea?”
Ron tried to look him in the eye. He said, “No, it’s our idea.”
They heard the front door open and shut and heard Robin on the stairs. The cats ran to greet her, tails up straight. They heard her talking to the cats on the stairs.
“Robin, can you come in here a minute?”
She came into the room, smelled the pot and said, “Give me a few minutes.”
Ron said, “I was just telling Hank that we needed to live alone.”
Ron and Hank looked at each other as they waited. Their friendship had been long and strong. Hank was not doing well. He’d stopped confiding his feelings to Ron after he realized that Ron shared everything that he said with Robin. Hank understood that she wanted him gone. They’d lived together almost a year. They had both tried, but there was no place for them to connect other than Ron and she wanted him for herself. Ron’s face showed Hank that he just wanted to get this over with.
Robin put on the light flowered dress and took her panties off. Ron was going to go to sleep a happy boy tonight. He’d listened to her.
Hank said, “It’ll take me a while to find a new place.”
Robin slid down next to Ron and parted her thighs slightly. She touched his arm. “How long do you think it will take, Hank?” She tried to say it gently. She knew she was being impatient and that she had let it go on too long and that now what was becoming haste had really been pent up frustration.
“I don’t know yet. I’ll look around. I’ll keep to myself until then.”
Ron felt a pang but Robin squeezed his arm ever so promisingly.
Hank got up and put his cigarettes into the breast pocket of his button down shirt. “Goodnight.”
Ron and Robin exchanged a grin when he was gone. She said, “I didn’t think that you’d do it that fast.”
Ron put his head down. “You said that you’d live somewhere else.”

Chapter 81

The radio was playing Goodbye Yellow Brick Road. Elton John sang, “Maybe you’ll get a replacement. There’s plenty like me to be found. Mongrels who ain’t got a penny, sniffing for tidbits like you…”
The music escalated and his voice rose. Ron thought about his class. He’d been reading Keats. He’d typed out a verse from Ode to a Nightingale and taped it over his desk on the wall. He wondered what Keats would have thought of the song. He wouldn’t have known about the Wizard of Oz.
Now the radio was playing Desperado and Ron rode along on the sound of the vocal and its simple words. He wasn’t getting any younger either. He was almost twenty-four and still didn’t have a degree.
Like it always was, the parking lot was packed. Ron searched up and down the long rows of cars and finally would up rolling slowly along next to a student who was on the way back to her car. The walk to the class was a long one and Ron slung his book bag over his shoulder and walked quickly. He liked to move at a good pace and especially liked blowing passed people who were meandering.
The class was on the top floor of a large square brick building. He settled into his desk and waited. The professor was a short, heavy-set man with very curly hair. His name was Grant Pritchard and his reputation for being a good history teacher was accurate. The class waited while he set up the projector.
“Abraham Zapruder purchased a Bell and Howell Zoomatic camera in November of 1962. The camera was relatively new and he didn’t use it much. This was the original cartridge that came with the film. The first twenty five feet of the film are family shots that were taken on his patio.”
Ron thought about the sheet that Rocky used to hang in their basement apartment so that they could watch the videos that he took with his camera. Then he shoved those memories away, like he always did.
“He told his family that he was bringing his camera to work that day so that he could film the president’s motorcade. It was quite by chance that he was there and the record that he made was a coincidence that has provided the most valid argument to date about the assassination of John Fitzgerald Kennedy. We’re going to watch that film, which until recently has not been available to the public.”
Ron had seen the Zapruder film a few years ago in Quimpy’s garage apartment. It was Quimpy who had first told him about an author named Mark Lane. Quimpy had told him about Harold Weisberg’s Whitewash and Josiah Thompson’s Six Seconds in Dallas. Ron read all three books and knew where Grant Pritchard was going.
“At the time of the assassination, Zapruder screamed to his secretary, ‘They killed him. They killed him.’ Later he was heard saying, ‘I know he’s dead. I saw his head explode like a firecracker. It’s the worst thing that I have ever seen.”
Ron remembered the part of the film where Kennedy’s head exploded and a flash could be seen coming from the front of his brain when the bullet struck. He wasn’t sure that he ever wanted to see it again.
Pritchard stopped speaking and ran the film. The classroom was dark and silent. When the bullet hit Kennedy, he heard gasps coming from his classmates. Pritchard stopped the film and then ran it back to the seconds after Kennedy’s car emerged from in back of a sign. He painstakingly went through each frame, showing Kennedy grabbing both hands to his throat. Jacqueline was reaching for him. He slumped against her shoulder and then the shot blew his brains all over the back seat of the car and her. She tried to crawl out of the back of the limousine and a Secret Service agent climbed on the trunk of the car. The flowers that she had been carrying flew into the air. She fell onto the backseat floor of the car, which was now speeding off.
“This is what truly happened to our President,” said Pritchard. “Seeing this film makes it impossible to believe that the President was shot from the rear, where Oswald is said to have been. The question is why the government of the United States has kept these frames of the film a secret for the last ten years and why they covered up the assassination of the President of The United States.”
When the class was over, Ron stayed behind to talk with Pritchard. He told the professor about the books that he had read and that how his friend had been researching the assassination for more than eight years now.
“Would you be interested in doing some work for the Assassination Information Bureau?”
Ron thought about that. He was pursuing a degree in English. This wasn’t going to have anything to do with that. He was going to have to think about supplementing his income now that he and Robin were getting rid of Hank. That was also going to take some time, but Ron found himself nodding and saying, “Yeah, I’d like that a lot. The more people that know the better our chances of knowing what happened are going to be.”
“There’s a lot more information out there now than there was back in the ‘60’s,” said Pritchard. I’d like you to familiarize yourself with some of it. There will be a meeting of those who are going to work with the Bureau this Saturday night at my house.”
Ron looked at the list of books that Pritchard had given to him. There was one by Sylvan Fox. There was a book by Jessie Curry whose name and face Ron would never forget. It was entitled His Personal JFK File. The Assassination of JFK, the Reasons Why was a book written by Albert Newman. A Citizens Dissent: Mark Lane Responds to Defenders of the Warren Commission. Ron’s eyes scanned the list. He didn’t have time to read all of these. He wondered if he should just forget this idea and go back to his literature and poetry and the things that he had decided to do with his life.

Chapter 82

Paulo DeFreio sat his class in a circle. They were reading Thomas Mann’s The Magic Mountain. It was a strange story. Hans Castorp had gone to visit his cousin in a sanatorium that was designed for people who had tuberculosis. They had found symptoms of the disease on his lungs and he’d been invited to stay for the cure. He was falling in love with a Russian girl.
Ron’s mind whirled. He was in love with a Russian girl. Robin Ravelka was unmistakably Russian. Ron felt like Hans. Kennedy faded away. Herman Greenfield Horvack sat in the circle too. So did Anthony Fiangelo. And Victor Strauss. They read and they understood. Herman was in charge of the school’s literary magazine. Paulo DeFreio was the advisor. Ron’s finger followed along as he read.
His other classes included a seminar in the American Presidency and a Creative Writing class and a study of Western Drama. His Creative Writing teacher had recently published an article in Playboy. Ron thought that he was a lucky, self-centered, consumptive prick. The prick liked the way that Ron wrote and thought. Paulo DeFreio did as well, but he was experienced enough to dangle his approval and then withhold it.
DeFreio conducted close examination of the text, in some instances going line by line to point out nuances and help his students to see the way that the writer created a portrait. Ron was having trouble concentrating on The Magic Mountain. It was indeed a Mountain of a book with many long reveries that happened when Castorp lay bundled under blankets on his outdoor balcony, inhaling the cold, crisp mountain air that led him to dream. Ron’s mind kept wandering back to Grant Pritchard’s class and the Zapruder film and then it took a shift.
He’d been home with his mother and was watching an episode of Firing Line. It had been six or so years ago. Ron’s fascination with William F. Buckley Jr. had been something that he kept secret. His college friends would dismiss Buckley as a tight assed right winger who had defended racist points of view during the Civil Rights Movement, supported the unjust war in Viet Nam and literally looked down his nose at most people. Ron never mentioned his like of Buckley to his high school friends, who already thought that he was an alien that they had to tolerate. His pool hall buddies would not have had the slightest idea who Buckley was nor would they have cared, but Ron did like him. It was the only TV program that he ever watched with an open dictionary sitting next to him on the floor.
Buckley was interviewing Mark Lane who had written Rush to Judgment. Lane and he had jousted over the larger questions of trust and Lane had thanked Buckley for a favorable review of his book in Buckley’s magazine The National Review. He remembered two things that Buckley had said. The first was that the Right wished that Oswald had been a Communist agent sent by Moscow and that the Left wanted Oswald to be a southern racist. The second thing was that he cared much less about who killed Kennedy than the fact that Kennedy was dead. Wasn’t there a place where Ron believed that also? Then he remembered that Buckley also had supported the release of the autopsy photographs. He came back from his reverie to find the class staring at him.
“Ron,” said DeFreio, “you seem to be lost in thought.”
Ron blushed. “I am. I’m sorry. I apologize.”
DeFreio bristled quietly. He’d told Ron what he’d thought of him as a special student. He’d smoked pot with Ron at his house in Montclair. Paulo expected him to try to contribute to the class or at least to give it his attention.
DeFreio asked patiently, “What do you think Mann means by the tempo of experience?”
“I think that he means that our minds control the speed at which we experience time. I think that he means that some experiences repeat on us, like indigestion and that others are treasured and enhanced by the way that we feel about them and remember them.”
“And how do you see that portrayed in the novel?”
“I think that love makes him stupid and is ruining his life. He treasures an x-ray of her lungs as a token of her love for him.”
“Did it occur to you that Mann might be using a form of satire?”
Ron laughed. “I don’t find a nook that’s more than 700 pages long to be particularly funny.”
The class chuckled and DeFreio laughed along with them. He said in his best European accented voice, “Not everything is meant to be gulped down and chugged like beer. Some books are meant to be sniffed, sipped, and rolled around in the mouth before swallowing. You might think of it as a glass of brandy that is meant to last all night.”
“Ok,” said Ron. “I’ll try not to chug it.”
After the class ended a small group of them went for coffee. DeFreio went along with them and they seat around a table in the student center.
Herman Horvack was an emaciated blonde with a prematurely receding hairline. He had a love of decadence which he touted as the savior of the culture. “The magazine is almost ready to be proofed,” he said.
“Bring it by my office and I’ll take a last look at it when you have it ready,” said DeFreio. “Ron, can I bum a cigarette?”
It amused Ron that DeFreio refused to buy his own pack but always bummed smokes. He handed it to him and as DeFreio lit one, he said, “So what has your mind wandering?”
Another Fiangelo quipped, “Either drugs or some girl would be my bet.”
Herman looked at Ron, “You’ve got to stop smoking that crap. It clouds your brain.”
“It helps me to write,” said Ron. “I can block everything else out when I smoke.”
“You only think that it helps you. If you stopped doing it, you would remember your dreams better and they are a more fertile reservoir.” Hovack’s newest form of decadence was denial of any intoxicants of any kind. He talked about it before. Ron thought that it sounded boring. He justified his thinking by telling himself that Horvack had no girlfriend.
“Actually I was thinking about the Kennedy Assassination.”
“I truly believe that there is no more trite a subject upon which to waste your reveries,” said Herman.
Fiangelo said, “It’s all a crock of shit.” Fiangelo had been scrambled in Viet Nam. There was an undercurrent of violence in much of what he said and his typical line of dismissal was that the topic was a crock.
Victor Strauss looked over at Ron. “Why were you thinking about that?”
Ron shrugged. “I don’t know. Grant Pritchard showed the Zapruder film in his class and I’m thinking about doing some work with the Assassination Information Bureau.”
“A crock of shit,” said Fiangelo.
“Did you think that about the Pentagon Papers too?” said Ron.
“What I thought about them was that not fucking one of my friends was any less dead by knowing that we were fucked in the ass for having to go there. It didn’t get one person home safely. So yeah, it was a crock of shit too.”
Victor Strauss said, “But the assassination might make for a good science fiction story.”
Ron had no desire to write science fiction or prose of any kind. He hated writing essays. He was a poet. “So Herm,” Ron called Horvack Herm because he knew that it pissed him off. “Did any of my stuff make the magazine?”
DeFreio and Horvack exchanged a grin. “You know that I’m not supposed to tell you that.”
“Careful Herman,” said Fiangelo. “He’ll let Robin bite you again.”
That brought laughter from everyone. Robin found Herman Greenfield Horvack incredibly pretentious. During one of his one way lectures on the aesthetics of decadence, she has casually taken his hand and sunk her teeth into it while he was in mid-sentence. Herman had recoiled and now referred to Robin as “the little savage.”

Chapter 83
Robin let Ron sleep in. The night before, she had urged him to pound into her and met his need with the hot, frenzied thrusts of her hips. She’d slept on the wet spot that they’d created. She woke him with kisses between his shoulder blades. She brought him breakfast. “Do you know what you’re going to read?”
Ron felt his sleepy haze slowly disappear. “Yeah, I have about fifteen things.” He paused and watched her bite into a fig. Her teeth were sharp and fingers caressed the skin as she chewed in small bites. “Is there something special that you want to hear me read?”
“Leni’s poem.”
Ron smiled. “Ok, I’ll read that first.”
Ron was scheduled to do three sets. There was a rock band a comedian and him. He was paid twenty-five dollars. He stared out at the audience. There were more than sixty people. “This is a poem that I wrote about a cat who comes and goes as she pleases. The problem is that she is a black cat and causes people to have odd reactions.” Ron smiled. “We spend quiet time together, sometimes.” He glanced at Robin. “Sometimes” was their favorite word. It meant that sometimes I want to sleep with you. Sometimes I want you to leave me alone. Sometimes you make me angry. Sometimes I want to hurt you. She smiled up at him from her chair. He wasn’t sure what they had communicated, only what he felt.
He read Leni’s poem.
“A piece of cheese, very small, turned up on its end and stuck to the floor
Attracted a black cat with licked white paws.”
Ron smiled and paused to let the image sink in. “Raw chopped meat excited her more. She made sounds that I was attracted to.”
Ron blinked and heard Leni purr. “It sounded friendly, and I wanted to stay, so I gave her some more cheese.”
He pictured the kitchen where this had happened. He was barefoot, standing at the sink with a paring knife and a cutting board. “She licked it. She liked it.” His eyes searched for Robin and she was grinning for him. “More than the first piece she had seen.”
Ron stared out at his audience and tried to gather them all in. “I was ecstatic. I had made a friend that I could keep and tell her so, out loud. She would agree and nod her head and make such friendly sounds.” He had them. It was the erotic and playful nature of his words.
Ron took a breath, searched for Robin’s eyes and said, “I dropped some bread, and she gave it a clout, raised her head, licked her chin, turned around and walked out.” Ron quietly shuffled the pages to let them know that the poem was over and then he heard applause.
It was a long night. Ron had to read some things twice. He read stories a prose poem and ad-libbed an ending so that he had something new to read. But he saved one for the last set.
“This is a poem that I wrote in honor of the films of Federico Fellini. I don’t know why I have called him Fellinea in the poem except that the syllables sounded right coming out of my mouth.” Ron read.
“Fellinea wake, come close and hear. Your mind’s been rented for another year. To beat your breast and dance around with the confetti streamers of a priestly clown.” Ron saw the dance. He felt the dance. He breathed. “Life is a child that sucks and leaves life grown older, depleted and meek. Life in days worn cold and thin. Fellinea see? I’ve come home again.”
Ron had read this poem for the first time in a class he took at the New School for Social Research. His instructor, Adam Fitzgerald, was about to have poems published in The New Yorker. He smiled condescendingly and told Ron that his poem had a lot of life in it.
Ron felt and afterglow of excitement as he and Robin drove home. “So what did you think?”
“I thought you were great except I thought that they made you read too long. You read for almost two hours.”
Ron laughed. “I know. Kind of strange to be on the bill with a rock band and a comedian.”
Robin took his hand. “I think it was kind of a tribute to you that you were able to hold your own.” She slid his hand under her long suede skirt and between her legs. She knew that he enjoyed playing with her as he drove, and tonight she was proud of him and wanted to make him very happy.
Ron was feeling on top of the world. Maybe he had really, finally found his place in the world again. He hadn’t felt this good since he played football. Then Robin moved his hand away and reached down and lowered his zipper. He popped right out and she giggled. She liked looking at it. Every once in a while she stroked it just once. She liked it when he got this hard. He would do anything that she told him to do.

Chapter 84
Ron went back to school with yet another doctor’s note for an elevator pass. Brother Kelly said, “What seems to be the difficulty this time Tuck?”
“I had my knee drained, Brother. The doctor is hoping that this will be the end of the problems with it.”
Brother Kelly was not smiling when he said, “We are all hoping that will be the case Mr. Tuck. I see that you have been missing lots of school. You are probably way behind in all of your subjects.”
“Yes, Brother.”
“Keep your head down and your mouth shut and do your work, Mr. Tuck.”
Things were decidedly different at the school. The Brothers were based in Ireland and they were in a foul mood. The students had been cooped up in their houses for days. It just didn’t seem right to allow them to go outside and play while the country was in mourning, but now it was time to get back to work and get on with life, such as it was.
Brother O’Shea greeted Ron by showing him the last quiz that he had taken. Ron stared at the 59 that was written and red and circled at the top of the page. “You didn’t expect that I had forgotten about this, did you Mr. Tuck?”
Ron blurted, “I forgot about it, Brother.”
“Let’s see if I can help you remember then. Hands or cheeks?”
Ron looked at him with a confused expression that turned his face into a question mark. O’Shea pulled the strap from inside the cord that bound his cassock at the waist.. He closed his eyes when he heard the hiss. The smack of the belt turned his left hand white hot and then cold and numb. He teetered back and forth on his feet and watched this time as the strap came down on the palm of his right hand. He yelped when it struck. His palms were sweating profusely as he tried to rub feeling back into them on the sides of his pants.
“You’ll be ready to take the quiz that you missed tomorrow,” said O’Shea.
“Brother, I’m not prepared.”
O’Shea looked down at the red circled 59 on the quiz until he was sure that the boy saw him looking at it and was now looking at it too. “You’ve already demonstrated that, haven’t you Mr. Tuck?”
“Yes, Brother.”
Ron was having trouble gripping his pencil and he could feel the blood rushing in his ears which also felt hot and red. To make things worse, he didn’t understand any of what O’Shea was talking about. He was saying that if you did the same thing to either side of the equation that the equation remained the same and that by manipulating both sides that you could solve the equation.
Between classes Bob Foster said, “We’re all screwed now.”
“What do you mean?”
“They’re pissed off about Kennedy.”
The motorcade and the drums and the bagpipes and the endless repetitions of Oswald being shot seemed to have happened in another world, a place where he felt loved and safe and ate cookies. In Latin, Brother Delban ran through endless declensions on nouns. They were boring and his mind wandered. He was lost in a reverie about being able to run and feeling unstoppable when he heard his name being said like it was being repeated. It startled him and the class laughed.
Brother Delban said, “Well, not only are you not here very often Mr. Tuck. It seems that when you are here do don’t feel the need to grace us with your attention. Delban rapped his knuckles down on the top of Ron’s head and said, “Pay” the knuckles raised and came down again, “attention” there were two more raps. His hands had just stopped hurting and know there was a throbbing pain at the top of his head. He rubbed it with his palm and tried to concentrate better.

Chapter 85
Ron awoke from the anesthetic with an immobilizer on his leg and it made him want to scream. He’d thought that somehow, because it was this new kind of surgery, that his leg would finally be free and that he would be able to walk. The hospital bed’s side rails had been pulled up and he needed to urinate. He pressed the buzzer. Celeste walked into the room. She looked radiant.
Ron said, “I need to get out of this bed.”
Celeste just nodded and lowered the side rail. She helped him to stand. He tried not to put too much weight on her as he hobbled. The immobilizer actually helped with his balance. Celeste said, “I’ll give you some privacy,”
Celeste convinced the doctor that he could go back to her house after he’d urinated.
The ride to Celeste’s house was slow and a bit painful. Ron felt every bump in the road shoot through his leg like a knife. Celeste tried to drive carefully as they squeaked back to her house.
Ron was quiet and stared out the window. It had been a never ending battle and he seemed to lose each one. Each time they went into one of his knees, he felt like he lost a little more. He could feel the dark cloud of it around him. Three surgeries were too many intrusions.
Celeste debated how to tell him what Dr. Fulack had said privately to her. She knew some of his history with knees bit this was the first time that she was experiencing it with him. She got him downstairs and brought him a plastic container that he could use to urinate. The look of sheer disgust that crossed his face when she showed it to him, told her that something deeper was going on with him. She gave him a pain pill. Ron grimaced at the sight of it.
“It doesn’t hurt right now.”
“And you want to keep it that way. The best thing to do is to stay ahead of the pain.”
“I’ll put up with the pain if I can get well faster,” said Ron.
“One thing has nothing to do with the other, Ron.”
“What do you mean?”
Ron shrugged. “They told me that the sooner I got off of the pain meds, the sooner I could get out of the hospital the last two times.”
Now it was Celeste’s turn to feel disgusted. The level of medical care that he had been given was slightly and she meant only slightly better than he would have gotten as a side of beef in a butcher shop. “That just isn’t true and they shouldn’t have told you that. I can’t believe that a doctor really said that to you.”
“A lot of things that I have been told about my knees are hard to believe. Did I ever tell you that I don’t think that I really needed the second surgery?”
Celeste looked a little shocked. “Why do you think that?”
“Well, I hurt it playing football up in Glen Ridge when I was a senior in high school. Up until then my right knee had been my good knee. The same doctor who did the left one, examined it and just scheduled the surgery. He never tried anything else. There were no x-rays. Nothing. Cutting it was his first option.”
“That’s what surgeons do, Ron. They solve problems by cutting and repairing. At least some of them do.”
“Is Fulack like that?”
Now was the time to tell him. “Ron, he told me that when you heal, he’s going to talk to you about having a total knee reconstruction.”
Ron felt his world spinning like he was on some fiendish amusement park ride. “Doesn’t that mean that they cut my knee out?”
“That’s over simplified, but essentially yes, that’s what it means.”
“I’m not doing it.” His voice was cold and the tone final. “I’ve had enough.”
“The doctor said that the deterioration of your knee is pretty bad. You are bone on bone and there is a lot of arthritis.”
“I’m thirty-three years old,” said Ron. “Arthritis?”
“It’s the repeated insults to your knees,” she said. She was speaking clinically now and Ron noted the change in her voice. It sounded professional. He didn’t like it.
“These fucking surgeries have taken something away from me each time that I’ve had one. I don’t trust them. I don’t trust doctors. I think they do it more for the money than they do to really help anyone.”
“They aren’t all like that.” She tried to sound sympathetic but she could see that it didn’t penetrate.
“I know this is your profession but they’re my knees.” Ron paused. “Can I tell you how I really feel?”
“Of course.” She saw that his eyes had grown darker. The brooding look on his face made him sound angry, like he was spitting out the words. His face looked hard and almost cruel.
“Doctors are no different from mechanics or carpenters. You hire them to do a job, but they work for you. You tell them what you want, not the other way around.”
Celeste almost felt slapped. Then she saw that what he said came from pain and bad experiences. She wanted to reach out and stroke his face, but something told her that touching him wouldn’t be a good idea right now.

Chapter 86
Ron’s first experience with detention, Jersey Catholic style, came when he forgot his Latin book. Brother Delban wrote out the jug slip like he was handing Ron a piece of candy.
At the end of the day Ron reported to jug. The boys were lined up facing away from the desk in the empty room. They were positioned in front of a clock. They were told to stand with their arms folded across their chests, their backs straight, and their heels at forty-five degree angles. It wasn’t uncomfortable for the first five minutes, but then Ron felt his left knee begin to stiffen and throb.
Brother Conrad was in charge of jug. The students called him the silver fox because his hair was silver and grey and he seemed to have the ability to sneak around silently and be just where you didn’t want him to be. The rumor was that he used to be a Marine.
About fifteen minutes into the one hour detention, Brother Conrad silently glided down the aisle between the punished students and found a boy who had been cradling a book between his folded arms. The room had been silent except for the ticking clock and Conrad had heard the turning of a page. There was a smirk on his face when he found the culprit. “What have we here?” he said in a deep booming voice that seemed to shatter the endless ticking in the quiet room.
Jimmy Rollins shrunk. Conrad’s hand slapped him on the back of his head and his hair stood up comically after the blow. Ron felt himself starting to giggle at the sight of the exaggerated cowlick that now stood up like an accusation. Conrad moved it front of the boy and peered into his face. “Did you really expect to be allowed to cheat my clock, Rollins?”
“No Brother.”
“And now you are lying to me. Do you think that I am some ass of a fool, Rollins?”
“No Brother.”
“Of course you do Rollins. You think that you are cleverer than I am. Let me show you where your cleverness has gotten you.” Brother Conrad extended both of Rollins arms out straight. He placed the history book on his left palm and then walked quickly back to his desk and retrieved another heavy book and placed it on Rollins right palm. “Each time you drop a book Rollins, you get the reward of another day of jug. Of course if you are strong enough to stand like this for the next forty minutes, you will have proven that you are indeed more clever than I am, but I sincerely doubt that.”
Now the boys could not help but stand there and stare at stare at Rollins. In a very short time, his arms started to shake and the double thud of the books hitting the floor could be heard. This time Conrad did not bother to get up from in back of his desk. “Two more days Rollins. Resume your position.”
A moment later the books dropped again. This Conrad came down the aisle again. “Now you owe me four days.”
Jimmy Rollins was shaking and he was fighting to hold back his tears. “I can’t do it, Brother.”
“Don’t feel so clever now, do you Rollins?”
“No Brother.”
“And not particularly strong are you?”
“No Brother.”
“Well Rollins, if you are neither clever nor strong what does that make you?”
“I don’t know, Brother.”
“Neither do I Rollins, neither do I.”
Conrad walked away without saying anything. Rollins was in a quandary. What was he supposed to do now? He timidly lay the books at his feet and resumed his original position.
The hour ticked passed. Ron was given his signed jug slip that proved that he had lived up to his obligation. His walk home felt triumphant.

Chapter 87

Robin and Ron walked up to the corner to buy a Christmas tree. The holidays had drained their pockets and they weren’t sure that they would have enough. Ron had a surprise. He had an extra twenty that he hadn’t mentioned to her. When they got to the tree stand, he picked out a perfect tree and said, “What about this one?”
He could see the sparkles in her eyes and then the doubt that crept along her face. “I don’t think that we can afford this one.”
Ron reached into his pocket and took out the twenty. “Yes, we can.”
“Where did you get that?”
“I was saving it.”
She reached into his pocket with her small hands and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him. “That’s very romantic, Ron.”
The tree was wrapped and Ron hoisted the trunk on his shoulder. She followed along, holding up the top of the tree. They had no decorations, and so they made them out of costume jewelry, cuff links, popcorn, and greeting cards. They admired their creation sitting with a glass of wine and smoking a joint.
The apartment was theirs now, although they were seldom in it except to sleep and on some weekends. During the week, she worked and then went into New York City for her acting classes. When Ron was finished with school and his part time job delivering drugs for a local pharmacy, he took a train into Manhattan to meet her. After her classes, they had coffee at one of the village bars and then drove home together.
Ron loved the pattern and spent lots of evenings walking the streets of the village while he waited for her. But now they were both on Christmas break and the apartment was warm and bright.
“Do you think that we’ll always be together?” said Ron.
“I don’t know. Do you think that you could ever pry yourself out of New Jersey?”
“It depends. I’d like to. Where do you want to go?”
Robin grinned. “Someplace warm.”
She cradled her glass of wine and feel the warmth of it mixing with the pot. “Do you know this song?” She began to sing in a soft voice that got louder. Robin sang, “I would die, I would die, I would strangle myself with my tie. If ever you said goodbye, then I’d die.”
She stopped and they both laughed. “Maybe that should be our song,” said Ron.
“You hate ties.”
Ron laughed, “That’s why I’d die.”
He got up to refill her glass. As she watched him she said, “You know you have a really nice ass.”
Ron felt himself blush but stood there with his back to her so that she could see it.
“Two of the gay guys at school were talking to me about it. They asked me if you were bisexual.”
Now Ron could feel his ears turning red. “What did you say?”
Robin grinned mischievously. “I told them that I hadn’t found a kind of sex that you didn’t like.”
“Why did you say that?”
“Because it’s true. You’d fuck me five times a day if I let you.”
Now it was Ron’s turn to grin. “Why don’t you?”
“Because I get sore.”
“Is that the only reason?”
“No.”
“Tell me why?”
Robin laughed. “We’d never get anything done. What fun would that be?”
“I know, but eventually I’d weaken and we could do things.”
Her grin had a wicked tinge. “What kind of things?”
Her words flicked his switch. He knew what she was asking. They smiled as he paused before invoking their code words. “Other things.”
He watched her tremble at the sound of it. She had two glasses of wine in her and had smoked a joint with him. They decorated a Christmas tree with things that were unusual and what they had. Other things meant sex. Robin smiled an impish grin. “I love adventure.”

Chapter 88
Two days after the surgery, Ron showed up at the coaches’ office. “I’m back.”
Artie Harris and Steve Ferry looked at him with a startled faces. “You just had your knee cut.”
Ron said, “They don’t cut it anymore. Now they puncture it and suck things out. Then they pump things in. It’s like a lube job and an oil change.”
Artie Harris burst out laughing. “You’re out of your fucking mind.”
Steve Ferry grinned but then his face got serious. He’d learned that Ron was considered a serious teacher of English. Steve believed in education as much as he believed in football. Besides, Ron’s girlfriend had a great ass. “Ron, you don’t have to prove anything to me. It’s a long year. You really want to do this?”
The smile that spread across Ron’s face was contagious. Ferry realized that it must be the expression that he used in his classroom. “I want to do this because it’s what we do. I want to be able to do what we do and I think I can.”
Paul Pamenteri said, “You taking drugs?”
Ron lied. “Just aspirin.”
Steve assigned Artie to watch Ron during practice. Ron was holding a clipboard now, and limping back out of the range of contact. Artie looked at his face. When Ron walked, Artie could see that he had pain. Then he watched him roll his neck and flex his shoulders and breathe. Ron called the next play.
After practice Paul Pamenteri asked Ron how he felt. Ron smiled. “I’m great. I’m getting married.”
Paul smiled. “When?”
“Late March,” said Ron.
“Might be nice to be able to walk down the aisle,” said Paul.
Ron laughed and made eye contact until Paul laughed as well. “I’ll be fine.”
After practice Ron changed his clothes back to his classroom apparel before he went over to Celeste’s house. He saw Angel’s face looking out from behind a curtain. He saw her smile light up her mouth and then her cheeks and her eyes. He saw her mouth form an O and then the curtain closed and she ran to the door.
Ron watched her expression change as he bobbled over with his immobilizer on his right leg. He sat down on the porch and she tentatively kissed his cheek and sat next to him. “I have to wear this because I got hurt.”
“Why did you get hurt?” Her tone had a glimmer of petulance in it. Ron felt its admonishment.
“It was an accident.”
“Why?”
“There isn’t a why about accidents. They just happen.”
“Why did it happen to you?”
Ron was totally flabbergasted. He was talking to a two year old child and felt outflanked. He didn’t realize that children her age weren’t supposed to make complete sentences and now she was refusing to look at his face and just staring at the thing on his leg. He unstrapped the Velcro and took it off. He placed it under them on the steps. “Does that make you feel better?”
The searchlight eyes lifted to his face. “Are you still hurt?”
Ron smiled his best dimpled grin. “Not right now.” He eyes looked at her hair, her curly light brown tangle of hair, and then her face. “I love you,” he said.
“I miss you here,” she said.
“I have to work.”
“Why?”
“We need money, but I’m a teacher and my students miss me.”
He was astonished as he saw two tears roll down her cheeks. “I miss you too.”
“Adults have to work.”
“Are you one?”
Ron felt a jolt strike him. “I think I have to be.”
“Why?”
Ron smiled and knew he had her. “Because of you.”
He expected her to grin and she did. Then she stretched her arms up and held his neck. Ron completely ignored the pain in his knee as she pressed on it.

Chapter 89
Ron could not pinpoint what he had done wrong. He was just walking home and his foot came down on a place where the sidewalk was lifted and split and his knee twisted and he felt it again. He tried to walk it off. It had just been a small twist. Maybe it would be fine in just a few minutes. It wasn’t.
Ron felt the weight of his leg as he limped up the stairs with his book bag slung over his shoulder. He got into the house and George said, “Would you run down to the corner and get some bread?”
“I can’t run anywhere,” he answered bitterly.
“What’s wrong now?”
“Same shit that’s always wrong,” said Ron.
George galloped from out of the kitchen with a menacing look on his face. “I don’t want you using that kind of language around here.”
“Nah, it’s only ok when you say shit huh?”
George backhanded Ron across the face. The rage boiled over in him and he forgot about his knee and lunged after him. He felt the pain shoot up his leg and he fell. This time what snapped was not in his leg. It was deeper inside and he found himself lying on the floor shaking uncontrollably.
George stood there looking stunned. Ron couldn’t really see and felt his lips trembling and a rushing in his ears that blotted out everything else. He was admitted to the hospital that evening.
He liked the hospital. The nurses smiled at him. He roamed the halls and talked to other patients. There was no one hitting him. There was no school. He thought that maybe he could just stay here until he was old enough to be somewhere else.
An upper GI series revealed that he had the beginning of an ulcer. His chart showed that his blood pressure was vacillating. He was easily set into a depth of not speaking or doing anything except staring at the wall and hoping to go back to sleep. When the nurses’ notations showed that he was often asleep during the day, eating little and talking less, it was decided that Ron should see a psychiatrist.
The man came to his bedside, and drew the curtains as Ron watched. “I’m Dr. Reed, Ronald. Would you prefer that I call you Ronnie or Ron?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Reed made a notation and Ron watched his silver pen flash as he wrote on his pad. He wondered if he had said something wrong already.
“Do you know why I am here, Ronnie?”
“No.”
“No one told you that I was going to be stopping by?”
“No.”
“You’ve been sick, Ronnie.”
Ron let his eyes roam the curtains. He was in a hospital. What kind of an observation was that? Was this guy a moron? Ron didn’t answer.
“Dr. Polino thinks that your ulcer may be the result of emotional distress. Do you think that is a possibility, Ronnie?”
“I don’t know.”
“Have you been upset recently?”
“I guess.”
“Do you know what is upsetting you?”
“No.”
“You can talk to me in confidence, Ronnie. Anything that you say to me will be between us.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Why don’t you believe me?” said Reed.
“Everybody lies to kids. I think it’s part of the adult code.” Ron bit his lip. He hadn’t wanted to say anything and then he just blurted that out.
“Who’s been lying to you Ronnie?”
“No one.”
“If you aren’t willing to work with me Ronald, I’ll simply tell Dr. Polino that I don’t think that I can help you and he’ll send home and you can go back to school”
Ron felt defeated. “What do you want to know?”
“Do you know what’s upsetting you?”
“I hate my life. I hate that my knee is hurt. I hate my step-father. I hate my school. I hate that I don’t see my father anymore. I hate that I’m too young to do anything about anything.”
“Everyone has those feelings sometimes, Ronnie.”
“Then I guess that I’m fine and just don’t know it.”
“There’s no reason for sarcasm, Ronald.”
“There isn’t?”
“It isn’t helpful.”
“It’s not?”
“Do you find that you are sarcastic often?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
“Do you think that you might be?”
“What I think is that people don’t really want to hear what I think. They want to hear what they think that I should be thinking.”
“You’re a smart boy.”
“Nothing that I say to you is going to make any difference.”
“Suppose I told you that I could arrange to have you stay home and rest for a couple of weeks after you got out of here.”
Ron’s ears perked up. Maybe this guy could help.

Chapter 90
Robin and Ron listened to the news intently. It was a Saturday night. It was still warm. Richard Nixon ordered the Attorney General of the United States to fire the special prosecutor who’d been hired to investigate the Watergate break-in. The Attorney General refused and resigned in protest. Nixon ordered his Assistant Attorney General to fire the Special Prosecutor. He refused and also resigned. Finally, Robert Bork, who was then the Solicitor General, agreed to fire Archibald Cox, the special prosecutor who been hired to investigate Watergate.
They held hands. She said, “Can we get some ice cream?”
“I think that it’s all coming apart and years ago I wanted that. I thought it had to come apart. Now, it’s scary as hell.”
Robin kissed his fingertips. “Do you want strawberry? Are you listening?”
“I heard every word that you said. They’re proving that they are as crazy as we always thought they were.”
“I know.”
“Are you frightened to be right?”
“I have to think about that.” The cascade of thoughts that flowed through his brain suggested that she might be correct. Hadn’t it been a lie since he was old enough to figure out what a lie was? Hadn’t Viet Nam been even a blacker and darker lie than he ever imagined it to be? Kennedy had whipped Nixon’s ass, well almost. But Kennedy was dead and Nixon was president. Johnson and then Nixon were like the nightmare monsters that were sent to make someone afraid of dreaming. “Yeah, I’m frightened that I’m right about this?”
She smiled and kissed his fingertips again. “Let’s get some ice cream. We can listen in the car.”
The radio news said that we were headed for a constitutional crisis. Ron looked over at her face as she licked her cone. He watched the relish that she took as her tongue swirled over the strawberry ice cream scoop.
Then the radio was reporting that agents of the FBI had sealed the offices of all three men. Cox’s staff was told that they would only be allowed to remove their personal papers from the offices. Richardson and Ruckelshaus, the former Attorney General and Assistant Attorney General, were not allowed to take anything with them.
“Do you think that he’ll try to destroy all of the evidence against him?” said Robin.
Ron thought about the Kennedy assassination again. Something inside of him clicked. “I’m not sure that he can. I mean, wouldn’t someone have to go over there and do it for him? The President can’t exactly go over there and do it himself? Besides, we never get to see the actual evidence. It all gets covered up and bleached or locked away so that the people will never know.”
“You think about things too deeply,” she said. “Sometimes it causes you to miss the simple things.”
She ran her foot along his thigh as he watched the TV. She wondered how long it would take him to realize that she wanted to get laid. Robin thought to herself. For someone who likes sex as much as he does, he is terrible at picking up on signals. It’s like he never learned that language.
“I don’t think I miss the simple things,” said Ron.
Robin laughed. “No Ron, you’re always right on top of things.”
Ron said, “I’ve been thinking about the Kennedy thing.”
Robin burst out laughing so hard that she snorted wine up her nose. “Of course you have.”
“There’s nothing funny about that,” said Ron indignantly.
She laughed again and Ron started to get angry. She spread her legs on the couch and lifted the hem of her dress up to expose herself up to her waist. “Is it clear enough now what simple signal that you might be missing?”
Ron grinned the dimpled smile that she loved. “Oh.”

Chapter 91
Dr. Reed’s office was a standard shrink’s room. There was no couch but there were big easy chairs. The doctor sat in back of his desk and secretly taped all of his sessions for later analysis and to have a complete record of what was actually said. The silver pen with which he took notes was only meant to give him prompts and actually he sometimes simply recorded the exact time that something was said so that he could access it later.
Ron didn’t tell him that this was far from the first psychiatrist’s office that he had been in. That would mean telling him about Marjorie and her agoraphobia and her emotional fragility. Ron was definitely not going to do that. But he could not help but compare this place to the other offices. This one was much more lavish than the clinic at Presbyterian Hospital had been. That one had wooden chairs and overhead lights. Here the lighting was indirect and soft. Ron wondered why their offices were not bright and cheerful. They always had a somber look and he always felt sleepy after having to be in them.
“Have you had any episodes this week?”
“Not really,” said Ron. He didn’t tell Reed about the two that he faked. He found that if he said that he felt like he was losing control, they left him alone and got worried looks on their faces. At least he had some control now.
“Are you ready to go back to school?”
“No.”
“You have to go back to school at some point Ron and I’m concerned that you are falling further behind. And that will only increase your stress.”
“When I go back to school, they’ll be angry that I was gone so long. Then they’ll hit me.”
“Maybe you should go to a different school.”
All of a sudden Ron felt very nervous and scared. “That would make everybody really mad at me.”
“Do they know that you are hit at school?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you tell them?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because my father taught me that if I got in trouble in school and came home and said anything that I would be in trouble there too.”
“Do you think that is a good lesson?”
“Yes.”
“Why do you think that?”
“I don’t know.” Ron knew why. It was a good lesson because it came from his father and, secretly, he cherished everything that came from his father.
“Ronnie, it’s important that you value your therapy.”
“I don’t understand what that means.”
“Your mother says that she is only able to pay ten dollars an hour for your sessions.”
Ron shifted in his chair and didn’t understand and then it occurred to him. His father had taught him what a shakedown was. He didn’t say anything. There was a long moment of silence. Ron stared into Dr. Reed’s eyes and they were blinking like the ticking of a clock.
“I think that it would be good for you to contribute to your therapy.”
“Really? Don’t you think I might be better off in a clinic? You know, where they help you for free.”
“Well that would be a choice for your mother and for you.”
“Ya know, I really don’t like you very much.”
“Why is that Ronald?”
“You’re greedy.”
“I place a value on what we accomplish here and I want you to feel that sense of value.”
“Yeah.”
“I think it’s time for you to go back to school Ronald.”
“Sure.”

Chapter 92
Ron was able to walk without the immobilizer by the end of that week. Their game was against Passaic. They had a running back who was destined for at least Division 1, if not the NFL. Their coach kept it simple. There were ten plays to the right and the same ten plays to the left. A stop us if you can philosophy. Steve wanted Ron on the sidelines, and sent Paul upstairs. They ran the right plays but the guard, Vinny Farbritsio, came to Ron and said, “Coach, I pulled out and ran hard and I hit him as hard as I could and he just didn’t go down.”
Vinny weighed 165. The player that he was blocking weighed 220. They were both agile. Ron looked over at Artie. “We just can’t block it.”
Artie rubbed his face and said, “Tell him to go lower.”
Vinny should have been reporting back directly to Artie, but Ron was his English teacher and his coach. He just gravitated to him and Artie was OK with it. Ron was a maniac and Artie could respect that.
Ron said, “Let’s run the trap again,” into his headset, where Paul and Steve could hear it.
“They stuff it,” said Paul.
“We’re going low,” said Ron.
Steve growled, “Run it. Let’s see if we can do anything right.”
Artie held Vinny by the facemask before he sent him back in with the play. “Go low, he’s bigger, but you can get low on him.”
Vinny nodded bravely.
The block on Caesar McElroy flipped him into the air and play ran for six yards. Vinny’s nose was bleeding but he was smiling. Steve faked the dive and the sideline pass was open and there was connection. Rufus McElroy slammed hard into the pass receiver and the ball popped out.
Players dove. The ball squirmed like a hot worm. The coaches held their breath. Caesar McElroy’s large hand were on it as Vinny rammed his helmet into McElroy’s balls. The ball squirted into the air again. Ron could almost touch it, as it rolled out of bounds.
They lost 14-7. The coaches had never been more proud of their outmanned team. Everyone was drained and, while not happy, they had avoided embarrassment.
Steve said, “Well, boys, that was like watching a man playing against children.”
“I’ve never seen anyone that big and that fast at the same time,” said Paul.
“He’s a specimen,” said Steve.
“Looks like he came straight from the jungle,” said Artie.
Ferry growled, “I don’t want to hear that kind of shit in my locker room, Artie. Can it.”
With that Ferry walked off naked for his shower. Artie gave him the finger behind his back. Ron said, “It did sound racist, Artie.”
“I don’t really care what it sounded like. Don’t you start on me too, Pegleg.”
Artie had taken to calling Ron that when he wore the immobilizer. Ron grimaced and Artie, now jovial again, laughed.

Chapter 93
Ron met with Grant Pritchard in his office after class. It was a small room that had floor to ceiling bookshelves that were stuffed with an array of books and folders and mementoes from his teaching career. Grant dropped his satchel on the floor and slid in back of his desk. He ran his hands through his curly hair and said, “So, tell me again what you want to do.”
“I know that the version of the tapes that was released was redacted but what they show reveals the true quality of the man that we twice elected president. My girlfriend and I have some stage training and I’d like to make a recording of some of a reading of some of the conversations on the tapes.”
Pritchard nodded. “I can see some value to that. Which conversations do you want to record?”
“Well, March 21st I think is essential.”
“Obviously,” said Pritchard. “But I’d like what you do to reflect more than just the break-in. Some of the other shit that is on those tapes is far worse than that.”
“The March 13 tape goes into some of that,” said Ron. He’d devoured the book when it was rushed into print.
“Refresh my memory of what they talk about in that conversation,” said Pritchard.
“Dean talks about the infiltration of Peace groups and says that a story is out there about how CREEP had paid a minor to do that and that the kid had bragged about it at school. Dean told him that he had access to the IRS and that they could use it to apply pressure in the right places. He spoke with disdain about Hugh Sloan’s need to cleanse his conscience. They talked about the mistake that Liddy had made in using a third person to cash his cheeks from CREEP. He talked about the tail that had been placed on Edward Kennedy and how they had data that they had collected in their two years of following him. And he told Nixon that Haldeman knew about Donald Segretti and his pranks before they happened.”
“That’s all good stuff. Anything about the Pentagon papers?”
“I don’t think so. Not in that conversation.”
“Do you know what that one was?” said Pritchard.
“I think it was between Nixon and Mitchell, but I’ll have to look.”
There was a pause and the each sipped some coffee. “Do you think that this is more important that JFK assassination right now?” said Ron.
“Right now it is because Nixon is still the President. Historically though, what happened JFK was one of the largest events in the history of the country.”
“I remember William Buckley saying that he didn’t care who killed Kennedy as much as the fact that Kennedy was dead.”
“That’s because Buckley is an asshole,” said Pritchard.
Ron decided that it was best not to tell Pritchard that he still watched Firing Line and that he actually liked Buckley. “It just seems like we will never know what happened in Dallas,” said Ron.
“That’s probably accurate.”
“Isn’t it like beating your head against a stone wall and expecting the stone to break before your head does?”
“You can’t think that way.”
Ron didn’t like being told how he could or couldn’t think. He felt the same way about the war in Viet Nam now. He had tried. He had tried for years and it didn’t make any difference. Some people would never believe the truth even if it was right in front of them, and when you showed them things that were so clear that they couldn’t be avoided their response was that they were all a bunch of crooks anyway. That was short for saying that they wanted the conversation to be over.
That night Ron and Robin sat on the floor together. Now that Hank was gone, Robin walked around the house in her panties constantly and Ron found it incredibly distracting. He’d find himself staring at her ass and unable to take his eyes off of it. She sat cross-legged on the floor and now he was staring between her legs. He pretended to be looking down at the paperback book that had the transcripts of the Watergate tapes in it.
“You should be John Dean,” she said.
“What are we going to do about the stuff that is blanked out?” he said.
Robin smiled. “I think that I should just pause for a beat and then say clearly in my own voice, expletive deleted.”
“Let’s try it and see how it works.”
They read through the transcript with a cassette player between them. They read well together. They understood the cadences of each other’s voices and when to wait and when to move faster.
It occurred to Ron that they missed the stage and had been at their best performing with each other. When he told her that he wanted to write instead of act, she said, “You’re better at acting.”
It was true and he knew it. When he just relaxed and let it flow through him, he could feel and act like anyone, any character. He found it dangerous and exciting, but he also felt like an instrument and he yearned to be the composer. But a composer needed vision and where was his vision? What did he have to say that anyone would fine worth reading? Ron stared between her legs again. Nothing felt as good as when he was inside of her there. That wasn’t true. When he was there, he felt the need to perform and satisfy. When they dreamed together, he felt free and light. He thought about that and then looked up at her face. She had seen him staring. It excited her to act with him. There was an energy that sparked between them. It occurred to her for the first time that it wasn’t real. She didn’t really like the way that they fucked. He seemed to enjoy thrusting in so hard and then needing to turn her over and take her from behind in order to achieve orgasm. She didn’t understand why he didn’t want to look into her face when he came. It made her feel alone. She wanted to study the sparkle in his eyes and she couldn’t see them lying on her stomach.

Chapter 94
Returning to school, Ron found that he was helplessly behind in every subject. He was also isolated. It was a funny thing about guys in the school. If a person was away for a while, they became forgotten. People moved on without them. Ron didn’t have any friends in his class and was considered weird because he had been out of school so much.
Brother Alvin stood in front of his desk looking down at Ron as he stumbled through the pronunciation of some French. “You really are rather hopeless aren’t you, Tuck?”
Ron didn’t answer.
“Did you hear my question, Mr. Tuck? I said that you really are rather hopeless, aren’t you?”
“Not as hopeless as a man wearing a dress who is named after a singing chipmunk, Brother.” Ron braced himself for the slap, the kick or the punch that he knew was coming. He heard the class laughing hard. He saw the darkness in Brother Alvin’s eyes.
“Wait in the hallway, Tuck. You don’t deserve to sit in my classroom.”
“Yes, Brother Alvin,” said Ron, accenting the Alvin in a way that caused the class to laugh harder.
Ron stood against the lockers in the long, clean, empty hallway. Why had he done it? Why couldn’t he have just said nothing? He didn’t know. He didn’t care. Maybe what Alvin would do to him would land him back in the hospital. The Brothers at Jersey Catholic did not believe in calling home. They did not believe in suspensions. This was something that gratified the parents of the students there.
Ron saw Brother Kelly turn the corner and see him in the hallway. When he saw Ron standing there a frown passed over his face and he moved towards him. Ron knew that this was going to be bad.
“What are you doing out here, Mr. Tuck?”
“Brother Alvin told me to wait out here.”
“And why would Brother Alvin need to remove you from his class after you have missed so much time already?”
“I don’t know.”
“Let’s find out, shall we?”
Brother Kelly opened the door to the classroom and Ron heard it go silent inside. Then Brothers Alvin and Kelly were standing in the doorway talking very quietly. They both came over and stood in front of Ron.
“Why don’t you repeat for Brother Kelly the foul things that you just said to me,” said Brother Alvin.
“I don’t remember,” said Ron.
Kelly backhanded him across the face and his head snapped back and bounced off of the metal locker with a loud clang. “Does that improve your memory, Tuck?”
Ron felt a hot trickle of blood run down from his lip and splash on his white shirt. He didn’t answer. The punch to his stomach that followed doubled him over. “Still experiencing memory problems, Tuck?”
Ron clutched at his stomach and tried to catch his breath. “We’ll give you thirty seconds to compose yourself, Tuck. You are wasting my time and Brother Alvin’s time and the time of your classmates. I do not wish to have my time wasted, Mr. Tuck.
“I got angry because he said that I was hopeless, Brother.”
“You do appear to be hopeless, don’t you Tuck?” taunted Brother Kelly.
“I guess so.”
Ron felt Kelly’s hand grip him like a vise between his neck and shoulder. He walked him down the hall holding him that way. Ron’s hands raised to try to move Kelly’s hand away and then he thought better of it and just winced a long, painful, silent gasp of pain.
They got into the elevator and rode down to the main floor. Ron knew that there were thousands of people in the building, but it seemed to have swallowed them and everything was very quiet.
Ron was not allowed to sit in Brother Kelly’s office. “Perhaps Jersey Catholic is not a good fit for you, Tuck.”
Ron felt hot tears in his eyes. He tasted his blood on his lips.
“Why have you missed so much school?”
“I was in the hospital,” said Ron.
“What was wrong with you this time?”
“I have an ulcer.”
“A boy your age with an ulcer? That’s ridiculous. Do you have a weak stomach?”
“I don’t know.”
“Were you disrespectful to Brother Alvin?”
“Yes, Brother.”
“Why would you ever fail to show respect to someone who was teaching you?”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry that you got caught.”
Ron looked into Brother Kelly’s eyes with real confusion. How could he have failed to get caught? “I don’t understand, Brother.”
“That much is clear, Mr. Tuck.”

Chapter 95

It was a Sunday and that meant that Celeste was able to come to Ron’s apartment. The almost had a routine now. First, they had sex like horny rabbits, then they luxuriated in each other over Chinese food.
“Where do you want to live?” said Ron.
“Where do you want to live?” said Celeste.
“My mother is willing to ask her tenants to leave and the amount of money that she wants for the apartment is ridiculously low.”
“Do you think that we can do that?”
“I don’t know but I do know that Glen Ridge has a great school system and that Angel would get a great education.”
“That’s a couple years away, Ron. Sometimes I think that you forget how young she is.”
“We don’t have to live there, but it’s safe and we would have support.”
He kissed her bare nipples and she shivered. Lips on lips they were fantastic kissers. Ron slid his hand down her back and she felt a spreading warmth. He was letting her know that he would be ready again soon.
He was asking a lot and he didn’t understand the ways that women dealt with each other. It was Marjorie’s house and if Celeste had learned anything it was that Marjorie didn’t get up what she thought was hers without a struggle.
“We played against a really good team yesterday,” said Ron.
Celeste asked, “How are your classes?”
“I made a mistake,” said Ron.
“A bad one?”
“Yeah,” Ron shook his head back and forth. “I told them that Walt Whitman was homosexual and now that’s all they think about and see.”
“Why did you tell them that?”
“It’s the truth. That’s the deal that I make with them. I always tell them as much of the truth as I can.”
“What will you do now?”
“I’m going to downplay it and try one more time with Crossing Brooklyn Ferry. It’s a great poem.”
Celeste stroked his eyebrows. “Then what?”
“Depends on how it goes. If they can’t get passed it, I have to move on.”
“To what?”
“I’m not sure. I should do Emily Dickinson but I never seem to arouse much enthusiasm for her.”
“Why do you think they don’t like her?”
“I’m really not sure but what I have come to learn is that if I’m not enthusiastic about a writer, my students never like the writer. And I think my lack of enthusiasm for her shows through.”
“So, if you like the writer and communicate that to them, they like the writer?”
Ron laughed and cracked open a fortune cookie. “I wish it was that easy. I’ve been teaching for years that The Odyssey is a great poem that is the foundation for almost everything that came after it. It and The Iliad. It’s hit and miss. Some years the students love it and other years they don’t care for it at all and find it boring.”
“Maybe they aren’t ready for it,” said Celeste.
Ron asked, “Did you like it?”
Celeste blushed. “I never read the whole thing.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t like it,” she said laughing.
Ron read his cookie to her. “Nothing good ever comes easy.” He looked into her deep brown eyes. “Do believe that?”
Celeste thought for a long moment and they each chewed half of the cookie. “I think that it’s true for some people and not true for others. Did you ever see the movie, The Way We Were?”
“I don’t think so. Who’s in it?’
“Robert Redford and Barbra Streisand.”
“I like both of them.”
“You’d like the movie too. I’ll look to see if it ever comes on TV. Anyway, for him things came easy and for her nothing came easy. I think it depends on what kind of person you are.”
Ron laughed, “We are definitely the kind that things don’t come easy for. Let’s play a game.”
Celeste grinned that smile that just melted him because of the way that it spread across her face and showed her enthusiasm. She snuggled down against his chest. His skin was very smooth and his muscles hard. She listened to his heart beating.
Ron said, “Ok, you have to answer fast, without thinking about it.”
“I’ll try.”
“Favorite author?”
“James Michener.”
“Favorite song writer?”
“John Lennon.”
They each felt the pang. It was still fresh for both of them. “Yeah,” said Ron. “I can understand that.”
“Why Michener?”
“He takes me places that I have never been. I can go back to those places each time I read the same book. I must have read Hawaii six or seven times and now it’s like an old friend.”
“I never read anything of his. He’s never taught in the schools and he never was on any syllabus for any of the college courses that I took.” In Ron’s mind that meant that he wasn’t good enough to be on those lists, but he didn’t tell her that just then.
Celeste said, “My turn. Favorite author?”
Ron laughed, “I don’t know.”
Celeste mock pouted. “You made me just say the first thing that I thought.”
“You’re right. F. Scott Fitzgerald.”
“Songwriter?”
“Bob Dylan.”
“Favorite movie?”
“I think that I’d have to say The Godfather but it used to be The Hustler and when I was younger it was The Young Philadelphians.”
“I don’t know that one,” said Celeste.
“Paul Newman,” said Ron.
“He’s in The Hustler too isn’t he?”
“Yes, he plays Fast Eddie Felson.”
“So, he’s your favorite actor?”
Ron laughed again. She could hear the laugh rumble inside of him and it echoed in her ear. “Maybe, but I really like Humphrey Bogart.”
The game went on until it grew dark. They talked about food, clothes, flavors, times of the year, holidays, and heroes. They did not mention sports.
“Do you have a favorite way to make love?” said Ron.
Celeste reached down and squeezed him in her hand. “With you.”

Chapter 96
“Do you think it’s possible to know what someone else is thinking?”
Robin answered, “If you really want to, yes.”
Ron said, “I don’t understand.”
“If you really want to know my thoughts, they come with a price tag.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know. It depends on the situation. It depends on what I want you to know.”
Ron shifted in the bed. They were dressed. She was sipping wine and reading a play called Ring Around the Moon. “Suppose it’s something that you don’t want me to know?”
“Then either you won’t find out or the price will be higher.”
“Why do you want me to pay?”
Robin looked at him with the same eggshell blue eyes that he’d seen when he looked at his father. She smiled and said, “Because you fell in love with me.”
Ron tried to digest that. He loved her, did he? She held back from him. He mistrusted that. She wanted to exact a price for his trust. He didn’t understand but he should have.
“I think the recording sounds smooth and good. I like what you did with the mumbled words and the expletive deleted parts.”
Robin grinned. “You sounded just like a lawyer.”
Robin came to class the night that Grant Pritchard played their tape. She was wearing a white wool sweater that had small pearly buttons that she left open halfway down. She wore boots and jeans.
Ron was wearing yesterday’s clothing. He’d listened to the tape at least a dozen times. He wished that they had another shot at it but Robin told him to leave it alone.
The class listened very quietly. Ron and Robin looked at each other as the tape played.
When it ended, Grant Pritchard said, “I want you to notice some things before we listen to this again. Now remember, Nixon knew that he was on tape and he’s a skillful lawyer. Dean did not know that he was on tape and thought that he was speaking with attorney-client privilege. Nixon asks how much money they would need to pay off their blackmailers and Dean tells him a million dollars. Nixon very carefully says that it could be gotten, that he knows how to get it. Someone might leave that conversation and think that had been told to pursue that avenue, but Nixon never actually says that is what he wants Dean to do. He retains deniability.”
A student asked, “Wasn’t he just exploring options?”
Pritchard nodded. “That is exactly what he makes it sound like he is doing. Now in and earlier part of the conversation Dean talks about the things that the Plumbers have done. They mention the burglary of Daniel Ellsberg’s doctor’s office. The attempt here was to discredit the Pentagon papers, but it was only one of the things that they had done. They used prostitutes, buggings, and infiltration of the opposition’s organization. It is clear that they also infiltrated antiwar groups. In other words there was a wide spread attempt to compromise the opposition and dissent.”
Ron said, “So when we thought we were being followed and had people join us who were there to make trouble, we weren’t mistaken.”
Pritchard laughed. “No you aren’t paranoid if they are truly after you.”
The class laughed and Ron felt old. He’d been in college longer than most of the people in the room and many of them had been in high school when he was involved in the Moratoriums. He didn’t find it funny that he and others had tried to stop mass killing and had been characterized as anti- American. It made him angry. Watergate might be the biggest I told you so that he could have imagined but his classmates seemed to think of it more as a game.
Pritchard turned their tape on again and Ron and Robin found each other’s eyes. She had been tense during the laughter because she could see what he was thinking written on his face and she knew that he wasn’t above admonishing them and that was always counterproductive.
After class, Pritchard said, “Ron, you did a great job with that tape and Robin thank you so much for donating your time to the effort.” They both beamed the way that they did when they got applause.
On the way home in the car, Robin said, “That was a lot of fun.”
Ron smiled. “You were worried I was going to say something, weren’t you?”
“I’m always worried that you are going to say something. Accepting compliments isn’t exactly your strong suit. For someone who craves approval as much as you do, it amazes me that you respond so poorly to it.”
Ron grinned. “I’m better than I used to be.”
She shook her head and laughed again. “Yes, it wasn’t as bad as the drama festival when they gave us an award and you got up and told them that we flubbed the lines and jig sawed the scene back together.”
Ron blushed. “That was really stupid. You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?”
“Only if you promise to never do it again,” said Robin.

Chapter 97
Ron trudged home after his ninth consecutive day of jug. He only had one more day left. His mother and George were sitting at the kitchen table. She was smiling and he looked worried.
Marjorie said, “Ronald we’re moving.”
Ron’s mouth dropped open. “Where?”
“A beautiful little town called Glen Ridge.”
“Where’s that?”
“It’s right off of Bloomfield Avenue. Wait until you see it. You’re going to love it.”
Ron stared at them in disbelief. “We’re leaving Newark? We’re leaving all my friends?”
“You’ll make new friends,” said Marjorie.
“I don’t want new friends.”
George said, “I just don’t see how we are going to afford it. What happens if one of us gets sick? How are you going to get to work in the morning?”
Marjorie’s face was resolute. “George, this is what I want. You promised that if we found the right house that we could do it. There is a tenant and that will help a lot with the mortgage.”
“You can’t count on that.”
“We have to count on it.”
That night, after a dinner that consisted of a green salad and steak, the drove down Summer Avenue, passed George’s family’s home and turned right onto Bloomfield Avenue. The Avenue ran like an artery through Essex County. It began in the north end of Newark and wiggled an almost straight line up to West Caldwell where it intersected with one of the highways that was constructed during the Depression, US route 46. There were farm stands out at the end of the Avenue and people lived very differently than they did at its base.
Marjorie had taken Ron to a pumpkin farm in Verona where they had swiped a Halloween pumpkin that they’d carved and lighted. Ron remembered the squishy feel of the pumpkin seeds and the long stringy tendrils that enveloped them. The further away from Newark they drove, the more the memory of the tendrils on his hands made him sick to his stomach.
The he saw a Woolworth’s to his right and a bank like the one that was down in Newark where Bloomfield Avenue began.
The road climbed and there were lots of oak trees. The Avenue broadened into a wide sweep and the air seemed cooler and fresher. They made a right hand turn by a small row or stores, a police station, two gas stations and a tiny A&P. It was a one block one way street.
A little more than halfway down the block, they stopped in front of a grey house. “Here it is!” said Marjorie.
It rose up slightly from the street. The top of the roof came to a peek. There were green bushes and no broken glass. Ron’s eyes absorbed. What had this place to do with him? How could he ever be more than a visitor to a place like this? Ron thought for maybe the first time that George might be right. They didn’t belong here.
When Ron went back to school, he felt strange. The time that he still had to go there had seemed endless and now he was unsure of how long he had left. Brother Alvin no longer spoke to him or looked at him. When he checked homework, he didn’t even pause at Ron’s desk. He just walked by like Ron was invisible. Ron didn’t know what to do and so he did nothing.
Brother O’Shea was still handing out the weekly smacks for failing grades, but Ron had managed to catch up to the point that he was barely passing each Algebra quiz.
Brother Cecil, who Ron had managed to impress with his knowledge of the life of Jesus, told Ron that he knew more religion that the other kids in his class and that Brother Cecil wanted him to stay quiet when he asked questions or when they had discussions in the room.
English and History continued to go well, but Ron was finding that he had to force himself to read the pages and was always looking ahead and hoping that large portions of the pages would be taken up by pictures. He seemed to forget what he read as soon as he was finished reading it. Sometimes it would come back to him and sometimes it was just gone.
In Latin, he was totally lost and stopped even opening the book. The days were very long and very quiet. The quieter they grew the more withdrawn Ron became. He stopped seeing the psychiatrist. Marjorie told him that they needed to save every penny they could now.
Between teacher arrivals, Billy Mitchell said, “I got indefinite fucking jug.”
“What did you do?”
“Didn’t go to school so that I could get laid.”
Ron was impressed. Billy grew in respect in his eyes. Ron had never gotten laid and he wondered if he would ever get laid.
“We’re moving,” said Ron. He knew that Billy took the bus down from Verona every day and thought maybe he would be able to tell him something about Glen Ridge.
“Where to?”
“Glen Ridge.”
Billy Jenkins laughed and said, “You’re fucked.”
Ron felt slapped. “Why?”
“Rah-rah heaven.”
“What do you mean?’
“That’s the land of madras shirts and penny loafers.”

Chapter 98
When the literary magazine came out, Ron was impressed by its size and cover. The cover was a high gloss explosion of fruits, flowers and birds that were arranged in the middle of a wooded scene with a hint of blue and white sky in the background. The yellows and blues and purples and reds sprang out at the reader.
Ron thumbed through it quickly to see which of his four submissions were in the magazine. When he saw his name in print a rush of adrenalin surged in him. It was his poem Leopards in the Temple. He’d written it about Franz Kafka and borrowed the title from one of Kafka’s Parables and Paradoxes. His eyes moved quickly over the lines. He liked what he saw. His was the only poem on the page. He winced when he saw the parenthesis that he’d grown too fond of using. He realized again that they added nothing to the piece. He wanted to erase them, but there they were in print. He heard Warren Lashly’s admonishment in his head about being foolish for letting things go before they were ready. He could hear his Southern drawl saying, “Your impatience causes your poems to be flawed. Well, it’s one of the things that causes them to be flawed.” Ron felt his ears burn.
He leafed through the pages and there was another of his poems. The title of this one was a line of French that he’d copied out of The Magic Mountain. When he wrote the poem, he pictured Robin and himself as figures in a painting. She was looking out at the world and he was staring only at her. But there were the stupid parenthesis again. Ron glared at them. Warren had been right. And now the way that he had placed the words on the page, the lines that he felt looked so elegant when he had written them with a quill pen on parchment paper now appeared to just be confusing.
Ron wondered if any of his other pieces had made it to the magazine. When he got to pages 54 and 55, his eyes grew larger. Herman Horvack had taken his other two poems and combined them into one very long poem. He’d changed the title of his poem. A look of horror twisted Ron’s face. He heard Melanie’s voice singing, “Look what they done to my song, ma.” He felt a rush of rage. He had an urge to find Herman and confront him about it. Then a voice in his head said that he should also remember that they had published every word that he had submitted to the magazine.
Later that night Robin read the magazine and said, “You turned your poems into a choo-choo train.”
“What do you mean?” It sounded almost childish but with insight.
“Your poems are strung together like railroad cars. Why did you do that?”
“I didn’t.”
“They changed your poems?”
“I don’t know if it was an accident or on purpose.” Ron knew. The title had been changed. He didn’t want to tell her.
The next day Herman said, “I saw a connection between the two poems and thought they would look great as a single piece.”
Ron’s anger had dissipated some. “I wish that you would have talked to me about it first. I see your point but I would have made it a part one and part two, not run them together.”
“Here’s the exciting news. The magazine is being considered for a national award.”
“Really?”
“The combination of artwork and poetry and prose and photography is getting a great reception,” said Herman. “Your poems look great.”
“So do yours, but one in English, one in French, and one in German without translations. Are you trying to be Thomas Mann?’
Herman laughed at Ron’s reference to the thirty pages of untranslated French that was in the middle of the Magic Mountain.

Chapter 99

Ron was tired. He went straight home from practice and stopped at his local deli and bought two rolls and some turkey breast and Swiss cheese and added some mayo. That was dinner. He just didn’t want to face papers tonight and he was enough on top of it so that he could let it go for a day.
Ron was watching this new show called Cheers that took place in a bar in Boston. He thought the blonde was hot and loved the way that she stood up so straight with her legs together. It gave her ass the cutest little wiggle when she moved her arms as she spoke. He turned the sound down when the phone rang.
Celeste’s voice made him smile. They talked briefly about their day and she told him that her friend the bartender was arranging for the alcohol for the wedding and that she had found a place called the Englehard Women’s Club.
“Wow, that’s a long way from Glen Ridge, isn’t it?”
“I just couldn’t find anything else on short notice.”
Ron didn’t understand how several months could be short notice but he trusted her that it was. He laughed, “You know more about these things than I do.”
“It’s going to start moving very fast now, Ron. It will be here before you know it.”
“I know.”
“Do you have the TV on?” she said.
“Did you see the special on the Kennedy Assassination?”
“No,” said Ron. “Why are they doing something about the assassination?”
“The anniversary of it is coming up.”
Ron grimaced. He hated the way they dredged it up every year now. He hated what it had done to the country. “I used to be really involved with looking at the conspiracy theories around it. But after the Church hearings, I just gave up. I knew that we were never going to know the truth and that it was so long ago that it didn’t matter anymore.”
“I don’t know why but every time I see something on TV or see an article in a magazine, I read it. I just can’t help myself. I feel like I am being loyal to his memory somehow.”
“I know what you mean, but it’s like banging your head on the wall. Walls don’t bleed but your head does.”
“Do you remember where you were when it happened?”
“I remember everything about it. That’s why I can’t watch those specials. It just dredges up all that pain and anger.”
“I know it does but it reminds me of a time before I knew that there was anything wrong in the country.”
“You knew it during the Civil Rights Movement,” said Ron.
“Yes, but it was getting better and JFK and Bobby and Martin Luther King were changing things. It felt so filled with energy and hope.”
“I know it did. Then we grew up.”
“Do you think that they three of them are connected?”
“I don’t know,” said Ron. “I would have said that we would never know the truth about anything until Watergate. I was pretty sure that we weren’t going to know the truth about that either, but then Nixon and his tapes.”
Ron lay his head back on the pillow. He closed his eyes and listened to her voice and heard his voice. Their telephone calls had a soft intimacy that had nothing to do with the topic but everything to do with the way that each of them sounded to the other.
“Did I tell you that I worked for the Underground Railroad?”
Ron’s grinned widened. “No you just told me that you worked for Harry Chapin and World Hunger Year. What did you do?”
“I drove guys from New Jersey up into New York State.”
“Then they met somebody else?”
“Yes.”
“Did you ever learn what happened to any of them?”
“No, we didn’t even know their names.”
“Did you talk to them much?”
“We weren’t supposed to. The less we knew the better.”
“How long did you do that for?”
“A year.”
Ron smiled into the phone. “Pretty risky stuff.”
“It didn’t seem that way then. Looking back on it, yeah. What do you really think about the assassinations?” said Celeste.
“I think it’s all really connected by Watergate and what it reveals,” said Ron.
Celeste felt stunned. “I don’t understand what you mean.”
“Here is what I believe. Six months before he died, JFK said that he wanted American troops out of Viet Nam by the end of the year. That was 1963. There was ten more years of war to be waged. Profits to be made. Weapons to be tested.”
Celeste feel shivers as she heard his whispers. “What about Bobby?”
“That’s a tough one,” said Ron. “Here’s the common denominator. Bobby became a peace candidate. He was going to win. It had only been five years. Camelot was a dream that was not so far away. That’s how people were responding. Remember it was only 1968. We had five more years of war at stake.”
“Sirhan killed him,” said Celeste. “It might be the one time that it really was a lone assassin.”
“I don’t know or think that I will ever be able to know any of that. We got Nixon. He could never have beaten Kennedy. The Kennedys were his nightmare. They would have brought out the worst in him very early in in 1968.”
“What you’re saying is scary,” said Celeste.
“Fairly buried in Watergate is what Nixon did to the Peace Movement. They discredited it. They sabotaged it the way that Nixon sabotaged for his whole career. The Pentagon Papers,” said Ron. “They were a key. It showed that we knew how fucked up what we were doing was and didn’t care. It was a kick in the balls to every person who had supported the war. But you know what?”
Almost automatically, she said, “What?”
“They didn’t want to read it or know it. Then they shifted the focus to those gallant man who served their country. Private Benjamin and Officer and a Gentleman. They got away from Apocalypse Now. It was back to You’re in the Army Now.”
“I don’t understand what you mean,” said Celeste.
“After I read 1984 and Brave New World, I knew about how propaganda worked. It was all about manipulation. Everything that is designed to affect our desires for a better world is manipulated but what we know and what we don’t know.”
“That’s very dark,” said Celeste.
“I’m sorry. Do you want me to stop?”
“No,” she said quickly like there was a scary movie in her ear and she wanted to hear where it was going.
“I think Howard Hughes had it right. Make movies that support what you want.” Ron laughed. “See Nixon is a key to it all. He was either there or a representative of what controlled him from the start.” Ron laughed. “But he’s fucked up. Or, they set him up because while he was useful, he wasn’t likable. His greatest nightmare, to be reviled.”
“You’re all over the place,” said Celeste.
“I know that it sounds that way. I really do. Here’s what I learned from Watergate. Follow the money. Translated that means follow the power.”
“That’s thinking the game is rigged,” said Celeste.
“I’m thinking that we don’t know what the game is.”
“You sound like Quimpy.”
“Quimpy is a very smart man.”
Celeste said, “He sure is but he’s also great evidence for brains not being everything.”
Ron said, “He and I go way back. I think I was sixteen when I met him.”
“At the bowling alley?”
“Yes.”
“That seems like such an odd place for you to hang out.”
“I was different then.”
“Do you mean you’re older now?”
Ron thought hard. “Maybe I do. Maybe it took me a long time to figure out what getting older really means.”
Celeste said, “I know what you mean, but I didn’t really learn it until I gave birth to Angel. It just changed everything. Do you understand?”
Ron murmured, “No.” He thought about telling her. He’d never told anyone about that conversation and how it made him feel. The he just found himself saying, “Robin and I never wanted children. I think, for me, I was just too young to understand. For her, it was something deeper and I don’t know what it was or is. Zoe wanted children and begged me to impregnate her.” Ron laughed as he remembered. “Can you believe that we had sex multiple times each day and used no birth control except for withdrawal and she didn’t get pregnant?”
“It depends on a lot of things,” said Celeste. He had caused her nursing brain to activate and give her multiple options of symptoms such as age and eating disorders to consider.
“Anyway,” said Ron. “I had this friend named Paula. She used to come over to see me before my apartment got burned out and when I lived in Elizabeth. We were friends and we liked sex. That’s how it was for me. Looking back, that was a stupid way to feel. I was staying in Rahway a couple days after the fire and she called me there. She told me that she’d been pregnant but had an abortion. She said it had been my child.”
Celeste winced. What had she told him that? The answer came swiftly. She’d loved him and he hadn’t recognized it and so she punished him with both the abortion and the call. Celeste conjured his face in her mind. Why did his lovers feel the need to punish him? Was it something that he was doing? She’d not felt that way. Did he pick women who liked doing that? No, that wasn’t it. What was it? “We all do crazy things sometimes,” said Celeste.
“Why?” His word was a plea to understand.
“I don’t know. There’s lots of evidence for it though.”
They laughed sweet and warm smiles into the phones.
“I think it’s because we live in the instant but then our brains keep recreating that instant over and over.”
Celeste’s voice was gentle and filled with understanding. “Not everyone’s brain needs to do that, Ron.”

Chapter 100
Looking at his grades, Ron felt his head begin to spin. He had never failed a subject in his life and there they were, two failures staring up at him. French and Latin had both turned out to be a mess.
Marjorie said, “How did this happen?”
“I just didn’t do well.”
“But you’re so smart. I never had to help you with homework. You never needed help before.”
“I know.”
“What happened this time?”
“I don’t know. Those subjects were hard and I missed so much time.”
“That’s a terrible excuse.”
Ron felt his ears begin to hum. She was right. He had given up on both of those subjects and he hadn’t liked the teachers very much. “I’m sorry. I know that you’re right. I just gave up on those classes.”
“You gave up?” Her face showed genuine surprise. “How could you give up?”
“I didn’t like them.”
“Do you think that I like all the things that I have to do, Ronald? What would happen if I gave up?”
Ron didn’t answer. If he answered he would have gotten into deeper trouble because the truth was that he had seen her give up and give into her fears all the time. So she was allowed to give up and he wasn’t?
“Well, you’ll do better in your new school.”
Ron looked shocked. “What new school?”
“There’s no reason to pay to send you back down to Newark to a school where you are failing when the public schools where we will be living have a great reputation.”
Ron felt confusion. Newark was all that he had ever known and now everything was going to be taken away. He knew the rules on the streets but this new place that he had only seen once and was now going to be his home was different. He didn’t know the rules and he would have no friends and he wasn’t sure that he would ever be able to play football again. “I guess not,” said Ron.
“I have something to tell you,” said Marjorie.
Ron listened.
“When I got your report card, I went to Jersey Catholic and met with Brother Kelly.”
Ron felt a flush of embarrassment. Why did she do things like that?
“I asked him why you had done so poorly and he told me that it was your attitude.”
Ron felt the buzzing in his ears again.
“He said that you had been insulting to your teachers and had missed a lot of time and showed no desire to be successful.”
Ron put his head down. He’d never told her that he was hit at school. He never told her any of what had happened to him there. She wouldn’t have understood and would have only made it worse.
“He did say that it was not unusual for a boy to have a rough transition from grammar school. I told him that you were a convert and he seemed surprised by that.”
Ron knew that his face must be very red now. He could feel the heat. His palms were beginning to sweat.
“I told him that it had been your dream to go to Jersey Catholic and would you like to know what he said to me?”
Ron didn’t want to know but said, “Yes.”
“He said that you were like an untrained animal that had no discipline.”
Now Ron felt his anger beginning to rise. He saw the hurt on her face. He knew how much she must have hated hearing that.
“I felt humiliated, Ronald.”
“I’m sorry, Mom. You shouldn’t have gone there.”
“I’m trying to figure out what’s happened to you, Ronald. You’ve changed. Something is going terribly wrong with you and I don’t know what it is.”
“It’s just been a hard year.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Sure,” said Ron. “It was going great until I got hurt. Then everything changed. I started worrying that I would never be able to play football again.”
“Football is just a game, Ronald.”
“I know, but I’m good at it. I was anyway. There aren’t that many things that I am good at.”
“That’s nonsense. You’re very smart.”
“Being smart and being good are two different things.”
“So this is all about football?”
“No,” said Ron. He wanted to tell her how much he missed his father but knew that if he did that she would call his dad and yell at him. Then his father would be angry with him. “I’m frightened about moving.”
Marjorie said, “Moving is going to be a very good thing. Newark is changing. There is trouble coming.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not sure, but it’s something that I feel.”
“Like what?”
“Tension and bad feelings,” said Marjorie. “George is carrying a baseball bat in the car. He doesn’t play baseball.”
In his mind’s eyes, Ron saw the image of his dad. His father could pick it at third base and had an elegant swing. The thought of George carrying a baseball bat was obscene to him. “Why does he have the bat?”
“He says that it’s for protection.”
“What does he need to be protected from?”
Marjorie looked into her son’s eyes. “I don’t know.” Then her voice got soft. “Every man I have ever known has lied to me.”
Ron winced and knew that included him. He said, “I miss Dad and since he started really playing golf, he never come to see me anymore. I know he’s busy but…” His voice trailed off.
Marjorie looked at him and felt sympathy. More than any other man, Harry Tuck had lied to her the most and, sadly, loved her the most. She thought about Rocky. She couldn’t help it. Was a lie different from a betrayal? Was every rejection a betrayal or maybe an acknowledgment of a person’s failings? “Your father had a hard life.” She wondered how much of Harry had seeped into her son.
“I just miss him,” said Ron.
Marjorie wanted to cry for him the same way that she had cried for Harry, but in some ways his connection was stronger than hers. He had Harry’s blood in him. He couldn’t help but have it. She wanted to kiss him but they rarely touched and it would have been awkward. “Well, you aren’t going back to Jersey Catholic. That’s over now.”

Chapter 101

“So where is this bar?” said Ron
Celeste said, “It’s right on Washington Avenue.”
It was a bar like that the hundred that Ron had been in with his father when Harry used to take him to work. It was long and dark with some filtered light that gave it a sullen feel. Ron wondered if bars did that on purpose like having no clocks in a casino caused you to forget about how much time you had spent there. Was the bar designed to make you feel sullen so that you drank more?
Bottles was a stocky guy with black curly hair and dark framed glasses. He saw Ron and came over to shake his hand. “Let’s go in the other room for a few minutes,” he said. Bottles motioned to the other bartender and jerked his thumb and then led Ron around a wall. There was another full bar there but if was very dark and almost empty. Sitting at the bar alone was Gregory Lumus, Celeste’s first husband and Bottles best friend.
Ron felt a moment of discomfort and scanned for exits. There were none other than the one that he had just walked through. OK, so here he was in this fairly isolated place with two men who might wish to do him harm. He felt his body tense a little. Bottles walked in back of the bar and refilled Greg’s glass with bourbon. “Can I get you anything, Ronnie?’
Ron felt back in Newark. “Just some water.” He didn’t want to tell them that he didn’t really drink. Gregory hadn’t looked up from his glass.
Bottles said, “Greg, this is Ronnie Tuck. He’s going to marry Celeste.”
Without looking at him, Lumus said, “Good fucking luck with that.” Then he laughed to himself and turned to face Ron. “So, you’re going to marry her now, huh?”
“Yeah,” said Ron.
“What’s that make you, number three?”
Ron ignored the barb. “She’s told me a lot about you.”
“Yeah,” said Gregory. “What did she say?”
“That you were exciting and talented. That you went to Europe together.”
“She tell you that she walked out on me without a word? Without any explanation?”
“Yeah,” said Ron. “She did.” Ron didn’t tell him that she left him because of his refusal to get a job, his endless drunken nights passed on the floor, and the generally chaotic life that he wanted to live.
Gregory went back to his drink and stared into the smoky mirror in back of the bar. All three men lit a cigarette. Bottles looked a little uneasy but then said, “So you want me to just order what would be standard for a wedding, or did you have something else that you needed?”
“I’d better leave that up to you.”
“Celeste said that you knew a guy who we could hire to tend bar?”
Greg Lumus reached for the bottle of bourbon and poured another two fingers worth into his glass. Ron still wasn’t taking his eyes off of him but was watching with peripheral vision so as not to appear to be staring.
“Yeah,” said Bottles with a gravelly voice. “I got somebody.”
Lumus said, “She’s not getting you to do it, huh?”
Bottles laughed, “I’m a guest.”
Lumus downed the bourbon. “I’ll catch up with you later.”
He walked away without saying anything to Ron.
Bottles looked relieved. He said, “Greg is alright.”
“Yeah,” said Ron. “He seems really nice.”
They both laughed.

When he got home, Ron called Celeste. “So I saw Bottles and we got the alcohol thing straightened out.”
“That’s good,” said Celeste.
“I also met Gregory Lumus.”
Celeste began to choke. She had been drinking a cup of coffee and was mid swallow when he said it. She could feel it coming out of her nose now. Ron was laughing.
Then he said, “Are you Ok?”
It took her another minute to stop choking. “Yes,” she managed to squeak as she fought for air. “What happened?”
“He wished me luck,” said Ron.
“He did?” Celeste sounded incredulous.
“Sort of,” said Ron. “What he actually said was good fucking luck with that.”
“That sounds more like him. Was he drunk?”
“On his way,” said Ron.
“Sure, Friday night. Let’s see he’ll get fairly plastered, sleep for a couple of hours, and then do some serious drinking.”
“Every Friday?”
“You can set your watch by it,” said Celeste.
“He asked if I knew that you left him without a word.”
“What did you say?”
“I said yeah.”
“It sounds like it was tense.”
“More it was just awkward after I figured out that they weren’t going to jack me up.”
“Were you worried about that?”
“It crossed my mind. That was just me. There wasn’t anything like that.”
Celeste smiled.
Ron said, “George had the invitations printed for us.”
“How do they look?”
“I haven’t seen them yet. I’ll stop by their house and pick them up on the way up to see you. I’ll get the list from my mom.”
“Ok, want to do them tonight?”
“Sure,” said Ron.
Marjorie was waiting for him. She showed him the invitations. Ron smiled up at George and said, “Thank you. They’re really beautiful.” They were printed in a script that Celeste and Ron liked and they were on a creamily white, fine paper that would accent her wedding dress. Ron looked at them again and smiled. “They’re really great George, thank you.”
George said, “I printed up enough thank you notes to last forever.”
The genuine kindness of the act touched Ron in a place that he never believed that he could ever be touched by George. Marjorie handed him the list. “It’s larger than what we expected.”
“We agreed on 100 people,” said Ron.
“This will only bring it to about 125 and these people are important.”
“Why?” said Ron.
George got up and left the table. He went into the living room and turned on the TV.
“I want to invite Rocky,” said Marjorie.
The cold gaze that came over Ron was almost frightening. “No.”
He knew that his mother still talked to Rocky on the telephone. For all he knew they may have met again. He hadn’t expected her to ask for this and his reaction was visceral.
“He was important in your life.”
“Pretty much the way that the bubonic plague was important to Shakespeare.”
“Don’t be a bastard, Ronald.”
“Mom, I can’t. I still hate him and I don’t want anyone that I hate there that day.”
“What about your father’s boss?”
“He was always good to me. If he wants to come, I want him there.”
“George’s family wants to be there.”
Ron felt a little stunned. He looked down at the invitations. “That would be nice.”
“What about your Uncle Mike’s family?”
Ron thought about his Aunt Dottie and her sister Anita who had married Uncle Mike. He wasn’t sure why they would want to be there. His uncle had died. “OK,” he said. He loved the Yankees because of his Uncle Mike. He’d ignored his uncle. Ron had the feeling that this would be a rerun of his life. He had very few vetoes and he’d already used the biggest one.

Chapter 102
They moved to Glen Ridge in early summer. Richie helped them with the move. The sense of space was shocking. There was a backyard without gravel and glass and in back of it was a football field that was ringed by a track. When they shook hands Ron said, “I not losing touch with Newark.”
Richie shook his friend’s hand warmly. “You will. Everybody who moves away does.”
“Not me,” said Ron. “I know where I come from.”
“You still want to play football?”
“Yes,” said Ron.
“Is your knee better?”
“Sometimes, but I can’t run the way that I used to.”
“I could always beat you in a race,” said Richie.
“You always did,” said Ron.
It was goodbye to Newark and Ron’s friends and everything that he understood. He wouldn’t miss Jersey Catholic, but right now he missed Newark very much.
His first walks were explorations that were filled with wonder. What struck him first was that there were no smells. You didn’t get that whiff of diesel when a bus rumbled its engine. The aroma of what your neighbors were cooking didn’t waft out to you as you passed their windows. The houses were set too far back from the street for any of that. The lawns were manicured and the wonder of flowers was everywhere. Ron had only seen flowers in a vase or when he visited Rocky’s sister who had rose bushes. These flowers bloomed everywhere and instead of diesel and cooking aromas he sniffed their scent.
Some streets were wide and some were narrow but they were all quiet. A dog’s bark rang out like a siren but without its implications. Instead of streetlights, there were gaslights that glowed but did not really illuminate.
When Ron realized that he could walk to his father’s house, he felt his heart beginning to race. It was a couple of miles but he could do it and wanted more than anything to be able to walk over and see him.
Newark was a bus ride away and when he took it back there everything felt strange. He could feel it on his skin and he wondered if it had always been there.
When Harry Tuck found out that Ron had been in the hospital he was shocked. It came in a phone call from Marjorie.
“I thought that you might want to know what is going on in your son’s life, since you seem to take no interest at all in it.”
“Don’t start with me, Margie. What’s going on with him?”
“He’s been in the hospital, not that you would care.”
“Why was he in the hospital?”
Marjorie’s voice was anguished. “Harry, he lost control and was shaking and twitching and the doctor wanted to send him to a psychologist and said that he has an ulcer from stress.”
“Jesus Christ! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because he said that he didn’t want you to worry about him and that when you weren’t so busy that you would call. So I waited and you didn’t.”
Harry wiped his hand over his face. “How is he now?”
“He seems better. I don’t know. I know that he misses you and would rather die than bother you.”
“I’ll stop by tonight.”
“We don’t live there anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
The surprise in Harry’s voice caused a broad grin on her face.
“We have a house in Glen Ridge,” she said with a swelling pride.

End of Part 3

Chapter 103
The day before the wedding Ron picked up the boxes of alcohol from Bottles and drove them up to the Women’s Club. He was met by the caretaker, an older Black man, tall with gray hair. His name was Roy Miller and Ron called him Mr. Miller.

“There had to be some changes,” said Mr. Miller.
“What kind of changes?”
“Your guest list grew. We had to put in more tables and take away the dance floor.”
“Oh that’s not so good,” said Ron. “Is there anything that we can do about that?”
“Well,” said Mr. Miller, “if I move the bridal table to the other side of the room and we open the curtains and put it on the stage, there should be enough room.”
“Then let’s do that.”
“Just move the bridal table to the stage and leave everything else the same?”
“Sure,” said Ron, “that will be the easiest way.”
Roy Miller smiled his fake, fuck you smile. “Whatever way you’d like to do it.”
If Celeste and Ron had hired him to co-ordinate the event, as had been suggested, he would be looking out for their interests. But they had turned him down and said that they had it under control, so now he was just there to tend to the Club.
Ron loaded in the liquor while Mr. Miller watched. He liked the feel of the club and the room. He thought Marjorie would be happy with it too. “Is there anything else that I should know, Mr. Miller?”
Roy Miller smiled. “Not that I can think of right now.”
“Great,” said Ron nervously.
Ron drove to Roger and Rita’s restaurant. Roger was a former English teacher that both Ron and Celeste knew through Quimpy. He had left the profession, which Ron thought was the best move that he could have made and opened a place with his wife. It was a small storefront that served French style food. Rita was a trained chef and did all the cooking. Roger ordered the food and acted as a host. They put out a great meal and when Ron and Celeste had gone to them with the idea that they cater the wedding, they’d were excited. It would be their first catering job and a nice way to expand the business.
Roger smiled and shook Ron’s hand. He looked so much happier and relaxed now that he didn’t have to face the pile of papers that had begun giving him hives by the end of his career teaching.
Ron said, “Are you all ready?”
“We’ve got it under control,” said Roger. “It’s going to be great.”
Ron smiled. “Is Rita back there?”
“Yeah,” said Roger. “Go say hello.”
Rita was a short, Scottish woman with black curly hair and a winning smile that always put Ron at ease. She grinned up from a pot of a white wine cream sauce. “Are you nervous?”
Ron grinned his best dimpled grin. “About everything but the food.”
Rita handed him a cream puff. Ron smiled and it was gone in two bites.
“I know that you’re busy,” said Ron. “I’m just trying to make sure that we have everything in place.”
“You’ve done all the planning. Now you just have to sit back, let everyone do their job, and marry Celeste.”
Ron broke into a wide automatic grin at the sound of her name.
“Will Angel be there?”
“Yes, we hired her favorite teacher to be her companion for the day.”
“That was a good idea. Do you have music?”
“We have a piano player.”
“That’s great. I hate this new thing of using a DJ. Live music is the best.”
Ron and Celeste had painstakingly created a set list for Pipes, a friend the next door neighbor, Jake Clifford had found for them. Jake told them that Pipes looked a little strange but that he played great piano and his nickname was earned by his really strong voice. When Ron asked what was strange about the way that he looked, Jake had told them that Pipes was a dwarf. Celeste and Ron thought that was both funny and appropriate.
“See you tomorrow,” said Ron.
Rita kissed his cheek and Ron felt the dampness that came from working in the hot kitchen. “You just relax and enjoy.”
Ron shook hands with Roger again. Rita put him at ease but Roger didn’t.
When Ron asked Chris Calvin to be his best man, he felt good about the choice. It was true that he knew Quimpy longer, but Quimpy had been more of an early teacher and always looked at Ron as a crazy fucked up kid that he enjoyed helping. Quimpy had also been one of Celeste’s boyfriends. That would have been too weird. But things between Ron and Chris weren’t the same. Chris was married now. He owned a house in the same town as his parents. His wife was obviously pregnant. Ron had the sense that both of their lives had changed immeasurably.
Ron drove back to his apartment. He’d stopped staying there. He spent each night with Celeste, in her basement room. The basement touched something primitive inside of him. He felt it from the first time that he’d seen it. In spite of all the objections of Celeste’s family, Angel was thriving in day care. She accepted the way that things were organized and her pathway to approval was so easy. Ron filled the pitcher at his kitchen sink. He walked around the debris that had come down from the ceiling, through his bedroom and into the place where he kept his desk and had bay windows and music and his plants. He stroked the leaves as he watered them.
He felt that he communicated with his plants through music and emotion, thought and touch. His fingers strokes the asparagus fern that he encouraged to grow and touch the other potted plants and who had rewarded him with white flowers that were beautiful and delicate. His olive tree looked healthy and was coming through the winter chill and lack of light in good shape. The jade plant was plump although there were small wrinkles in the plump leaves that called for light. The spider plant was prodigious.
Ron sat in the fan back chair and lit a joint. The room felt happy to see him. There had been so many hours in this room. For almost all of them he’d been alone. He’d learned to be fully alone here. When he moved in, Chris said, “I think you’re going to stay here for a long time and it’s going to be good.”
Chris had been right. He had stayed a long time and it had been good for him. It occurred to Ron that whenever he lived alone, he’d been forced out of the apartment eventually, like something was moving him. In Elizabeth, it had been a fire. Here it was a collapsing ceiling in his kitchen. Ron sucked on the joint and laughed. That wasn’t true. Now there was Celeste and Angel. That’s why he was no longer here.
He finished the joint, resisted the temptation to light another and turn on his music, laid out his tux, locked the door and drove down to spend the night with Chris.
Ron turned down the barely paved one block, dead end, one house street. The house was small but surrounded by an enormous amount of property. The light inside the screened in porch was on and Chris was sitting in a chair on the side of the round, iron table. The window to the screened in porch was open. Chris was wearing a light jacket. The lights were lit on the second floor. Music filtered out from the adjoining living room.
Chris poured Ron a glass of red wine. “I think that she’s really great.”
“I do too,” said Ron. “It’s just not something that you get to fuck up and say oh well, and then move on.”
Chris grinned. “Don’t think about fucking it up. It’s going to be great.”
Ron said, “I invited Laureen and April. They never responded.”
“That surprises you?”
“I suppose that it shouldn’t.”
Chris sipped at the wine and smiled his contagious grin. “Celeste responded though, right?”
Ron lit a cigarette and laughed softly to himself. “Yes, she did.”
“That’s all you need.” Chris shifted his position and said, “Look, you’re getting married. After that, it’s just a party, right?”
Ron felt that confident warmth that Chris always inspired and said, “You’re right.”
Chapter 104

The morning was cold like winter. Ron cradled a mug of coffee in his palms on the screened porch of Chris Calvin’s house. The light was just coming up and birds were singing. Ron thought that he has never lived in a place where birds singing was the dominant music of an early morning. The coffee felt warm. He was getting married. His mind was pulled like a magnet, not to his mother but to his Aunt Dottie.
Last Christmas eve, he and Celeste had eaten at her family’s house. It was the first time in his life that he’d done that. Marjorie was almost too wounded to speak. She accepted that he would be there on Christmas Day.
Ron sipped the coffee and felt the bite of the air. It was going to be cold today. That night Celeste heard that her Aunt Minn had no place to be. It was the first time that Ron had seen her stand up to her mother and father. It was a sight to behold. She gave in about everything except the things that truly mattered to her.
A transformation took place when those things were somehow insulted or disqualified or ignored. That metamorphosis exuded a certain power.
Celeste said, “I’m going to bring Aunt Minn here. I won’t eat here without here.”
Tina objected. “No, it’s supposed to be just us.”
Celeste moved in closely. She was taller than her younger sister. It wasn’t a growl, but it was tending in that direction. “I’m bringing our Aunt Minn to dinner.”
Tina frowned but the look in Celeste’s eyes withered her mother and her sister. Mario was annoyed and proud.
They got into the car and Celeste drove. She said, “My Aunt Minn loved me like no one else has ever cared for me. She was just always on my side and she’s old and I don’t know how much longer she has.”
Ron loved her more deeply in that instant than he had ever loved a woman. “Let’s get her.”
Ron cradled the cup in his palms and held it to his mouth. Aunt Minn had white hair and smooth powdered cheeks when he first saw her. She was wearing a shawl over a soft print dress. She kissed Celeste and stroked her face and Ron watched Celeste beam and know that she had felt a kind of warmth that he was yet to experience.
Aunt Minn lit up the table when they brought her back. Anna basked in the glow of the older sister who had really been more of a mother to her. Tina felt the warmth of her loving eyes. Mario gazed at her and thought about Tony, her late husband who had been so strong and so important and so rich.
Ron sipped his morning coffee and closed his eyes. Then
he opened them and looked down at his left pinky. The ring that Aunt Minn gave him was there. It was copper. She told him that he had kind eyes. She told him that the ring would protect him. She’d smiled at Celeste after she said that. It was a blessing.
Ron stretched his legs out and felt the cold of the day again. It was the end of March what about the out like a lamb nonsense.

Chapter 105

Celeste and Anna got dressed to go to the beauty parlor where Janine worked. She had done Celeste’s hair for each of the her other weddings but teasing Celeste about it in front of Anna only elicited a stony gaze that said she was in no mood to laugh. Being at your daughter’s first wedding was an honor. Having to attend the third was an embarrassment. She communicated to Celeste with her facial expressions and body language that she just wanted this to go smoothly and be over.
Janine waited until Anna was safely ensconced under the hair dryer to talk with her cousin. “She is in one hell of a snit.”
“I know,” said Celeste, “but there’s nothing that I can do about it.”
“She thinks that you are taking Angel away from her.”
“I’m not. Angel will still be there every day.”
“I know that and you know that.”
They both looked at Anna was sat plump and sullen, her chin tucked down against her chest and her eyes in a magazine that she wasn’t really reading.
“Do you think that I should try to explain that again today?”
They both laughed. Anna could not hear because of the dryer over her head but she sensed the laugh and looked over at them. The no nonsense gaze caused them both to act like naughty school girls who had been caught doing something wrong.
“She can’t hear us, can she?” said Celeste.
“No, but she has radar. She knows.”
They tried to stifle their giggles.
“Are you excited?”
“I’m ready to jump out of my skin.”
“Where did he spend last night?’
“At his best friend’s house.”
“He’s the best man?”
“Yes.”
“Doesn’t he have a brother?”
“A half-brother, but they aren’t that close.”
“You’re going to look beautiful.”
“I just hope that he thinks so.”
“He’d be an idiot not to,” said Janine.

Chapter 106

Early in the afternoon, Ron drove back to his apartment to get changed. He was wearing a grey morning coat, dark grey slacks, a light grey vest, a carnation and a cravat. He pulled on the short silk grey gloves that matched the vest. His stomach was quivering as he looked at himself in the mirror. He felt like he was ready for the wedding and hoped that he was ready for marriage. If he wasn’t ready now, when would he ever be?
He met Chris at the church. The day had just grown colder and was overcast. Ron was chain smoking. Somewhere in his mind he worried if she would show up. Father Tom Orecchio was smoking with him and smiling and telling him that it was going to be alright. Chris Calvin laid a hand on his shoulder and said, “The Church is filling up.”
Ron lit another cigarette. The minister, Peter Fiesley, smiled at Ron from in back of his steel framed glasses. “I’ve practiced the poem that you selected, but I’m sure that I don’t read it as well as you.”
Ron smiled and said “You’ll do fine.”
Fiesley grinned back at him, “So will you.” He walked off to check on the bride’s arrival.
The Church was lit by candles that were on long thin poles down the center aisle. Ron and Celeste had been careful to order non drip candles at the request of Fiesley, but the wax was running down the sides and onto the red carpet.
Fiesley came back to them with a smile and clapped his hands together. “I think we’re all ready.”
Ron blurted, “She’s here?”
They all chuckled at him. Father Tom Orecchio said, “Yeah Ronnie, she wouldn’t take my advice. She showed up.”
This was Orecchio’s first ecumenical ceremony. He and Fiesley had worked through who would say what. They were both professionals. With Orecchio’s help, Celeste had gotten the annulment of her second marriage. Since Ron never mentioned the first one, which hadn’t taken place in a church anyway, he was free to bless the ceremony.
Ron went out with Chris and stood on the altar. He smiled his best dimpled grin and looked out at the gathering. Music from the pipe organ began. Angel truly looked like an angel as she walked down the aisle with her Aunt Tina. There were ahhs and ohhs from the bride’s side of the church. The first chords of “Here Comes the Bride” brought the people to their feet. Tina held Angel’s hand and looked a bit intimidated by the music and all the people.
When Ron saw her, he felt humbled. Her smile was huge. He hair hung perfectly curled down passed her shoulders. Mario looked debonair in his tux. But Ron never really made eye contact with him. His eyes were wide open. She carried a bouquet of white red and pink roses. There was a sparkle in her eyes and a beautiful cameo at her throat. She wore white open toes shoes with a thin strap at the ankle. She seemed to glide down the aisle.
When she reached Ron and they took each other’s hands, they felt lost and locked in their gaze. It was just then that Marjorie began to wail. These were not the soft tears of joy that someone hears at a wedding. They were more the piteous howls of grief that a person hears at the funeral of someone unexpectedly deceased.
As Fiesley began to speak the wailing grew louder. He raised his voice so that he could be heard. Celeste could hear it. She knew what it was. She knew who was doing it. She knew that each wail represented trouble in her future, but she could not turn away from his face and was pretty sure that he couldn’t hear anything.
Ron stood there mesmerized at the sight of her and the realization that she was going to be his wife. She was smiling back at him, confident and sure and frightened. Ron silently vowed to make her fears disappear.
Fiesley began to read, “Let me not admit impediments,” he paused and began again, “To the marriage of true minds, let me not admit impediments…”
The minister slaughtered the sonnet, but Ron didn’t hear it. He felt enveloped in the cocoon of warmth that shone out of her eyes.
The ceremony continued, as did the wailing. Anna heard it and while a part of her was offended by its implications, she respected its strength and simplicity. Tina heard it. She loved her older sister but hated being a maid of honor and now she was doing it for the third time. The first time she’d dreamed that Greg was hers. The second time, she understood what her sister was doing and accepted it. Now, she was more than skeptical. How many chances did you get? How many times could you put your family through this? Ron Tuck was not a factor in her thinking. She’d allowed herself to feel nothing from him.
George struggled with the urge to take Marjorie outside. He somehow knew that would make it worse. Harry Tuck heard her crying. He’d heard her crying like this just twice before. The first time was when she lost their first child. The next time was when she learned that he had been sleeping with one of her friends. Harry looked at his son and saw the blend of Marjorie and himself. It was still there. The distance mixed with the warmth. The brain mixed with the physical desire. If this was who he wanted, this was who Harry wanted for him. It was as simple as that.
Janine thought the wailing curious. She wondered what it meant and where it came from. She gazed at the solid figure of her husband and then over to her son and daughter and felt secure and safe.
Chis was fighting the urge to giggle. The enduring quality of the wailing was admirable. He could see that Ron didn’t hear it and thought that was a bit of a miracle.
Quimpy felt a pang in his chest. Celeste should have been his and now Ron had stolen her.

Fiesley said, “Ron, do you have words for Celeste?”
Ron looked into her eyes and grasped her cold hands. For the first time, he realized how nervous she was. He tried to exude the warmth that he felt in his heart through his hands and his eyes and then his words. “I promise to love who you are, not who I want you to be. I promise to be there for you no matter what happens. I promise to trust you and not doubt your love or your actions. I promise that I will never leave you. I promise to protect you and to protect Angel.” He saw her eyes open a little wider. Angel had not been in the original version of the vows that they created. “I promise to make our lives as full and rich as they can be.” They were simple promises and Ron knew that each and every word was a vow. He wasn’t sure that he’d ever understood a vow before, but now that he was taking one, he knew beyond doubt that he would live up to it or die trying. It had been a very long time since he felt unstoppable, but he felt that way now.
Fiesley turned to Celeste. “Do you have words for Ronald?”
Celeste said, “I love who you are won’t try to change you. I love with my whole heart that you want me and know that I want you just as much. I know that some people may think that we are crazy, and we are, and I know for the first time in my life that it doesn’t matter as long as we continue to love and support each other.”
People say lots of things at weddings. Sometimes they say them to sound good. Sometimes they say what other people have told them to say. Sometimes they just say what the priest and minister want them to say. Ron and Celeste’s vows were not identical, but they were the same.
Harry didn’t listen to the words that closely. Words were ok, but they didn’t really mean that much. Marjorie felt like the words stuck into her like knives. Her wailing had reduced to whimpers. The words were beautiful but in her heart she still thought that they were being said to the wrong person. It should have been Julie. She could have loved and embraced Julie. It could have been worse. He could be up there saying them with Robin, but she would have learned to accept Robin, eventually. The mouse would have been easy. No, he never would have accepted a girl that she introduced him to. But why did it have to be this one who already had a child?
The pictures went on endlessly. Ron had never posed for so many photos in his life and his face hurt from smiling. He was sure that he had closed his eyes for at least half of the photographs. It had always been an effort for him not to blink and he could do it some of the time, but not for all of this.
There were pictures with Celeste. Pictures with his father. Pictures with his mother. Pictures with Anna who never looked at him once. Then there were the group pictures. Every combination of people imaginable. The photographer and the camera seemed insatiable.
Celeste had to stand for even more pictures than he did. Ron thought, she better at this than I am. She’s better at a lot of things than I am. But she’s mine now. It felt so strange to have someone say that they wanted you and would love who you were, not who you could be or who that person wanted you to be.
Chris drove Ron, Celeste and Tina to the reception. It was cold and everyone except Chris wanted a cigarette. Ron and Celeste sat in the back seat holding hands. The grinned at each other. “The hard part is over now,” said Ron. “Now it’s just the party.”
He had just said that when Tina set fire to the car. She dropped a lit match onto some papers on the front seat and the started smoking and then a shot of flame flickered. Ron remembered the apartment that had caught fire while he was asleep and thought that the fire had come to his wedding. The candles had dripped when they weren’t supposed to and now this. Chris pulled the car to the side of the parkway. Tina opened the door and jumped out before her dress got singed. Chris came around and stomped and then got rid of the smoking papers.
Back in the car, Chris said, “Well that was exciting.”
Tina said, “I’m really sorry.”
“Did it get anything important?” said Ron.
“What could be that important?” said Chris.
Tina turned around to Celeste. “I’m really sorry.”
“You didn’t mean it,” said Celeste.
Chris said, “Are you sure that we are supposed to make a left here?”
“No, it’s a right,” said Ron.
“Directions say left,” said Chris.
Ron looked at Celeste. Celeste winced. One of the things that she hadn’t gotten around to telling Ron was that she didn’t have the best sense of direction when it came to writing them down. She could get there but sometimes left and right got mixed up in her head. They found their way to the Women’s club.
People who had chosen to skip the church were more successful than those who tried to follow the directions. The people from Bergen County had a basic idea of where it was. Ron’s Essex County people were totally lost, except for Harry who had driven the route yesterday and seen the mistake. He hadn’t bothered mentioning it to anyone else.
When they went inside the club they saw about 30 people sitting in a cold room huddled in their coats. They did not smile at the bride and groom. Ron went looking for Mr. Miller and found him in his overcoat.
“Mr. Miller, the room is freezing.”
Roy Miller smiled at the groom who had not hired him to coordinate the reception. “Some people likes it warm and some people likes it cooler.”
“They’re freezing in there. Could you please turn the heat on?”
“Are you sure that you wouldn’t rather do that yourself?” said Miller.
It was then that Ron understood. “No, I’d prefer that you did it. I’m really supposed to be greetings people and such.”
“Alight, I’ll make it warmer.” Miller went to the thermostat and turned it up to 85 degrees.
When Ron came back downstairs, he saw Celeste looking troubled and worried. “What’s wrong?”
“Everything,” said Clare.
“What do you mean?”
“Let’s see, everyone is lost. The room is freezing and the bartender just left.”
“What do you mean he left?”
“He got beeped and told Bottles that he was sorry and that he had to go.”
Ron sighed and said, “Ok, what do we do now?”
“Bottles said that he would tend bar.”
It wasn’t what either of them wanted. Bottles was a good friend to Celeste and they had wanted him there as a guest, not an employee. “That’s really nice of him.”
“There’s something else.”
“Roger said that two of the waiters they hired didn’t show up and that they will have to serve buffet style.”
“That’s not so bad,” said Ron.
“Rita said that the kitchen is not what she thought it was going to be and that it’s going to take a lot longer than she thought.”
Ron felt the tension starting to build inside of him. “Ok, tell Bottles to make the drinks strong. If they can’t eat, let’s get them warm and drunk.”
It was then that Ron saw Marjorie and George come through the door. Marjorie looked at him like she wanted to spit. “How could you do this to me?”
“Do what?” said Ron.
“It took us an hour and a half to find this place and it’s freezing in here. Look at those people shivering in their coats!”
“The heat’s on now.”
“Well isn’t that nice. Usually you turn the heat on before the people arrive.”
“Mom, it’s my wedding,” said Ron.
“If that’s what you want to call it. I call it a disaster.”
Ron felt slapped. “I’ll do the best that I can.”
“Yeah,” said Marjorie with a disgusted grimace.
Ron looked over at the long line at the bar and saw Bottles working feverishly. Part of him wanted to go over and help, but he wouldn’t have known what he was doing and that kind of a move might actually drive Marjorie over the edge.
The room seemed to be getting warmer. Except for the older women who still sat in their coats and appeared to be shivering, other people had taken off their coats and were moving around in relative comfort.
It was then that Ron saw Anna and Mario come through the door carrying Angel. Anna was moving more quickly than Ron had seen her move before. She marched up to Celeste and gesticulated and said something that made Celeste shrink. Ron watched from a distance.
When Anna saw where she was seated, she turned at glared at the bridal table from the other side of the room. Marjorie hadn’t made her way to her table yet and didn’t realize. When Ron had moved the bridal table, he’d neglected to rearrange any of the other tables. As a result, both his family and Celeste’s family were seated in the rear of the room and the friends that were supposed to be there were now up front.
It was just then that Pipes waddled out carrying a milk box that would help him to reach the keys on the piano. When Ron walked over to shake hands with Pipes, he realized that his fingers were webbed. He wanted to ask how he managed to play the piano but he guessed that he would soon see.
Ron and Celeste found themselves explaining to the guests that there was a mistake in the directions for the next hour. Those of them that knew Celeste, looked at Ron and said, “You let her do the directions?”
Ron felt her blushing next to him and realized that he felt more badly for her than he did for the guests. When he saw Harry, he said, “Did you have any trouble getting here, Dad?”
Harry Tuck smiled his impish grin. “Not a bit.”
Celeste physically relaxed next to him. He could almost feel the tension go out of her body. Harry added, “I made the drive yesterday, figured it out.”
That was his dad. He was never going to get caught being lost. If he did get lost it would be on his own so that no one would ever know.
Marjorie said, “Why are we sitting way back here?”
“That’s my fault,” said Ron.
Marjorie frowned. “Well I guess that shows how important I am in your life.”
“It wasn’t like that. Because of the extra guests they had to remove the dance floor. Originally the curtain were supposed to be closed and we were supposed to be at this end of the room. When I told them to put us on the stage, I didn’t tell them to rearrange the tables.”
“What a mess,” said Marjorie and walked off.
At ninety minutes into the reception, no food had yet been served but the room was now very warm and people had all been drinking. Roger and Rita, served the wedding table first but neither Ron nor Celeste felt much like eating. They had made their way around the room for the first time and people had begun to give them envelopes of money.
Quimpy took Ron off to the side and handed a bag stuffed with two ounces of the finest golden pot he’d ever seen. “Congratulations,”
Ron stuffed the bag into the inside pocket of his jacket. It bulged too much. He tried his pants pocket. It still stuck out. He walked back into the room where Celeste had hung her white fur coat and found that if he wrapped inside of the coat that it couldn’t really be seen. He just had to remember to tell her that it was there.
Pipes came over and said, “When do you want me to start playing?”
Ron said, “Now would be good.”
Ron and Celeste began to dance as the dwarf played Imagine. In the background they could hear the waiter saying, “Table Five, we’re ready to have you eat now.”
Pipes belted out, “Imagine no religion…” and Ron found himself drawn to look at the priest and minister who didn’t seem to notice. Ron held Celeste close and they swayed slowly to the song. It was the first time that they had danced together and she moved so smoothly while he felt himself to be awkward and tentative.
To Ron’s surprise there was applause when the song ended. Maybe everything was going to be ok. Most of the people had food now. The room was warm, maybe too hot, but Ron wasn’t going to encounter Mr. Miller again if he could avoid it.
Quimpy was looking around and seeing if anyone had noticed that he had slipped away. He had his eye on an antique chair that he saw in the vestibule. Quietly, he dragged the chair closer to the door. He took another surreptitious look around the room and quickly picked the chair up and was out the door. He loaded it into the backseat of his pink Cadillac and returned to the party. He made sure to lock the door because he didn’t really trust the neighborhood.
It was about two and a half hours into the party that the people who ate the undercooked chicken began to get sick. Mostly it was women and they blamed it on too much alcohol and not enough food at first. Then someone said that her chicken had been bloody inside. Ron closed his eyes and just wanted to disappear with Celeste.
He looked over at her with a stupid grin and said, “How long do we have to stay?”
Celeste’s eyes widened and she giggled. “They’d kill us if we left.”
“They’re going to kill us anyway,” said Ron.
Warren Lashly made his way over to Ron and Celeste. “Do you mind if I borrow your bride for a moment?” he drawled.
“Sure,” said Ron.
“Let’s go for a little walk,” said Warren.
“I’ll just get my coat,” said Celeste. When she found the pot tucked inside of it, she called Chris over and said, “Can you hold on to this for me?”
Chris grinned. “Absolutely, but I don’t think we should smoke it here.”
Celeste smiled and stroked his cheek. “I’m sure that Ron wouldn’t mind if you smoked one.”
“Marjorie might,” said Chris.
It was very cold outside when she and Warren got out the door. “You aren’t anything like I thought you’d be,” said Warren.
“What did you think I’d be?” said Celeste.
“Shorter and cold,” said Warren. “But you’re warm and friendly.”
Celeste felt his arm slide around her waist. “Thank you.” She realized that he was a little drunk.
“You know Ron and I were very close.”
“I know that he admires you.”
“We share everything,” said Warren.
He drew Celeste to him and kissed her. When he tried to make the kiss passionate and opened his mouth, Celeste pushed against his chest and said, “I’d better get back inside.” She turned and walked away. She wasn’t sure if she should tell Ron or not.
He was over at the table with Paula DeFreio and Herman Horvack and Anthony Fiangelo. Ron grimaced when he looked at their plates and saw that Horvack and DeFreio had chicken that was leaking blood. He took a deep breath.
“I’m really happy that you guys could make it.”
“I couldn’t resist meeting the beautiful woman who tamed your spirit,” said DeFreio.
Celeste and Lashly came up next to them. “And here she is,” said Fiangelo.
“I don’t want to tame him,” said Celeste.
“She just wants him all to herself,” said Lashly.
Ron made introductions. Lashly and DeFreio seemed to size each other up from a distance. Ron had told each about the other and he somehow thought that their mutual interest in him would create a bond. It did not. There was some slightly awkward chit chat and then Ron took Celeste’s elbow and led her off.
Ron whispered in her ear. “That was weird. I thought they’d like each other.”
“They just don’t know each other,” said Celeste.
Ron thought about that. In his naiveté he’d expected them all to hit it off. He liked them and somehow he thought that would translate into them liking each other. It hadn’t.
The people came up to them with gifts. Envelope after envelope was delivered as they sat at the bridal table in front of the meal that they hadn’t touched.
Ron embraced his great aunt Anita. Tears were in his eyes as he could see his Aunt Dottie, his Uncle Mike, his great grandmother Mina who taught him how to read and recite from the bible. He held Anita’s hands. “You gave me a lot by just staying alive to be here.”
She looked up from her white face and silver hair. “I love you. I have always loved you. Your Uncle Mike loved you. I’m sorry that I’m not your Aunt Dottie.” Celeste heard this exchange and wanted to cry for them both. It must be so hard to be the last of your generation and to be forgotten.
Jimmy and Janine came over and slipped Celeste an envelope. Janine whispered into her ear. “I hope that he’s an animal with you.” Celeste felt heat on her cheeks.
Jimmy shook Ron’s hand and said, “Good luck coach.”
Ron looked into eyes that had seen more football than he ever would. The game had taken its toll on Jimmy and left him proud but bitter. Ron wondered why he wasn’t bitter about it. Was it because it ended so early? What was the dream like when you almost made it to the highest level? Was there anything more that you could draw from the game after that? Ron wanted to know Jimmy better.
Paulo DeFreio was well manicured, formal and warm. He grasped Celeste’s hands and said, “Thank you for inviting me. I think that he will be a good man for you.”
Herman Horvack was more cautious with Ron’s women after Robin had bitten him. He was polite but did not touch her and hid his hands. Herman smiled at Ron. “Where to now?”
“Jamaica,” said Ron.
Herman was teaching as well. He’d stopped writing. He did translations only now.
Ron looked over at Angel and felt the need to hold her. She meant so much and had only a small part in the day. She was in pajamas now. Ron walked from the stage and gathered her up into his arms. He whispered, “Are you sleepy?”
Angel wrapped her arms around his neck and said, “No, I’m lonely.”
“You know that your mom and I are going away for a few days?”
“They told me.”
“I’ll miss you.”
“Why can’t I come?”
“We’ll be back soon.”
Angel didn’t respond. She just held him. In that instant Ron wanted all of this to be over and for them to be back in their basement and for her to be fresh from her bath. He gave her back to the teacher who they’d hired to be her companion for the day.
Celeste felt herself beginning to breathe again. It was almost over.
As the reception drew to a close, Ron and Celeste thanked everyone for coming. They tried to do it individually but some people left before they could get to them.
Mr. Roy Miller approached them as they were about to leave. “I wish you many happy years.”
Celeste said, “Thank you.”
Mr. Miller said, “There’s just one thing. It seems that something is missing.”
Ron looked confused and said, “What?”
“A chair that one of your guests was observed loading into the back of his pink Cadillac.”
Ron and Celeste felt a simultaneous wave of embarrassment. “I’ll make sure that it’s returned and I’m sorry. We should have hired you. We made a mistake.”
“People need to learn from their mistakes,” said Mr. Miller.

Chapter 107

They sat in the plane together and Celeste held his hand. Ron gripped hers tightly as the plane took off. It was only the second time in his life that he’d been on an airplane and the first time as an adult that he’d been on vacation. Celeste was an experienced traveler and assured him that everything would go fine.
Celeste had taken any money that she had and paid for this honeymoon. It was insurance money that she’d gotten from being injured in a car accident when she was run off the road and broke her collarbone. She knew that they would never have much money and she knew that Ron’s life was about to change in ways that he could not possibly imagine. At least they would have this.
Montego Bay was hot. Ron began to sweat almost instantly when they got off the plane. The resort was beautiful and Ron felt that glowing lightness inside of him that caused him to smile continuously.
The air conditioner in their room had been turned on and as soon as they put down their bags, they made love and then they made love again. After their third round of lovemaking Ron fell asleep.
Celeste quietly unpacked their clothes and put them away. She watched him as he slept and thought that he looked like a little boy. She ordered five pina coladas from room service and when they arrived she gently woke him up. The sat on their screened in porch and sipped them and played gin rummy while a steel drum band walked along the courtyard playing When the Saints Come Marching In. Then they had dinner under the stars and they felt like they were in a temporary heaven.
It was at the front desk that Ron heard the desk clerk say, “How can I help you, Mrs. Tuck?”
The words hit him like a jolt. This beautiful woman was his and it was his responsibility to care for her and make her happy for the rest of his life. Ron grinned.
The breeze was a teasing and delicate stimulation. They’d come farther than they realized with absolutely no idea how long the road really was. His palm was pressed to the small of her back. Almost involuntarily, it caused her hips to roll. Her skin was scented with jasmine. Her hair hung down naturally soft. The breeze didn’t lift it, but Ron’s fingers did. He held her hair to his face and inhaled. The smile was deep and satisfied.
Celeste and Ron didn’t speak of their wedding day very much at all. They journeyed into the mountains of Jamaica. Their smiles were so genuine and open and enthusiastic that they brought out the best in the people that they met. Except for at the hotel’s outdoor café.
They watched in horror as an American tourist called an old man boy and castigated him for a mistake that the tourist had made and would not own. Their bodies tensed. They felt the old man’s humiliation. Celeste went to him and hugged him and gave him some money. Ron glared at the Texan tourist. His fists balled. And then Celeste was at his side again and he said, “How do people live without respect?”
“That’s a great question,” said Celeste, “and I don’t know the answer.”
“I don’t like disrespect. I used to. I think I was foolish.”

She gazed at him in wonder of the cynicism and innocence that he displayed. She’d never seen the two mix quite this way. It intoxicated her. It provided her with something that she hadn’t known that she needed. She wanted to make love with him and took his hand.

Chapter 1

Ron pulled gold Nissan into one of the spots reserved for administrators. They were close, alongside of the building. He walked through the kitchen entrance, the first door to be opened in the morning. Ron exchanged a silent wave with guys unloading the food trucks. Moving through the deserted cafeteria, Ron noted that the heat in the room was starting to be retained. He made a mental note to have the chief custodian look at the fans that they used in the cafeteria and the gym when the weather was warm.

The principal’s secretary was at her desk. Trudy Bennet was always the first to arrive. She coordinated the daily teacher absentee and replacement information that was called into the answering service. She smiled and said, “Good Morning Dr. Tuck.”

Ron grinned and shook his head. No matter how many times he asked her to please call him Ron, as she did during the first ten years of their acquaintanceship, she persisted with the formality since he became a Vice Principal. He countered by reverting back to calling her Mrs. Bennet as he had when he had first met her, and it had become a little gag between them. They had a bond. He had taught her son who was now thriving in college. Ron did not seem to realize that she liked calling him Dr. Tuck.
Ron gathered yesterday’s pile of discipline referrals. He had prioritized them before he went home on Saturday. It was an easy day, there were only twenty six referrals to address.

The first was Tiffany. The referral read fighting. Not disruptive behavior which was code for a fight that never really materialized, but fighting that carried a several penalty and for repeat offender including suspension and more. He would deal with this after he got through the routine stuff, that would take two minutes and he could get done during the homeroom period.

It was best to go to those students’ rooms during this time and just deliver the rule and infraction and penalty. Sometimes a teacher detention, sometimes a school detention, sometimes more. Ron saw the same students multiple times in a week and sometimes he never got to meet a student.

He scanned through and then his face darkened. There was a repeater than had been added to his mailbox after he went home. It was David again. The referral read, “I stopped the student in the hall and asked to see his pass his response was to say ‘Fuck you.’ And walk away.” This was going to be difficult. David was a special needs student who suffered from Oppositional Defiant Disorder. He should be in a residential program, which was where he was until this year when the Superintendent had brought back many of the out of district placements as a cost saving strategy.

Ron would see his counselor and she would give him some bullshit response like she would get David to say he was sorry. Ron wanted this to become a manifestation determination case. It was only then that there would be a hearing to determine whether an out of district placement was required. But the Special Ed department was under strict guidelines to keep the problems in house. It would be a battle and Ron was more than ready for it.

Joyce Garrett was standing in his doorway smiling and holding her morning coffee. “Good morning, Doctor Tuck.” She was Ron’s secretary and a well-organized woman who had the unruly task of keeping him on track. A feat in which she took pride.

Ron looked up with that expression that some believed was anger. Joyce had learned that it really meant that he was concentrating. She liked his ideas but they always meant more work, and he seemed oblivious to that. He would be willing to shoulder most of it, but not everyone had that kind of feeling about their job. It was a pain in the ass to work for him. The other secretaries had nicknamed them Beauty and the Beast, which she liked because she enjoyed thinking of herself as a beauty. He did pick her for promotion. She liked that grin that he had when he allowed anyone to see it. But he surely was different and the differences never allowed for peaceful coexistence with the other administrators.

“Hi Joyce, how was your weekend?”

“It was good. It was predictable. Cheerleading practice followed by taxi mom duty. The problem is that it is all almost over.”

Ron smiled. “That isn’t so bad. It’s been a long haul for you. Today is going to be busy, Joyce. When Frankie and Lois get in from morning rounds, let’s have a meeting.”

Joyce nodded. “Do you need me there?”

“Always,” said Ron. It was his way. He decided when he got this job that he needed someone he could count on to be in on most everything. That meant he had to trust that person. He had picked Joyce out of the secretarial pool when he got the job. She expected it to be more work because it was more money and a different salary scale. But the amount of work and time that he expected was unbelievable. Luckily, he was able to listen when she said that she was tired or needed a break.

Then Ron was out in the hall with his pile of referrals in his hand. It was a strange system. Although the high school had twelve hundred students, and two vice principals, Ron was in charge of all of the non-attendance related infractions. Some weeks that was more than 500 referrals. He started on the third floor and worked his way down.

When he stepped into the doorway of a class, the level of conversation would drop. He would nod to the teacher and call out a name. Sometimes there would be the obligatory laughs and snickers as a name was announced, and so Ron would try to make eye contact. Most kids figured he was coming, and he would nod them out into the hall. That was what happened with Bill Hancock.

Ron leaned his shoulder against the wall and read, “Says here Bill that this was the 5th time that you were unprepared for gym in two weeks. What’s going on?”

“I just hate it there and the teachers pick on me.”

“Why do you think that pick on you, Bill?” Ron watched his face and tried to project an attitude of wanting to know what the boy said.

“Because they know that I hate being there and make me pay for it.”

Ron knew it was true. Kids that did not get with the program were picked on. All of the gym teachers were also coaches. Ron had been a coach. He knew it was in their DNA. “Look, you gotta change for gym. Your graduation can be in jeopardy for not passing gym. I hated math. I still had to go to math class. You still have to take gym. You can’t win. You get screwed if you don’t do what the rules say. Right now I’m supposed to take one of your Saturday mornings away, but I’m going to give you a shot. Let’s say one warning, but you screw me, it’s two Saturdays and you make it to my ‘keep an eye on you’ list. That’s not something that you want.” Ron looked full into his face and waited till the kid met is eyes. “Understand?”

Bill looked a little rattled. He didn’t know Tuck, but had heard about “being Tucked” and he figured that was what the list meant. “I understand.” Ron gave the kid the referral to sign, took it back and was off to the next one.

Six into his group of eleven, the bell rang and the halls started to fill up. He would have Joyce look up the other kids’ schedules so he could pick them off later in the day.

Frankie Martin was a retired detective whose face led Ron to believe that he was a constant sufferer from prickly heat. Lois Mc Fee was a quiet woman who Ron tried his hardest to make laugh. Sometimes he could get her to loosen up and relax, but more often than not he could not accomplish it. They were waiting in Ron’s office when he got back. Joyce met him at the door and took the stack of referrals and handed him a fresh stack. He stopped and thumbed through them quickly. Nothing urgent.

Joyce asked, “Do you want a moment to get some coffee before we start?” She could read the answer on his face. He wouldn’t be stopping for coffee. He just shook his head no, and she followed him into his office.

“Hope you all had a good weekend,” said Ron in his halfhearted attempt to be casual. His weekend was not even a memory at the moment and, at the moment, unless something was terribly wrong, he didn’t care if they had good weekends or not. It had only been thirty minutes since he had actually asked that question of Joyce, but his transformation had been rather complete since then. He was all business now.

“The second floor boys room, Frankie, I just have this feeling that more is going on there between classes than the normal have a couple of drags before the next class action. Can you make a point to swing by there at two or three change of periods and tell me what you think at the end of the day?”

Frankie nodded. “I’ll make sure they know it’s not a free zone.”

Ron turned to Lois, “Where is the most heavily trafficked girls’ lav in the building?”

I’m not sure,” said Lois.

Ron expected her not to be sure but had the suspicion that guys were using girls to pass contraband in their lavs because he could not exactly barge into them, and felt weird hanging around them. If he told Frankie to hang around them, he would say that he would do it, and later tell Ron privately that he didn’t really feel comfortable doing that.

Lois brought Tiffany down to Dr. Tuck’s office. She sat her down in one of the waiting chairs, went over to Joyce’s desk and said, “Here’s Tiffany, I’m going to lunch.”

Joyce nodded and expected her to make sure she avoided being asked to sit in on the meeting. What she did not know was that Lois and Ron had an understanding. Ron wanted her to be as neutral a character as possible in students’ lives. They were both comfortable with this. The unspoken reason was that every once in a while she would hear something important and pass it along to Ron privately. It was an arrangement that suited her just fine, and it was what he said he wanted.

Joyce ushered Tiffany into Dr. Tuck’s office and sat down next to her. Ron wasn’t there. Tiffany took out her mirror and checked her makeup for the twentieth time that morning. She touched her hair and adjusted her skirt, which came more than half way up her baby fat thighs.

When Ron came into the room, Tiffany almost thought she caught the scent of cologne but wasn’t sure. He shut the door and moved in back of his desk.

“Tiffany, fighting again, really?” He held up his hands in a questioning gesture and a look of feigned confusion spread over his face. Tiffany stared back silently and defiantly. “Why were you fighting with Josie?”

Tiffany spit the words out. “She called me a bitch, a slut and a whore. I don’t let anyone get away with that.”

Ron cast a swift glance over at Joyce. He was happy that the language didn’t bother her, or at least she didn’t show it if it did. “Tiffany,” he began, “We are just into your sophomore year. You are a 10th grader. You are fifteen.” Tiffany instantly struck her pose of boredom and wondered why adults talked like this. What were they trying to prove?

Ron continued, “This is the fourth time you have been in here for fighting.”
Had it been four or was he making that up too? She tried to look more bored but stuck her chest out instead. Joyce noticed this but Ron seemed oblivious and was reading though her file.

“In May of last year, you were fighting with Angela DeMarco and the reason for the fight you told me, and I quote, ‘she called me a bitch a slut and a whore’. Do you find that odd Tiffany?”

Tiffany looked up at his face in a half startled way. “What do you mean?” Did he think that she was a bitch a slut and a whore too?

Ron continued. “In February, you were involved in a shoving match with Bonnie Pruitt. On that occasion, you told me that she started it by calling you, wait for it.” Ron paused in his theatrical way, “a bitch a slut and a whore. So my question is Tiffany, why do you think that the people with whom you have conflicts seem to have such a limited vocabulary?”

Tiffany was frazzled now. She didn’t understand what he was saying. She didn’t know what it meant. She was mad at herself. She had told herself that it didn’t matter what he said or did, she just wouldn’t let it bother her. “I don’t know what you mean. Are you saying that you think that I am those things?”
Joyce smiled. She was just a little girl sitting and dressing up like a slut, but defensive about anyone noticing and at the same time wanting them desperately to notice. Her clothes were way too tight and she did not have the figure for it. It was obvious that she didn’t exercise and she was on her way to the land of the plump. Once she started drinking regularly, she would be well on her way to some trailer park or whatever.

Ron put his head down and moved it back and forth slowly from side to side, and then looked up into her eyes, “On two of these occasions, including this time, the other girl said that you had stolen from her locker.”

“That’s a lie,” Tiffany almost shouted.

“But each time, you used the exact same words as the reason for the exchange.” Ron paused and softened his tone, “I think you make it up, Tiffany.”

Tiffany was pleased when she felt the tears on her cheeks. She had been trying. It was a lesson. If you felt one thing, you could pin it on something else. “You said that you believed me last year.” It was a shot, not a big one, but she had delivered it.

Ron knew he had said that. He knew that he wanted to believe her. He knew he didn’t anymore. “I’m going to suspend you for three days, Tiffany. You have to change your behavior here. Whatever the behavior is that is leading to this!” Ron realized that he had raised his voice and almost shouted back at her. He glanced at Joyce. The change in volume had blown them both back. He stopped himself. Lowered his tone. “Is anyone at home?”

Tiffany reached for the tissue that Joyce had instinctively provided. She knew it was an act too, but she felt sorry for Tiffany. “I don’t know.”

“Stay here with Mrs. Garrett and do your best to reach someone.” Ron stood up and moved from in back of his desk and opened the door. The immediate hum of noise and traffic seemed to break the mood of the meeting. “Joyce. I’ll be back in 10 minutes.”

Ron went off the find Frankie. He could have used the walkie-talkie, but had not been in the halls since homeroom and wanted to make his presence felt. He moved through the corridor whose walls were filled with posters. Some for the football team. Some were for bake sales. Some were announcements of meetings. Ron wasn’t looking for any of that. He was inspecting condition and date as he walked passed.
Across a wide, empty lobby that was lined with showcases, Ron glanced at the closed school store and then at his watch. He walked towards the nurse’s office and ducked in his head. It was empty except for the secretary. They exchanged good mornings and he learned that the nurse would not be in until noon, and backed out.

He liked touring the science wing because either he heard snippets of lectures or saw the bustle of the lab but it always felt like learning. The halls were empty and the lockers were closed.

Ron found Frankie outside of the cafeteria. “Come with me Frank, we have to drive a kid home.”

Chapter 2
Frankie drove and Ron sat shotgun with Tiffany in the back seat. It was a quiet ride. Ron stared out at the passing scenes. The one time farm land had been sold off and been developed. The new homes lacked uniqueness and were set in even geometric parcels. These lots were approximately an acre in squared dimension. They drove down the winding hill. The town had the highest elevation in the county and the high school had been built on top of the highest hill in the township.
They drove down to the man-made lake that gave the town an amount of notoriety in days gone. Yes, Jackie Gleason had a house on the lake and the town was famous for speakeasies, but that was all gone. The summer homes had been converted into cheap, year round, poorly insulated dwellings that attracted people of little means who could have their own house.
This section of town was nicknamed laketown by the locals. The streets were narrower and in sharp contrast to the more affluent sections of the vast and sprawling township that still did not have its own super market or movie theater. There had been a drive-in that was closed now and had been converted to a driving range.
Ron’s thoughts roamed back to when he first started teaching at the school a decade earlier. That had been chancy. He had uprooted Celeste and Angel on a one year contract that might or might not be renewed. For two of the first three years, it wasn’t renewed until June and Ron remembered the anxiety.
He also thought about the male students who were conspicuously absent at the beginning of deer hunting season and had chafed under the familial pressure that was placed on them to get their first deer. It had all been very new and strange to Ron.
Frankie pulled into the driveway of Tiffany’s home. Ron got out of the car and saw the discarded hot water heater and bathroom tub that seemed to almost be placed like lawn ornaments beside the house.
Tiffany followed and then moved ahead and wordlessly pulled open the screen door to the back of the house, hollering out, “Ma, the school is here.” Then she disappeared and left Ron standing in the kitchen. Ron tried to stand still and not touch anything. It was not a well-kept home and had a shabbiness that spoke not only of poverty but of neglect.
A bleached blonde woman, with roots showing through an old dye job, eyed him suspiciously.
“Mrs. LaFarr, I wanted to make sure Tiffany got home safely. She is suspended for three days and you or another guardian will have to accompany her to her reinstatement conference.”
“What am I supposed to do with her for three days,” said Tiffany’s mom. “The only peace I get is when she is up at that school.”
“She can’t be fighting at the school, Mrs. LaFarr.”
“Was the other kid suspended too?”
“I can’t discuss another student with you, but I can assure that I will deal with the situation fairly.”
“You’re Tuck?”
“Yes, Ma’am. I’m the vice principal.”
“Well, if it was up to me, I’d pull her right the hell of out that miserable school and put her to work. Those kids don’t learn anything anyhow.”
“I’m sorry that you feel that way, and we can discuss her schedule at the reinstatement conference. I just wanted to be sure she got home safely.”
“Well, she’s here.”
“I’ll see you in a few days Mrs. LaFarr.”
Ron turned to leave. Moving alongside the house he heard the woman scream, “You ain’t gonna sit on your ass for three days. I did not raise you to be a bitch and a slut and a thief.”
Ron couldn’t get back into the car fast enough. “Get me out of here, Frankie.”
The detective shook his head knowingly and backed out into the street and pulled away with practiced swiftness. Ron lit a cigarette and rolled down the window. How was anything that he did going to ever have an impact on kids like this. It was a hard truth and it was breaking down his door of optimism. It wasn’t.
“This is a good community,” said Frankie. You’re always going to have to deal with the losers.”
Ron nodded and tossed the cigarette out the window.

Chapter 3

Ron was all over the building when he came back. He wanted to exhaust his stack of referrals and got the number down to two by the time he was ready for the meeting about David.
The meeting was in the guidance counselor’s office. Ron joined Shondra Peters, David’s case manager, and Bert Pouri, the guidance counselor. Each of the three had a thick file on David.
“I asked for this meeting today because we have an untenable situation here. David Carpenter’s behavior is totally out of control and unless we can come up with some kind of solution that is better than the one we have now, a kid who is totally unmindful of any boundaries will continue to have free reign to act out.”
His intro was followed by silence. Both of the counselors waited, as was their practice, to see if there was more coming. Ron waited too. He knew what the story was. He knew he was putting both of them in an uncomfortable position. He didn’t care. It was time for them to do their jobs.
“There haven’t been any problems yet today,” said Bert in a weak attempt at humor.
Ron was in no mood to laugh. “In the seven weeks of this school year, David has managed nineteen discipline referrals. Each time he has been given a teacher or school detention, he has cut it and just waited to be bailed out.”
Shondra Peters spoke in distinct clipped tones and her body posture was that of someone who did not wish to be there. “David is still adjusting to a new surrounding and a new set of rules. I think we need to give him more time to settle in.”
“And in the meantime, what do you suggest that I tell the faculty members that he tells to “go fuck themselves”?
Shondra at first was nonplussed. Then she said softly, “Tell them that this is a sick child who needs patience.”
Ron forced eye contact. “Even though we both know that he is in the wrong spot and, that as long as this situation continues, the chances of a real danger to David and others exists and is obviously extant, and we are doing nothing about it.”
“I don’t know that, Dr. Tuck. I know that you are saying it, but that doesn’t make it true.”
Ron began writing. They both watched. There was a stiffness in their posture. “So your expert opinion,” said Ron, “is that we do nothing?”
The obvious challenge to her showed no visible signs of impact. “That’s not what I said. What I said was that this new change in David’s environment requires an amount of creative thinking and a bit of patience.”
Ron finished writing and looked over at Bert. “Do you agree with that assessment?”
There was an air of conviviality that the guidance counselors always tried to convey when talking with other staff. It was part of the job description. They did not wish to appear too earnest. They felt that a relaxed atmosphere and tone was the best way to get things accomplished. Ron rarely exhibited a relaxed atmosphere and tone. There was an awkward friendliness between them, but they did not trust Ron, who might go off on some kind of campaign that never worked out well for them and always required more work. “I agree with Shondra that David needs a lot of patience.” Bert smiled and Shondra smiled. Ron did not. “But I could arrange for a parent meeting to try to get everyone of the same page.” He was throwing Ron a bone and if he did not take it, Bert would contend that Ron had rushed through the process.
Ron said, “Do you agree with that, Dr. Peters?
“I agree that relaxed communication is a good starting point,” said Shondra. “I’m not sure what we hope to gain by meeting with parents at this point.”
Ron stood. He closed his pad. “It is a way of avoiding a manifestation determination conference,” said Ron, “which is my next step if the behavior does not change.”
A manifestation determination conference was a big deal. It was an enormous amount of work. It required a meeting with the Learning Disabilities Testing Coordinator, the parents, the school principal, the student’s teachers and those of them in the room. Shondra felt Ron was using it as a threat.
“Set up the parent meeting, Bert. Have Joyce put it on my calendar please.”
And then Ron was gone.
Bert smiled at Shondra and said good naturedly, “You’ve just been Tucked.”

Chapter 4

Because the class day started so early at Oak Mountain, it also ended early. Buses for departure began lining up at 1:45 pm. It never ceased to surprise Ron now that he was in the main office. When he had been in the classroom, it was a different world in the same building. You adjusted your day to the order of your classes. Most every day was the same.
It had been before the then principal Adele Becker formed a team that restructured everything. It was a new way of dividing the schedule and creating a rotation of days and periods that drove most of the faculty crazy. What was your first period of the day became your second on the next day and so on. The goal was to create a schedule where a student had no morning class and no afternoon class that did not vary from one day to the next.
Research had shown the team that students learned differently at different times of the day. Some kids did better in the mornings and some did better in the afternoons. So the team instituted a rotation of classes. Even though the teachers understood the reasoning, by and large, they were disgruntled over it.
Some veteran teachers had secured prep periods at the end of the day and went home ridiculously early. They were not supposed to leave the campus until fifteen minutes after the class day ended, but this rule was largely overlooked. The rotation screwed them.
Coaches notoriously had the last period of the day free to change and get ready for practices. The new schedule made this impossible. Ron was widely seen as one of the architects of this change and there was no small amount of resentment towards those who were publically involved with it.
He was the public face of it as a teacher, but he left the classroom to become Vice Principal before it was implemented. That increased the resentment. “If he wants to run around the building all day like some ‘headless fowl’ that was his business,” said the Union President, “but it is unfair to expect the teaching faculty to do so.”
Dawn Flynn was obviously upset when she appeared at Ron’s door. She and Ron had been English teachers together. At times, they had shared the same classroom. There was a mutual respect between them. Dawn had encouraged Ron to take the VP job. “Someone has to step in Ron, and you are an obvious choice. The kids like you. The Administration likes you, for the most part,” she had laughed.
She was in no mood for laughter at this moment. She did not say hello. “Ron, I can’t have one of my students announce to the class that I am a ‘skanky bitch,’” she began.
Ron looked up from some state regulations that he was reading. “Come on in, close the door. Tell me what happened.”
“David Carpenter does not belong in my class is what happened. I told you this the first week of classes. You told me that you would look into it. I’ve given him two teacher detentions, both of which he has cut, and nothing happened. I know that he cuts school detentions and Saturday detentions and nothing happens. What are you doing?”
“I’m trying,” said Ron. “It’s not that easy. He’s classified but he’s bright. His test scores are actually above average. I know he’s a problem.” He wanted to say, you are totally right. He does not belong here and I am working to make that happen, but he could not. It would be unethical.
“You’ve changed. You used to understand. What would you do with a kid like that in your class?”
The idea struck him like a flash. “You may be on to something.” He moved the file on David from his outbox and looked through it. The incorrigible type of referrals had all come from his female teachers.
Ron felt a smile on his face. Shondra Peters wanted him to be creative? OK. He looked back up at Dawn. “I haven’t changed. I have this other job right now. I promise you, I am not doing nothing.”
It was something, but it wasn’t really enough for Dawn. “OK Dr. Tuck, I’ll believe that when I see it.”
Ron felt the pang. Why was everyone doing that to him? He hadn’t even wanted to be called Dr. Tuck. Silently he cursed Joyce and Celeste. They were the ones who kept telling him that he should be proud of the accomplishment and not be afraid to advertise it. Joyce had quietly had the school stationary changed without letting him see it. He knew that she and Celeste had talked about it on the phone.
Celeste, his mother, and his secretary were a force he could not stand up to, and so he caved. None of them was here when the title was thrown at him like a rotten tomato. “That’s the best I’ve got, Dawn. That and please write up the referral about being called a skanky bitch
“Oh yes Ron, I really want to put that in print.”
Then she was gone. But Ron was on the phone with Bert Pouri. “Bert I want to know how possible it would be to create a schedule for David Carpenter that is all male teachers.”

Chapter 5
One of the necessary, if sadistic, aspects of the school week was that many meetings were held on Monday afternoons. Full faculty meetings were held once a month. Before Adele Becker, most coaches had been exempt from those meetings. She changed that. If a team did not have a game, they could designate one coach to supervise the athletes while the others were required to attend the meeting.
The coaches had tried to revert back to their old way of doing things after Becker retired, but Ron had encouraged Muriel Bowser to keep the requirement in place. So the athletic department, were surly participants.
Adele had spread the requirement to include clubs and non-athletic organizations as well, so no one actually felt privileged or any more screwed than anyone else. Ron’s counterpart was in charge of attendance at the meetings. Samuel Dutchman found the assignment distasteful, and was as lax about as he possibly could be. Behind the back of other administrators, he made sure the teachers understood that he was not keeping a record.
Muriel called the meeting to order as Ron was having his first food of the day, a buttered bagel that had been fresh in the cafeteria that morning. Muriel was a well-dressed woman who had been a guidance department chairperson for the important part of her career. She was winding things down with this promotion and change of scenery. Her husband was a newly retired executive, who wanted to spend time on his yacht cruising up and down the east coast and eventually venturing into the keys and maybe even the Caribbean once he gained enough confidence. Muriel had assured him that this was just going to be three years and then she would have a retirement package that contained free lifelong health care for both of them, and a healthy monthly pension. He had agreed but said he was going to be taking the time to learn and would not be home every night. The unspoken message was that she did not have any longer than the three years to fiddle around.
“I’m happy to see all of you here today and thrilled that everything is running so smoothly.” There were eye rolls from the athletic department but Muriel was not aware of them. Ron was. He watched them as he chewed his bagel that felt spongy in his mouth but at that moment tasted so good to him.
Then she began to read the announcement sheet word by word. Ron watched as the announcements bled one into another but was searching the room for Shondra Peters. He found her siting off to the side with the rest of the child study team and wondered if she knew about his idea for David Carpenter.
Then Muriel said, “With that I would like to turn things over to Dr. Tuck to give us an update on discipline.”
Ron put down the half eaten bagel and moved to the podium and glanced out at their faces. Some teachers did not look up and spent their time grading a stack of papers and displaying their quiet protest about the need for these meetings.
“The halls at change of class, as you know, are our most vulnerable times of the day. I appreciate those of you who step into the hall during this time. Your presence is a calming influence. I do wish that more of you would do this when it is at all possible. Our number of referrals is about where it was last year at this time. I know it feels like more, but that is because we have many new additions this year and that is causing some confusion. But the rest of our student body, is getting fewer and fewer referrals and that is a credit to you.”
There were some smiles, some stony faces and some who just kept on doing papers. “I want to ask if there are any questions that you would like me to answer in public.”
Ron waited. He was comfortable with the quiet. He was about to say then lets wrap this up when he saw a hand. It was Donna Singletary from the art department. “Is there nothing we can do about the custodians destroying some of the student projects while they are cleaning the rooms?”
Ron did not know what to say. He had heard nothing about it. “Can you explain what you mean?”
“I’ve now had three student projects broken and thrown out by the custodians. I never leave my classroom unlocked, if I am not there to supervise, and there is no other reason that I can find for it.”
“Were the projects all stored away when they were vandalized?”
Donna was an emotional woman to begin with and this had been festering in her for a while. “Are you implying that I have done something wrong, Dr. Tuck?”
There it was again. He guessed that he would have to get used to it. Last year it was a novelty for them. This year it was a weapon.
“No, I’m just wondering how widespread it is.”
“These kids and I work hard on these projects Ron, it’s disheartening when our own custodial staff treats them like they are garbage.”
“I’ll get into it, “said Ron. “I promise to get back to you.”
Donna nodded but then shook her head in a negative way with her immediate circle of teachers. Another hand went into the air.
Paul Presti said, “I have students who cannot possibly make it from their previous class to mine on time. Did that even get considered when you folks were creating schedules?”
Ron looked over at the big Russian guy who was in charge of guidance. Karl Polemnic spoke in a voice that was thunderous, and that was his normal volume. He upped the volume for crowds. “There is no reason that a student cannot make his way from any spot in this school to any other spot in the school during the three minute change of class. I suggest that you are being given a line by a kid trying to get over on you.” Polemnic laughed in his self-amused way.
Presti did not back down. “Then I suggest that you come to the basement and wait for the bell and then try to make it up to the third floor and into my room through a crowded hallway and see if you can do it. I tried it, and I wasn’t carrying twenty pounds of books.”
Polemnic seized upon this. “If a student is not properly utilizing his or her locker then it is the student who needs a better organizational plan, not the guidance department.”
Ron cut in, people were squirming. They wanted to go home. “I’ll get into it Paul and I’ll get back to you. If there is nothing else, thanks for your time and I hope you have a good week.”
They dispersed quickly. Polemnic walked over to Ron and snorted, “That’s not the kind of thing that you should be letting go.”
“I won’t Karl, but they wanted to go home. It’s well after three. They’ve had a long day.”
Polemnic snorted again and stomped off.
Muriel Bowser said, “I have an appointment now Ron, but can you make time to see me in the morning?”
“Sure thing,” said Ron.
He walked back to his office. Joyce followed him in and handed the day’s stack of referrals. Ron asked her to have Frankie see him in the morning. He wanted him to walk a route during the change of class tomorrow and he also needed to make an early spot from Muriel Bowser.
Joyce made the notes on her ever present pad and said, “Done.”
“You heading home?” said Ron.
“Unless you need something.”
“No, I’m fine,” said Ron and sat down to review the referrals.

Chapter 6
It was late in the afternoon when Ron started home. He was tired but his body was aching for a run. There would be no time today, and he had not yet found a new gym since their move. The drive was an easy one. Down to the highway and west and then a turn-off and north.
The Nissan cruised and Ron was listening to the radio, smoking a cigarette and trying to let the day wash out of him. A run would do that but there just wasn’t enough time.
The greens of summer were being replaced by the astounding colors of autumn. The air was far from dirty at Oak Mountain, but this air had a cleaner, fresher scent. The sun roof was down and the windows open. The tension was beginning to fade.
Ron smiled when he saw his new house ahead on the road. It sat mostly camouflaged by bushes and trees and it looked so much smaller than it was. He liked that.
His house was the only one on the road. Across the small turn into his driveway, were trees and in front of him, a real city block away, was the lake. His property went down to the lake. Celeste’s car was sitting in the driveway. He had found a two door Mitsubishi and suggested that they buy it for her. She was so happy that she almost squealed. Ron stared at the rear end of the car and thought about his wife’s bottom. He laughed to himself over how one thing could remind him of another.
Celeste has owned sports cars. She had owned fast cars. She loved them, but their finances and the reality of having a child had reduced her motoring choices to reliable and clunky. Secretly, she despised reliable and clunky, but the ever ready aspect of reliable and the loading and unloading advantages of clunky had worn her down. This sleek little blue Mitsubishi was a step back in an older direction and Celeste felt love for a car rekindled in her.
When he got out of the car, Ron felt dazzled. In front of him was his barn. Had never even ever dreamed of owning a barn. He had slept in them. The mystery of what had been left there, and for how long and by which previous occupants who just did not move everything out, intrigued him like a mystery novel.
To his right was a lake. A medium sized body of water, a little too small for waves but large enough for a sailboat. It made him smile. He longed to see the changes that it would bring.
The foundation of the house was all fieldstone. He always wanted to touch it when he saw it. He wondered what would happen if he washed it. Would it be like wood that revealed its secrets of grain under a sanding? He smiled again and entered in the basement. On the inside he was greeted with the continuation of the fieldstone wall that he always wanted to touch. An old doorway had been cut into it. That led back to a tiny four room enclosure that begged investigation, but also held the powering equipment for the house.
Ron was intimidated by those strange contraptions. He’d never paid any attention in his parents’ homes. They had leaks in the basement was all he knew, and he would brush the water down the drain. But this was now his responsibility. Celeste came down here to do laundry. It had to be safe. People all came in this entrance. It shouldn’t look ratty. He needed to learn. Ron shook his head and started up the stone lined, magically and beautifully on both sides now, carpeted flight of stairs that led up to the livingroom.
It was all wood, glass and stone. It was huge and had a cathedral ceiling that was supported by two old hand-hewn beams, taken from some older place that had contributed their strength and the beauty of their survival marks to a new, decorative function.
Ron was out of his jacket the moment in hit the top of the stairs. His tie had been taken off and stashed in his jacket pocket during the ride. He could see a partial outline of her form from the top of the stairs. She was still wearing her shoes and the jacket to her suit. Ron grinned. She always needed to wait.
“Hi”
They both said it at the same time. They stopped and embraced. The smile on each of their faces was deep and they just felt each other’s bodies. How they fit, after so many years together, was just instant communication now. The kiss was warm and not in a tempo that either of them had used all day. Their kisses had a demanding tempo that just took over.
“You feel so good,” she said.
He just smiled and squeezes that magnificent bottom of hers and kissed her again. “Where’s Angel?”
“I don’t know. Her car isn’t here. There’s no note, no message.”
Ron nodded. He wasn’t surprised. She was at school. She was doing well. Things were better now. If Angel could come through this and be doing well, he would see one of the greater comebacks from a nightmare of a childhood and middle adolescence than he had thought possible. He was sure all in and rooting for it, but he just couldn’t trust it yet. But there was hope and some success.
“There is so much to do here, Cel! Everyplace I look I see a project. This place is just amazing.”
Celeste started back into the kitchen. “I can’t stop staring out of the windows. One wall of the oddly shaped elongated L of a kitchen was windows that also looked out on their lake.
They both stopped for a second to look out.
“I need to get out of these clothes said Ron.”
Celeste had a secretly naughty thought and wanted to say let me help you, but she was cooking dinner so she just grinned and gave the pot a stir.

Chapter 7
Ron came down stairs in a t-shirt, sneakers and his very first pair of coveralls. They were extraordinarily large on him and had the stiffness of being new and showing it. He felt the scratchiness of the fabric, hoped that Celeste would know of some way to make it soft. There was a blind faith that she just knew things like that.
“Have I got an hour before dinner?”
“We really can eat anytime. I just need about 15 minutes to boil some water.”
“What are we having?”
“The last of our garden sauce from last year at Height.”
“We have some meatballs?”
“Sausage, what kind of pasta do you want?”
“That thin stuff,”
Ron leaned in and kissed her neck and gently squeezed her breast. “Take some time to get into comfortable clothes.”
“Maybe Angel will come home for dinner,” said Celeste.
“I’ll be outside,” said Ron.
Ron walked back through his living room with his eyes trained on the ornately covered wooden door and full length enclosed window that looked out to the side of this place.
The House was constructed into the side of a slope that caused the necessity of the flight up, the foundation was deep. The previous owner and put in a wrap-around wooden porch that spanned the entire front of the house and around the side door from which Ron emerged.
He wanted to explore. About thirty yards in front of him was an outcropping of limestone and trees and bushes. It was a small island in the middle of his property. The land also gently sloped down on both sides of the island.
In front of it was a huge pile, stack on stack, of slate roofing tiles. They were all grey and a little brittle. They had been the roof of the house. The way they were stored was an eyesore. But someone had started to use them to deepen the outline of a large garden that had been left to go to brambles and weeds. The brambles were large deeply rooted stickers. There was no hope to do anything about them until it turned to winter. But he could work on the tiles.
It was exactly what he felt his body needed. A squat for a pile of tiles, a brisk fifteen yards to the far end of the perimeter, and then another squat and placing them, one overlapping the other. He had a plan that was in his eye. There was no sense in fighting these weeds. He would take it down to nothing and cover it with a growth cloth, encircle the garden with the tiles, and then load in topsoil and start over.
Ron grinned as his breathing found that comfortable aerobic rhythm that told him it was working. He could feel it. What would they plant in the garden? That was only nine months away. Ron smiled. It was a gestation.
Ron felt something sticky on his palms and realized it was blood. He would have to start remembering to wear work gloves. He knew that. How had it slipped his mind? He started thinking about needing some kind of wheel barrow.
Then he looked up, saw Celeste standing on the porch looking at him. She was hungry he was being selfish. When he walked over to her, he felt the euphoria that he got from running. Not as strong, but it was there. He looked down at his palms on the way over. She was watching and then she saw his palms.
He grinned his little boy grin. She took him by the hand and said, “Let’s get this cleaned up and have dinner.

Chapter 8
About half way through dinner, they heard the downstairs door close and Angel was coming up the stairs. Celeste was happy that she has set a place for her at the table. Angel reached the top of the stairs still carrying her books. She looked a little angry.
“Come and sit,” said Celeste. “I set a place for you.”
Angel put her bag down on the island counter that led into the kitchen. “If you wanted to eat with me you would have waited. I’m not hungry now.”
“Come and sit anyway,” said Ron. “Maybe the sight and smell of the food will make you hungry.”
Angel sullenly sit in front of empty plate. She watched them eating with a half look of disgust on her face.
“How was school?” said Ron.
“It was ok. Listen I want to move out into the barn. I think we’ll all be happier if I stay out there. I’ll be happier anyway.”
Celeste stopped eating. “There isn’t even running water out there.”
“I can come in here and I can get a little apartment sized refrigerator and use the bathroom downstairs.”
“I don’t think the barn is a place to live,” said Celeste. “You have a room upstairs with the most beautiful cross breeze and a great view with plenty of light.”
“I feel like I’m right on top of you. The barn has its own driveway and the office out there has heat and air conditioning and a carpet.”
“Won’t you feel very alone out there?” said Celeste.
“That’s the point,” said Angel.
Ron looked up and studied her face. Those eyes still had a searchlight quality. She had become a pretty young woman. Her hair was thick and lustrous and long and give her an almost wildish look. Ron thought, that was surely appropriate.
She turned her eyes on him. “What do you think Dad?”
“I don’t think it’s a terrible idea. We would have to do some things, like make sure the heat works and make sure there are no holes. This is the country, where there are holes you will find mice.”
A horrified look crossed Celeste’s face. “She can’t live with mice!”
“I think we need to do some things but it’s doable and if it is what she wants.”
“I can’t see my daughter living in a barn.” Celeste sounded resolute.
Ron would let it drop. Angel would not. “If I go out there and make sure it’s all cleared out and Dad says it’s OK, I want to do it.”
Ron quietly thought that he would have loved a place like that when he was in college, but he would not say that. He would not contradict her in front of Angel. That had been their agreement. She knew that Ron had a soft spot for the idea and in her mind that meant if was already done.
“I’m going to go out there and look around now.” Angel rose from the table and grabbed her bag and started out the side door.
“You know where the lights are don’t you?” called Ron.
“Inside the back door on the left,” said Angel quickly.
After she went to look, Celeste said,” You do realize that we will never know if she is here or not and who is there, right?” She was not smiling.
“She wants some privacy, Cel. This could be a really good thing. It will keep her happy here with us where we know that she’s safe. How often have we worried about where she is and whether or not she was safe?”
Ron stood up and brought his dish to the sink. Celeste followed with her dish and they cleaned the table, rinsed the dishes and loaded them into the dishwasher together.
Celeste said, “I want you to go out there and have a really good look around. She won’t like it if I do it but if Dad says it’s OK?”
Ron finished washing the dishes and when he turned Celeste saw that the front of the overalls were wet from the sink and he had forgotten to button the fly. He was sticking right out. He looked ridiculously adorable.
“You better button that thing up before she gets back.” She pointed at his crotch.
Ron looked down and blushed brightly. He put his naked penis back into his pants and buttoned them up. “Oh Jesus, I had no idea they had that opening. “ He fumbled as he closed the buttons.
“You go and look, I am going upstairs and get out of these clothes and take a shower.”
Ron looked disappointed. “Ok I’ll go and look.”
Celeste gave him a little grin. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

Chapter 9
Ron walked out into the barn. It was dark now and he made his way through this mysterious new part of his home. He saw her moving the more fragile boxes from the enclosed ‘office’ part of the barn into its general area. They were each marked fragile but she was tossing them.
“Wait!” said Ron.
Angel froze.
“See the fragile written on the side?’
“I was being careful!” she protested.
She wasn’t and he knew that if he made an issue of it there would be an argument. Celeste had told him that he just needed to let some things go. This was not easy for Ron, but he knew that his wife was correct.
“Let me come out here and help you on a night when I’m not so tired. This way we won’t have to move things twice.”
“I’m doing it now,” said Angel. “You said I could.”
Ron wanted to correct her by saying that isn’t what he said but that too would lead to an argument. Something had her riled up tonight. He knew that she was not going to share that with him. Not anymore. Becoming the school ‘Narc ‘as Angel had put it was the last straw. He could not be trusted. “Why are you in such a rush?”
Angel looked at him with an expression of pain. “Because I want someplace to sleep tonight?”
Ron was snagged. He found himself responding before he checked himself. “No one said anything about tonight.”
Angel picked up another box and moved it. “If I am not allowed to sleep out here, I am sleeping in my car.”
“Why?”
“Because I can’t stand to sleep in the same house with the two of you. I can’t breathe around you.”
Ron suddenly felt very tired. He was not up for another battle today. He had gotten rid of the tension of work. But this was a tension that he felt like he would never lose. “I’ll help you clean out a spot and you can use your sleeping bag tonight.”
Angel smiled. She had won. She slipped into cooperative mode and they made a spot for her.
“Let me tell your mother,” said Ron.
She slipped right back into combative mode in an instant. “Go ahead, I have nothing to say to her.”
Ron shook his head. “Did things go ok at school today?”
“School was fine,” said Angel. “You already asked me that.”
“I need a shower and then I am going to bed,” said Ron. “My day starts early.”
Then to his absolute confusion, she kissed him on the cheek and said, “Thanks for helping me, Dad.”
The night air was cool. Ron looked down for that last view of the lake. It was inviting. He heard honking of geese across the water. He walked up the outside flight of stairs. He thought that he did not want to lock the door because suppose she needed to come in. Then another thought hit him. Did they have to lock their doors out here?

Chapter 10
Celeste Tuck slid into her sleek sky blue Eclipse with affection. She liked that she never had to adjust the driver’s seat. She was the only one driving this car and truly it felt like hers more than theirs. The distinctions were difficult to make sometimes, but not with her Eclipse.
She looked for Angel’s car and saw it in the barn driveway. She turned her head to the take and saw the mist rising on the water and two ducks paddling along. The Eclipse purred its hello. She did not have to attach her seatbelt and no one was going to guilt trip her about it.
Pelican brief started right where it stopped, the voice was warm and had a flavor of the South as she settled into her seat and then sprayed gravel on her way out of the driveway, and whipped onto the county road.
The words were soothing and she was listening as a person would to a conversation someone was having that you could stop replay, zip ahead or just relax into.
Ron had been like a little boy who could just not keep his eyes open by the time he came into the bedroom. She was reading but had the TV silently set to the news in the background. He wanted sex with her and she knew it, but he was just unable to stay awake. He was telling her about the barn in one second, and then he just put his head down and was asleep.
Celeste grinned and shook her head with envy. I mean who the hell did that? She gunned the Eclipse and rode on the sound of the voice and the cornfields that were becoming familiar and that she had learned to watch grow.
She slowed as she entered Hackleberg. She had lived all over this town.
It was familiar. She pulled her car up across the street from her favorite bakery. Peter smiled when he saw Celeste coming into his shop. They greeted each other warmly. “I always forget that Tuesdays are the first day of your week,” said Celeste.
Peter grinned and said, “I have some new pumpkin muffins,” opened his palms and raised them, “on the house for you today.”
Celeste reached into her bag and said, “And a large container of coffee,” she took the empty cup from the counter and walked to the urns.
Peter inhaled the scent of her perfume and the warmth of her eyes and the pleasing sight of her backside as she walked to get her coffee. She was a breath of fresh air.
He had the muffin in the bag when she came back. She took her coffee and left two dollars on the counter. When he turned to make change, she was walking away and calling a “see you tomorrow,” over her shoulder.
The placard over her parking space read, Celeste Tuck, Social Service Director, Heights Village.
Heidi Kliess was always the first at her desk and today was no exception. Celeste had to walk passed her office to get to her own. Everyone on the management team did. That was one of the ways that she or her secretary Vivian Florencola keep track.
Celeste wasn’t even passed sight of her doorway, when she heard Heidi. The sound of her voice had almost a sphincter tightening effect on Celeste. She froze and turned.
“Come in, Celeste, have a seat.”
“We’ve had an unfortunate incident last night and you are to do a full report that includes the gathering of the necessary paper work to track the last 12 hours of Doria Klepper’s life.”
Celeste was stunned. “The last 12 hours? She wasn’t critical yesterday. I looked in on her. She was disoriented by not agitated.”
Heidi did not look up until after she delivered her next line. “She went down the stairs in her wheel chair and since she was restrained the fall, severed her spinal cord and column.”
Celeste’s mouth dropped open. “She was decapitated?”
“Do not use that word in your report. Not anything like it. Keep the description vague to fatal head and neck injuries.”
“OK,” said Celeste. “I better get started. I’m sure you’ll want it as soon as possible.”
“Before you go home, Celeste.” And then she put her head down. Celeste had been dismissed.
She moved in back of her desk to find Doria Klepper’s file. She knew her children. They would be surpised but not find it tragic. Their mother had not known them in two years. She was slightly surprised to see that Heidi had notified the family at 4:15 am.
She put in the call anyway. “Janice, this is Celeste Tuck from Heights Village. I’m so sorry about what happened to your mom.”

Chapter 11
The accepted Heights Village response to this kind of an assignment was to spend at least an hour complaining about it and commiserating with other members of the management team about how unfair it was to pile an assignment like this on top of an already enormous workload.
Celeste was notorious for not doing this. She’s been given a large number of chances. but Annabel Pritchard was willing to give her one more chance to really join the team. She rang Celeste’s office.
“Social Services,” Celeste answered.
“Isn’t that something about what happened to Doria Klepper?”
“It’s very sad,” said Celeste.
She was about to tell Annabel that she would need to stop by her office and get chart notes on Doria when Annabel said, “And I think you’ve gotten a really unfair deal being made to do this report. I’ve got all that I can manage and still get home on time to have dinner ready for Joel, and I haven’t just moved into a new house like you have.”
Instead of taking this opportunity to vent and get some things off of her chest, Celeste said, “Thanks Annabel. I’d like to stop over and collect her chart notes in a few minutes.”
There was a long and distinct pause from Annabel’s side of the phone. She shook her head from side to side and then said, “Alight,” in a hushed and rebuffed tone.
Celeste didn’t pick up on it, although she felt it register. “I have to make two other calls and I will collect everything I need in one swoop and then I probably won’t have to speak to anyone as long as all the notes are in order.”
“Who would you want to speak to?” Annabel felt tension responding to Celeste’s plan.
“I don’t know yet,” said Celeste, “I have to read the notes. But I’ll be able to let you know by break.” Then she put the receiver down and
Annabel, heard the click in her ear. Who did she think she was, the FBI?
Break was a necessary pause in the day’s work. It was unusual for anyone to miss break, and they were always a topic for discussion if they were not there. Celeste was a regular but sometimes her attendance at break was spotty. On most days, there were six women who went on break together and they all reported to Heidi, who always attended break.
It would be kind to say that Heidi was portly, it would be more accurate to describe her as shapeless. She had come up through the ranks at Height and knew every aspect of its operation. She also made sure that in her building, or her team, she was the only one who had direct access to the CEO.
Height Village was an Episcopal facility, so there was nothing that she could do about the influence of the clergy, and Dennis Brennen handled the outside investment and fundraising and the all-important internal Friendship Fund, but Heidi Kliess ran all the rest. At break, she held court.
Celeste was teased about any number of things at break. Some of it, like her politics, was just for fun, but some of it, like her appearance had an edge that only a group of women could uniquely create.
Except for Heidi, whose fashion sense was not to be referred to, the women all dressed like a mixture of Martha Stewart and Christine Todd Whitman. As far at these women were concerned, Celeste dressed like Janis Joplin.
To top it off, she was forever spilling something on herself. She simply tried to do too many things at once, as far as they were concerned. It was inevitable that her result was often disaster.
The approved faire was tea or perhaps a yogurt. Celeste was not there for the start of break.
There was some initial talk about who was making what for dinner. Trudy had gotten a new set of Longaberger baskets and she described them and her options for enhancement to accent her new dining room furniture. There were appreciate oohs and ahs from around the table. Then Heidi said, “Anyone know if Celeste is coming?”
There was an amused silence. Then Alice Malone said, “Maybe she is cooing on the phone with Ron. They haven’t seen each other all day.” This was said to exaggerated eye rolls that brought chuckles from around the table.
Vivian said, “I don’t give Charlie any encouragement until Thursday night, then I make him wait. I get such good meals out on Fridays.” She grinned all the girls at the table laughed.
“I discourage Joel whenever I get the chance, and now he’s a good boy who takes the hint,” said Annabel.
More laughter as Celeste entered the room with her yogurt. “Hi everyone.”
Everyone took note of the flowered print loose skirt that Celeste was wearing with an autumn rust jacket. She was clashing seasons, didn’t she realize that?
Vivian said, “Did you have a phone call?”
More laughter that Celeste did not understand. “I just lost track of time,” said Celeste.
No one answered. Celeste ate her yogurt quickly. It seemed like four large spoonful’s finished it, and she took them one after the other. Then she turned to Heidi “I should have that report by 1:30.”
Heidi smiled and said, “That’s wonderful Celeste,” and then mimicking the words that Celeste had been singled out for by the last state inspection, “Highly efficient.”
It brought to mind for the rest of the girls that they had not been singled out and that she was the one protecting them. It kept everything the way that she liked it.
Celeste she turned to Annabel, “I just need to have a quick word with the charge nurse.”
“Just a small hole in the log sixty-five minutes before the accident.” said Celeste.
“Let’s refer to it as an incident,” said Heidi.” Accident could be construed as an admission of liability.”
There were bobbing heads and agreeing nods around the table. Then Heidi got up. Break time was officially over.

Chapter 12
“Dr. Tuck, this is Shondra Peters.” Her tones were clipped. They were not angry but gave off a distancing feel, with sometimes more than a hint of disapproval.
Ron had detected this about the third or fourth time they met. His responses were designed to be in comfortable language and say uncomfortable things. “Good morning, how can I help you?”
“An all-male schedule for David is out of the question,” said Dr. Peters.
“Why is that?” said Ron.
One of the things that Joyce did really well was research and he knew she liked it. Not all of the office computers had access to all of the departments like nursing and guidance and free and reduced lunches, and of course, discipline. Ron made sure that he and Joyce had access and was updated on all changes in these departments.
Joyce had done the work to create the possibilities for an all-male schedule and the ways that it could be juggled, so Ron had in front of him all the possibilities. He had been waiting for her call.
“David is more comfortable with female instructors.”
Ron was not quite prepared for this response. He was prepared for the mechanics of it. Shondra was taking a different approach.
“I am not quite sure how you came to that conclusion,” said Ron.
“For one thing, David feels intimidated by male teachers, he withdraws.”
Ron said in easy soft and even tones, “Perhaps it will be a catalyst that focuses his attention. Males sometimes need a hint of intimidation to gain a younger man’s attention.”
Dr. Peters was somewhat aghast. “You are actually suggesting that I place a troubled young man who is finding his way into a situation where he feels intimidated?”
Ron’s response was calming, for now. “He is comfortable with teachers that he verbally abuses on a regular basis.”
“For right now, that is true. But I think that as he feels more comfortable, he will not employ his inappropriate responses,” said Shondra.
“I agree with you,” said Ron “He is unable to control his emotional responses, be they defense mechanisms, or a prelude to more aggressive behavior, or both. He needs environmental modification.”
Ron quietly thought about how much he hated this vocabulary and was confused by how easily it came to him.
“I understand what you are saying, but it isn’t my first priority,” said Dr. Peters. “I believe that David can learn to thrive in this community and it is the community that needs to adapt their methods for these children.”
“Shondra,” Ron used her first name deliberately, “How do you think it goes over with teachers who David tells to “go fuck themselves?” And I tell them that David will say he is sorry, but before he gets to that he has told them to “Shut up Bitch,” as he interrupted them to deliver his apology.”
There was a sigh of exasperation from Shondra.
“I am responsible to see to the safety of a lot of people, Dr. Peters, which has to be my priority. And I agree, a more inclusive environment is belter. And being a little intimidated into be socially more appropriate is a price that David is going to have to pay right now.”
“I cannot concur.” Then she was silent.
“Well, there is just this one thing. David has more than exceeded the number of days qualified for suspension. So I can ask for a manifestation determination conference. You say that right now he cannot control his verbal responses to teachers. So his suspensions are a manifestation of his classified status.”
“He hasn’t exceeded the number of days that he’s actually been out of school yet.”
“Yes,” said Dr. Tuck. “Because the Child Study team has converted his out of school suspensions to in-school suspensions and not counted them as days of lost instruction.”
“He was at school,” said Dr. Peters.
Ron’s voice sounded like a snap. “And that is your idea of a more inclusive educational environment?”
Shondra stood up in back of her desk on the other end of the phone.
“You’re the one who put him there!”
“Because he can’t control the way that he acts here.” Ron loved to go under the raised volume of someone else in order to make his point. It had the dual effect of being in control and often causing a humorous response.
“Fine, I’ll take this back to my supervisor,” said Peters.
Ron thought, finally! But he wasn’t quite done. “The schedule changes?”
“I’ll have to discuss that with guidance.” Shondra figured that could buy a few days. Maybe David would start to get it.
“You know,” said Ron, “I have those schedule possibilities right here. I’ll drop them off with Bert and the two of you can pick from among them.”
Shondra thought, he really was a bastard! This wasn’t a real conversation. He had the schedules made already. He could have just started with that and saved her time.
Joyce was at Ron’s door. She came in when she saw the light go off on his line at her desk. Ron was smiling at her. “You did great research on David Mathers.”
Joyce preened.
“What have I got next?”

Chapter 13
Heights Village was a sprawling complex that included four levels of care. It was an exclusive facility. At entrance, a member would have to demonstrate financial liquidity and the current income, or assets, to assure that financial incapacity was not among those incapacities that would come with aging.
Residents could have private homes or condominiums. They drove their own automobiles, went on extended vacations, sometimes kept another residence, and generally enjoyed life as they would like it.
The added attraction of the gated community living, in Village dining privileges to supplement their own complete kitchens, the calendar of Village sponsored trips and activities made it an attractive place. It also offered the promise that when additional care was required it would be available in a variety of ways.
There was the hotel style living. This included accommodations not unlike one would get in a hotel. And added attraction of the hotel was the splendid entrance, the glass covered passageways, with handrails that almost gave it the illusion of a cruise ship, with the occasional office that seemed like cruise line offices.
These residents could eat in the dining room or have room service. At this level, note was taken about how much activity engaged the resident. This was done unobtrusively and with a casual air. These residents were also allowed to come and go freely, although note was taken of it twice daily. This was when Celeste became involved with most of the people that she saw regularly.
The next stages of care more resembled a convalescent center and finally a small hospital. Upon entrance, residents of Heights Village were assured of care for life assuming there was no financial catastrophe.
Celeste was out in the corridor, she was making her morning rounds. She held hands with people when she talked to them. She remembered what they said to her the day before. She knew the names of their children and spoke with some of those on the phone regularly. When she got a call from one of her regular children, she could always say, “This was how mom looked today…” They did not check on their fathers as regularly, and there were far fewer men on the unit.
Celeste was always happy to see Patricia Tallman. She was sitting up in her bed and reading. She smiled as she saw Celeste come in. “Dear girl, how nice of you to come to see me.”
Celeste smiled and took both of her hands. “How are you feeling?”
“Well, I am trying to conserve energy for tonight. I am meeting with our priest and also the bishop.”
Patricia was also an ordained priest. She earned that distinction at the age of 79. Celeste found her a true inspiration.
“And you know how meeting with men can be at any age, Celeste.”
“I am sure you have handled tougher cases than these,” said Celeste.
“Perhaps we can have tea tomorrow and you will tell me all about it.”
“I’d love that and I want you to meet both of them, Celeste. It is high time that you, and what you are able to do, was more integrated into our spiritual lives.”
“I’d love to meet them,” said Celeste.
Patricia smiled. “Shall we say two pm tomorrow?”
Now it was more than a polite wish. Patricia Tallman had something up her sleeve. Celeste was game.
And then she was back out into the hall and making her way to her next resident.

Chapter 14
On most days Celeste made it home before Ron did. Angel was out in the barn now. She had moved her things out there, including managing to drag her twin bed and box mattress through the house and out into the barn with no help that Celeste know of. Her car was in her driveway when Celeste pulled the Eclipse into what had become her spot. Celeste wanted to go and see the barn but she was unsure that she would be welcome. Ron has said that they had to make it feel like it was her own. Celeste thought that was a dangerous attitude to have with Angel.
When she entered, the now almost always unlocked back door, she heard the shower running in the sauna. Celeste stuck her head in the doorway without opening the door to the sauna and said, “I’m home.”
Celeste knew that she was always startled when she found someone had come home while she was taking a shower. Ron called it The Psycho Syndrome. She wondered if there was anything that he hadn’t given a nickname.
She moved in back of the door and knocked on it, “Angel, I’m home.”
The response was an exasperated. “All right mom, I heard you the first three times.”
Celeste did not answer, dropped her head and started up the stairs. The living room greeted her far more warmly than her daughter did. She smiled as she took off her heavier jacket that Ron had nicknamed frumpwear. She didn’t care, it was comfortable and allowed her to move while she was driving. He could make all the fun of it he wanted.
The smell of the electric crock pot greeted her as she walked into the kitchen. She picked up a potholder and took the lid off the pea soup to inhale the aroma. She loved the timer now that she trusted it.
She heard the downstairs door open and close and did not know whether Ron was home or Angel had left. She went to the bank of windows and glanced out. His car wasn’t there, it must be her.
Celeste fished the large chunk of ham out of the pot, added some heavy cream and plugged in her hand blender. The soup thickened rapidly. Then she shredded the ham and dumped it back into the pot and smiled. Dinner was ready. They could eat absolutely anytime. Angel could even take a dish out to her island if she wanted to.
She moved to her calendar. Today was Tuesday, the 21st of October. Celeste kept two running calendars, one at home and one at work. She wrote, she wrote in Thursday the 23rd at 7pm for dinner with the doctors. She smiled as she looked at the cryptic entry “party” for that Saturday night. Hs felt a naughty grin spread over her face and thought again about what she could wear this time.
She looked across the living room, saw the side door open. It was Angel. She wanted to see her after all. She moved the calendar to the side and put her purse on top of it.
Angel was wearing tight, hip hugging jeans and a white cotton blouse. Celeste thought she looked like a knockout. “Don’t think that I’ll be home until late tonight. Tell Dad the heat in the barn isn’t working properly.”
“Where are you going?” Celeste tried to sound cheerful.
“I’ll be out, mom.” Her response did not invite questions.
“Do you want some pea soup?”
Angel crinkled her face. “It looks like what they used in the Exorcist. It’s disgusting.”
“Do you want something else for dinner? I can make you some eggs?”
“It’s not breakfast, Mom and I don’t feel like eating vomit.”
They both heard the grumble of Ron’s car on the gravel.
Celeste smiled. Angel headed for the side door. “Don’t forget to tell Dad about the heat,” and then she was gone.
Celeste felt a combination of relief and sadness as she watched her pull the door closed behind her. Celeste moved to meet him at the top of the stairs. They kissed and she felt his hand on her ass and smiled. He just never seemed to get enough of her behind and she had grown to have an affection for that. She shared with the women of her family, the power of the Belmont ass.
He brushed his lips along the side of her neck and let her go. “Is everything ok?”
“Yes, we are alone for dinner, and Angel says she doesn’t have heat.”
“I saw her car, is she out there?”
“No, she is going out.”
Ron started back out the side door, he hadn’t even taken his jacket off.
“Ron?”
He stopped and turned.
“Do it later, she is in a mood.”
Ron reversed direction and started upstairs toward the bedroom.
“What else is new?”
Celeste felt rebuffed again. Someone could have at least been excited that she had managed an all-day dinner while working all day. Did he really have no sense of smell or was he just not paying attention. She felt herself sulk a little.

Chapter 15
Ron presented himself to Celeste wearing his overalls and announced, “The tile perimeter is finished.”
Celeste looked up from a catalog of fabrics and smiled, “I want to see it after dinner.” She looked at Ron. His face had that reddish glow and his hair was matted down on his head in a way that showed its thinning. Celeste was certain that baldness was a condition that Ron would despise and she wanted to put off mentioning it as long as possible.
“Come here, I want you to see this,” said Celeste.
It was a grouping of pictures that showed windows in various states of draping. Ron looked down with some interest. Celeste wrapped her hand around his thigh. Ron smiled. “I know we want to have as much light in from the windows as possible, and I know that you don’t care that the windows are bare, but look at this.” She squeezed his thigh and moved the finger of her other hand to point.
Ron looked and saw that they were just little transparent pieces of fabric that dressed the outside of the window frames. They were pretty. She squeezed again and he felt himself twitch. “I really like them, what color?”
“I think a burgundy.” Celeste looked down and saw the erection pressing out on the buttons of the overalls. She felt herself moisten.
It was Wednesday. Angel was in class until after 10 pm. Celeste just did not think about dinner. When the alarm woke them this morning, in those few seconds before he got up, they sometimes held and kissed. Then she would drift back off to the sounds of him in the bathroom, or the images from her dreams. He said, “Don’t cook tonight.” The idea had put her in a delightful mood.
“Show me where,” said Ron.
They went into the living room. They stood in front of a slatted wood bannister that spanned the length of five side by side windows that were above the entrance stairs up from the door that everyone used.
Their hips were touching side by side. She felt that thrill of standing next to him. He extended the arm closest to her. “You mean just treat it like one window?”
She grinned and said, “Yes.” She led him to the two single windows on the other side of the room, “And we can do the same with these, there’s no one to see in and everything to see out.”
And then he was kissing her, and because Heidi Kleiss did not allow the slacks that Celeste would have preferred to wear to work, she dressed daily in a skirt and his hands were up under it.
The embrace brought them down onto the couch. He was sticking out almost painfully now, and she was aching to have him inside of her.
Then he grinned up at her, “The bed. It’s so comfortable up there.”
He put his hand between her legs from the rear and squeezed her with every step, and she got excited and moved faster. They didn’t wait for much more to come off in the bedroom. He stepped out of the overalls revealing that he had nothing on underneath them while he was working. She pulled her panties off and lay under a pillow of her belly, the way that she knew he loved it.
She raised her hips when she felt his weight on the bed. And he rubbed himself on her. And then his hand was between her legs and his fingers were dancing their tips into her with the hand that he used to make finger strums on the guitar.
Celeste moaned and said, “Yes, yes, oh yes.” as he entered her. And then he was deeper inside and she was thrusting back at him. And then he was up on his toes and up on his hands and just dipping himself in and out of her. And she felt herself squirming beneath him, feeling just that part of him moving in and out of her and his breathing on her neck. Ron sunk down to his knees and let his hips begin to gallop. She felt the plunging weight of him now in and out of her.
The waves had begun riding in her when he went into that frenzy and swelled harder, her release flooded out of her and seconds later he squirted hot jolts of himself into her.
Ron and Celeste grinned and moved slowly together with slow drifting, like gliding on their lake, then they pulled apart and lay touching.
Celeste said, “What do you want to do about dinner?”
Ron said, “I want to have it later.”
Celeste said, “Well what do you want to do?”
Ron grinned. “Get the rest of the way naked and then take a sauna and shower together down there, and then have dinner.”
“We won’t make it, you know that. One of us will get distracted by something else that just seems to need to be done instead.”
Ron was grinning. “OK, I’ll turn on the sauna and go get pizza and you get naked”
Celeste ginned too and as he was on his way out the door she said, “Ron, I think I want a puppy.”

Chapter 16
Ron and Celeste’s days settled into their rhythms. Ron had the manifestation determination conference scheduled. Celeste met with and liked the clergy. Patricia moved her into a spot representing patients’ rights on a joint Board where clergy, and medical professionals meet with leaders from the Friendship Fund.
Patricia informed Heidi of her desire to have Celeste on this board and Patricia was a powerful woman. Her late, and never discussed philandering, husband was one of The Heights Village Founders. She had many friends and was now one of the clergy. This, of course, inserted a bug up Heidi’s backside, but she would take that out on Celeste in different ways.
Angel thrived in the barn. She brought Ron out to see it one afternoon while he was mowing grass. She had done a good job and Ron had shown her that the circuit breaker for her heat had been turned off, and now the baseboard was, while not hot, warming.
It was Sunday morning. But not like a normal Sunday. They were taking a long ride. Ron and Celeste did not enjoy driving into Pennsylvania. There were too many ghosts on these roads. Ron had a distaste for Pennsylvania since before Celeste met him.
For Celeste, it had always held good memories, except that in the summer time she found it very buggy. Then the nightmarish cloud of Angel’s deterioration descended on them, and this state with its horrible rehabilitation facility came into her life.
Celeste asked Ron what books he had in the car. He was listening to The Source. That would be perfect. “Just start it where you left off,” said Celeste, “I’ll fall right into it.”
Michener did his magic and Ron tried to follow the directions. They were going to get their first dog together. They had both done research. This breed was known as Irish Water Spaniel. They had found it because of Celeste’s allergies to dogs that shed. Water Spaniels were mostly all the same color. They were chocolate brown but were described officially as liver brown.
The ride was about two hours old when Ron said, “We need to turn off at the next exit and from there I need you read the directions.”
Celeste grimaced. This never went well. Why did he keep forcing her to do it? She couldn’t read a map and couldn’t read his handwriting. It never ended well. She braced herself and hoped the explosion would pass quickly like a thunderstorm but maybe she would get lucky this time.
After he had expressed his exasperation with her ability to decipher things, she could keep him in line by reminding him that he was acting like a Vice Principal. That got him every time and then he would become mostly cooperative, but some thunderstorms came in twos. They were the real pains in the ass because she would have relaxed thinking it was over, but then some new twist of fate might send him over the edge again.
She did have more of a chance on Sunday, because he would have burnt some of that energy off all day on Saturday and would also not be as pent up.
Ron tried the read the directions as Celeste held them up, but had to glance away from the road which made him tense. If only she would just read what was there. But, magically, there was the street for whose number they were looking. They had gotten there without difficulty.
As they walked up the driveway, that saw the paws and curious head of a beautiful dog, who wanted to see who was arriving, jump to the window ledge.
Ron rang the bell. Celeste was excited as the breeder answered the door flanked by two more of these wonderfully brown, curly coated, friendly, alert dogs.
“Come in,” he said. John Frances Reilly was happy to see them. His wife was so done with this litter that she was giving him an argument about ever doing it again. This pup had been returned after two weeks. He was the runt of the litter anyway, and the elderly couple who purchased him had used a tooth brush on his puppy teeth to make sure that he never had that bad breath smell that they hated in dogs. Then, they just brought him back. His name was Boo Boo but Ron and Celeste could name him anything that they wanted. They were both immediately smitten. Boo Boo curled right into their arms and was at ease.
“Yes,” they wanted him. “No,” they didn’t have a crate. “Yes,” they would take him now.
Ron was ready with the agreed amount. Celeste had already written the check before they’d left the house. The breeder’s wife even came down stairs and offered them coffee while her husband created the paperwork. Ron was busy signing the permission slips. Celeste was just holding their new puppy and feeling him breathe and looking into his eyes.
“What do you want to name him?” said Reilly.
“Keats,” said Ron.
He felt Reilly flinch at the name of the English poet as he said, “Keats it is.”
Chapter 17

The afternoon before the manifestation determination, Ron met with the principal, the supervisor of special services, and the guidance department chairperson. The principal had called the meeting.
Muriel Bowser sat with Karl Polemnic and Kristie Triano when Ron entered the room. He took a seat and Muriel was glad that he was there. Of course, she did not favor the returning of kids from outside placement but Ron was getting his hands dirty with it.
Superintendent of Schools, Rufus Finley, had made the decision and it was their job to implement it. Rufus would not really want to be bothered with the details, unless it was a political necessity.
Ron knew that tomorrow’s conference was really to inform the team what had been decided here.
Muriel smiled. “Does anyone need anything?”
None of them did.
“Ron, why don’t you bring us all up to speed?”
Karl resented the assumption that he needed to be brought up to speed by anyone, especially Ron. “I think we all know what’s going on. The kid’s acting out and Dr. Tuck wants to get him kicked out.” Karl looked around the room for agreement. He did not wait for reaction. “Doesn’t that about sum it up, Ron?”
Polemnic was the kind that you just had to stand up to and Ron knew it. Karl felt that most decisions were really simple, and the school made too much out of them. Ron knew that he had to throw Karl off balance or else he would just dominate the meeting, make his point of view the plan, and walk out.
“I really wish it was that simple, Karl.”
Polemnic was immediately defensive. “What’s complicated about it? I know you want to use all of your fancy language and keep us here forever and I’m just trying to cut through the crap.”
“The crap, as you so elegantly put it Karl, is that the kid belongs in a situation where he can get real help, which is not happening here.”
“I differ with that assessment,” said Kristie Triano. “Dr. Peter’s report indicates that David Carpenter has shown real progress.”
“We’ve got a band aid on the situation, but it won’t hold. Yes, we have him in classes with all male teachers and that has quieted things down some, but Lois Pasternak found David wandering the halls yesterday and when she approached him to ask to see his pass, she was greeted with David’s favorite response, “Go fuck yourself, bitch.”
Muriel and Kristie were offended by the words and had body language to indicate that. Karl said, “But after he made his wisecrack, he went back to class. I think that’s the progress that Dr. Peters is referring to.”
“That’s just great,” said Ron. “Let me go and find David and congratulate him on his newly found self-control.”
“Gentlemen, there’s no need for profanity or egging each other on. We are here to problem solve.” Muriel tried to sound in control of this meeting in her office.
“The problem is that Dr. Tuck does not like the Superintendent’s decision about the district and, instead of finding ways to implement it, he is intent on challenging it,” said Karl.
Muriel’s political antennae were up. She knew what Karl was doing. “No one opposes the decision, Karl, but we do have to find ways to make it work.”
“We’ve just about got a faculty revolt on our hands,” exaggerated Ron. “How many of our staff is trained to deal with kids who talk to them like that? They see nothing done to modify David’s inappropriate behavior. We need a better plan.”
Kristie Triano was ready for this and Karl had given her the perfect lead in. “Last year, David’s out of district placement cost the district $46,500. That is money that we just don’t have anymore.”
Ron knew it was true. The school budget had not passed. Cuts had been mandated. Rufus had gotten out in front of it all by placing a moratorium on the emotionally necessitated out of district placements.
“How do you suggest that we handle it, Kristie?”
“I think that we need to mandate some sensitivity training for the faculty,” said the Director of Special Services.
“With all due respect Kristie, that may create some eventual long term improvement in the way the faculty responds some situations, but it is going to take more than sensitivity training for our female staff to not react negatively to being told to go fuck themselves and being referred to as skanky bitches.”
Muriel stepped in. “I don’t think that we have to use David’s exact wording again and again, Ron. It’s offensive.”
Ron knew its impact and was repeating the language on purpose. “That’s exactly what the staff is saying to me, Muriel!”
It had worked. He had been able to deliver that line in a way that was inescapable. “Here’s the even greater problem. Because faculty doesn’t want to be treated that way, they have begun just staying away from David in the halls. The boy has sensed his impunity and will become emboldened.
“That’s not the worst thing that can happen,” laughed Karl.
Kristie Triano looked directly at Ron. “What is it that you suggest?”
Ron smiled. “Home instruction.”
“That is out of the question as a real education plan!” said Triano raising her voice with incredulity. “What does it accomplish other than getting Dr. Tuck’s headache out of the building?”
Ron spoke quickly. “The manifestation determination has made it a headache for all of us, Kristie. As you point out, we do not have the available funds for out of district placement, or we are being told that we don’t have them. I think that in this case we have to do what is best for the educational community.”
“Bedside instruction is for students who have suffered a serious injury and cannot attend,” said Kristie.
Ron had been a Home Instructor, not in this district but he knew how it worked. “Districts have used home instruction to get kids dealing drugs out of the building in the past. It has been used for kids who were school phobic. It is the best option that we have available.”
“And what about the burden that it places on the Carpenter family?” said Karl.
Ron’s face hardened as he spoke, “That’s not my problem.”
Muriel liked the idea. It was the simplest, no fuss, and no mess solution. Of course the situation was untenable, but she had used Home Instruction for similar purposes in her previous school.
“I cannot support this as a long term plan,” said Kristie Triano.
“It does meet all of the immediate criteria,” said Muriel. “Perhaps we should give it a try.”
Kristie Triano glared at Ron. Shondra Peters was right. He was just a cold hearted bastard.

Chapter 18
The manifestation hearing itself was an entirely different kind of meeting. The entire Child Study team, including the case manager, the learning disabilities testing coordinator, and the psychologist were there. Susan Carpenter was in attendance as well as Bert Pouri, Ron, and Muriel Bowser. David would be brought in at some point and there could be others who were invited to attend if their presence was considered necessary. Usually, at least one teacher on David’s schedule was asked to be there. Ron had been a fierce advocate of having the student be allowed to pick the faculty member that he wished to represent him academically. That had become established practice.
Kristie Triano chaired the meeting. Ron took notes, he wished for Joyce who could write as fast as anyone spoke and give it back, with at least the gist and many of the details. But he knew what he was looking for.
They listened as David’s recent standardized test scores, mandated by the manifestation hearing, administered by the child study team, were announced.
His IQ was 132. His hand eye coordination was above average. His hearing was well above average. His hygiene was passable, but revealed evidence of his oppositional defiance issues.
“They are mostly manifested by a resistance to authority, or perceived authority, by negative verbal signaling.” Ron listened as Shondra spoke and he wrote. He jotted down three quick questions.
“Upon confrontation David does not, at present, have complete control of his social acceptability, but we feel this is improving,” Shondra paused and added as she stared across the table at Ron, “because of David’s opportunities to adjust to socialization which will be significantly hampered by any aspect of isolation.”
Ron smiled over at Kristie Triano. Of course she had told Shondra. Ron expected she would, but Muriel didn’t like it. That was a private meeting in her office.
Kristie Triano thanked the child study team and welcomed Susan Carpenter. She asked if Susan had agreed with the picture that it presented of David.
Susan Carpenter was an immaculately dressed woman in a business suit. Her hair was sculpted to hang just to her shoulders. Her nails were manicured red and they rested on the table in front of her. She held her wrists together and gestured with her fingers. “David has never been an easy boy. I know what he’s like. I had no better luck with his older brother.” That surprised Ron he jotted it down and drew circles.
“Yes, I agree that he is a smart boy who does not like to be told what to do.” She paused like she was about to say something else but then didn’t. “He does seem happier here,” concluded Susan. Ron thought that her ability to understate was about as good as he had ever heard
“Are there any questions before were proceed to the next stage of this hearing?” said Kristie.
Ron indicated that had had a question by repositioning his pad and then pointing to it with his pen.
“Could you describe the negative verbal signaling, Dr. Peters?”
“Inappropriate responses,” said Peters, stiffening.
“Responses that include vulgarity and sexual innuendo?” said Ron.
“Yes, Dr. Tuck we all know how he responds.” Shondra wished that she could plant he sharpest heel so far up his ass that he hopped like bugs bunny.
“My point, Shondra is that the tension that is added to this room by even discussing the details of his behaviors makes it extraordinarily clear that they have a negative impact on a community as interactive as ours.”
Muriel Bowser said, “I think that it is about time that we hear from David.”
David Carpenter was a blonde-headed kid with a surfer look haircut that drooped into his right eye. Muriel Bowser tried to make eye contact with the one uncovered eye, but was unable. David sat in the chair staring at the table.
“David, do you know why we are having this meeting?” Muriel asked hoping it would raise David’s eyes. It did they were a sparkling blue, he brushed his hair back with his hand.
“People get pissed off at me,” said David. His tone was moderate.
“Do you know why?” said Muriel softly.
David’s eyes drew a little closer and his voice seemed more rehearsed. “There doesn’t have to be a why, bitch.”
Shondra Peters made eye contact with David. Imperceptibly she moved her eyes back and forth like she was shaking her head.
David nodded and put his hands in his pockets as he had been taught.
Susan Carpenter looked embarrassed and hardly for the first time.
Ron said, “Dave, why didn’t you want a teacher here to speak about your academics?”
The voice deepened again. “I’ve got nothing to say about any of them, don’t care what any of them has to say about me.”
Ron nodded, “So, you don’t feel bonded with any of them, you know, friendly?”
David smirked. “Just you Dr. Tuck, I just love our little chats.” He paused. Everyone listened. “You’re funny as shit.”
“Thanks David,” said Ron. It hadn’t been the first time that he’s said it to him.
Shondra spoke up. “David, will you excuse us a minute please.”
David was happy to get out of there. He hadn’t said anything that bad.
He hadn’t told the skanks about the stink of them.
After the door closed in back of David, Shondra said. “He obviously feels very threatened in this situation.
“That felt pretty much the way David is during his day to day interactions. That is why I am recommending that he be placed on immediate home instruction while psychological counseling is provided on a regular basis.”
There it was. The reports had been delivered.
Kristie Triano had one more detail to resolve. “The district cannot assume the complete cost of the counseling, Mrs. Carpenter.”
This was not a decision that Susan was allowed to make. She nodded her head and said, “I understand.” Ron thought he saw her close her eyes and swallow.
Triano added, “This is a temporary decision that will be reviewed in two months.

Chapter 19
Along the glass causeway that snaked its way from the beautifully appointed lobby, back through the ground floor of the facility, and eventually through the Residential Health Care Unit were some well-spaced rooms. The library, stacked with large print books, some audio books, and many Romance and crime mysteries sat across from the Chapel.
It was designed for meditation and faith. It was not normally set up for a service, but more a place to come and feel closer to God. Celeste met with the clergy in an antechamber of the chapel.
Duane Murphy smiled his natural and welcoming grin. He and Celeste were friends. He had inspired her to join their church. His attitude towards doing good in the community and creating Christianity through social fellowship inspired Celeste.
It was a song that she recognized. She felt its backbeat in her soul and could dance to it. He and Celeste held hands after a brief hug. Duane was sporting a very closely cropped, daily-manicured beard. He had confided with Celeste when he started to grow it. She always gave it a once over, like she was in on its conception and was pleased with its maturation.
Dennis Kincaid was an openly gay minister, who lived with his deacon and head of the choir, at a Parish about twenty miles to the West. He and his partner liked Celeste and her boyishly cute husband. And so they saw them socially as well.
Ron liked them but it was his affinity was for Duane’s wife, with whom he shared mutual and open affection. Duane leaned in and whispered into Celeste’s ear. “Do you and Ron want to have dinner with Mandy and me tomorrow?”
Celeste grinned and wrote it on her pad. “I don’t know what he has going on, but I’ll ask him and call Mandy later.”
“Or, you can call me later. I have some things to tell you.” said Duane.
Zin Walsh rounded out the meeting. His parish was just to the east of Height Village. He was a little thick through the waist while both Duane and Dennis were slender.
Patricia Tallman sometimes joined the group when she did not have something else planned. She had arranged for this grouping and the rotating cycle of Masses that the Episcopal priests now offered in the Chapel.
They met after lunch on Thursdays. Celeste had a list of new residents to the community. She often gave observations about residents that she thought might benefit from a visit. They, in turn, would offer an occasional observation about one of the private, residential villagers about whom they might have noticed something during their regular parish services.
It might have been surveillance and a subtle erosion of privacy, but it was mostly met with acquiescence, or a proud- if polite- assertion for a need of space. This team was not evangelically driven and so quite responsive to that. They were there to offer a type of community to those in need of it.
It was a relaxing, rewarding part of Celeste’s week. She liked these men. She wanted to stand with them with what they stood for. Because of their personal and public intermingling, there was always some gossip to be shared.
“Jack got his ass handed to him over in England. It’s going to be interesting to see how he responds,” said Dennis.
“I think he may have had enough,” said Duane.
Each of these men knew John Shelby Spong as their bishop. They had introduced him to Celeste.
Celeste was mesmerized by him. She found herself for the first time, in such a very long time, seeing in him, the embodiment of a life-walk to which she could aspire. “Do you think he’s in trouble?” Celeste was worried. “What happened in England?”
Zin gave an accurate account. “He was told that he has simply gone too far and was not acting in the best interests of the Church or Christianity. And that his positions were under review by the council of bishops who would provide a written review.” Zin shook his head but knew changes were going to be afoot, and it was up to him to stay nimble and be ready to respond to them.
Celeste communicated with Ron through Joyce. He needed nothing but short and to the point. “Just say…dinner with Duane and Mandy tomorrow?”
Joyce lowered her tone. “Should I say it enthusiastically?”
Celeste grinned. “Unless something has come up, he’ll be enthusiastic.”
She knew how much he enjoyed seeing Mandy and she wanted to hear more about what was going on about Jack.

Chapter 20
Ron ran the electric lawn mower rough-shod over what was left of the overgrown, thorn bush invaded space, inside of his slate lined perimeter. It was colder. He was wearing a sweater over the coveralls. His plan for the weekend was to rip it out, lay growth cloth, and then have two yards of top soil delivered on Saturday afternoon
Keats was sitting by his Chery tree watching from a fenced-in wire playpen area that Ron had stuck into the ground for him. His floppy ears went up when the mower connected with roots, but mostly he was watching Ron, or rolling on his back in the grass. Ron had given a sock to chew on.
Celeste was inside making dinner and talking to Duane.
Angel come up the outside stairs from the in back of the barn. Ron had shut off the mower and was lifting it over the slate so that it didn’t crumble. He had learned that his perimeter was fragile on top. Ron saw her and took off his gloves.
Angel came onto the front lawn and saw Keats wagging his tail. “Hello, Shitsalot! How are you?” She moved over to pet Keats. She knew that she had annoyed Ron. But the dog annoyed her, and was now in the house during the only time when they weren’t.
“What’s going on?” Ron hadn’t taken the ‘shitsalot’ bait.
“Something that could be special,” said Angel. “I could be getting a chance to work behind the scenes while somebody makes a film at the college.”
“That’s great,” said Ron. “What’s it about?”
“I don’t know,” lied Angel, “I don’t care. I get to work on it.”
There was a vulnerable challenge as she stood in front of him.
She really didn’t care what it was about, although she knew. She wanted it to not matter to him. She was waiting.
Before the mowing, his reaction might have been different. But he had a chance to be with Keats and let out some of the frustration, he needed to let it out as much as a drunk needs a drink. But she had come at a good time.
“What are you going to be doing?”
Angel grinned. “I’m just a go-for but I get to see what everyone else does and it goes on my resume.”
“That sounds really good. You’ve done it for plays. You can do this.”
“I know I can do it, Dad. Did you figure I felt that I couldn’t and needed a pep talk?”
“No Angel, I figured that if I get this done today I can turn it tomorrow, and I have top soil Saturday in the afternoon. Could you bring the growth cloth that’s on the bench in the barn up before then?”
“Sure Dad, That’s great! Where’s Mom?”
“In the house.”
Ron began walking the lawn mower down the slope that curled back down to the small road back to barn. Angel went in through the side door and slammed it.
Keats saw all his people disappearing and he was fenced in. He started scratching at the gate and then shouldered it to the side. He was out. The freedom sent an exhilarating shiver though him and then he began to puppy prance towards the garden, and the little wall that he wanted to climb over and see what was inside.
Angel struck a pose for Celeste who was putting down the phone and moving between her stove and her island. “Why is Dad always such a bastard?”
Celeste was grating cheese. “What’s got you riled up?”
“No, I want to know! Why he is always such a bastard!”
Celeste stared at her evenly. “I don’t think he’s a bastard and I’m not sure why you think he is.”
Angel looked at Celeste mockingly. “Why should I bother to tell you? It’s not like you are able to do anything about it anyway.”
Celeste looked back at Angel. “You have little idea of what I can or cannot do Angel. How could you? You would have to give me some credit and you would not dare do that.”
“Well, I’d like some credit too” screamed Angel, grabbing the cheese grater and throwing it towards the sink.
Ron found Keats playing in the garden and couldn’t help but laugh. The puppy ran to him and Ron lifted up into his arms and walked him back to the wire cage.
He kissed Keats on the side of his face and whispered, “Did you break out? Did you think I forgot you? Or did you just want to show how strong you are?”
He kissed and the puppy and Keats tried to lick. Angel flew down the stairs to the barn hollering, “Glad you love somebody, Dad.”

Chapter 21
Friday night was that kind of evening in late October that seems like a gift. The insects were mostly gone and the evening was warm with just a hint of cool. Celeste walked with Duane holding hands and talking. Ron walked with Mandy his arm comfortably circling her waist.
They were walking slowly, meandering their way back from dinner. The Church was on one of the prettier streets in Hackleberg, and Duane and Mandy’s house was two doors down from it.
Celeste said, “What will happen if Jack does retire? What will he do? What will you do?”
“It’s’ very up in the air,” said Duane. “I almost want to say that it is in God’s hands but you know that I don’t believe that.”
“You believe that it’s up to us,” said Celeste. “I agree with you.”
“Jack would say that we should not be as concerned for him as we should be about what his rebuke means for the future of the church,” said Duane.
Mandy was speaking softly because he leaned his head in when she did and she liked that. “It was a good summer for the roses. You have to let me show you one more time when we get back to the house. They are so strong even for now.”
Ron smiled and squeezed her waist. “I’d like to see.” What she had already shown him was a knockout and she was dedicated to her garden as something that could live on, be passed from priest’s wife to priest’s wife. This had been Duane’s fouth posting. There would be others.
“How is your garden?” said Nancy. “Have you had time to make progress?”
“Yes, “said Ron. “I will be able to plant in the spring. The top soil is coming tomorrow and you have to help me to design the garden.”
She smiled for him and almost wanted to kiss him but squeezed his hand around her waist instead.
The four of them sat on the front porch and drank coffee. They talked about the church and Celeste asked if Duane had his sermon ready.
Mandy giggled. “By Friday night? No chance. We haven’t gone through the tearing up of this week’s work yet, and having his Saturday surprise.
Celeste laughed. “Is he really like that?”
“No, he’s decidedly worse,” said Mandy.
They all laughed. Ron and Duane knew that they shared impulsivity, it was a bond and created a reason for respect.
“I don’t feel it sometimes and I would feel awful standing there on Sunday morning trying to say something that I don’t feel. Sometimes I get anxious about it.”
Mandy smiled, “But somehow when I walk in on Sunday morning, it’s all ready.” Duane and Many exchanged their look. Then Mandy said, “Doesn’t Ron ever get nervous about something that he has to deliver?”
Ron interjected, “I’m not trying to give the advice of God.”
Celeste laughed, “You don’t think that you are ever writing something that could come out of the mind of God, Ron?”
Her voice was teasing. The girls were laughing, Duane was grinning. Ron was stammering.
“Didn’t you want to show Celeste those brochures?” said Mandy. “I’m going to take Ron over to the garden.
Celeste and Duane huddled under a wicker shaded outdoor light as he showed her his designs for the new food drives for the holidays. Mandy took Ron to see the garden. She caressed the bushes carefully. She lightly squeezed the stems. “Here, feel how full these are.” Ron squeezed them for her. “They will be so ready to pop in the spring.”
They talked while she inspected. Yes, she was happy. Yes, she thought at least two more years here. They wandered back to the porch.
“Mandy is going to have some scar tissue adhesions taken out on Monday,” said Duane.
Celeste and Ron looked concerned. Duane and Mandy smiled. “Mandy explained it’s a simple thing. Scar tissue from a difficulty I had as a little girl. But after this I will really be able to work the garden better.”
After a little more time, they kissed and shook hands and said goodnight. As they drove home, Celeste missed the bench seats where she could put her head on his shoulder but instead held the hand that was squeezing her thigh.

Chapter 22

Three days into his home instruction, David Carpenter showed up in the Student parking lot carry’s a starter’s pistol. It was relatively harmless but looked very real. When he started pointing it at people, and laughing at their reaction, Frankie Martin subdued him. He used the walkie-talkie to call Joyce and tell her to notify the township police.
Joyce did and called to Ron that Frankie needed help in the front student parking lot. Ron dropped what he was doing in a flash and was out the front door in time to see Frankie walking David towards the school.
There was a crowd of gawking students around them. Ron strode into the group. He made eye contact with Frankie who was sweating as he held David. The boy had his head lowered and was repeating, “It was a fucking joke, you stupid pig.”
Ron hollered, “You don’t want to miss your buses or be part of this. Show’s over! Is anyone hurt?”
He looked around. There were snickers and some of the guys were talking about how Mr. Martin was a badass.
They started back into his office as two patrol cars with lights flashing headed into the school parking lot. “Take him onto my office, Frankie. I’ll talk to these guys.”
Ron approached the patrol car. “Would you guys mind coming into my office, we have a bit of a situation here.”
The policemen were getting out of their cars. Officer Bond said, “We had a report about a gun. Is that real?”
“Frankie Martin is in my office with the kid. There were no shots fired and no injuries. We need to just clear this area now,” said Ron.
The cops knew Ron. They had given him PBA cards. He had been with them when they did drug sweeps through the school. There was a sense of alliance between them.
In Ron’s office, Frankie said, “I’m going to take these off of you now David, don’t do anything else stupid or these guys might really hurt you.”
The cops stood over David to reinforce the idea that they would really hurt him. Ron opened the door to his office and came in.
“Do you have the gun, Frankie?”
Frankie looked up at Ron and smiled at the other two cops. “No, I think it’s somewhere out in the parking lot,” he said sarcastically and then saw the look of fear that passed over Ron’s face. He laid the starter’s pistol on Ron’s desk. The three cops chuckled. Of course, Frankie had secured the gun.
Herman Bond picked up the gun from Ron’s desk and looked at it. “What are you doing with something like this, David?”
“It was a joke,” said David. “It can’t hurt anybody.”
“But the other people didn’t know that, did they David?” said Bond.
“I don’t know what they knew,” said David.
Ron’s intercom buzzed. Joyce was on the line. “We are starting to get calls from parents about a shooting in the parking lot!” she said excitedly.
“Tell them there was no shooting,” said Ron. “Take their numbers and I will call them all back.” He looked up at the police officers. “Sorry about that, people get crazy when they hear guns and school.”
Bond took the starter’s pistol and handed it to his partner who produced a plastic bag and dropped the gun into it, then continued with his notes. “They sure do,” said Bond. “Where did you get this gun, David?”
“It belongs to my father,” said David putting his head down.
“We’re going to take you in, David.”
“Shit,” said David.
“Yeah,” said Bond “and you are in a world of it.”
“Can we wait just a couple of minutes before you leave?” said Ron. “I want to contact his family and see if they want me to accompany him.”
“Your call, Ron”
Ron came out of his office and motioned for Joyce. The buzz of the incident was still alive in the general office. The phones were ringing. Joyce came over. “I need you to do three things,” said Ron. “Get me David’s emergency contact number, find the principal and tell her we need to call the Superintendent, and see if the nurse is still in the building and send her to my office.”
“In that order?” said Joyce. Ron nodded and moved back into the office.
He was just in back of his desk when his phone buzzed. “Susan Carpenter,” said Joyce.
“Mrs. Carpenter, I am here with David and the police. He is being taken down to the police station now. Do you want to meet them there or do you need the school to accompany him until you can get there?”
“What’s happened?” said Susan Carpenter. Her voice showed tension and strain.
“He brought your husband’s gun to school.” said Ron flatly.
David looked up and blurted, “It was a fucking joke, Tuck.”
Ron ignored him.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” said Susan.
Ron didn’t care how much of a priority this was for Susan, it was no longer a priority for him. “Alright,” said Ron. “I’ll tell them they that you are on the way.”
Ron clicked the phone down. “She’ll meet you at the station.”
There was a soft knock on Ron’s door. “Yes?” he said.
Gladys Peterfritter was in the doorway. “Did you need something, Dr. Tuck?”
Ron looked over at David. “Are you injured?”
David didn’t answer.
Ron raised his voice, “I’m asking you in the presence of the school nurse and these police officers if you are injured, David?”
David bit off the word, “No.”
“Frankie, would you please let Gladys have a look at your hand, it’s bleeding.”
The township cops and Frankie shared a grin. “It’s fine Ron.”
The two cops left with David between them. Ron watched them load him into the patrol car. He was going to enjoy this conversation with the Superintendent.

Chapter 23

Ron and Celeste got home at the same time. It was a rarity. Each of them had their late nights, but never seemed to arrive home together. Celeste knew that the first thing that he would want to do was change his clothes. That was a constant, but this couldn’t wait for that. She was upstairs just a moment just before him. She put down her purse and sat at the kitchen table waiting.
Ron always moved heavily on the stairs when he came home from work. Sometimes by a weekend, he could almost skip down them softly, but when he came home his steps were always heavy.
He was trying to get out of his jacket and tie at the same time, when she called to him at the top of the stairs, “Ron, I have to tell you something.”
He finished struggling out of both and entered the kitchen with his eye on the flight of stairs, then he saw her and her words registered. He stopped and put his hand on the back of the chair.
Celeste said, “Can you sit with me?”
Ron sat. He saw that she had been crying. “What is it?”
“Ron, Mandy isn’t coming home from the hospital.”
He didn’t understand. “Why?”
“She’s going to die there.”
“What?” It wasn’t registering. The confusion on his face sunk into a dark look.
“She developed ARDS, Ron.”
“Acute Respiratory Distress Syndrome. Fluid is leaking into her lungs from more places than they can contain,” said Celeste. “There should have been signs. This isn’t just supposed to happen.”
Ron was stunned. “She’s dying?”
“Yes,” said Celeste.
“How is Duane?”
“In shock,” said Celeste. “He’s saying that he knows she is dying, but I don’t believe that he know what he’s saying. I just left him.”
Ron exhaled. He was speechless. He sat back. He could not think of anything to do. He felt totally helpless, and then Celeste embraced him.
She felt cold and he tried to give her his warmth. They stood for a long moment before they heard Keats, pawing at the gate in the small enclosed room where he felt safe when they weren’t home. He was desperate for attention. They shared a grin and Ron went over to let him out.
The three of them sat on the rectangular rug that was stretched across old wall to wall that they would have to replace. They were both crying quietly as they gently took turns, cuddling and greeting Keats who was becoming affectionately known as Puppy Dog.
Celeste went to answer the phone when it rang. Ron cuddled Keats to his chest quietly. Celeste said, “Yes, I can come back.” Then she listened. “Ok, eat something to appease all the church ladies, and then we can go back to the hospital.” She put down the phone and looked over at Ron. “Are you ok for dinner on your own? There’s plenty to eat where I’m going and I know that you won’t want to be part of it.”
“I’ll be fine,” said Ron. Keats was chewing on Ron’s fingers now. “You sure you don’t need me?”
“You’d hate it and I want to do it,” said Celeste. Maybe some of that training that she had gone through again and again might help now. Then she thought to herself that Duane had been going through that with many other people. He’d know what people were going to say before they said it. He just needed a friend to help him through.
Celeste felt a pang and for a second stopped at the thought that maybe she should give Ron suggestions about what he could have, then she thought that she did not know where Angel was. Then she was out the door and starting her Eclipse.

Chapter 24
The snow had been coming down for a few hours. It fell straight down without even a hint of wind to blow it one way or the other. Celeste sat with her coffee staring out of the windows that watched over her lake. The house was quiet. Keats was lying on her feet and being very still. The bustle would begin when Ron got out of bed. It was a Sunday in December. Next Sunday would be her birthday. The house was fully decorated for the holidays.
Celeste inhaled the warming aroma of the coffee as she heard Ron stirring upstairs. Keats was the first to hear his sounds and made his way up the stairs one step at a time. He would place both paws tentatively on the step above and then jump with his stronger back legs. As he got more used to the repetition he moved faster and made it up to the top. He did not stop to admire his accomplishment, but hurried towards the sounds coming from the bathroom.
Celeste was grinning and huddled into the comforter that she had wrapped around her. She thought about whether her mom would be proud of her now. She had a home, she had a good job. She had a man who had been right for her and for Angel. Her poor mother, only 10 years older than she was now, and gone almost twenty years. The wall of windows was beautiful and she would not trade it for anything, but the house did get chilly as the cold seeped in from the little unseen places that an old house has. She felt very peaceful as she watched the snow.
She could barely see the lake now. The snow and the trees seemed to hide it. She knew it was very cold outside and did not want to move. Ron came down the stairs holding Keats in his arms. Puppy Dog was licking the underside of his chin and Ron was smiling.
The Puppy squirmed free when he bent over to kiss Celeste, and Ron lowered Keats gently to the floor. He slid his hands inside of her nightgown and squeezed her breasts after they kissed. Celeste jumped. “Your hands are cold,” she said accusingly.
Ron grinned, “Good morning, dear one.” He put his hands on his hips and looked out at the view. “This is just beautiful. Every day is a new picture.”
“Do you think you could light a fire later?” said Celeste.
“As soon as I come back from the store,” said Ron.
“You’re not going out there, are you?”
“We need the newspaper,” said Ron.
“You’re crazy! It looks frigid out there!”
“I’ll be fine. Are you gonna warm me up when I get back?” He was grinning that naughty little grin that promised fun in bed.
“Not on your life,” said Celeste. She involuntarily pulled the comforter closer around her but felt a shiver of delight at his words. “Let the puppy warm you up. He’s old enough to have a job.”
Ron’s response shocked her. “He’s coming with me.” He got his ‘moon boots’ out of the shallow living room closet. Keats saw him and started wagging is tail frantically. The enthusiasm of the wags and the size of his tail caused his entire backside to shift from side to side as he wagged. Ron stomped his feet down to make sure he was securely in his boots and the motion and sound caused the joyous Keats to turn in a wagging circle.
Celeste felt secure but a little worried as she watched him. “Dress in layers,” she said.
He grinned with expectation but did not answer. He looked down at Keats. “I’ll be back for you as soon as I get the car cleaned off.” The Puppy stared at his face and seemed to understand, but when Ron started down the stairs, he was right on his heels. He was out the door with Ron before Ron could stop him.
The two stood under the overhang of the deck outside the door. Keats was tentative about the sight of the snow everywhere, and at first sniffed it and then licked it. Ron looked over at him and said, “This isn’t so bad.” He walked to the car, opened the door and lifted Keats inside. The puppy put his two fore paws up below the window and watched as Ron cleaned off the car. The snow was not over the front of his boots yet, and the car eased out of the driveway normally.
Ron looked over at Keats. “Be a good boy or you can’t come with me to do this anymore.” The puppy seemed to understand and whimpered to have his window opened. “It’s snowing out,” said Ron. Keats whimpered again and Ron said. ”Don’t tell Celeste” and pushed the button to lower the window all the way down on the passenger side.
Keats looked out with his forepaws on the top of the sill and his tail wagging in a slower, more controlled fashion, as they drove down the road with snow whipping in the passenger side window.

Chapter 25
Angel came in the side door some moments after Ron and Keats left. Her voice was edged and she did not say good morning. “Where did Dad go with Shitsalot?”
Celeste felt determined to not let Angel break her reverie. “Good morning,” she tried to say sweetly. “Dad went to get the paper.”
“He does realize that there is a blizzard this morning, right?” spat Angel.
“Yes. Angel, I am pretty sure that he realized that it was snowing.” She could tell that Angel was looking for conflict.
Angel said, “Was he always this much of an asshole?”
The reverie was gone. Celeste said, “You didn’t think he was being an asshole when he was building you a snowman!”
“I was six years old!” shouted Angel.
“There’s fresh coffee,” Celeste tried to be conciliatory.
“Yeah Mom, I can see the coffee. I can smell the coffee. I don’t need to be told that there is coffee!” Angel poured herself a cup and said, “I’m going back out to the barn.” Celeste felt a knot in her stomach but was happy to see Angel go.
When Ron got back from the store, Celeste’s reverie had become a brooding about why she could not talk to her daughter. He came up the stairs with Keats who was happily flinging the snow from his curly fur with a series of shakes that were spraying ice crystals all across her clean living room. He put the newspaper down and Celeste hollered, “Do you see what a mess the dog is making on the floor?”
“It’s only water,” said Ron. “We’re going back out.” He dropped the paper down in front of her and started tracking ice and snow through her rooms and back down the stairs.
Celeste was exasperated. How could she ever be expected to keep a decently clean house with him! Then she heard the scrape of the shovel and realized that he was clearing the driveway. It was still snowing! Didn’t he know enough to wait until it stopped?
Because the driveway was gravel and Ron could not use a snow blower, his idea was, that if he kept ahead of the snow, things would be manageable.
Keats tried to help Ron by grabbing the edge of the plastic shovel in his mouth and pulling. It didn’t help at all but Ron found it amusing. After he’s walked the width of the driveway, pushing the shovel as Keats energetically tugged on it, he would lift the shovel and toss the snow to the side. Keats would jump in the air and try to catch the snow with his mouth and his body. Ron was laughing as he was shoveling. “You like that, huh Puppy?” He started back the other way and Keats charged to grab hold of the shovel and tug.
Celeste could not help but laugh as she watched this comedy from her windows. The she felt like a slug for not being out there. She could at least clean off the Eclipse.
Ron was just about done with this pass at the driveway when Celeste appeared dressed like a snowperson. Her winter jacket fitted her like an inflated tube that came down to her waist. She was wearing a brown woolen knitted cap with a fleecy red ball on top of her head.
“How can I help?” said Celeste, trying to sound eager.
Keats barked a “hello” to Celeste and came over to her and sat proudly. He was totally covered in snow and it clung to his curly brown fur. Celeste thought he looked absolutely adorable and then thought about the horrible mess that he was going to make in the house. “Ron, look at what you have done to this poor puppy! How is he ever going to get cleaned up?”
“He was helping,” laughed Ron.
Celeste started for the Eclipse. It did not look happy covered in snow. She wanted to uncover it. She opened the driver’s side, to the low sitting Eclipse and Keats surprised her by leaping into the front seat and tracking snow all over it. He turned to her and gave her one of his rare barks. She was horrified and laughing as she tried to shoo him, “get out of there,” she hollered.
Ron laughed at her and said, “I’m going to do Angel’s driveway.” He started off towards the front of the barn with Keats now happily trailing him and wagging his tail.
The Eclipse started right up for Celeste, but she was afraid to move it. She sat in back of the wheel and like a flashback she saw herself laying in the sloping snow-covered ditch with a broken collarbone, hoping to be rescued. She felt shaken and all of a sudden very cold. She wanted to go back inside the house.
Celeste sat on the living room couch while Ron laid of the floor in front of the newly ensconced Keats who was back in his little foyer room having been told by Celeste that he would not be allowed out until he was dry. Of course, this was after Celeste and held him in one of her fluffy towels and rubbed as many of the ice balls off of his small body as she could.
Ron looked up and said, “Listen to this.” He read an ad for an English Department Supervisor, for a regional high school district, who had managerial experience. “That seems like it was meant for me, doesn’t it?”
“Maybe you should look into it, but it would have to be some job to pry you out of Oak Mountain.”
Ron looked over at Keats. The dog’s eyes were on him. He whimpered to be let out and then moved away from the gate as he saw Angel come in the door.
Angel was dressed to go out. She was wearing the scarf that Celeste had knitted for her. First, she looked at her mom and said in an informative tone, “I’m not sure when I will be back, so don’t worry about me for dinner.”
Then she turned to Ron. “I don’t want to be forced to go to Marjorie’s house on Christmas Eve.” Then she was back down the stairs and out the door.

Chapter 26
Ron had spent the day watching football and having his mind restless, thinking about not having a stack of papers on a Sunday during football season for just the second time in the last twenty-five years. He liked to turn off the sound on the TV and listen music at a ridiculously high volume. He did not smoke pot anymore. He could not do that in any form of conscience, and be a vice principal. So now, as he listened to the music and watched football, he had a few drinks. Keats was on the couch with him. The fireplace gave the room a warm glow.
Celeste enjoyed Sunday afternoons in the kitchen. She always enjoyed making Sunday dinner, and she could experiment and mix and plan meals for the week. He was not totally oblivious as to how these meals appeared, but he really did not know what went into them. Sometimes she missed his stack of papers.
Ron watched the Giants win a close game with the Denver Broncos, and then came into to visit Celeste.
“I’m going back out to shovel again, but I’m going to put Keats in his little room. Please let him out after I’m gone.”
Celeste nodded and then said, “Taste this,” she held the spoon in front of his mouth.
Obediently, he tasted. Ron grinned. “What’s that?”
“Brown sauce,” said Celeste. “The Giants must have won, you’re in a good mood.”
Ron sighed, “It’s about time they won a few games.” He took the spoon from her and licked it again. “Have you had fun?”
She wouldn’t exactly call it fun, but it was interesting, and yeah, maybe this is one of the things that he would consider fun. Celeste grinned. “I’ll know after dinner.”
Ron was outside when Celeste heard Keats. She went to the gate and let him out. She would have sworn he was about to knock the gate down when she got there, but was happy to see her. He scampered out and down the stairs where he heard Ron go. She heard him down by the door and said, “Keats, I have for you.”
She grinned when she heard him hopping and running back up the stairs, which was still much more of an effort than going down. Lamb and rice was something that she cooked for his week on Sundays. It was the food the vet had recommended for his stomach. Celeste didn’t mind cooking for him.
Ron was just finishing Angel’s driveway, when she showed up. She smiled when she saw that he was clearing it for her. “Thanks Dad,” she said when she got out of the car.
Ron said, “Your mother has dinner just about ready.”
Angel was too hungry to be disagreeable. “Great.”
Ron stopped, to stow his shovel and get some snow off of his boots, while Angel went right up the stairs. “Hi Mom, can I set the table?”
Celeste was slightly shocked and then smiled. “Sure,” she said.
Keats was devouring his bowl of lamb and rice. Angel actually did not refer to him as shitsalot. The house felt warm.
Celeste carried the platter of pot roast and carrots to the table. She returned with a bowl of mashed potatoes. Angel and Ron took turns washing their hands in the small bath just off of the kitchen.
They each took a generous portion. Celeste said, “The Christmas store is this Tuesday. I hope the weather is ok.”
“It was stopping when we came in,” said Angel. “Everything will be fine by Tuesday.”
Ron said, “Are you having it in the dining room again?”
“It’s really the only room that is large enough to accommodate it,” explained Celeste.
Ron looked up serious and said, “I think that should use that grand concourse of a winding walkway. This time of the year, with snow on the ground on every side. It would be perfect! The vendors could set up little temporary shops.”
Celeste looked at Ron with an incredulity that was almost unimaginable. She started slowly. “Ron, at least twenty five of those people are in wheel chairs and there are at least that many that need walkers. Do you remember the slope of that walkway?”
Angel burst out laughing with a mouth filed with cider. Celeste continued, “It would be like geriatric roller derby.” Angel was now laughing totally out of control. Celeste finished by looking at him and asking, “Are you sure I should propose that idea?”
Angel could not stop laughing as the images of the wheel chairs colliding with each other and upending doddering residents needing walkers had totally overtaken her. Each time she thought it was over a new wave of images came to her and knocked her back into a fresh paroxysms of laughter.
Ron said, “Well you did say that there was a waiting list.”
This thought caused Celeste to burst into her own eruptions of laughter. Keats barked and wagged his tail, as the phone rang. There would be no school tomorrow.
“I can drive you to work in the morning,” said Ron. Celeste smiled. It really had been a great day.

Chapter 27
Ron and Celeste lay in bed watching Ali McBeal. Under the covers, they were naked and entwined with afterglow. He loved to be in control and she loved to be receptive. Ron was hot for Calista Flockhart and Celeste was attracted by “the biscuit” the character Peter MacNicol was portraying. Ron had such a thing for waifs, but she didn’t feel threatened by it anymore.
“Are you really going to drive me to work tomorrow?” she said softly as he muted the TV for a commercial.
He slid his knee between her thighs and raised it up against her. “Yes, we can stop for breakfast somewhere on the way.”
They lay that way for a moment after the show started again, but then adjusted. Poor little Ally was wandering down a rainy night street and he was transfixed by the image. Somewhere, Celeste felt she competed with this image inside of him.
She felt determined to look as little like a waif as possible. “You really don’t really have to drive me,” she said. “I’m just worried about getting out onto the road and then I would be fine.” She really hoped she would be fine, but she couldn’t say that she was sure.
She had made a lot of progress. She reassured herself. Absently staring at the biscuits firm buns that were once made a subject of the show and which now always drew her inspection.
And then Vonda Shepherd was playing her piano and singing a song and Celeste felt herself wanting the feel his hips bucking into again. Ron turned up the volume and they listened. It was old Mo Town and Vonda was giving it a lonely, yearning feel.
Celeste felt her hips move almost imperceptibly as she felt the music. Lonely yearning was another thing that attracted him was another of the things that attracted him.
The episode ended. Ron muted the TV. He grinned at her and said, “I could go downstairs and get us ice-cream.”
Celeste said, “It’s cold down there.”
Ron said, “I would go.”
“I want chocolate,” said Celeste.
Celeste snuggled under her lined Duvet and thought briefly if Angel was warm out in the barn. Maybe a blizzard wouldn’t be the worst thing.
Ron came back with two bowls of ice cream. She held the Duvet open as he got in, and then took her bowl. They ate ice cream and grinned. Then Ron planted his ice cold foot onto her inner thigh. The shock caused Celeste too literally, involuntarily, unexpectedly squeal.
Ron’s voice was soft. “Come on, you know the agreement.”
Celeste closed her eyes. She was half grinning and wondering if he had planned this since the ice cream suggestion. She said, “I hate you,” and brought her still not shocked, warm thigh down on the other side of his foot.
The agreement had been her idea when her feet were legitimately frozen, and his damn body was always so warm. She claimed that he should have to warm her whenever she needed him to. He had agreed, if it was mutual. But he was creating reasons and he was the one who always picked these kind of places where she had to warm him.
Ron finished his ice-cream. Celeste was still holding her half eaten dish and trying to adjust. Celeste said, “You are not going to do that with your other foot.”
Ron grinned. He withdrew his warmed foot. “You can finish your ice cream first.”
Celeste mock glared at him. “Get it over with.” She spread her thighs.
Ron placed the other slightly less frigid foot against her decidedly less warmed inner thighs. She closed them and he closed his eyes in pleasure as she warmed him. Then he withdrew his foot and held her thighs open. “Lay back for me,” he whispered. Celeste finished her ice-cream as he warmed her thighs with kisses.

Chapter 28
The small Chapel was at the back of the main church. On Wednesdays, Duane offered Mass for a small but reliable group. Celeste had been an occasional participant with the group before Mandy died, now she was a regular. There were only eight of them, but Duane was good at offering a streamlined service and then they could all talk.
They met at what would normally be dinnertime. Debbie Insolate and her husband Jonas came regularly. They were met by Herman Pierce and Martha Hagerty. Josephine Montgomery and Sylvia Bonami, were the most recent additions to the group.
Since Mandy’s death, Duane had been inundated with more food than he could eat if he were five men. The ladies of the church were very solicitous about his well-being to the point of a daily smothering him in offers to help clean his house, do his laundry, bring more food, tend to Mandy’s duties by hosting the events that she hosted.
Duane was withdrawing from it all. In second grade, Mandy had passed Duane a note in school. It read, “I like you.” They had been boyfriend and girlfriend since. There was never a time for Duane that there was no Mandy. He did not even want to get out of bed in the morning and he surely did not want to dream up some message of hope on Sundays.
The Congregation stepped up. Patricia Tallman contacted fellow clergy people and they covered Duane’s Sunday Masses. Other priests offered to make his visits to the sick. Celeste listened in confidence to his doubts and fears that he had lost his faith.
Wednesday service was the one function that she urged him to continue to perform, and Duane said that he would try. Instead of a homily, Celeste and the others there had short discussions about how they felt. Today’s liturgy was about the promise of Jesus.

Herman read, “…do not be anxious about how you should defend yourself or what you should say, for the Holy Spirit will teach you in that very hour what you ought to say.”
Celeste could not help but look to Duane who was shaking his head back and forth. “It is hard for me to know what to say right now,” he continued. “I know that Mandy would want me to be grateful to each and every one who is trying to help me and I am trying to do that.” He put his head down and tears were brimming his eyes and Celeste knew what he was thinking. If you all could just let me alone to let me grieve, but he could not say that.
After the service, Josephine and Sylvia crowded too close to Duane to see if he was alright. Celeste could have sworn that she saw Josephine literally stick her chest into his arm. Celeste felt more than a little disdain for both women.
Duane just wanted it to be over. When Celeste signaled that’s she was leaving, Duane used her exit to make a break. “Can you give me those pamphlets that you have in your car Celeste?”
Celeste said that she could and they walked to her car. Duane had begun smoking again. He let a cigarette when they reached her car. “Can you give me something that I can just carry away?” he asked.
All Celeste had was a stack of the library’s audio books but she gave him half of them. “I know that you don’t believe me right now, and you may feel like you are doing a half-assed job, but you have to stay busy.”
Duane looked her full in the face. “I have absolutely no idea of where to go or what to do.”

Chapter 29
It was later than usual and Celeste was driving on the country road, her book was playing but she was only half listening. The road was cleared of ice and the cornfields wore a thick, cold blanket of snow. Celeste knew that it keep the fields warm under there, but it was cold snow that stretched out everywhere and covered everything and what did stick out had ice that made it glimmer like glass.
She had not talked to Ron, except in passing, in three days. The only time she really felt him pressing against her was when he was sleeping. She felt that though he loved her, she was the last thing on his mind. His attention would be a distraction that she would have enjoyed about now.
Patricia Tallman was taking another step in her slow and graceful decline. True to her nature she was trying to set things right. For Patricia, setting things right was as much about social interaction as it was about a personal reckoning.
Her children were who they were, and they loved her. That was enough for her there. She had presented her beliefs in a way that was encouraging but accepting of a difference in pathways. She had become a priest because she felt a true calling and refused to accept that it had come too late.
Socially, Patricia wanted propriety balanced with a hint of change. She had chosen Celeste to be someone who would make a difference. She felt her bishop was a radical but brilliant thinker from whom she felt the love of god and she trusted that feeling.
She wanted Celeste to find out what was happening. She had introduced Celeste to every bishop and priest and important parishioner that crossed her path. Because of her legacy as being a Founder’s widow, a woman from an established family of social means, and a wise and friendly person, she had more currency than one could imagine.
Patricia could no longer see out of one eye. She felt her other eye’s vision in jeopardy and used it sparingly. She smiled when she told Celeste that her ears and mind were just fine. Celeste was remembering that smile when a female deer raced out into the road and in front of the Eclipse.
Celeste stomped hard on her brake pedal. Tires screeched, she saw the hind quarters of the deer racing in front of the nose of her car and was slowing when she felt the thud. She screamed out like it was she that had been hit.
The car stopped. She could not see the deer. She was shaking. Because she was not wearing a seat belt, she had whacked the top of her head against the windshield when she stopped. She was a little dazed. She managed to put the car in park.
She could not find the deer, but there was a pathetically small patch of fur embedded into the front of her Eclipse. She gasped when she saw it and tears sprang to her eyes. She felt dizzy for a second. She looked around for some sign of the deer, but she could see nothing but snow and a few outcroppings of branches.
She was crying when she got into the car. She had her cell phone. Her mind went reeling back to a time when they lived in Hackleberg, and this deer had just taken a swan dive into the side of her car, jumping from out of nowhere. She remembered her revulsion as she watched the state trooper put the broken backed deer out of its misery. No, she would not call the police.
She started to put her car in gear and felt his voice in her head, “Put the fucking seat belt on.” She felt her head throb and whimpered a little as she slid it over her shoulder with begrudged obedience. She could do this. She switched off the book that had become a humming drone in her ears. She made her way home a bit tentatively and found Angel in the kitchen. Keats had been fed. Celeste felt safe and hugged her daughter.
Angel felt her shiver and said, “What’s wrong?”
“I hit a deer,” said Celeste.
“That sucks! Did you kill it?” said Angel with normalcy.
“I don’t know. I looked.” Celeste was a little stunned by the way that Angel took this in stride. It was the difference in where they had been raised. Out here there were dead deer on the sides of the road all the time. Angel was from out here and it showed.
Celeste was thinking it was a good way to have been raised, out here.
Angel said, “If it was just wounded, it will probably just starve or freeze to death. Wonder if she was pregnant?”
Now Celeste felt bitch slapped and wanted to slap back but did not want confrontation. “Thank you for feeding Keats.” Keats was now at her feet and wanted to be acknowledged and held and then taken out.
“Shitsalot hasn’t gone out yet. I’m sorry you hit the deer. Is the car damaged?”
Celeste picked the puppy up and held him close. “I don’t know. I’ll tell Dad and he can look at it.”
“Is he ever around here?” said Angel challenging.
“You know what it’s like. It’s Christmas for a month.”
As Angel went back to the barn she said, “I hate this time of year,” trailing her voice off as she walked away.
Celeste couldn’t quite catch the words but knew what she had said. She held Keats and really missed Ron.

Chapter 30
Ron was in the halls at the change of classes. They were buzzing louder than usual. It was Christmas. They kids were always crazy this time of year. It was hard enough being a teacher, but to try to keep tabs on the building was exhausting. Ron and Frankie and Lois and Joyce were sure trying though. Each was counting the days until the holiday but each at different times had lost track. It was that busy.
Ron was walking the halls when he saw Demetrius enter the boys room looking like he had a purpose. Demetrius was a tall lanky kid whose family had just moved up from Dover and gotten one of the cheaper apartments in the Oak Green complex. Demetrius was not going to fit in easily with his bandana and slacker pants.
Then Ron saw Harold Peters go into the boys room and it clicked. Peters had a loud mouth and Frankie had heard him talking about the darker element that was moving into his neighborhood, and about how his father was going to deal with the renting habits of these apartment complexes in their clean town.
He had been talking too much and too loudly. Ron walked into the boys room in time to see Harold at the urinal and Demetrius heading out of one of the stalls in Harold’s direction.
Ron’s voice was loud and he moved quickly. “Demetrius!”
He came up in back of Peters who involuntarily flinched and was pulling up his zipper. Ron was between the two boys. “What’s going on?”
Peters had turned around now and was whiter than usual. He was speechless.
“Ain’t done nothin, Mr. Tuck,” said Demetrius.
“Show me your hands,” said Ron.
Demetrius slipped his hands into his pockets. “I ain’t done nothin,” he repeated.
“Come with me,” said Ron.
“I have to use the toilet,” said Demetrius.
“You just used the toilet,” said Ron.
“I need to wash my hands,” said Demetrius.
Ron moved closer. “I said come with me.” His tone left no question as to his direction. The bell rang.
“I got to get to class,” said Demetrius and tried to step around Ron.
Ron blocked him and said softly but deadly serious. “Do not make me put my hands on you.”
Demetrius noticeably stiffened and took a half step back. It was like he was considering, sizing Ron up.
“Come with me,” said Ron again, and led Demetrius out of the boys room careful not to touch him. Ron kept his eyes locked on him as they walked down the now empty stairs.
He ushered Demetrius into his office and asked Joyce to get Frankie. Neither of the males sat while they waited. Frankie was there almost instantly. Ron said, “Frankie close the door.”
The two men flanked Demetrius. “Empty your pockets for me, please,” said Ron.
“I ain’t done nothin’ Mr. Tuck, why you giving me a hard time?”
Ron moved in back of his desk and sat down. Frankie moved in front of the door. “I hope I am wrong Demetrius. If I am, I will give you a pass back to class, apologize to you and call your mom and apologize to her. Now, empty your pockets.”
Things came out slowly. There was a couple of crumpled papers, some cigarettes and some matches. “There,” said Demetrius, “you got me. I was carrying cigarettes. I’m busted,” said Demetrius with an embarrassed looking smirk.
“Keep going,” said Ron.
It was then that the box cutter appeared. Ron looked down at it. “What you doing with that, Demetrius?”
“I’m supposed to be going for a job down at the warehouse by my new apartment, after school.”
“And you just carrying the box cutter in case you get the job?” said Ron.
Demetrius put his head down. “I feel safer around here with it.”
Ron could almost believe that, but he didn’t. His bet that was in Demetrius’ hand when he stopped him from teaching Harold Peters a little lesson.
Frankie was looking inside of the cigarette pack and was fishing something out. “Look what we have here,” said Frankie.
Wedged into the corner of the pack was a skinny joint. Demetrius face went into an anguished scowl. “You guys, just trying to fuck me up”
“No Demetrius,” said Frankie, “you did that all by yourself.

Chapter 31
Ron drove home annoyed with himself. He couldn’t stop thinking about Demetrius. How many thousand joints had he smoked? Maybe he meant no harm with the box cutter. Did Ron have the right to just pick him out that way? If Demetrius was someone Ron actually knew, would he had acted differently?
Ron was saddled with the deal that he and Frankie had made with Demetrius. It was a god-damned plea bargain on the high school scale. The weapon plus the drugs and the kid was out. Frankie told him that they could not look the other way on the pot, but they could ditch the box cutter.
What a fucking joke! The potentially lethal weapon could be forgotten but not the joint! How much of a hypocrite had he allowed himself to become? He felt his self-loathing grow. He had no business doing this job. Was there really nothing that he believed in anymore?
He tried to tell himself that he still believed in the education of kids, but there was the sight of Demetrius being loaded into the back of the police car. The school’s zero tolerance policy on drugs was clear. All violations of substance had to be turned over to local authorities for adjudication. Some fucking adjudicator he was!
Ron stomped on the gas and swerved cleanly into the left lane. The rushing of blood in his ears was like the rushing of his Nissan as he picked up speed. Then he glanced down at the speedometer, he was going 95 miles an hour!
He took his foot off the gas and felt the car slow its rush. He glanced in the mirror. There was no one in back of him. His eyes moved to the sides and then up in front. No, he was safe. Besides, he was Dr. Tuck and he had 4 PBA cards in his wallet. Great fucking example he was!
Ron had a scowl as deep as a canyon when he pulled into his exit lane.
Maybe there was something that he could do? He pulled the car over to the side of the road. He didn’t want to bring this home with him. He dialed in the number for the police station on his cell.
“Hello, this is Dr. Tuck from down at the high school.” Ron hated the sound of his own voice saying those words. “I was calling to check on Demetrius Brown, he was brought in this afternoon from the high school.”
Ron was put on hold. Then a familiar voice came on the line. “Dr. Tuck, this is Steven Hahn.”
“Hey Steve, how’s it going? I was just following up on Demetrius, has he been released?”
“He’s on his way to Juve, Ron. He had a prior from down in Dover. This kid is bad news.”
Ron felt crestfallen. “Thanks Steve, I’ll call back in the morning.” Ron sat there on the side of the road wondering what he had become. For that moment, he was disgusted with the answers.
When he pulled into his drive way, he saw Celeste’s Eclipse and realized that he had forgotten to look at it this morning as he promised that he would do. He saw where the nose of the car had hit the deer and reached into the grill and pulled out the fur and traces of dried flesh. The car was fine. He couldn’t say the same thing for the deer or Demetrius Brown.
Then he heard a puppy bark and was surprised to see Keats scrambling his way down the outside stairs. The sight of him was a cleansing, momentary wave. “What are you doing out?” said Ron smiling.
He crouched down to pick Keats up. He was getting heavy. The puppy kissed his face and then struggled to get down. “Oh, you’re a big boy now who doesn’t need to be carried around huh?”
He walked to the back door and opened it. Keats scampered in and then waited at the front of the stairs for Ron. Ron laughed. “Oh, sometimes it is OK to be carried?”
Keats wagged his tail happily.

Chapter 32
Patricia Tallman asked Celeste to arrange time for her to attend a holiday breakfast. Celeste responded that of course she would make time. Patricia was having a good day. She was up and dressed in her daily priestly garb and collar. She liked keeping the arrangement of things social and casual with underlying formality.
Patricia’s demeanor no longer showed a twinkle in her eye, but sometimes there were these signals that Celeste had seen from her mouth. Celeste had learned to assess her people as she spoke with them. She found the most successful approach was just getting to know them. Patricia had become more than just one of Celeste’s people.
“At this breakfast Celeste, it would surely be nice if you and I were able to determine what on earth is going to happen with Jack Spong.”
Celeste said, “I have heard a few things from Duane, but his thoughts about everything are just so dark right now. It colors how he feels.”
Celeste and Patricia were sitting in the Chapel. When she was able, it was where Patricia spent a good deal of her time. Celeste was a frequent visitor. “Duane thinks that Jack is being forced out and that the conservative bishops have had enough of his ideas and actions. They will threaten to publically enforce their beliefs as being more central and in keeping with Christianity.”
Patricia grinned, “I have no doubt that Bishop Spong has anticipated that.”
“Here’s where the dark part comes, Duane thinks that Jack is eligible for retirement and has had enough. I’m not sure if he’s talking about Jack or himself there.”
“A calling is a strange things Celeste.” Patricia spoke from the wisdom of her experience. “You are the only person who knows when you hear it and if it stops. We should say a prayer that Duane can hear his again.”
They held hands and prayed quietly in the Chapel.
“Now,” said Patricia. “Bob McElroy is just a great big huggable bear of a man isn’t he?” Patricia leaned in and almost giggled with Celeste, who felt herself wanting to giggle a little too. “But he holds all of his cards very close to his chest.”
“Zin Walsh will want to gossip,” said Celeste. One of the roles that Zin played was that he was the power of attorney for an ever steady number of the older female residents. He was compensated for this service of balancing their checkbooks and distributing their assets for a fee. His wife, Zoe, was an accountant. They supplemented their income with these proceeds.
“Yes,” said Patricia with some sarcasm. “Do see what you can get out of Zim Walsh, bless his heart.” Then she gave her private smile. She was from Virginia and wondered if people from New Jersey would ever grow to understand the real nuance of that expression. “We should also talk with Bishop McElroy.”
After break, Heidi Kliess asked to see Celeste in her office. “I think that you should start writing another monthly report to me Celeste.” Celeste had her pad and pencil. “I’d like a regular report on your meetings with the Clergy.”
Celeste was startled. “Which ones?”
Heidi looked at her with an incredulous expression. “Well, how many are there?”
“Clergy is represented on a lot of the committees that I am on Mrs. Kleiss.”
“I don’t mean those necessarily,” said Heidi. “But your name keeps coming up at Board Meetings, and it is usually mentioned by the representatives from the Clergy.”
“Well,” said Celeste, “I am on the Chamber of Commerce. I am a member of the Ethics Committee. I meet regularly with them when planning activities and events. So I’m not sure what you are asking me to write.”
“I see,” said Heidi. “Well, just forget about it then. That’s all.”
Celeste went back to her office a bit puzzled but definitely not forgetting about it.

Chapter 33
Ron and Celeste crowded into the meeting room at St John’s Episcopal Church. It was a Friday night and the room was packed. The Lanbeth Conference had only recently occurred and many thought that Bishop Spong would be silenced by the rebuke that he had received.
Spong thanked everyone who came. Ron was tired but he was listening intently. He had made it through the week. Two more days of school and they would be on vacation.
Spong began, “When we define God as being all knowing and omniscient, we are not talking about Jesus Christ whose birth we are about to commemorate. Jesus never actually says in the bible that he is God. I believe that this is actually somewhat of a miracle, considering how little of the New Testament words were actually spoken by the historical Jesus,” Spong paused, “In fact no words spoken by Jesus actually appear until he has been dead for more than twenty years. Then his words are somewhat shaped by the political beliefs of ensuing centuries. The version of the birth of Jesus that is told in Mathew and Luke was an attempt to refute the assertion that Jesus was illegitimate.
“I would urge you not to blindly subscribe to the misrepresented version of the birth of Jesus. On one hand, it shows disdain for the human act of reproduction, treating it as a sullied business, too common and base to be ascribed to God. On the other hand, it gives the impression that Jesus was God himself.
“Jesus never saw himself as an Almighty creator. I believe that we should be offended by this notion. What I do believe is that, in Jesus, we see the essence of what we come I have come to know as ‘Godness’”
When he was finished some 40 minutes later, Ron was convinced that he had just heard the most acceptable theory of Christianity that he had ever heard. He was very quiet and accompanied Celeste over to see Jack Spong.
Jack recognized Celeste and thanked her warmly for driving down to listen to him. Celeste introduced him to Ron who just shook his hand and said, “I found myself amazed by your lecture”
Spong smiled and thanked him and then Ron was lost in thought as Jack and Celeste chatted for a moment about when he would again be at St. Peters.
On the drive home Ron said, “I understand why he has your attention.”
“He was just wonderful,” said Celeste.
Ron felt his imagination and his spirit touched by the words of Spong and he would have walked, if not on water, over glass to have a chance to really have a conversation with him. He told Celeste and she smiled and said, “Right now he’s a very busy man.”
“I am certain that’s true,” said a slight dreamy-eyed Ron.
When they got home, they found Angel playing with Keats. Ron had suspected that Angel only put up her dismissive attitude and complaining nature about the puppy for their benefit.
“Surprised to find you home,” said Ron.
“No one goes out before 10 o’clock, Dad.”
Ron stopped her outside, on her way to the barn. “Can you leave Sunday night free? I’d like to take you and your mother to the Manor to celebrate her birthday.”
“Sure Dad,” said Angel.
“Do you have money to buy her a gift?” asked Ron.
“I’ve had her gift for weeks Dad, I don’t need you to give me money for my mother’s gifts anymore.”
“Hey, you’re in school. Your money is tight.”
“I know Dad you are always willing to give me money, except when I really need something, you are nowhere to be found,” snapped Angel.
“But I can count on you for Sunday?”
“I already said yes, Dad. I’m going out and it’s cold standing out here looking like two fools.”

Chapter 34
Dinner at the Manor was a good one. They all preferred the occasional Friday night Seafood buffet, but Angel had been going to fancy restaurants since she was a very, very young girl. She knew what a good meal was and liked it. She had ordered pressed duck and it was succulent and not a bit greasy. Celeste had introduced her duck and even though Angel did not think about it when she ordered, but Celeste did.
The three of them sat in the bar dining area next to a large, raging fireplace. Angel was meeting with success at the community college. She spent hours and days and the weekend in the studios. She had learned so much and Ron respected what she was doing. It was hard for Angel to acknowledge success unless it came with victory. Celeste felt that she got that from Ron and wasn’t sure it was a good thing.
“Where do you think that you’d like to study next?” said Ron.
“I don’t know,” said Angel. Then she offered. “I’m not sure that school is the best place for me to get the experience that I need.”
“What do you mean?” said Celeste.
“I’d learn a shitload more working on an indie,” asserted Angel.
Ron felt a warning signal. He hated that he felt it. Celeste had worked on independent films with her first husband. She knew that Angel wasn’t wrong.
“I know some people who want to do a documentary about Grateful Dead Concerts.” Angel stopped to gather her thoughts. She was drinking her after dinner coffee. “Obviously, Jerry Garcia is dead, but the band is still together and the parking lots are amazing.”
The warning signal grew louder as Ron listened to her voice. He had learned to be wary with Angel this time of year. Her history was incredibly regular and always over took her at some point during the holiday season. There was no telling when it would erupt but there would be a meltdown. It was almost easier when you could see it coming and so he was wary.
Celeste said, “How many people would be on the film crew?”
Angel laughed with a slight edge. “There isn’t even a film yet Mom, it’s an idea.”
“Ok,” said Ron. “So in the abstract, maybe you could pick up more skills working on a film, but you may still need more creds to get yourself involved with a legitimate effort.” For some reason he did know see how preachy he sounded. “Lots of idea start and then stop. It’s not writing or something like that. Your thing depends on lots of people and therefore lots of factors.”
“So, you’re saying my idea is worthless?” challenged Angel.
Light flashed in Ron’s head. Now he remembered. At fifteen, she had wanted to leave home and go on the road with the Grateful Dead and sell hemp bracelets in the parking lots. “No, I think it’s a good idea. Maybe it’s a story you should write, but …” Ron paused. He needed to be careful here. He was almost back over the border from no man’s land. He knew she would erupt if he suggested that she should write one more time and scream that she did not want to be a writer, “I’m suggesting you write it up as a film idea, maybe submit it.”
Angel smiled. That was a good idea. She liked it. Celeste felt herself able to breathe. They were right on the edge. She could feel it, but it got reeled back. She looked at Ron and Angel and said, “Thank you for a wonderful birthday dinner.”
Ron grinned. “You haven’t gotten your birthday present yet.”

They drove him with an anticipation. Angel wanted to see. He did give good presents and Christmas was just about here. They settled upstairs in the living room. Ron had a fire going all day, and it was still glowing. He added some wood and Angel poked at it with the prongs. They smiled when the first new flame popped up from the embers and soon it was totally rekindled.
Ron said, “Stay here.” He returned with a large, professionally wrapped box.
Celeste had no idea. This looked like something very special. It was a promise that he never failed to keep. Celeste told him how her birthday presents always got combined with her Christmas presents. He promised her without her ever asking that he would never do that.
When she opened the box and saw the silver tail mink jacket with a warm, warm hood, she felt her mouth literally drop open. He bought her a mink jacket? How much did he spend on this! She knew it would be weeks before he would ever let her ask that. The feel on her skin was luxury that she had only tried on in a store or felt on someone’s coat. It was unbelievably soft. It was made of beautifully stitched tails. It was the warmest coat that she had ever worn. Her arms swung free, the sleeves were a perfect length. Celeste got up and twirled in front of the fireplace.

Chapter 35
Angel had tears in her eyes as she sat in the barn. He had no idea how much she hated going to his mother’s house. How it had hurt her to know that she was not loved, not even liked. Anger seethed in her. She felt it like a storm inside of her, a turbulence that grew until it had to burst out. She needed to get out of the barn. She heard Ron’s voice in her head saying, ‘Don’t drive when you’re this upset,’ and she screamed “Fuck you,” across the snow covered lake.
She got into the car and started it. Then she saw Ron walking towards the mail box that was inexplicably set on the road by her driveway. He was waving towards her. “Shit!” she exclaimed. She rolled down her window.
“We’re going down to my mother’s about four o’clock, are you sure you don’t want to go?” said Ron.
“Yeah Dad, I’m really fucking sure!” She put the car in gear and pulled out of her driveway scattering gravel.
Ron thought, she drives like her mother, but he had heard the scream. He saw her face. Should he have gone after her? Should he try to call her? She wouldn’t answer. Would she get into an accident? The words of her therapist Jackie, tried to reassure him, ‘she isn’t suicidal, but she pushes those boundaries like she has to push at any boundaries.’ That was easy to say from an office but our here on Christmas Eve afternoon with his daughter off on winter roads maybe crying, maybe not, maybe thinking of wrapping her car around a tree, and maybe not.
Ron put his head down and closed his eyes. What was he going to say to Celeste? Ah the holidays! How times had changed so much about them. Ron stood looking at the lake, letting his eyes search the trees across the water. Staring down at the frozen wooden dock that was encased in a thin film of ice. Ron extended his hand and caressed a small frozen twig on the end of a branch. He looked up at the tree. “Are you sleeping or still awake?” He had begun to feel their presence when he was out playing with Keats or mowing the lawns or just wandering this property that claiming his love. He stared down the road where Angel’s car had gone. Having his love, was that a blessing or a curse? Which had it been for Angel?
And then he saw her car coming back around towards the barn. She parked, got out, looked at him and said, “I forgot that there was nothing open.”
They embraced. It was a hard embrace and he felt her body shaking against him. She was quivering like a frightened wild animal. They walked back to the barn together.
Ron pulled the wide swinging, wooden door closed in back of them and latched it shut from the inside. “I have to get you a proper lock.”
They went through another door into her room. Angel took off her coat and sat on her bed. “No one likes me at your mother’s house.”
Ron nodded, “Except maybe for your mother and I who love you.”
“You don’t love me enough to keep them from hurting me.” Angel felt the anger rising again. She did not want to feel that storm again. She did not want it to be Christmas. She never wanted it to be Christmas again!
Ron did not know what to say. He could no longer dispute with Angel about how she felt. His mother and George and Bumpy had not been kind. His mother had been downright cruel to both Celeste and Angel for years. With Celeste it had changed. With Angel, it had not.
There had been countless fights, countless hours of discussion and soul searching that had been an utter failure.
Marjorie Bombasco had become a formidable woman. Ron looked for Angel’s eyes and there they were. Large and brown, bright as searchlights, and glowing in the quiet room.
“I don’t blame you for not wanting to go, I wouldn’t want to go if I were you. But she’s my mother. The holiday means a lot to her.”
“So Dad,” Angel gave off a smirk that if Ron did not know any better would have sworn that she got from him, “your advice is ‘sucks to be me,’ cause I don’t see much else.”
“My advice is the same,” said Ron. “Respect your family but do what you have to do for yourself.”
“That would be great if it wasn’t bullshit, dad. Because every time I do what I need to do for me, they all hate me more!” The words stung like ice whipping into his face. “I’ll go if you really want me to go, but I won’t like it.”

Chapter36

Marjorie Bombasco’s home, a center hall, Southern colonial was her dream house. It twinkled with white lights in the low front hedges and white light reindeer that adorned the front lawn. Marjorie had looked for this home for years and, once she had it, she was intent on making it a living showcase.
The front porch was polished slick wood that was made more slick by the weather. George had put down a rubber mat that led from the three stairs to the front door. All three of them were loaded down with packages for the event.
There were few Italian American traditions that Marjorie had allowed herself to adopt but Christmas Eve dinner was one. It was an all-day fish cooking extravaganza that featured piles of shrimp prepared in every known way. There were butterfly fried shrimp. Shrimp that were sautéed in butter and garlic. Shrimp that were prepared in tomato sauce and shrimp that were prepared for cocktails. It looked like a Bubba Gump wet dream.
There were at least two kinds of pasta, mixed with oil and garlic and served in a red sauce. There was a tray of manicotti. There was a tray of stuffed shells.
Calamari, both fried and stuffed, varieties were prepared with baked mushrooms and arranged around a hot spicy dipping sauce.
There was a huge antipasto, split into fish and meat. Thinly sliced meats that were special forms of salami and cured hams. Cheeses both hard and soft adorned the trays. Olives in varieties both green and black, pitted and stuffed, lay waiting.
There was flounder both fried and broiled.
Sausage and peppers for those who did not like fish, but they seemed liked orphaned additions to the crammed center island. It would be filled for the appetizer course, refilled for the main course, and filled one last time for desserts. It was in the opulent tradition of a feast.
Bumpy and Paula and Honey had been working all day. Bumpy lived with Marjorie and George. Paula was George’s niece and Honey her lover, although that was more of an open secret which was never discussed.
The small TV room where George and Bumpy and Marjorie spent a good deal of time together was overflowing with gifts. The wood paneled walls that Marjorie had adorned with autographed pictures of movie stars, looked out from over a mountain of presents.
The pocket doors of the living room were opened to reveal a table that was shaped in the form of a T and extended down into the living room. In the right hand corner of the living room, next to floor to ceiling embedded bookshelves, was Marjorie’s Christmas tree.
The tree and table were her main contributions to the event. Marjorie’s tree was always fresh-cut, always large and always full. It only had varieties of white lights, some that sparkled and some that glowed. Lavender ribbons, tied in elegant bows were spaced on the tree along with glass and gold ornaments. A manger sat on the mantle over the fireplace. The tree commanded the attention of one’s eye again and again throughout the night.

The table was a holiday picture of Lennox with individual salt and pepper shakers, platters and taurines. Burgundy and white linen napkins and gold plated flatware were topped off by golden goblets.
One might say that Marjorie took the holiday seriously. She was seated in her Aunt Dotty’s fan back chair that she had reclaimed from her son. Marjorie stood when they entered. She was dressed in winter white pocketed slacks with a red and white Christmas sweater that looked as if it must be too warm for this room with the burning fireplace.
“Merry Christmas” bounced through the downstairs of the house like a crazy ball. Celeste and Angel put their packages down to get out of their coats and were met and hugged. Ron stacked the packages with a look of yearly shock. How could this many gifts possibly be exchanged in one evening?
Ron tried to calculate how long it would take and thought of Keats, back home in his little safe room. He was sleeping Ron was sure. He had been running around all day and gotten way too many treats from everyone, except Angel who claimed that Keats was too fat.
Celeste went to Marjorie and held her hands and gave her the yearly ornament for her tree. This time it was small glass bells with golden knockers and Marjorie loved it and kissed Celeste. Celeste felt the powdered sandpaper feel of Marjorie’s cheek and smiled.
Angel talked and laughed with Paula and Honey while Bumpy continued to cook with an ear towards what was being said, so that she could report back to Marjorie later.
George was red faced, dressed in his 3X athletic suit, and rubbing his hands as he asked people what they wanted to drink. Ron told him that he would have a rum and coke and George was delighted.
“I got that new brand that you like,” said George.
“Meyers?” said Ron, genuinely surprised.
George look confused. “I thought you said you liked Bacardi 150?”
“I never tasted that,” said Ron.
He moved into the living room and crouched down by his mother. Marjorie was waiting for him. “Remember that IPod you gave me last Christmas?”
It was quite possible that Marjorie remembered every gift she had ever given, or taken away. Marjorie smiled. Ron helped her put earphones on and said I want you to listen to this. He had typed out the words for her so she could follow along and he played Jackson Brown’s song, “The Rebel Jesus.”
Marjorie was listening intently when George walked into the room and gave Ron his drink. “I could have sworn you said Bacardi.”
Marjorie instantly looked up angry and said, “Can’t you see I am trying to listen to something!”

Chapter 37

Marjorie sat at her holiday table renewed by the idea that Ronald still believed in Jesus. Why else would he have played that song and taken the time to show her these words? She and Angel had acknowledged each other, but nothing more. Marjorie was resolutely disapproving and taciturn towards Angel who seemed content to return the favor.

More people had gathered for the meal. Bumpy’s brother Lumpy had already staked out a corner of the table and was eager, almost salivating to begin to shovel the food into his mouth. His girth dwarfed George’s 3X and he was there for food. Being seated next to Lumpy was a burden that no one wanted. There was little conversation and sometimes sounds that were low an unfamiliar and guttural as he ate. Normally he would just start shoveling but Marjorie had trained him to wait until after everyone was seated and they said grace.
George’s sister and her husband, who were also educators in Newark, were convivial as they waited for their son to arrive. Their daughter and her friend had contributed a good amount of labor to the meal.
Later there would be more people, a steady stream of them, but this was the dinner portion of the evening. Marjorie called out to Bumpy in an annoyed voice, “Do you think that we should all sit here and stare at each other or are you coming to the table?”
“I’ll be right there,” said Bumpy who waited for the kitchen to be cleared to ladle extra portions of olive oil on the food. They just did not understand that there could never be too much olive oil, even though they had used about 2 gallons that day. This was the extra virgin oil that she liked to have things swimming in.
Bumpy came in and sat down. Marjorie asked Ron to say grace. Ron passed it off to Paula, which annoyed Marjorie.
“Bless us dear Lord and these gifts that we are about to receive from your bounty through Christ our Lord, Amen,” said Paula quickly as she blessed herself. Marjorie half scowled as she looked to see if Ron followed suit, he did not. Neither did Angel who was sitting next to him. But Celeste dutifully blessed herself along with George’s family and Marjorie peered at Bumpy to see what she did and scowled as she quickly made the sign of the cross.
Lumpy got up headed for the island of food immediately. One had the impression that he would have knocked down anyone in his way. The front door opened and Paula’s brother finally arrived. George breathed a little easier but scowled none the less. He had not seen his nephew since the summer. He was sitting at dinner. His nephew could get his own drink.
“So how is being a Vice Principal?” said Anthony Racioppi. Anthony was a reading specialist who had not seen more than one student at a time for 15 years. Now he saw no students and was happier for it. He enjoyed analyzing test results.
“It’s different,” said Ron. “It’s nothing like the classroom.”
“Yup,” said Angel sarcastically, “My dad, the pothead, gets to be the school narc.”
Marjorie glared at Angel as there was a soft chuckle around the table. “Did you ever decide to graduate high school?” shot Marjorie.
Angel smirked. “Nope I didn’t have to put up with any of that bullshit and went straight to college.”
Marjorie said, half rhetorically, half mocking, “Who ever heard of such a thing?”
“A GED is a great option for some kids who will thrive in college but had trouble with high school, true Anthony?” said Ron.
“Statistically speaking kids in college with a GED do just about as well as those who went the more traditional route,” said Anthony.
Of course, Ron knew this but Marjorie would find it less of a defense coming from Anthony. Marjorie felt rebuked. Lumpy continued to shovel long after people had eaten their meal. He was going back for his 4th helping of everything. Marjorie watched him with an amazed disgust. She had spoken to Bumpy about him not grabbing his fork with his fist but that training never registered.
It occurred to Ron that there was really no one there for this meal with whom he had the slightest interest in talking. There might be a joke or a laugh that amused for a moment, but it was soon something he forgot.
More people began arriving for dessert. Ron was sure that they would never get out of there. Angel was bored and getting antsy. Celeste was doing her ‘making the best of it’ routine that no one recognized except for him and her.
Marjorie went into the kitchen after dinner and before dessert and said “ouch’ as she pricked her finger for blood and then winced deeply when Bumpy gave her the insulin shot in her belly.
The meal was followed by gifts and gifts and more gifts. Paula and Honey were in charge of collecting wrapping paper and by the end of the night they had three 40 gallon trash bags of the stuff gathered.
There was one gift that he would remember. Paula and Honey had taken a picture of the fan back chair that he loved so much. The only piece he had taken of his Aunt Dotty’s furniture. The one he gave back to his mother after it was miraculously spared from his apartment fire. He had begged his mother for the chair back and she had refused. This was their humor.
About 10 o’clock, Ron reminded Marjorie that he had a puppy at home and they needed to be going. “I feel like I never see you anymore,” complained Marjorie.
“I’m just really busy,” said Ron.
“Too busy to pick up the phone and call your mother,” said Marjorie.
The ride home was a quiet one as the three people tried to shake the noise and food haze from their heads. They would do it again at Celeste’s sister’s house in about 12 hours.

Chapter 38
Celeste’s office was where family conferences usually took place. This part of the holiday season encouraged more family visits than other times of the year. Celeste was meeting with Diana Glass’s daughter Elinor. Elinor had a brother but he was rarely interested in his mother’s care, however Elinor was. Bill and Diana Glass had entered Height about 12 years earlier.
Bill drove back then, and they had such a good life. It was just like being on vacation every day. Money was not a problem, and they loved to dine out and go on cruises that Height sponsored, and just have a grand old time.
It was true that Diana was more than a little forgetful. There were times when words, or the notion of language to express them, seemed foreign to her. Bill kept her on track with things and their trust was the thing that she most counted on at this point in her life.
But then Bill died and she often could not find the track. Celeste arranged for Height’s nurse’s aide and housekeeping services to become more comprehensive. She augmented this with frequent reservations at Height House for lunches or dinners, but this was not working. Diana’s hygiene was beginning to suffer and she was losing weight.
Elinor Glass had a length lengthy lunch with her mom. She was touched by how sad her mom was and how she sometimes spoke of her dad as if he wasn’t dead. She knew her mom was very lonely.
“I want to inquire about the possibilities of bringing my mom home to live with me and my family,” said Elinor.
Celeste was a bit surprised. She would going to suggest that it was perhaps time for Diane to move into a more supportive environment. But she listened sympathetically. “We have a guest room on the first floor where there is half-bathroom and kitchen. Mom seems capable of making the stairs, if it’s only two or three times a week, to bathe.”
“I understand,” said Celeste. “Your mom is a lovely person and she is lonely and grieving and I know you want to provide her with a home.” Elinor was nodding but Celeste felt a tension in her agreement. “There may be a lot more involved than you think.”
“Such as what?” Elinor was looking at Celeste with resolve. Diana had always reminded her after whom she had been named.
“Housekeeping is telling me that there is fairly extensive,” Celeste did not want to say bed wetting, that made Diana seem infantile and she did not deserve that designation, “… loss of bladder control,” she said gently.
Elinor nodded. “I will have to have a hard conversation with her about wearing some protection at night.” Elinor did not want to say diaper.
“Yes, but that would just be the start, Elinor. She might not be able to be alone in a house with a kitchen on the same floor.”
“Then I might have to install a door that locks on my kitchen.”
Celeste was trying to do this gently. She did not want to tell her about the way that her life and her family’s life would be substantially changed. The easiest and most direct way to put it would be to ask if she remembered having a new born and then saying that this was much more exhausting than that.
They chatted. Celeste used her skills to address the guilt that Elinor was feeling about not having her mother there with her already. Christmas had just been too much and seeing her alone and despondent, juxtaposed with seeing her and dad smiling and alive. It was causing a pain in her heart that she did not know how to help. Celeste was trying to guide her passively to her inevitable conclusions. It always went this way. Celeste knew about fifteen minutes before Elinor that it would dawn on her.
Finally, Elinor said, “You are telling me that I really don’t have a choice.”
Celeste was careful. “We always have some choices. What do you think would be best for mom?” This was another part of her training. To refer her as the familiar “mom” instead of “Diana.”
This part was difficult. Elinor had agreed that, for now, this might be the best solution. “I’m afraid mom will have to distribute some of her things.”
“Things can be put in storage, they can be taken to Diana’s family,” she knew when to back off “mom” so as not to sound ingratiating.
Elinor closed her eyes. This was moving too fast. She just wanted to have a conversation about the possibility of her mother coming home.
“I have to think about this and speak with my husband,” said Elinor.
Celeste hoped she didn’t wait too long and have it result in a tragedy.
After Elinor left, Celeste informed the Director of Admissions that there could be a potential opening in the independent lining apartments and that there was probably going to be a need for someone to join the first floor Residential Health Care unit.
She informed the head of nursing to make special note of what the nurse’s aides were reporting about Diana Glass’s condition. The head of Housekeep was notified to report on the daily state of Diana’s bed linens. And finally Heidi Kleiss was given an overview report on the entire situation.
Because this was the day after Christmas and very few of the department heads were at work, they would find these requests in written form, memorialized to Heidi Kleiss, when they came back into the office. This efficiency was something that did not make Celeste popular among her coworkers.

Chapter 39
It was the second Monday that they were back in school, settling in to the long dark months of leaving for and returning from work in the dark. Ron was in his office, dictating a letter to Joyce, when Margaret Philco appeared in his doorway. Ron was never happy to see Margaret and always wary of her.
Margaret has been at Mountain Oak for her whole career. Her uncle was a friend of the Superintendent and Rufus was always a good politician, who knew how to take care of his local friends. Margaret had become the Chairperson of the History Department and Ron had been a veteran of more distasteful meetings with her than he could count.
She was a short squat woman whose features resembled those of the porcine family. Adele Becker had truly despised Margaret and told Ron something that he never forgot. “You cannot fix dumb, Ron, but never underestimate her ability to be conniving,”
Margaret had a file of commendations that was three times as thick as anyone else’s. She would gain these letters by bringing a box of donuts to the presenter of any workshop that she attended, and then asking if the presenter would give her a letter of commendation. It was low grade ass kissing, but the Board of Education did not know that and Margaret Philco’s stock was high.
She smiled at Joyce and said that she hoped that’s he was not interrupting, but then proceeded to interrupt. “Theodore Mulvanney is on drugs,” she announced to Ron.
Ron unsuccessfully tried to hide his exasperation. “Did you actually see him taking drugs, Margaret? I mean he didn’t shoot up in your classroom or anything did he?”
“No,” said Margaret who despised Ron and would enjoy watching him get into as much trouble as she could possibly arrange. “His eyes are red, and one of my teachers caught a whiff of it on him, and he is acting like he is on drugs!”
She handed Ron the referral which stated in capital letters with three bold underlining that Theodore was “acting like he was on drugs.”
By stating it this way, Ron’s use of discretion was removed. The New Jersey State Zero Tolerance Drug Policy took over, and Ron was required to take several steps. He turned to Joyce. “Please pull up Ted Mulvanney’s schedule and have Frankie bring him to the nurse’s office. I will meet them there.
The school nurse was not around as it was a Monday morning and she always took Monday mornings off. Ron sat in the examination room with Frankie and Theodore.
“You been taking an illegal substances, Ted?” said Ron.
“I don’t do drugs,” snapped Theodore.
Ron studied his face and demeanor. His eyes were red rimmed and he was acting in an agitated way. There was no whiff of anything that Ron could detect on him, and he was acting nothing like someone who had been smoking pot.
“I have a referral here from a teacher who is claiming that you are acting like you have been taking drugs.”
“That’s bullshit,” said Theodore. “Who is saying that?”
By law, Ron was not allowed to say who the teacher was. “I’m not allowed to say, Ted. But I have to have you tested. Is someone at home?”
“My mom and dad work like good Americans,” said Theodore.
“I need you to contact one of them for me. They have the right to take you for the test or, if they cannot, we will arrange to transport you from the school.”
“I didn’t take any drugs, and I’m not going anywhere with you!” shouted a clearly agitated Mulvanney.
“That’s fine,” said Ron, standing up. “Mr. Martin, please stay here with Ted.” Ron started out the door.
Theodore jumped up. “You got no right to hold me here. I’m going back to my class.”
Frankie Martin moved between Theodore and Ron. “You don’t want to do that, Ted.”
Theodore immediately sat down and said, “Yes Sir.”
Joyce gave Ron the contact information for Mulvanney. His father’s place of employment was listed as the Essex County Department of Corections. He was a guard in the Newark lock-up.
Joyce sent the call to him when she had made connection.
Ron explained the situation to Mr. Mulvanney who said, “You’re full of shit. I’m on my way there now.”

Chapter 40
The Essex County Corrections vehicle, with headlights on flasher and the band of blue and white lights that spanned the top of the roof blinking with official warning, drove up over the curb and towards the paved walkway towards the main office of the school.
In itself, this caused commotion in the main office. Then two large, armed men got out of the vehicle and headed towards the main office door. Joyce immediately called for Ron and Frankie.
“We’re here looking for the guy who is running this place and illegally holding my son,” hollered Albert Mulvanney. There was a stunned silence from the secretaries. Counselors ducked back into their offices and shut the door. Albert exchanged a pleased grin with his partner Luke.
Ron and Frankie entered the area from separate directions. Frankie circled around to have his back while Ron, walked up to Ted Mulvanney’s father. Luke and Frankie exchanged a look of recognition.
Ron said, “Let’s go into my office,” and gestured through his open door.
Albert was standing his ground. “I want to see my son!”
“Sure,” said Ron. “We can all go over to the nurse’s office and have this meeting there with Ted present. Or, we can talk first and then go over there.”
“We can talk but this better be good,” said Albert and started towards the office.
Ron stepped in front of the door. “Do you think you could turn the flashing lights off first,” Ron gestured out of the open windows. “We are having classes.”
“I’ll get the lights,” said Luke.
“And do you think,” Ron pressed a little, he was annoyed by this man’s antics and wanted to assert control of the situation, “that maybe you could leave the guns in the car and lock it.”
“My gun and my partner go everywhere with me,” growled Albert.
“That’s nice,” said Ron nodding, “please come in.”
Luke killed the engine on the car and the four men went into Ron’s office.
Trudy Bennet looked over at Joyce and said coyly, “Don’t you want to go and take notes?”
“Not on your life,” said Joyce smirking.
There were four chairs but Albert chose to stand in front of the one behind Ron’s desk. “My son doesn’t do drugs and anyone who says that he does it a god–damned liar.”
“Let’s try to calm down,” said Ron. “I’m not saying that Ted took drugs. I got a referral from a teacher that said he was acting like he was on drugs.”
“I want to see the referral! I want to see this teacher!” Albert’s fists were clenched.
Ron glanced over at Frankie, who was not tense. He had already sized up the situation. Nothing to really worry about.
“The New Jersey State policy regarding Zero Tolerance for Drug Use prohibits me from showing you that referral or giving you that name,” said Ron.
He thought the policy unfair but understood that it was written with an eye towards much larger drug issues and much more profound reasons for keeping the referring teacher’s name secret. The fairness reasoning was that there was no penalty, and the school would pay for the test.
All Ted would have to do was urinate into a cup. Social stigma was not a consideration for the policy. This was because it was supposed to be administered confidentially. Margaret Philco had started this off poorly, but Albert Mulvanney had blown confidentiality out of the water like he had artillery.
“Well my policy is that I get to see my accusers. I want to see my son now!”
“Let’s go,” said Ron.
They made their way to the nurse’s office in a complete male formation. Ron led the way, the two swaggering men were at his heels and Frankie followed a couple of steps back. Alberts Mulvanney’s heavy ring of keys jingled.
Joyce and Trudy giggled after they left.
Theodore Mulvanney stood when he saw Ron and his father. He held his back very straight with his shoulders back and looked straight ahead.
“Did you take any drugs, son?” said Albert.
“No Sir!” said Theodore.
Albert turned to Ron. “That’s enough for me. Go wait in the car, son.”
“Yes, Sir!” snapped Ted.
And then he left the nurses office and walked to the dormant Essex County van that sat on the side walk outside of Ron’s office.
Ron sighed. “Frankie, can you see Ted from here?”
“Yeah, I can see him,” said Frankie
Albert looked confused. What was the punk gonna do now? His kid, his car. He was leaving.
“Mr. Mulvanney, the policy says that if a test is not performed, within 12 hours, because of parental interference, that it must be a presumed positive. Maybe you shouldn’t do this.”
“I’ll get him tested and then I want a public apology from you and this school!”
“I’ll be happy if he is negative, Mr. Mulvanney. I got enough work.”
Mulvanney and Luke rattled their way to their car and left, as they had arrived, with flashing lights.

Chapter 41
On Christmas Day, Patricia Tallman had a stroke and was taken to the hospital. It was considered a moderate stroke meaning, she had survived and was not paralyzed and had lost no mental function. When she returned from the hospital, she simply announced that she wished no more treatment.
She was 87 and practically blind and could see that she would not become physically strong enough to do what she had done. She was finished. When Celeste tried to reason with her, she patted her hand and said quietly, “All things must pass dear, and we are among them.”
Celeste’s sadness kept her from understanding. Height Village made a concerted effort to change her mind. She was asked daily if she ready to resume her medications, if she wanted to eat. If she would allow a feeding tube.
To all of this, Patricia patiently and steadfastly refused assistance. Word got out and the procession started. Bishops came from all over New Jersey. Priests came by the dozen.
Heidi Kleiss viewed Patricia Tallman’s passing as inevitable but also an opportunity to showcase the facility at Height. It more than angered her that each of the visiting clergy had asked specifically for Celeste Tuck.
Heidi remarked to Vivian Florencola, “You think the king of the gypsies was dying.”
“Celeste seems to be one of the tribe,” said Vivian.
“She certainly does,” said Heidi.
Heidi never liked any challenge to her authority. She did like Celeste’s efficiency and she used her to slip in barbs to other women on her management team.
They had been complaining about Celeste’s habits for years, but Heidi had mostly ignored them, and slapped Celeste around during break once in a while to keep them all happy and to make sure that no one was too complacent. But this was more than backbiting, this was a threat to her control of power. The clergy was independent of any control that she might have, and they had enormous away within the village hierarchy.
The procession of visitors continued for a week and Heidi stewed in the juices of her resentment. When Bishop McCelvey asked to see Celeste, Heidi made up her mind about what had to be done.
The visits were more reminiscences about Patricia more than anything else. There was laughter and tears and hugging. Celeste was oblivious to any negative fallout until one day at break.
Annabel Pritchard asked if Celeste would have time to get her charts done for team this Thursday, then corrected herself saying, “That’s right you do your charts while the rest of us are discussing the patients wellbeing.”
Celeste was shocked. It was unlike Annabel to be confrontational. She cried too easily. But then Heidi said, “It’s a wonder that Celeste has time to do anything at all recently with all of her visitors.”
There was no laughter around the table. There was silence.
Patricia Tallman passed eight days after she returned to the Residendential Heath Care Center. Celeste was very sad when she did the paper work connected to her passing. She shut the door to her office, something that she rarely did when she was alone.
She called Ron. “Do you have anything that absolutely needs you there tonight?”
Ron said, “I can be home.”
“I need you tonight. Patricia Tallman died today and I just want you to be there tonight.”
Ron heard it in her voice. Death had taken more than its toll on her.

Chapter 42
Technically, Theodore Mulvanney had failed his drug test. His parents had not gotten around to having him tested until two-days after they left the high school. Brenda Mulvanney was a Vice principal in a Newark grammar school. She explained to Albert that Ron had shown no tact whatsoever, but he was operating within the limits of what he could do.
Albert objected again the next day when Brenda took her son to their physician to be tested. She made Theodore swear up and down, even as she and the doctor watched him urinate into the cup, that he never did drugs.
The results were sent to the office of the Superintendent of Schools. Rufus Finley did not like having to officially acknowledge anything, and this was an annoyance, but he dealt with it. He called Muriel Browser and said, “Theodore Mulvanney drug test is clear.” That was the end of the story.
Margaret Philco was smirking as she handed Ron the referral. “Disruptive behavior- Fighting!” If she had just left it at disruptive behavior, there was a range. Fighting mandated at least a Saturday detention and perhaps and In-School Suspension. But preferably an out of school suspension for at least three days. The student was Ted Mulvanney.
“When did this fight happen?” said Ron. He noticed that the referral was not dated.
“Yesterday, let me fix that.” She snatched the referral back and put yesterday’s date on it.
“Who was the fight with?” said Ron.
Margaret put her hand on her ample hip. “I don’t think I should say.”
Ron tried to fathom how this person’s brain could possibly operate? How their electronic gears meshed and synapsis fired. It would all look so normal from the outside and yet be so profoundly ridiculous.
“Margaret,” Ron began slowly, “let’s review. First you brought me a referral that was worded so that I was forced to require Ted to be drugged tested, and all hell broke loose here over that. Now, you want me to discipline him for fighting with someone whose identity you don’t think I should know. Is that about right?”
“I suppose that it could be viewed that way. But I don’t really see what difference it should make?
Ron felt his jaw almost drop again. She appeared to be so earth-gaggingly stupid. What was the miracle of science that allowed her comprehension of language? Unless of course it was an act. Just a little twist of what happened here and there. But that would require an accomplice.
“You don’t think that it would appear that you were harassing this student?” the student.
Margaret shook her head. “You’re going to make it worse. Ok, he hit a teacher.”
Ron was stunned. “He hit you?”
“No, it was a male teacher.”
“Who is it?”
“That’s what I’d rather not say,” asserted Margaret.
“Which just coincidentally makes everything more serious,” said Ron.
“I’m officially reporting it to you, Dr. Tuck.” Margaret nodded down at the referral.
“Well, Margaret, if afraid that isn’t going to do. Let’s go and see the principal.”
Muriel Browser was confused after she heard the story. She, of course, knew the Mulvanney story and this did not have a good look. “So what do you expect him to do with the referral?” said Muriel.
“He’s the Vice Principal, that’s his decision. Margaret was a bit defiant.
“OK,” said Ron. “If it’s my call then here it is. Ron took the referral and wrote, “No Action due to no detail.” And handed Margaret the attached third copy. “Can’t do anything, Margaret?”
“It was Mr. Breckenwald.” Margaret said this like a sad admission had been forced out of her.
“Why did Mr. Breckenwald report this?” Muriel did not have a face to go with the name but she had seen the name before.
“Why didn’t Don report it?” Ron did have a face and more.
“He said to just let it go and forget about it and that the kid was in enough trouble already.” Muriel shook her head. “I was not going to standby and have one of my teachers treated that way.”
Muriel bowser looked at Ron and he nodded. “I’ll talk to Don Breckenwald.”

Chapter 43
Ron found Don Breckenwald in his classroom on his prep period. He was a third year history teacher, who also coached soccer. Being in the social studies department and coaching were synonymous. Oak Mountain’s program was not a big or particularly successful program and changes were coming. Don was an assistant coach and this was his tenure year.
Their relationship had been cordial but had changed. When Don was in his first year, Ron Tuck was in charge of the English Department. He and the principal had implemented a change of curriculum that was radical. It was followed by a change in schedule that was also considered radical.
Since it was Don’s first year, anything would have been new to him. The advantage that he had was that it was different for everyone. Don’s contract was an easy renewal decision.
The second year everything changed. Adele Becker retired. Tuck became the Vice principal and was no longer involved. Sure, Ron Tuck had been on the team of developers and had been there its first three years, but then he just left and became the vice principal. He had done that the same year that Adele Becker retired. The teaching and the program were confused at best. They relied on interdepartmental communication which was now led by Margaret Philco.
“Can I have a few minutes Don?” said Ron opening the closed classroom door.
Don nodded. He was a bit embarrassed by his having coffee and a roll in the class when food and beverages were not allowed. Ron closed the door in back of him.
“What went on with Ted Mulvanney?”
“Did she really write something up?” Don shut his eyes and was genuinely contrite. “The kid is a hothead, but he’s really not a bad kid. He’s under a lot of pressure.”
“Tell me what you mean, Don” Ron really needed to hear this. He needed to trust Don to be straight with him, and he wasn’t sure he could do that yet.
“I have him in class, he’s an average student who desperately wants to excel but hasn’t gotten the hang of how to do it. He learns facts. He rejects the thinking skills curriculum. He is not a student who is flourishing in your Project Oak.”
“Did you have physical encounter with him?” said Ron.
“Not a real encounter,” said Don. “It really wasn’t.”
“I need you to explain. It was written up as a fight.”
Don was clearly uncomfortable. “He pushed off of me. We were standing close and the discussion was about his grades. He put his hands on my chest and shoved me back. That was it. He apologized. It should not have been written up.”
“Yeah, I agree Don. It should not have, unless you wanted it written up.”
“Look Ron, she’s my immediate supervisor. I’m up for tenure at the end of this year. There is nothing I’m going to do except agree with her description.”
“I do understand. Anything else got you concerned over this kid? Do you think he might go off on another student? Just shove him or her?”
“I don’t know, Dr. Tuck. I’m really not in a position to say.”
Ron nodded and thanked Don for his time.
Ron sat in his office wishing that he could talk to Adele Becker. She would understand the situation intuitively from the broad strokes. She had seen it before. Ron knew that when he went into see Muriel Browser, she was going to expect a strategy.
He could not see what was best and it occurred to him that without the assembly of a team that seeks to solve problems with a greater degree of experience and knowledge, it was just his call. But maybe there was someone who could really give him a different perspective.
Ron put in a call to Karl Polemnic. They butted heads all the time but this was a place where Ron felt they could find agreement. Karl was familiar with the drug test.
The entire school was familiar with the drug test. Ron actually thought it might become an article in the local newspaper, as Mr. Mulvanney had railed about it in the last Board of Education Meeting. He had been told that this was a student privacy issue and that it could not and would not be discussed in this forum.
“Karl, I’m not sure what the best interests of the kid are here,” said Ron.
“Well the parents are surely a pain in the ass and yeah it does look like he was not a favorite of Margaret’s, but the kid laid his hands on a teacher. You have no choice.”
“Even if the teacher himself doesn’t support it?” Ron could not get past that part.
“Bringing that up only places that teacher in a very uncomfortable situation. But hey, you have to do it the way that you think is best.”
It was good advice.

Chapter 44

Ron knew all hell was going to break loose when he delivered the suspension to Ted Mulvanney. That was inevitable. But he could make a phone call first. Adele Becker had never told him to give her a call if he was in need of advice, but he knew that he could.
She and Becker had moved into their post house apartment. She was still working on her doctoral dissertation. She and Ron had been students together, when she had made it possible for him to join the doctoral program at Drew University. He had blitzed through it, while she, now in retirement, was savoring the experience.
She had mentored him for ten years. She had taught with him. She invented curriculum with him as part of the team. She knew Angel, who she always truly liked. She knew Celeste and they shared stories.
After the catch-ups, for which Adele had not that much patience, they got around to the point. Ron’s call was an opportunity to excite her brain. She would rather talk to him about literature and teaching, but that would be a raw subject right now. Truth was she missed talking to him a little.
“So Ron, you are not calling me at 1 o’clock in the afternoon on a school day to ask about how I am. What can I do for you?” Adele lit a cigarette and listened. Becker was after her to quit and she was slowing down, but this called for a cigarette.
Ron sketched out the scenario, she would understand the shorthand. No need to explain what this one or that one said, she would anticipate that already. She just needed to know what happened.
She was thoughtful. She ran her hand through the front of her hair. She got the picture, but was not sure Ron did. There was some obvious alternatives to consider.
“The way to approach the suspension is have Muriel Browser make the call to Ted’s mother. You said she was an educator, correct?” There was an edge in her tone.
Ron nodded and it seemed obvious to him in a flash. “She’s a Vice principal in in a grammar school.”
She scolded Ron. “That was a rather obvious alternative wasn’t it, Ron?
Did your male pride get in the way?”
Ron laughed and took his punishment. “Maybe a little.”
“Well first of all Muriel should have taken this referral out of your hands and did it herself when this first came up. That’s what should have happened here. Now, she needs to clean it up. She’ll understand that. She not dumb.”
Ron was nodding on the other end of the phone.
“But you have other problems,” continued Adele. “How do you intend to deal with a department chairperson who is out to subvert you, and who you cannot move?” Adele sighed and shook her head. “Some form of training, behavioral in nature, a punishment,” Adele paused. “But you’ll need Muriel to do that as well.”
Adele paused to let this sink in to Ron. She was teaching and she was good at it. She knew that every once in a while, she had to allow for a breath.
“Now, you did right by involving Karl. Unless Rufus gets involved, he’ll want to back you on this and will consider it a favor, which also means that he will expect one back from you. But I hope you already knew that.”
Adele did not like it that she was on the telephone. She could judge by the expression on his face if he did, indeed, already know it. That would inform her as to how much he had learned about not trying to do it all himself. He had to realize that administration had to be a collaborative effort. She was not sure he had learned that yet.
“The other potential issue is that somehow Rufus Finley needs to be involved again. That changes everything.” She had laid it out for him.
“I understand and I did know I would owe Karl. But I always know where he is coming from,” said Ron.
Adele said, “You may not if Rufus gets into this.” She saw that she needed to amplify. “He was made to put something in writing. He does not like that. Then there was a commotion at his Board of Education Meeting, and I am sure he did not like that. So what you need is for Muriel to put this to rest.” Adele reinforced her lesson.
Then there was small talk and the promise of a shared dinner. Adele and Becker were on a two month tour of theaters that included forty-one plays in sixty days. Maybe over the summer, before she and Becker left on the Canadian swing of theaters.

Chapter 45
Celeste’s yearly review had always been a perfunctory task. There was some stroking from Heidi about the way that she showed great empathy toward the clients. There was some praise for her efforts to enhance Height’s standing in the community. There was some mention of her ability to understand and comply with state regulations. There was always a goal that Heidi had charted for Celeste to complete by her next review. This year’s review had an entirely different tone.
Heidi Kleiss opened Celeste’s file and laid the stack of family letters of thanks to the side. She presented Celeste with her typed copy of the review. Celeste was jarred by the first box that she saw checked. It had always read either meets or exceeds the skills necessary to be successful in her position. This time it read that “Improvement was needed” in order to meet those standards.
It did not register until she got to the narrative. “Numerous complaints” had been made by Celeste’s colleagues about her inability to contribute to discussions of patients in the Residential Health Care Center. She was often distracted and after suggestions to change were made, she ignored them and continued to engage in her idiosyncratic behaviors.”
The second point in her narrative was that she was “not adequately fulfilling her duties to the clients in the Residential Health Care Center because she was spending too much time with independent residents and community activities.”
Celeste was stunned. She knew that color had drained from her face but this was only the first half of her review. Her goals were not attached.
Heidi Kleiss handed her the second part of the review. “Her department was being reorganized to be part of the nursing department. She would no longer be considered a Department Chairperson and would now report directly to Annabel Pritchard.
“I don’t understand,” said Celeste.
“It will no longer be necessary for you to attend the Department Head meetings and you will no longer be considered to be part of the management team. You will be regarded as a specialist.”
Celeste was speechless. But Heidi was not finished. “That will of course place you on a different salary structure, Celeste.”
Celeste felt numb. Heidi was still not finished. “And I must tell you that the new JUCO regulations may require a person with an MSW doing what you are currently attempting to do with a CSW. So to be honest I cannot say how much longer you will be qualified to do this.”
Celeste was maintaining control. She was not going to cry in front of Heidi Kleiss. Maybe that’s what she wanted her to do, but too fucking bad. She was not going to do if it was at all possible to help it.
“Are you firing me, Heidi?”
“Oh Celeste, of course not! You are a valued member of this community. Everyone appreciates your skill set. It may just not be a good fit for the direction in which we are going.”
“It’s going to take me some time to digest this, Mrs. Kleiss.”
Heidi nodded with a mock version of understanding. “I want you to consider something else as well.”
“What’s that?” said Celeste.
“I know that you do not wish to work for Annabel, but my hands are tied here. State regulations are what they are. You know that better than anyone.”
Celeste heard the props and thought, “bullshit.”
“But if you moved across the street to Sunrise House, you could be in charge of the entire program. You would no longer interact with your current team members and have time for a more select group of residents with whom you have demonstrated an ability to be successful.”
Celeste was back in her office with the door shut and she was crying now. She had been doing this job for ten years. She had practically created the department. She looked around at the evidence of the work that she had done and felt it had all been for nothing. Sure Ron would tell her that she had helped. Right now it seemed like it was all for nothing.
Her phone rang. It was Vivian Florencola. Of course she knew. She had typed the evaluation. “How are you doing? said Vivian.
“Like I have been screwed with my pants on,” said Celeste.

Chapter 46
It was spring when Ron heard back on that District Supervisors job. He had sent in his resume and then forgot about it. Three months later he was called for an interview. When he got the letter, he was at first dismissive but, it was not a form letter.
“Dr. Tuck,
The outstanding nature of your work with curriculum and scheduling, added to your background in English, and including your recent building management makes you an ideal candidate for the opening that we have. Please call to arrange an interview at our mutual convenience in my offices.
Sandy Humz,
Assistant Superintendent of Schools,
Middle Hills Regional School District”
Celeste was silent and it was so hard for her to be quiet. She did not want to influence him. She desperately wanted him to stop being a Vice Principal. It was making him crazy in a way that she had not seen. She was living with a cop, who did not know what it was like to be off duty sometimes.
It was better when he could start getting outside, but the winter had been hard on them both. Celeste had been unceremoniously dropkicked across the street, and as much as it stung at first, she was starting to like it.
She was away from the entire painful position where to both her delight and sadness she had done fine work, but most often with those about to die. She knew it had changed her. Celeste smiled to herself. There sure had been some changes nursing school till now. She was beginning to see this one as a good step. She no longer had to watch people die. She no longer had to be intimate with their deaths. That had changed her and she saw that she needed to be ready for something else.
Like Ron though, Celeste was also a city person. She understood what had happened and knew what was behind it. She had no intention of forgetting.
Duane was struggling in a way which was becoming uncomfortable for her. She felt her distancing herself slowly, giving some space now that the immediate grief had settled in. Yes, Celeste could accept and even welcome these changes but Ron needed a change too.
“I think you should take a new job. I really hate you being a narc.” Angel was not even attempting to hide her sentiments.
Ron looked down at Keats. He had grown so much over the winter and he was showing real signs of growing more. His paws were big and the pads under them soft. Ron loved to lay on the floor with Keats and rub hands and paws, hands and faces, paws and faces.
Celeste loved watching them, and loved the effect that those moments had on both of them. It seemed that Keats began to anticipate them and would be gloomy if they did not come. They just seemed to calm Ron down in the connection.
“It’s only an interview,” said Ron.
Celeste met his gaze evenly. “Look at me.”
Ron did. He looked full into her face. “If you want this job, the only way that it doesn’t happen is if you decide that, for one reason or another…” She paused. “I don’t know. You have security where you are. But I think we’ll be ok either way.”
“I want to go to Salem Massachusetts,” announced Angel.
“Why?” said Ron. He had zero idea where this was coming from.
“It’s a cool place. I might like to live there.” Angel followed her announcement with her departure, out to the barn.

Chapter 47
The interview was scheduled for 6 pm. Ron was led into a conference room and found that he was to be interviewed by six people. Ok, that was a little unusual. Sandy Humz was a tall angular woman with a severe cut to her straight blonde hair. She was dressed in a rust colored business suit with a skirt that flattered her long legs. Her style was business impeccable. She sat down after she ushered Ron to his chair. She opened the interview but thanking him for coming and asking if he wanted anything in addition to the bottle of water that had been placed in front of his chair.
Ron smiled and said that he was fine.
“Each of his has some questions that we would like to ask about different areas,” said Sandy. “We are all familiar with your resume and so there is no need to review that.” The truth was that Sandy had thoroughly vetted his resume. “Dr. Mathews will begin.”
Bill Mathews smiled across the U shaped conference table. He moved a little forward in his chair. “What is your familiarity with current standardized testing regulations?”
“I have been involved with New Jersey standardized testing since the inception of it being extended to secondary education. I am still an active holistic scoring trainer. I have contributed to the development of the Core Curriculum Content Standards. I am an experienced reader for the AP exam, now that I no longer teach that course.” It occurred to Ron during this recitation that he no longer did any of these things.
“I would be your counterpart in math,” said Bill Mathews. “What would you say your philosophy towards preparation is?”
“In a K-12 district there is much more time for early identification of fragile students.” Ron had done his homework too. “But in a regional high school, you have to work hand in hand with the sending districts, and have faith that your curriculum will address the standards being tested.”
Bill Mathews smiled. That matched his philosophy identically. He knew that it was also what Sandy Humz believed. She had been his partner in the position for which Ron was now an applicant. She had gotten the promotion instead of him. Bill was OK with this. Sandy was hungrier for power than he was.
Hector Gonzalez was the School Business Administrator. “Tell me your experience with budgeting and ordering?”
That was easy. Ron had ordered all of the departmental books and supplies when he had been a chairperson and managed the current school disciplinary budget. Gonzalez was easily satisfied.
John Winter asked, “What would Larry Viola remember about you, Ron?”
“Larry Viola?” Ron laughed. “He was a history teacher and someone I coached with back quite a few years.” Ron was careful not to say that this was in parochial school. “I suppose he would remember me insisting that we gave kids water breaks no matter how they performed.”
Winter laughed. He knew Larry was an asshole. Ron had stated it without saying it.
Sandy Humz then began an extensive set of questions about literature. It occurred to her during this set of questions that Ron knew far more about literature than she did. When she was finished, she turned to Dr. Sean MacTavish, the Superintendent.
“How happy will Mountain Oak be to see you leave?” said Sean.
“I’m not sure how to answer that, Dr. MacTavish. I’m sure some people will be happy, I would hope not all.”
“How happy will you be to leave, Dr. Tuck?”
It was a softball. They were winding down, thought Ron.
“It has been my professional home for more than a decade and I am proud of what we accomplished. I would be honored to have an opportunity to work with you and the rest of the people here.”
“Did you have any political problems at Mountain Oak?” said MacTavish.
“I am the Vice Principal in charge of discipline. There are always political problems,” said Ron.
The interview ended cordially. As Ron drive home he wondered, how happy would I be to leave Mountain Oak?”

Chapter 48
Sunrise House was a converted farm house that was once been home to the 150 acre spread that occupied the tract of land across from Height Village. The Village had been trying to buy this land for some time, but the deed to the majority of it was held by a family already made rich from subdivisions and not eager to sell. They had parted with the house and two acres surrounding it, but that was so they were no longer responsible to maintain the residence.
The house was a sturdy construction and Celeste set about having it brought up to what she knew to be code for an adult day care center. Labor was cheap. She just ordered things done by the maintenance department at Height.
The first goal that Heidi gave Celeste was to increase her enrollment numbers. There were only six daily clients at the House and it was losing money. The secret that Heidi would never share was that it was supposed to lose money. It was one way to balance profits made from Height and maintain a “not for profit” standing. Through the religious affiliation, Height’s taxes were less than minimal. It was a shell game of moving funds around so that regulators would not spot anything that was untoward.
Through her connections with Duane Murphy and Zin Walsh, Celeste quickly doubled the population to twelve. Heidi encouraged Celeste’s renovations because they still allowed her to show Sunrise as losing money.
Keats happily accompanied Celeste to work two days a week. Even though still a puppy, his manner was gentle and he rarely barked. The clients love to stroke his curly brown hair and he was sweet and patient with them. Keats elected to just curl up and go to sleep at their feet when he had enough petting.
However, Heidi now had a new annoyance in her life which she chose to blame on Annabel Pritchard. As Celeste’s replacement in Social Services, Annabel hired Penelope Boudreaux. She held the Master’s Degree in Social Work that Heidi had used as the reason for Celeste’s transfer. About one month into her employment, it became obvious that Penelope suffered from narcolepsy.
It seemed that the more stressed Penelope became, the more apt she was to suddenly fall asleep. Heidi caused Penelope stress and the woman could literally not stay awake in her presence. The amount of annoyance that this caused Heidi was tantamount to having a fly make its home in her nostrils. She placed the responsibility for this squarely on the shoulders of Annabel Pritchard.
Heidi had convinced Annabel that she had been responsible for Celeste’s transfer. Penelope was in her department. It was her job to do something to fix this.
“I can’t keep her awake,” Annabel cried, in Heidi’s office. “I’ve tried everything. I told her to wear a rubber band around her wrist and to snap it when she felt herself falling asleep, but that only worked when she knew she was falling asleep.”
“You have to fix this. I can’t have this!” railed Heidi. This brought a new wave of tears sniffles and tissues from Annabel. She sometimes amused herself by making Annabel cry, but this was becoming an actual problem. Penelope was protected by the Employees with Disabilities Act and was aware of her rights.
As long as she stayed in her office, she was awake about 75% of the day and could get the majority of her work finished, but the stress of seeing residents had caused her to drop off during her talks with them. Heidi charged Annabel to always have a nurse’s aide in the room with her when she met with clients.
This came about as the result of a rather notorious meeting where both Penelope and the resident were found asleep in Penelope’s office during one visit. Heidi simply kept demanding that Annabel make sure the work was completed, and then she scolded her about the additional hours that were needed by Annabel’s nursing staff to cover the situation.
“I don’t know what to do next,” cried Annabel. She was extremely proficient at organizing her nursing staff but this was beyond her abilities to cope.
“I suppose you’d better call Celeste and see if she can help you out,” said Heidi.
“Do I have to call her?” cried Annabel. The tissues were now gathered in two piles on Kleiss’s desk.
“Unless you have any more bright suggestions, yes you do,” said Heidi.
This brought a new wave of tears from Annabel that amused Heidi.
Chapter 49

Celeste recognized that Annabel had been crying when she said hello.
“How are things going in your new position?” said Annabel.
“You know,” said Celeste, “there are always twists and turns but I’m managing.” Celeste was polite but distant.
Annabel tried to maintain her professional demeanor. “Heidi asked me to call and tell you that we need a little help over here in Social Services.”
“Oh?” said Celeste. She waited. There was no way that she was making this easy for Pritchard.
“If you could just review and sign off on some charts and meet with some residents,” said Annabel.
“How am I supposed to manage that Annabel? Are you having the residents and charts sent over here?”
“We can’t possibly do that!” said Annabel. “You’ll have to come over here, but it will just be for one day a week.”
Celeste was matter of fact. “There would be no one to cover things over here, Annabel. I’m afraid that you’ll have to find someone else.”
“There is no one else!” cried Annabel. Her eyes were red and puffy and she was almost finished with her first box of tissues for the day. “I can’t keep her awake,” sniffled Annabel.
“I’ll give you an aide for the day that you are here,” said Annabel.
“I don’t think that will work, Annabel. An aide can’t be the only person in the house with a dozen clients.”
“You have a dozen full time clients already?” said Annabel who was both impressed and annoyed. If Celeste had only been a team player none of this would have been necessary. This, of course, was not true but it served Heidi to have Annabel think that it was.
“Yes, so I don’t see how I can help you.” Celeste was pleased and happy to be this far away from the daily tension that was Height.
An hour later the call came from Heidi. Celeste expected it but wanted to make Annabel have to report to Heidi that she was not able to get Celeste’s help. Celeste smiled to herself. Ron always loved stories about Annabel crying.
“Celeste, you’ll report over here tomorrow morning and one day a week for the foreseeable future,” said Heidi. “I’m sending Judy Campbell over to work for you. She will help with the new clients that you now have and free you up to be over here one day a week.”
This was not a discussion. Celeste was being informed as to what was necessary. “Judy will be over this afternoon to start so that you can orient her for tomorrow. You can, of course wait until the clients have arrived so that they are not confused by the new face.”
Celeste calmly said, “Yes, Mrs. Kleiss,” and Heidi hung up without saying goodbye.
Penelope Boudreaux was a middle aged woman who was well dressed, when she did not look disheveled from sleep. She smiled at Celeste. “The job will really be easy if you just follow this policy and procedures book,” she said holding the book in both hands clasped towards her chest like she was unwilling to part with it. “I’ll have a copy made for you.”
“That won’t be necessary,” said Celeste.
Penelope looked confused until Celeste continued, “I wrote that book.”
Penelope felt herself getting drowsy and snapped her rubber band.

Chapter 50

Celeste was telling Ron the story of the policies and procedures book as they cleaned up after dinner, when the phone rang.
“Ron, this is Sandy Humz. Congratulations! We like to offer you the position as the Director of Instructional Services for the Middle Hills Regional School District.”
Ron can hear the pride in Sandy’s voice as she announced the title. It had been her title. She wanted to make very sure that her replacement was someone that she could trust and respect. They would be working together and MacTavish had told her that this appointment would be her most difficult and important. She had taken her time and cleared the Director’s calendar for the remainder of the school year with the exception of the budget. She had completed all of the observations and evaluations. He would have two months to get his footing.
Ron was startled. He thought he had done well, but expected there to be at least one more round of interviews. “Thank you, Sandy. Wow that’s wonderful.” He didn’t know what else to say. He felt the cold rush of adrenalin wash through him. This was all of a sudden very real.
“When would you like to come in to sign contracts?” said Sandy.
“I’m at work until 10:30 tomorrow night,” said Ron. “Can we do it on Friday? I’ll take a personal day and I can come by to see you in the morning.”
Sandy smiled. He was showing loyalty to his current position. He wanted the day to let them know. She would be very much the same. Sandy gave Ron his first piece of advice from her. “Don’t give notice until after you’ve signed your contract here.”
Ron smiled as well. “I understand. That was nice of you. What time would be good on Friday?”
“Why don’t you sleep in and get here around 9 o’clock.” She was not going to tell him that she began her day at that time.
“That’s perfect,” said Ron. “I’ll see you then.”
Celeste had finished in the kitchen. Their dinner cleanup was a ritual that Ron insisted upon and she had come to love it. She could honestly say that he had never once finished his dinner and walked away from the table. Marjorie had trained him well.
Celeste was smiling. “You got the job didn’t you?”
Ron nodded. He was just standing there still holding the phone. “Boy, do we have to talk,” he said.
“Let me fix you a drink,” said Celeste.
Ron nodded again and put down the phone. He walked into the living room. She mixed him a rum and coke. Celeste heard Jackson Brown singing the first lines of My Opening Farwell as she walked into the living room.
She knew this about him now. He needed to curl up into himself, into music, and think before he would be ready to speak. She used to think of it as him shutting her out. Now she just thought of it as his process. This part of it had no room for anyone else. That was not an easy lesson for Celeste to learn but it was an important one. For some reason, she remembered telling Marjorie that she had trained him well about dinner. Marjorie had scoffed at her. “He didn’t need to be trained to do that.”

When the song ended he pressed the mute button so no more songs could be heard. Celeste did not like that. There had been times when he got annoyed and just unmuted the stereo and it blared into the middle of a song when he didn’t want to talk anymore. That always caused an argument. “Can we just turn that off?” said Celeste.
Ron got up and clicked off his iPod. “What do you think I should do?”
Celeste shook her head. “I’m not going to tell you what I think you should do. How long do you have to make a decision?”
Ron was serious now, in Vice Principal mode again. “I want to know what I am doing by tomorrow,” he said.
“Ok,” said Celeste, “but that wasn’t my question.”
“I’m supposed to sign the contracts on Friday,” said Ron.
“For September?” said Celeste.
“No, they want me to start as soon as I can get out of my contract,” said Ron. There was a perplexed tone in his voice.
“They’re not going to let you finish the year?”
“They want me now.”
Danger signs blinked on and off for Celeste. That could keep him from doing it. He would see it almost as bad as leaving his team in the middle of the season. She had watched in disbelief as he hobbled through a football season in an immobilizer because he would not consider surgery during a season. This was the insane part of him. He might not do it.
“Do you want to do that? Are you going to be able to do that?” asked Celeste.
Ron curled the index knuckle of his fist to his lips and then brought it to his chin. “Contractually, yes I can do that. I’m bound for thirty days. They’ll be pissed as hell and some people will be hurt and Margaret Bring the Donuts will get to do a happy dance, but I could do it.”
Celeste smiled. “But are you able to do it?”
Ron smiled back. “Now that’s the question isn’t it?”
Ron sucked long on the straw in the drink. Then he got up to take Keats out. “It’s thirty thousand more a year,” he said.
Celeste felt shock. Thirty thousand was what she would make this year.

Chapter 51

Later that night, Ron was unable to quiet his mind. He had the urge to call several people, but he already knew what they would say. When Ron had decided a few years ago not continue teaching in college, his onetime professor and mentor had been more than a little disappointed in him. Warren Lashly had turned down several promotion offers, both at his college and in other places. He was exploring teaching and literature and writing. He saw these other opportunities as distractions that would get in the way of what he wanted to do. He told Ron back then, “I no longer have a clue about what you are trying to accomplish.” Ron knew what he meant, but his life was different now. He had found ways to express his creativity that Warren had found natural, and he had passed that approach on to Ron. He had asked Ron to come down and teach nights at the college and Ron had done it. Lashly even gave him his office to share. The reports that he had gotten back on Ron’s teaching made him proud that Ron was his student. Why he had not chosen college teaching more fully was a mistake of Ron’s that Lashly could not understand. There was no sense in asking his advice.
Quimpy had gone round the bend. He was forced into early retirement for a number of reasons. When last Ron saw him, his skin was perpetually covered in nervous rashes that he picked at endlessly. He was eternally distracted now. He told Ron that he had stolen Celeste from him and that he wanted them to be friends who just didn’t talk to each other anymore. Ron knew what Quimpy would have said in an earlier time. “Take the fuckin’ money, that’s a no brainer. Haven’t you paid attention at all?” There was something to be said for that point of view and that was exactly what he would have said.
His Aunt Dotty would have taken Quimpy’s point of view. Adele Becker would ask if he had investigated the stability of the administrative team at Middle Hills. He had. People did not leave there, they retired from there. She would have asked him if he wanted to be a principal. That was the real question wasn’t it?
Muriel Browser was out of there in two more years. He would be the natural successor. Ron thought about that. He did love Mountain Oak, but it was not the first school that he loved. He did think it would be the last. He could lead them. He knew every aspect of the building and had a relationship with Board of Education members because he had had taught their kids. He was thought of as an excellent teacher. Adele had promised him that he could make his office his classroom, and Ron felt surely that he had failed to do that.
Angel was more than a little right, he had become a Narc. Calling Chris would be good for a laugh, but he did not think there would be insight there. He wondered for a second when it was that he stopped looking for insight from Chris. Then he stopped himself. There was no time to think about Chis now.
He and Celeste had talked for about two hours. She assured him that whatever he wanted to do that she would be there with him. She told him that she knew that his dream was to be the Principal of Mountain Oak.
Ron called Marjorie. “Hi Mom, how are you doing?”
“Ronald!” exclaimed Marjorie. “Is it a holiday? Did someone die?”
Ron laughed softly into the phone, “No Mom, how are you?”
“You’re calling to actually do say that you care how I am or is this call for some other reason?” Marjorie was not backing down. She was pissed. He called her maybe once a month. Maybe not for three months at a time. “I’m just calling, Mother.
“Do you remember when the last time was that you called?”
“Mom, I think you know well me pretty well, don’t you?”
“Better than you know yourself Ronald.” Marjorie said the words with anger and love. “You’re doing what you are doing and there’s not time for anything else. It does not matter what I need or what anyone else needs. You’re doing what you want.” That hurt. Ron felt himself wince. “I guess you’re right, mom.”
“Celeste says that you are losing weight,” said Marjorie.
“Yes, I’ll eat more when I can get outside and do more,” said Ron hopefully.
“You know what happens to you when you don’t eat, you run yourself down and get sick,” scolded Marjorie.
“How are you feeling?” said Ron.
“I’ve told Celeste everything, and I don’t want to repeat it.” said Marjorie making two points. She knew that Celeste kept him aware of her health, so that he did not have to do it. He had already scolded her once for talking about nothing but her health since she retired. She’d was going to be damned if she would answer that question from her never-around son.
“I have the offer of a new job,” said Ron.
Marjorie was interested. Celeste had mentioned an interview but not that he had the job. “Is it more money?”
“Lot’s more,” said Ron. “But I would no longer have job security for another few years.”
“You can’t worry about that! You’re a worker like your father and me. You’ll be a success anywhere you go,” said Marjorie with conviction.
“I do love the place where I am now,” said Ron.
“Does it love you? You know Ronald you have a bad habit of loving places and people that don’t want you around,” said Marjorie.
Ron laughed to himself this time. She was really good. “They made it be possible for me to be Dr. Tuck,” said Ron.
“Adele Becker made it possible for you to be Dr. Tuck but it was you that did it,” Marjorie voice grew quiet. “I think that you get confused about what you should do because the person who had always loved you and helped you is no longer in your life. If you would only open your heart up to Jesus like you did when you were a boy.”
“I can’t do that, Mom.”
“I don’t believe that. You can do anything! You just don’t want to do it. For whatever your reasons are.”
“I’m going to take the job, mom.”

Chapter 52
Ron went through Thursday feeling less than honest. He was seeing things with new eyes. Why was he doing this again? Then he would hear Adele’s voice in his head. “Foolishness is thinking that you are not replaceable.” She was right. As much as you told yourself to give a school your all, the school’s needs ongoing and insatiable. It did not make him love Oak Mountain less.
After the lunch periods, Ron told Frankie Martin that they should go for a ride. “I’ll drive,” said Ron.
Frankie looked confused. Things would calm down after the lunches but not that much. They slid into Ron’s Nissan. Ron lit a cigarette once they were off school grounds. “What’s up?” said Frankie.
“I’m going to be leaving,” said Ron.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m taking another job, Frankie. I wanted you to know but don’t say anything to anyone yet. You’re the first person I told.”
“Shit,” said Frankie. “When are you going?”
“I’m going to sign the contracts tomorrow,” said Ron. “I’ll be gone by next month.”
“People are going to go ape-shit! You know that right?” said Frankie.
“It’s more of what I should be doing,” said Ron. “I don’t think that I was cut out to do this.”
“You’re a god-damned natural,” said Frankie. “You’ve got instincts.”
Ron wanted to bring it to an end. He did not like where this was going.
“It’s a lot more money and better for my family,” said Ron.
Divorced Frankie nodded his head. “I can understand that. I’ve met Celeste. I’d want to keep her happy too.”
Ron smiled and thought that was an odd way to put it.

It was a rainy, spring morning and Ron was wearing his tan, London Fog raincoat over a green brushed suede sports jacket and brown slacks, tan leather shoes. He wore a plain white shirt and a burgundy silk tie.
The driveway was a long winding, climbing rise to the summit of a large hilltop. It housed a huge high school and field structure along with the District’s Central Offices.
Luckily, the rain had stopped when he parked his car in a visitor’s space in front of the central offices. Sandy Humz, smartly dressed in one of the five colors that she bought of two different business suits, led him into a wood paneled Board Office with plush seating for twelve. He signed the contracts without hesitation.
“When do you think that you can start?” said Sandy.
“I’ll give notice on Monday,” said Ron. “In thirty days if they hold me to it.”
Sandy first brought him to the Human Resources Director’s office. Daphne Swanson was friendly as she explained some of his immediate benefits. “You may transfer up to thirty of your accumulated sick days,” said Daphne.
Sandy interrupted. “How many sick day do you have now, Ron?”
“I don’t remember. I think 145,” said Ron.
Sandy smiled. He just kept saying the right things.
“The same is true of your vacation days,” said Daphne. “We’ll start you with ten and then you don’t begin to earn them again until the end of next year. So, in effect, you don’t get a vacation until you are here for two years.”
That seemed like a long time to Ron but that was the job.
She led Ron down the hall and introduced him to people whose names were on the office doors. Then she said, “Would you like to see your offices?”
“My offices?” said Ron, grinning at her. “How many do I have?”
“You have three and control of three secretaries, including your own.” said Sandy.
Ron felt a little dizzy.

Chapter 53

Maybe Celeste’s most important discovery was a grant from the New Jersey Department of Health called the Community Care Program. This enabled her to reduce the cost to her clients by 50%. It also enabled her to double the size of her population.
Celeste organized her program based on the overarching belief that engagement was one key to combating dementia. She also added the catalyst of a schedule of changing flexible engagement.
The morning began with coffee and chat. Celeste explained the goals to her new assistants. “We want to know how people are doing but we don’t want them to feel examined or interrogated.”
Judy Campbell looked confused and raised her hand almost timidly.
Celeste instinctively understood. “Interrogated… I mean like questioned, by a doctor or a lawyer.” She wished that she can have a clone of Ron’s brain that would just deal with these questions and then be absolutely quiet. She could use simple synonyms right now. “I want it to feel like a natural morning among friends,” said Celeste. She had firm footing now. “We want to get everyone involved.”
Judy smiled, “I’ll bet they love to gossip!”
Celeste was a little uneasy at this. She had found a reserve in her clients at Height. They were from a generation that spoke of things in whispers or not at all. Some had been through real war. She was not sure about gossip but they were mostly women. Celeste laughed to herself. Ron had infected her brain.
Hadn’t her mother loved to gossip? Didn’t Marjorie? Maybe not her father, but these were mostly women who would set their own boundaries for discussion.
“After coffee, which I will say should not go longer than 45 minutes, we’ll transition to chair exercises. There may be some need for bathroom breaks during transitions and surely one long one after exercises. Martha, if you can basically work to assist that?” Martha smiled. That was easy.
Celeste had gotten the exercises from some contacts she had among her Social Workers Network. In her effort to make sure of the success of her grant, she cross referenced each with the health of her patients and the areas that the exercise stimulated. All Martha and Judy needed to know were the exercises. They had no desire to know anything deeper than that.
Lunch involved arrangements that she made with Height Catering. She worked an affordable and healthy meal from their menu. Because Celeste had enough clients now, she was a daily customer and they had become punctual. Celeste had also learned that punctual was a key.
Judy was in charge of distributing Keats on the days that he came with Celeste. The clients loved and sometimes did not want to share him with the others.
Keats spent these days of puppyhood doing antics that delighted and surprised his circle of people. Then he was passed from one adoring lap to another. He was almost six months old now and if he did not want to be in a lap, he could surely make that known, but his appetite for affection mostly calmed everyone.

During group activities Keats wandered into Celeste’s office where she was almost always on the phone or on her computer.
Duane said, “Jack Spong is retiring. He’s going to teach at Harvard. I don’t think I can do this much longer either Celeste. I feel like I am acting when I comfort people with expressions about faith in God.”
Celeste said, “Do you still believe in God?”
“I don’t know for certain, but I do know that I see him in a different way. I can’t express those changes to people and be their priest. The two are in conflict.”
“How are things going with the ladies?” said Celeste. “Are they still stuffing you with enough food for five?”
“The food has calmed down but it’s other things now,” said Duane. There was a nervousness in his voice that Celeste hadn’t detected until recently. “Things have gotten much more personal,” said Duane.

Chapter 54

Ron wasn’t sure how to say goodbye and so he figured that it would take care of itself. Muriel Browser had been easy. She thought it would be an opportunity for him and thought things would work out or not at Mountain Oak. Either way, she was just about ready for this phase of her life to be over. Rufus did not object. He would privately get word to the Mulvanneys that he had taken care of their dissatisfaction with Dr. Tuck.
Some of the Board Members grumbled about having paid out all this money for Ron’s tuition reimbursement, only to have him leave a year after getting his doctorate. Department chairs considered applying for his job, but it was asking for too much work. Karl Polemnic suggested that they really should have an administrative farewell dinner for him. “I did not always agree with him,” shouted Karl, “but can any of you tell me that you ever doubted his sincerity?”
Even Margaret Philco conceded this point and so a dinner was arranged.
Ron asked Joyce Garrett out for a drink. The prospect of meeting Ron in a bar made her squirm a little bit. She always felt this closeness to him and he made her feel like he could not manage without her. She knew that he found her attractive and this pleased Joyce greatly.
It was a local bar and Joyce almost hoped that one of her husband’s friends would be there so that she would have to explain herself. But what if he was going to make a pass at her? What if he had been waiting until he was not going to be her boss anymore? What then?
She dismissed it as a silly idea, but wouldn’t it be nice if someone was going to want something slightly indecent with her? Particularly if that person was a boss she could say had made her do things? Joyce flushed. Her husband was a good man and he loved her and she loved him, but she also knew that he did not feel that same spark when he saw her naked body anymore. He was a little too comfortable with her, maybe even complacent. She actually felt herself blush when he walked into the bar and smiled at her sitting there waiting for him. She had wine and he had a mixed drink. She would have figured him for Scotch, but he ordered a rum and coke.
“Thanks for meeting me,” said Ron.
Joyce decided to play. “Dr. Tuck, I cannot imagine why you wanted to meet me in private this way.” Then she saw the confused look on his face and laughed and reached for his hand. She squeezed it and said, “I’m only teasing Ron.”
He smiled, relaxed and said. “You know that I’m leaving.”
Joyce looked at him like he was Captain Obvious. “Yes, Ron. Everyone in the building knows that you are leaving by now.”
“It’s incredible to me still, the way that happens,” said Ron.
“Some of the girls told me that I would miss you and others said that I was finally being let out of my cage,” said Joyce.
“How do you feel Joyce?” Ron made eye contact. She had been great for him. He wanted her to truly know how she felt.
“To be honest, said Joyce, “I feel a little abandoned. So does Frankie. So does Lois. I only know how to do things your way and now I will have to learn to adjust to a new boss.” Joyce felt a pang of sadness. A new boss who would not treat her as an equal.
“Suppose you came with me?” asked Ron. “I’m going to need someone that I know and trust, Joyce. I was hoping it would be you.”
Joyce was startled. He wanted to take her with him? Did he even have the power to offer her a job yet? “I don’t know what to say.”
“I seems I’m going to have several secretaries,” said Ron, still amazed and totally confused about what that meant. “But my main secretary is going with my new boss. There’s going to be an opening.”
Joyce Garret felt a shiver of fear. Of course, this was what he wanted. Why had she thought anything else? More money? A new work place away from all her friends, away from the school that she graduated from. No she could not even consider it. “I don’t know, Ron.”
“I just want you to sleep on it,” said Ron with that playful grin she had seen a few times before. The one that made everything seem a bit naughty. “And talk it over at home.”
Oh Joyce intended to have fun talking it over at home, but there was no way that she was going to do it.

Chapter 55
Celeste thought her baker Peter had been looking more tired than usual lately. “I haven’t seen Ruth lately. She said.
Ruth was Peter’s wife. Sometimes, if she came a little later, or when Ron came with Keats on Sundays, Ruth would be in back of the counter. Peter would be doing his last round of baking in the back. “Her hip has been bothering her more lately,” said Peter.
Celeste took in this information. There was a degree to which she performed the analysis on people continually now. She did it with Duane. She did it all day long. It used to be more physical. Celeste would take more note of how erect one’s posture was. If there was the hint of a limp, or a listing in one direction or another. That had been in her nursing days. Now the social worker and nurse had merged in her.
Back in the Eclipse, Celeste steered towards Sunrise. She was the first to arrive. Celeste enjoyed the quiet early time in this area that had taught her to feel safe. She could see buds forming on the trees. Crocuses were up. If it weren’t for her allergies, she would have stopped to smell the air. But the little tickle of pollen let her know that it was there.
Celeste winced as she got out of the Eclipse which sat quite low. She had been playing stick with Keats, and he had tugged with a strength that she hadn’t seen before. It had jolted her. Celeste thought that ten years ago she would have not even noticed it.
She was doing a radio interview at lunch time. It was a local station that had a revolving set of hosts, one of whom was the local minister at the Methodist Church in Hackleberg. He was asking Celeste in to explain what an Adult Day Care Center was. It was part of her new outreach campaign.
Four months into the job and Celeste was now asking Heidi what the cut off limit was on the number of clients she could service. She had determined that with the help of the State Grant, she could not see why they could not be at capacity.
Franklin Fevel had one of those unfortunate names that made one want to giggle when they put it together with the appearance of the man. He was, to say the least, persnickety. He was also kind.
Celeste had learned that she would never really be accepted as a townie by the old timers. Angel was now, because she had gone to grade school here. Celeste felt melancholy for a moment. Angel who was now living is Salem Massachusetts and learning to become a witch or something. Just when Celeste thought she was getting it together, she fell in love. Salem was where the boy went to college, an art school from which he would graduate next year. What was she thinking? What about her career?
Reverend Fevel placed the large black microphone in front of her face. It was a rather ominous looking kind of phallic thing for him to thrust at her face. She looked over at Franklin as he fiddled with the extension arm that held it in place. She stifled her chuckle.
Franklin side in back of his much smaller round silver and black, desk mounted microphone. “Just act like we are talking naturally,” said Franklin.
Celeste looked at the full microphone and said, “That’s fine Frank.”
Fevel began, “We are with Celeste Tuck today. She is the Director of an Adult Day Care Center that is worth hearing about. What is an Adult Day Care Center, Celeste?”
Celeste looked over the top of her mic,“Along with being a way for people who are in the twilight of their lives to feel a sense of community and engagement, it is a way to bring some much needed relief to their caregivers.”
The conversation proceeded and Celeste found that after being initially startled by the microphone, she was at ease. Except for one time she bent over and chunked it with the tip of her nose and that made a sound in the earphone of Fevel and cause him to give her a little brush back wagging of his fingers like a whisk broom. She was not telling Ron about that.
At the conclusion of her segment. Fevel said, “Celeste that was wonderful. Would you like to do three more?”
“Minutes?” said Celeste. She had some experience from youth in working on a film crew. She thought that this would be much the same only much simpler.
“Three more shows, Celeste,” said Franklin, who then adjusted his collar and felt warm.

Chapter 56
There was a Dutch elm tree that had died towards the rear of Ron and Celeste’s property. It stood near the small road that ran along on the lake and was their property boundary. Vines had grown up clinging to it and it sometimes appeared to be alive, but it wasn’t. Their first winter a lightning bolt had cracked down on the dead tree and sheared off one of the massive lower branches. Ron had waited and on one of the first says of spring he took his hand truck down to the site. He strained maneuvered and told himself that he was out of his mind but he was determined to haul this large dead branch back to his house. It probably weighed about 400 pounds.
Ron felt a sense of accomplishment when he stored it in his barn, still strapped to the hand truck with bungee cords and a chain. Now he wheeled it out onto the concrete lip that was laid in slabs between the back of the barn and the fieldstone wall that ran the length of Ron’s house, sometimes inside, but mostly outside.
The wall was about twelve feet high and was broken by an outdoor stair case but also created a natural retaining wall that allowed him to keep most of good dirt up above.
Keats sniffed the wood and started to lift his leg. Ron barked at him and he put his leg down and turned the other way and lifted it again. Ron had been sanding the branch smooth for a week. This morning he was slathering a coat of spar wax onto it. When it dried he intended to add several more coats. Today he wanted to file and sand the place where the jagged edge had snapped. His chain saw helped him to create a base that would stand on its own. He saw something in the wood.
Ron was taking a break and tossing a stick with Keats. Ron could not get him to master the notion of giving the stick back once he retrieved it. So now he was using two sticks. As soon as he picked up another, Keats would drop the one in his mouth and wait for Ron to fling the new stick. Keats was not fast but he was tireless. Ron was happily sanding and filing and running his hands along the smoothing grain for about thirty minutes while Keats sat and watched. Then Ron threw sticks for about twenty minutes to give his hands a rest from the filing motion.

Celeste glanced out of the windows and watched him work from time to time. Celeste was cleaning. She liked to curse as she cleaned. A morning of cleaning might illicit seven or eight “son of a bitches” and a countless number of “shits.” She tried to tone it down when she cleaned with Ron because he always thought something bad had happened or thought she was angry about something. This morning she was free to curse to her heart’s content. She did not hear the phone until it was near the end of its second ring. “Fuck,” she exclaimed when she heard it ringing.
“Celeste, this is your sister,” said Tina. It was an odd quirk that they had of announcing the relationship each time one called the other.
“How are you Tina?” said Celeste wiping the sweat she had worked up from scrubbing her baseboard.
“I am sober for the first time in fifteen years,” announced Tina.
“You’re what?” said Celeste.
“I am sober, don’t you believe me?” said Tina with more than a hint of accusation.
Celeste was confused. “Of course I believe you Tina, but I didn’t know you were drunk.”
“It is something I hid from everyone. No one knew but I was always drunk.”
“No you weren’t,” said Celeste. “I was married to a drunk and I know how that goes.”
“He never hid the fact that he was drunk, neither did Joey. But I did.”
Celeste was shaking her head back and forth as she listened. Ron was walking in the side door with Keats, Celeste shouted, “What kind of bullshit is this?”
Ron wanted to just turn around and walk back out the door, but he had promised Keats a treat.
Celeste was nodding now and saying. “You did? You were? When did you do that?”
Ron got the treats and Keats gobbled. Ron tried to brush his curly fur and half listened.
“I don’t know what to say, Tina. You’ve caught me with my pants down.”
Ron grinned and thought about pulling Celeste’s pants down. He stared at the way that her bottom jutted out in pretty pear shape and felt himself getting aroused as he watched her pace. Then without goodbyes and abruptly, the conversation ended.
Ron looked up and their eyes met as she came towards him. “My sister has decided that she’s an alcoholic,” said Celeste.

Chapter 57

When Ron took Keats down to the lake, he felt a nervous excitement rush through his dog. Keats pranced playfully into the cold, spring water and began to splash. His ears flopped up and down as his hind legs balanced his happy forepaws and wet face. Ron was beaming a smile as he watched him. There were winter branches that were still strewn along the swimming beach.
Ron was almost frightening with his idea but Angel told him the lake was not deep. He called, “Here Puppy Dog.”
Keats did his excited puppy imitation of bounding towards Ron at the sound of one of his names. Ron picked up a stick and threw it into the water. Keats watched it drop into the water and then heard Ron’s voice, “Go get it.”
He was off like a rumbling little shot and Ron followed him to the water edge, wary now. Keats ran until he couldn’t and then he just swam. His stroke was powerful and amazing. He snapped the stick in his jaws and turned back towards the shore. When he came out of the water, he was dripping like a fountain. He seemed smaller because his outer coat was now saturated.
He shook off a spray of water that covered Ron, who was laughing and holding another stick. “Do you want to do it again?”
Keats barked. It wasn’t his little puppy bleat. It was a bark and Ron tossed in the other stick.
Celeste looked up at the two of them at the top of the stairs leading into her living room. They were both dripping. “What’s the matter with you?” hollered Celeste. She closed her book and ran to get towels. Keats happily followed her, proud of what he had accomplished and hoping for a snack. He dripped after her into the kitchen.
Celeste turned in horror to see him. “Don’t move!” she screamed at him. She walked across the kitchen, and into the bathroom to get some towels. Keats followed her. When she saw him in the doorway she was totally exasperated and just knelt down and began to towel him in her arms.
Ron knew he was in trouble and slipped off his shoes and socks and overalls at the top of the stairs. The laid the overalls across the bannister in Celeste’s newly polished living room. He padded into the kitchen to help clean the floor.
He stared down at Keats being toweled off and saw that he had developed a small erection. He grinned to himself.
It was just then that two field mice who had found their way in through a crack in the foundation under the front porch, undetected and basically harmless, but with a point of entry, scampered across the floor madly searching for a way to hide in this sudden open space.
Celeste screamed. Keats barked. Ron went for a broom. Then they were gone in back of the peninsula counter in the kitchen. Keats and Ron searched for them. They were gone. Keats kept sniffing. Celeste was horrified.
“I am not going to live with mice, Ron! I put up with you leading a soaking dog into the house, and you dripping yourself in happily in back of him because it is only water and you think it’s funny, but I am not going to live with rodents!”
“It’s the country,” said Ron. “What are we going to do? I’ll set some traps!”
“It’s the country, what are we going to do?” hollered Celeste. “I am not living with mice, and I do not want to find them dead in traps or have Keats think that one is a gift that he should bring to me.”
There were a number of things that Ron could have said in response to this. Unfortunately, he chose to point out that Keats was not a cat.
Celeste literally screamed. “I want an exterminator!”
Ron could see that that was not a time to bargain with her. “That’s a good idea,” he said and went upstairs to find some pants. Still wet Keats followed him. Celeste wanted to cry.

Chapter 58
For her second grant, Celeste created a plan for an outdoor raised garden. The research was easy about how the effects of gardening, when it was physically possible, were highly beneficial to aging people. Her grandparents loved their gardens when Celeste was a little girl. Celeste seized upon the phrase “when physically possible” and set about making it not only a possibility but a reality. Her idea was for a free standing garden that was raised and open underneath to allow for wheel chair access. She sketched out the dimensions of the garden which would be 20 feet long and 3 feet wide. She contacted the local lumber yard and got an estimate on materials as well as a “senior discount” for the project. Next she contacted the oldest, farming family in Hackleberg and discussed soil and drainage. They too offered Celeste a discount and felt like they were giving back to the community. When she had her ducks in order, she met with Heidi Kleiss. Celeste knew how Height worked by now. She knew that they would be all for it on two conditions: it could not cost them any money and had to have no controversy associated with it. Heidi was not a patient listener but she was very smart. She grasped the broad strokes of Celeste’s project quickly but was shaking her head in a negative way. “Where are we expected to get the matching funds for the other 50% of the cost Celeste? I can’t present something to the Board that has such a large price tag with no discernable advantage to us.”
Heidi was pretty certain this would be the end of Celeste’s most recent pipedream when Celeste answered her quickly, “I’ve thought about that and as I see it Height stands to both make money and do a good thing.” “Oh,” Heidi was amused. “Exactly how is that supposed to happen?” Celeste smiled, “Labor.” She pulled out her second sheet of calculations. “The Grant includes both the cost of material and labor, but it does not specify how much is allotted to each. We pay for the materials out of the money we get from the state. Use our own salaried employees in maintenance to do the work. We charge what we need to charge for their service in the grant.”
Heidi was thoughtful. “You are suggesting that the State pay for the project and pay us for the use of our people to build it?”
“Yes,” said Celeste. “There is nothing in the grant that prevents us from using our own labor and charging we deem is appropriate.”
“I’ll have to talk with maintenance but you seem to have covered your bases, Celeste. How long will this take?”
“I think I can have a verbal approval on this additional segment of the existing grant we now have by tomorrow.” Heidi was a little taken aback. “Have you gone ahead with this without my approval Celeste?” Heidi was sure she did not like Celeste’s head strong ways and would not think twice about squashing this whole idea of a grant if she had gone behind her back in any way.
“Oh no,” Mrs. Kleiss. Celeste gave her that look of sincerity that any good Catholic school girl had learned by 6th grade. “I’ve just gotten everything ready for your go ahead.”
Celeste was feeling pretty good about herself as she left Heidi’s office. She was walking down the hall when the familiar sound of Annabel Pritchard’s crying filtered out of Nursing Director’s office. She stopped in the doorway. “How are you Annabel?”
Annabel sniffled and reached for another tissue. She gathered herself or gave the appearance of one who was gathering herself and not totally succeeding. “Celeste, nice to see you. I hear everything is going great across the street.”
Celeste stiffened a little and wanted to say pretty damn well considering you helped get me demoted and cost me twenty thousand dollars a year. She smiled and said, “Things are fine. How is it going for you?” She subtlety, but not that subtlety, glanced into Annabel’s tell-tale trash and saw the mounting pile of used tissues.
“She fell asleep on a family. It was a family conference about the need for a level change and she just fell asleep.”
“Oh no,” said Celeste.
“The family had to go find someone to help,” wailed Annabel. “And now Mrs. Kleiss says that I have to sit in on each of her family conferences to make sure that she stays awake.”
“That’s terrible,” said Celeste. “Isn’t there something else that you can do?”
“Mrs. Kleiss is afraid to move her out and says that Social Services is now my responsibility. Celeste saw Annabel’s chin begin to quiver again and now she had to leave or else laugh. “I have to get back,” said Celeste quickly.

Chapter 59
Ron started his first day at Middle Hills in the middle of April. He met with Sandy Humz. She smiled at him. “You ready?”
Ron grinned back. “Absolutely.”
“Better for you to ask questions,” said Sandy. “That way we won’t waste time by me telling you things that you already know. We have an hour and then we have a much longer meeting that will last most of the day.”
“Ok,” said Ron. He thought that was a really intelligent way to begin. He understood that it was also his first test. “I know that among other things I am in charge of the English Departments and libraries for both High Schools. How hands on with the libraries have you been?”
Sandy paused. She would have to think about that for a moment. He had gone immediately to a vulnerable aspect of his responsibilities. She had no training in library science and she knew that he did not either.
“I leave selection ordering and maintenance of the collections to the librarians. You may wish to get more involved with that. It becomes a struggle for dollars with the building principals. That where you really come in,” Sandy paused and then said. “There are some personnel things. The chief librarian at one of the schools is married to a member of the English Department. You’ll be supervising them both and you have not met Althea Babel yet. That will happen on Wednesday.”
“Tell me about the building principals,” said Ron.
“Dirk Wllamore is famous and has a good scientific mind. He was part of the group that won the lottery a few years back. He’s set for life so he is doing this because he wants to.”
“I’ve met him at a conference with Adele Becker. Middle Hills also gave its scheduling presentation when we were researching a new schedule at Mountain Oaks,” said Ron.
“Dirk is a math and science guy. Respect that about him and you’ll get along fine. He knows you and had nothing but good things to say about Adele Becker.”
“Do you know Adele Backer?” said Ron.
“We may have served on a committee or two together in Trenton,” said Sandy. “We weren’t friends.”
“What about Audie Riffle?” said Ron.
Sandy formed a smirk that Ron had not seen before. “Little man is a character. He probably won’t like you because he will identify you as central office and connected to me.”
Sandy stopped and leaned forward and said, “Just remember you do not report to either of them and they will test you about that.”
“What do you mean?” said Ron.
“We are responsible for the education of students. In our system they are basically building managers.”
That fact felt like a splash of cold water and Ron took a moment to digest it. Sandy continued. “You and Bill and I evaluate the teachers and develop curriculum. You are also partially responsible for Social Studies and Special Ed, although Special Ed will be changing.”
Ron felt a surge of adrenalin pulse through him. This was going to be an entirely different kind of challenge.
“I read through most of the course of studies,” said Ron.
Sandy interrupted with a laugh. “Real page turners, weren’t they?”
“I had trouble understanding them,” confessed Ron.
“You and everyone else in the world including the people who wrote them,” said Sandy. “We’re going to entirely restructure them.”
Ron was beginning to see why she hired him. He had already participated in a complete curriculum restructuring.
“That’s where some of your work with critical thinking is going to come in handy,” said Sandy.
Ron thought, does she know what I had for breakfast as well? “I guess my last question is what the Staff Development Steering Committee?”
Sandy smiled broadly. “That’s my baby. We pay teachers to keep learning.”
When they walked into the second meeting, they were joined by Bill Mathews. “This is our yearly exercise in creative writing,” said Sandy. “This morning we earn about $175,000 dollars for the district.”
Bill Mathews chortled. Sandy grinned. Ron said, “How do you we do that?”
“Basically we set goals and invent statistics to reach them,” said Bill. He continued, “We don’t have to meet the goals, we just have to set them and make progress towards them over a three year period.”
“How to we find out if we made progress?” Ron was feeling foolish now.
“I told you,” said Sandy. “This is creative writing.”
Chapter 60

On Ron’s second day, he finally got to see his offices. Ron sat in his empty office and tried to picture it as his own. Maybe he would bring in his Lincoln portrait, but Celeste had grown to like it at home and she might not understand. Ron was activating things on his computer when he had his first meeting with his secretary.
Rose Schweitzer had been Sandy’s secretary for eighteen years. Her assignment was to get him oriented as soon as possible, help him to find his own secretary, and then get herself back over to Sandy Humz offices where she belonged.
Rose found Ron fiddling with the computer. She would have been perfectly willing to help him through the set up if he had waited. She frowned. Sandy came in after she did but stayed much later. She saw Ron’s car in his parking space when she arrived. She thought of one of the maxims by which she lived. “Eager beavers make a mess.”
When she found him doing things on the computer before she had showed him what he was to do, she was annoyed but told herself that God would never give her more than she could handle.
“Good morning Dr. Tuck. I can give you an orientation to that if you would like to wait.”
“Good morning Rose,” said Ron. “Sure, that would be fine. Please have a seat.”
Rose sat with her pile of notebooks on her lap including the new calendar that she had painstakingly prepared for him. It detailed his meeting responsibilities for the rest of the school year.
Ron grinned over at her. “Please call me Ron. I really don’t like the Dr. Tuck stuff.”
Rose gave him a tight lipped smile and passed him his box of newly printed business cards. They proudly announced Dr. Ronald Tuck, District Director of Instructional Services, Middle Hills Regional School District.
Ron looked down at the card and shook his head. “I guess the doctor thing is unavoidable,” he said.
Rose responded by showing him his new office stationary, complete with his title. She had painstakingly laid out the format for the business cards and the stationary in anticipation of his arrival. Ron glanced down at the letter head and back up to Rose who was waiting for him to approve of her work. He shook his head slowly, “I get it,” said Ron. “The district wants to make sure my title is listed. Ok.”
Rose was not happy with his response. She had expected the delight that Sandy had expressed when she showed the business cards and stationary to her, to be echoed by Ron. All he did was shake his head and say OK. She hoped this part of her assignment would not last long.
Next she handed Ron his calendar. “You really don’t want to go anyplace without this,” she said professionally.
“Why?” said Ron. Joyce kept his calendar at Mountain Oak and just told him where he had to be next.
“It’s a little empty right now, but that is because Ms. Humz has finished all of your work for this year, but this is your lifeline. You should not go anywhere without it.”
Ron laughed. “Well I’m sure that will take some time. I tend to lose things like this.”
Rose was horrified. “You can’t lose your calendar!” she exclaimed. “We both rely on it to know where you have to be.”
Ron turned some of the pages. “Seems like I don’t have any place to be until tomorrow afternoon,” said Ron.
“That may change,” warned Rose.
Ron’s phone rang and Rose started for it before Ron could move. Rose’s face lit up at the sound of Sandy’s voice. “Yes, I’ll send him down right away.”
Ron was sitting back in his chair watching her. Her movements were almost insect like. She did not give him the phone but cradled it gently when she was finished speaking. “That was Ms. Humz. She needs to see you.”
Ron stood and started to leave. “I’d like to meet with both principals later today. If you could call their offices and tell them I am going to be stopping by.”
He started for the door and was into the hall before an excited Rose Schweitzer ran after him waving his calendar. “Don’t forget this,” she called out.
Ron thought she looked funny running after him and waving the thing.
Ron took it laughing. “Of course not. I’ll treat it like my bible.”
Rose felt mocked. She started back to her office determined to find him a new secretary as soon as possible.

Chapter 61
Celeste had lunch with Duane. They shared the warmth of the food at the new Mexican place in Hackleberg and the warmth of each other’s company. Sometimes Duane could still be a priest but that part of him was broken, and they were both more comfortable as friends. After Mandy died, some talk of her seemed always like their ritual.
Celeste said that she stopped her car by Mandy’s garden and was so pleased to see the new buds. Duane said that he felt her there, he felt her everywhere and he wasn’t sure how to live with this mixture of her presence and absence. “I’ve started going out more,” said Duane.
“Where have you been going?” Celeste broke off a piece of her edible salad bowl and chewed with a crunch the she felt was a bit too loud.
Duane felt almost like it was a mixture of confession and declaration.
“I’ve been spending time with two of the women from the parish,” said Duane. He met her eyes. He wasn’t looking for forgiveness as much as he was asking for acceptance.
Celeste tried hard to chew her crunchy salad well enough so that she would not choke and that she would soon be able to respond. She did not want her response to be gagging.
Celeste thought about Mandy. She would want Duane to move on with his life, but this fast? She drank some water. “Has it brought you comfort?” she asked.
Duane tried to make a joke. “Well it has brought me sexual release,” he laughed.
Celeste plucked a piece of chicken out of her salad bowl and held it down with the fork and began slicing off small pieces without eating them. She did not respond.
Duane continued. “No, it doesn’t bring me comfort. It distracts me.”
Celeste met his eyes and said, “You know this is dangerous for you. What do you think will happen in the parish?”
“I don’t see why anyone should care,” said Duane.
“Are they married?” said Celeste.
“One is separated. The other I’m not going to keep seeing. It was just one time and it isn’t going to happen again,” said Duane.
“What are you going to do about the gardens?” said Celeste.
“Both of the women want to work in them,” said Duane.
Celeste eyes flashed dark and for a moment. Duane could see a fierceness, which was older than she was, coming from her. She made sure the look registered in Duane’s brain. “That’s not a good idea.”
When Celeste got back to Sunrise she was greeted by the news that Keats had been humping Gladys Shindmier’s leg. Keats was in her office playing with one of Ron’s chewed slippers. Judy Campbell delivered the message. She was giggling.
“One minute Gladys was petting him and he was sitting there nicely and then he just turned and put his front paws up on her leg and began to hump her. It was really funny to watch his little hips going at it on Gladys.”
Celeste stared over at Keats. He did not look guilty. He did not look afraid. He was working his way inside the torn heel of the slipper. She was going to have to talk to Ron about having Keats castrated.
It was not an easy topic and not one to which he reacted logically. She was going to have to point out the necessity of it. He hadn’t taken it well the first time. And this wasn’t going to be any easier. What was it about their attachment to testosterone?
She sat at her desk and Keats came over. He was a little too big for her lap but he didn’t know that. She rubbed gently in back of his ears and he began to pant lightly. Then she stopped and settled into her callback list.

Chapter 62
The reception for Ron was held in the library of the Hills school. Because the district operated its own transportation service the school days at the two high schools were staggered. Hills started and finished about its day 80 minutes after Summit. Any afternoon meetings that combined the two schools therefore were held at Hills.
About sixty people gathered in the library. They represented a portion of the people who Ron would directly evaluate. He was their boss now.
This was a veteran staff. Feelers began to go out about Ron as soon as his hiring became a rumor. Word came back.
Ron Tuck was said to have been a popular teacher who was hard to get along with. He had unreasonable expectations for teachers and students. He was known as a hard worker and a bit of a scholar. He was also seen as pro-administration and anti-union.
The veteran teachers were anxious to size him up. The librarians led by Althea Babel had already decided that they should educate him about how libraries worked.
Ron smiled and met person after person. He knew that he would need lots of time to learn who these people were.
Sandy addressed the gathering. “I’m personally thrilled to introduce Dr. Ron Tuck to all of you. Dr. Tuck is uniquely qualified to join our team and, at least our Debate coach is relieved that she won’t have to face a squad of debaters that he has trained anymore.”
Sandy continually surprised Ron by coming up tidbits about what he had done that he did not know she was aware of. But it was true. Ron had won three consecutive debate championships at Mountain Oak. Sandy had been trying to add an interesting tidbit to his resume but the staff, while cordial, seemed unimpressed. “I’d like to ask Ron to say a few words.”
Ron smiled his best grin. “Thanks for coming by to meet me. I know that it’s late in the day and you have been grading papers and teaching and starting that final lap into the end of the year, so I will try not to keep you long. I’d like to come around to many of your classrooms and stop in, informally, and get a feel for what you are doing. I’m sure that we will all get to know each other better. Thanks again for coming.” Ron thought it was an innocuous opening but one to which they could not take offense.
Althea Babel whispered to her husband, the union representative for his department, “Should we object to these informal observations?”
Greg Babel nodded decisively. “I’m sure that he can’t do that.”
Sandy walked two teachers over to Ron. “I’d like you to meet your two right hands, Dr. Tuck. This is Nicole Johansson and Marilyn Seeger.”
Ron smiled again and stuck out his hand. The both took his hand and clasped without shaking. Marilyn was in her mid 50’s. She was very well dressed in a coordinated suit with coordinated ear-rings, a thin bracelet and a pendant of matching gold sunrises. Her hair was teased and styled and totally in place on top of her head. “It’s nice to meet you,” said Ron.
“I’m sure we will get along just fine,” said Marilyn. Ron sensed warmth and professional distance. He liked the feel of both.
Nicole Johansson was very tall and very blonde and Ron thought she and Sandy somehow looked like they were part of a blonde tribe. They exchanged a genuine smile. “You might want to tell people that you aren’t going to be writing anything down on your visits. You just made many of them nervous.”
Ron was momentarily stunned but then nodded. “I see. Can you both pass the word that it’s just me trying to learn how the schools feel and that I am not evaluating them at all?”
The consulting teachers smiled and said that they would.
It was of course a bit of a lie on Ron’s part. He knew that he would be evaluating everything that he saw in the classroom, including them.

Chapter 63
Franklin Fevel sat down for his next interview with Celeste. She watched, less astonished and more amused as he adjusted the long, bulbous microphone by her face. She anticipated his introduction. Franklin almost seemed giddy before a show. People in his congregation would ask about his guests. More than one had wanted to know when Celeste would be returning.
“Today we are again joined by Celeste Tuck, the program director for the Adult Center Daybreak. How are things going for you over there, Celeste?”
Because she was more comfortable, Celeste’s Jersey twang was more noticeable. “Pretty good, we just installed some raised garden beds, and so this spring we will be growing some of our own vegetables. Nothing tastes as good as when you bite into it straight off the vine.”
Franklin felt a twinge at the idea of Celeste biting into a small ball of a tomato, after she had plucked it from the vine. He smiled. “The summer can be quite delicious,” said Franklin. He wished that he could see Celeste’s legs, but she was in back of the desk and she never wore anything low cut. “Today we are here to discuss dementia,” said Franklin. “What is dementia, Celeste?”
“It’s a fairly new phrase to be used in a non-clinical setting,” started Celeste. “It used to be called senility. It means simply that our minds, like our bodies, get older. Our minds age just the way that our bodies do, but instead of stiff joints we may become a little more forgetful.”
“So, when I forget my car keys it’s a sign of senility?” joked Franklin. There were limits to which psychology could just go too far. Everyone was forgetful.
Celeste smiled. He had given the perfect example. “Not at all Frank, if I did not have a purse I’m sure I would forget where my car keys were all the time. It’s when I am holding my car keys and I can’t remember what they are for. That’s when I may have a problem.
Fevel was struck by the simplicity of the difference. His voice took on a tone of sincerity. “That’s very interesting Celeste. What else should we know in our everyday lives about the nature of dementia?”
“It depends upon your role. If you are talking to a loved one who you feel may be slipping, just pay attention. I remember my Aunt Minn who was a wonderful, grandmotherly figure from my youth. She invited me to her house for lunch one day. My Aunt Minn’s kitchen was always a magical place for me as a girl. The smells and the tastes and above all her approval were things I wanted. This one time she just made a cake but did not add sugar to the ingredients. She was uncharacteristically furious at herself for forgetting. That would be a signal to me today.”
“I can almost close my eyes and smell your Aunt Minn’s kitchen Celeste. Was she in New Jersey?”
“We’re Italians from Paterson,” said Celeste.
Franklin Fevel adjusted his glasses. Perhaps that was a little too much personal information. Maybe that was why he felt a sort of feminine warmth radiate from her. “What should a person do to safeguard against dementia?”
“It isn’t like the flu or pneumonia. It can be mild and harmless, moderate and worrisome, or severe and necessitating some form of action. You just have to be honest with yourself or your loved ones.”
“Can things look like dementia and really be something else?” said Fevel.
“Absolutely,” said Celeste. “All kinds of things. Dehydration, exhaustion, and things like a fever,” Celeste looked through the bulbous microphone and met Fiddle’s eyes. “Things that make you feel out of it, Frank.” Celeste felt herself performing a little and blushed. It made her feel almost like when she posed.
Franklin was perspiring again. “Are there things that you can do to check?” said Franklin sounded a little less confident.
“”I would start in your kitchen, Franklin,” said Celeste. “Are things there that belong there? Are they fresh? Have they been adequately covered? Are there things in the cupboard you would normally see in the refrigerator?”
“Finally, I guess we would all want to know is if there are things to be done to prevent or slow it?” said Franklin, wrapping up now.
“Engagement,” said Celeste. That’s one of the things we are doing at Sunrise,” said Celeste warmly.
When the show ended both Celeste and Franklin felt they had done a good job. Two days later, Sunrise was at capacity.

Chapter 64
It did not give a good luck when Harriet Dunmore, the first candidate to be Ron’s secretary, fled from his office in tears. When she returned to her place in the main office pool at Hills, she said that she did not want to discuss her interview.
The rumor mill at Middle Hills switched into high gear. One story had it that she looked like he had said something inappropriate to her. This story was started by Audie Riffle’s secretary who regularly got her breasts squeezed by Audie.
Another report contended that at Mountain Oaks people called Dr. Tuck and his secretary Beauty and the Beast. The entire rumor was complicated by Rose Schweitzer’s refusal to make any comment other than, “He’s no Sandy Humz.”
Connie Lake heard these stories with interest and amusement. Before her interview with Ron, she called Harriet at home. “I don’t want to pry Harriet, but is there anything that I should be worrying about by having this interview?”
Harriet liked Connie. Everyone liked Connie who was one of the girls and sold Avon products. She was a good friend who would do you a favor. “What he wanted was just too much. I don’t think I could have done it.” Connie knew that Harriet was not the sharpest knife in the drawer and decided to just file what she said away.
Ron conducted the interview at his office in Summit. Connie Lake was a small, nicely dressed, dark haired woman who was just about Ron’s age. She had large dark eyes that were accented by her very straight, short black hair.
Ron glanced over her resume and saw that she had worked in a corporate office in Bloomfield before a long break in her employment history that restarted with a part time job at a high school in the town where she lived. They had exchanged pleasantries and Ron asked her if she wanted some water.
“I’m fine, thank you,” said Connie.
“I see that you worked in Bloomfield” said Ron.
Connie smiled a big winning smile that Ron liked instantly. “That was a while ago. Before I had my kids.”
“That’s the reason for the long break?” said Ron.
“That and we moved out of Bloomfield,” said Connie.
“Is that where you are from originally?” said Ron. He was thinking her oddly familiar but was sure he didn’t know her.
“Originally?” Connie paused and smiled. “Originally I am from Newark in Essex County.
It was the way she said Newark that hit that all too familiar pronunciation. “Me too,” said Ron.
Connie lets her eyes take him in and her head was nodding. “Yeah, I can see that.”
They talked for a few minutes about places that they both knew. Connie used to hang at Ting-a-Ling’s hot dog stand. Ron was smiling broadly and feeling very comfortable. He came to the part that caused Harriet Dunmore to flee in terror.
“I have to do a lot of writing,” said Ron. “Do you know how to take dictation?”
Connie looked at him like she was accepting a challenge. She decided to surprise him because she had already figured out that she wanted the job and that he wasn’t harmless but he was manageable. “I took a few secretarial courses,” she said.
“Is it ok if we try it out?” said Ron. He handed Connie a pad and pen.
Ron started dictating off the top of his head. It was addressed to Sandy and was a memo about the need to transition courses of study into manageable, readable documents and how to go about doing that. He tended to look either down or away as he spoke, like he was seeing it as he said it. When he finished speaking, Connie stopped writing. Then she read it back to him verbatim.
Ron looked her full in the face. “You can run this office, can’t you?”
“I’m pretty sure I can,” said Connie.
Instinctively, Ron was pretty sure that she could too. He had his secretary.

Chapter 65

Ron and Celeste were running their fingers through the happy to be adored Keats, one evening in June when the light seems like a young child that refuses to go to sleep. Although they used tick control, they had been cautioned to avoid having the harmful insects to get into the thick curly coat and eventually burrow down to the dog’s flesh where they would eat and lodge and grow.
Celeste felt that her fingers were gaining the knowledge to sort them out and find them to protect her puppy from the issues that ticks brought. His fur was still puppy soft, but Celeste could feel it thickening and becoming slightly more rich and coarse. He was big enough for both of them to have their hands on him now.
They talked to Keats and each other as they massaged and searched. If one of them found something, they would call attention to the other and spread the fur back to expose the skin. They would carefully detach and crush the hard shelled ticks. Celeste found this part of the job disgusting and made Ron do it.
The three of them were on their queen sized sleigh bed when Celeste glanced down and was astounded by the size of Keats erection. It was two or three inches long. She stopped rubbing him and was momentarily repulsed by the sight of it. Keats was panting easily like he was warm. She pointed it out to Ron.
“He’s a happy boy,” said Ron and kneaded the backs of his haunches.
They were both astounded when the very pink, thin, slick erection reached a length of six inches. Ron stopped rubbing and looked down at Keats with a combination of pride tinged with fear. This wasn’t going to go well.
Celeste jumped off the bed and hollered at Keats. “Stop that!”
Ron was defensive. Keats erection slowly began to shrink. “He can’t help it!” protested Ron.
Celeste was angry. “This is your fault. You refused to take this poor dog to the vet to get fixed and now long what’s happened.”
Ron’s first thought was that he didn’t look like a poor dog at all but decided he should not say that. “Let’s go for a walk Keats,” said Ron.
“You’d both better run and don’t bring him back around me sticking out like that.”
Again, Ron bit his lip. It probably wasn’t a good time to out that she loved it when he stuck out that way.
The rhythms of a school change in the summer time. The frenetic pace that comes with the students and teachers, leaves with them. The buildings rest and are prepped for the onslaught of September.
Ron, Celeste and Connie had taken to having early morning conference calls over coffee. His offices were in the planning stages of slipping into gear. The pace was leisurely. It was still more than a forty hour work week with a single, occasional night and there were conferences and presentations that Ron was prepping, but everyone was in summer mode.
Celeste carved out time for these morning calls by simply shutting her office door. She was the boss at Sunrise and with her numbers and program in place, Heidi Kleiss paid little attention to her.
Connie and Celeste became instant friends. Both came from large Italian families. Both had sisters. Celeste loved to hear stories about Connie’s eighty year old mother, who was still working a full time job for the city of Newark. They exchanged recipes and used Ron to send each other samples of food from their kitchens.
“You didn’t want to see the size of him,” said Celeste to Connie on the speaker phone in Ron’s office.
Connie gave off a low throaty laugh. “So what are you going to do?”
“Ron, you’ve got to call the vet. It is passed time. You waited too long and now the dog is going to suffer!” Celeste was relentless. She had seen Marjorie use this approach. She felt like she had an ally in Connie. He had to agree.
Ron seemed quiet and withdrawn. The thought that his delay was going to cause Keats pain caused him to dig his fingernails into his knuckle. “It just doesn’t feel right,” said Ron.
“How are you going to feel when you turn over in bed and instead of me it is your son and that thing’s sticking out at you?” said Celeste.
Connie got caught in a half swallow of coffee and had to struggle to not start coughing. She maintained control, cleared her thought and laughed through it. “Steve is the same way as you. Last night he said that he understood why you were having a hard time.”
“They’re all the same aren’t they? Ron visibly cringes when he talks about it,” said Celeste.
Ron felt defeated. “I’ll make the call.”
Celeste wasn’t quite finished. “Connie will you please make sure he does it?”
Connie and Ron exchanged a look across his desk. He was in back of it and she was in front of it. Connie grinned at him and said, “I’ll let you know when he does.”
Chapter 66

One day in August, Ron was told that we was to meet for work that day at Sandy Humz home. The directions were complicated. It was a sprawling twenty-five acre property with a barn, good fencing and two horses. Sandy had seen the light flood Ron’s face when she mentioned horses. None of what she knew about him led her to believe that he would have any more than the natural feeling that they were nice to look at, and too big to want to really get close to.
“You have horses?” Ron’s eyes were wide with a wonder she had not seen before. “What kind?”
Sandy’s body visibly relaxed when she began to talk about them. “Frank is a little older and an American Saddlebred, and Tahar is my big beautiful Persian Arabian mix.”
She was surprised when Ron said, “I used to work with an Arabian horse. God, I loved that horse, Rani Shea.” Ron smiled and felt nostalgic for a moment. His eyes went a little dreamy. “I remember bathing her and walking her after she’d been for a run. I never rode her but I stroked her and talked with her and stayed with her on nights when we were at shows. I slept in the tack stall.”
Sandy was nodding. “There is nothing like giving my babies a bath. I’ll save some carrots so that you can feed them,” said Sandy. They shared at grin and were back on task.
Celeste had ordered some special donuts from Peter’s bakery for Ron to bring. “It’s a meeting,” Ron had protested.
“You’re going to someone’s home,” Celeste scolded him.
So Ron picked up a dozen mixed Danish that were made in the German tradition of butter and eggs and headed out to Sandy’s house. The mixture of being dressed in his work shoes and wearing jeans and carrying his attaché case felt odd to him. Ron smiled as he glanced down at the pair of sneakers that he also brought. He was excited to see the horses but you didn’t walk around horses in sneakers and they should definitely not be your only pair of shoes.
Her place was deep into the western hills of New Jersey and miles and twisting turns from something greater than a county road. Ron imagined Sandy driving these unlit roads in the night hours that she kept. Her home had the name Dreaming Fields.
Ron looked for cars as he drove up a long driveway that was bordered on both sides by a mass of lawn. Small saplings were planted at intervals. He saw a clump of cars around the side and found a spot for his Nissan. He stood at Sandy’s door carrying his donuts and his attaché case, in jeans and work boots. His black t-shirt had the red scrawling signature of Salvador Dali across its front.
Sandy was wearing worn work jeans and shirt that fit her like every day wear. Ron put down his attaché case and said like a little boy, “Can I go to see the horses?”
Sandy put down the Danish and said, “Sure, I’ll get some carrots and come with you.” She reached into the freshener drawer of her refrigerator and pulled out two bunches. Straightening she smiled and presented them to Ron. “I saved these for you.”
Sandy introduced Ron to her mother and their resemblance was startling. She was a thirty year older version of Sandy, although not quite as tall. Hilda Humz shook his hand. “Sandy tells me you like horses,” she said smiling.
Sandy Humz moved her body differently as she got close to the barn. Her stride lengthened. Her shoulders moved more easily. Two cats darted to the left of their path in opposite directions. “How many cats do you have?” said Ron.
“Eleven or twelve depending on the old Tom that lives in back of the barn and is a little feral. And there are two dogs that you haven’t met yet.”
Ron was a bit surprised that he hadn’t heard a dog barking. He wondered where the other people who had parked their cars were. Frank and Tahar wandered over as Sandy noticed that Ron knew enough to close gates in back of him.
Sandy opened her arms, and the two horses wearing protective fly gear over their eyes and light filtered covers to help protect their hides from the ever present nuisance of flies in August in New Jersey, nuzzled against her with the front of their heads. Sandy pressed back against each of them lightly.
Then Tahar regarded Ron. Ron stood with arms down at his sides and then slowly raised the hand holding the carrots and slid forward to the horses left, stroked his neck with his free hand, spoke softly and introduced himself. He held his face close enough for Tahar to see and then reached up to his mouth with one of the carrots. Holding it flat on his palm, Tahar plucked it with his soft lips.
“He likes you,” said Sandy, who then made her way back into her house and left Ron with her horses.
Ron stood between them feeding them carrots and patting their flanks and talking to them. Their feel, their smell caused him to feel transported. He eventually came back into the house with a look that Celeste would have identified as the way that he looked when he surfaced from a dive.

Chapter 67
Ron went back to his car and changed shoes. He entered again through the back door and found people sprawled out on the living room floor, eating the Danish that he had brought and shuffling papers.
Sandy looked up and smiled at Ron’s grinning face. “Do you have new best friends?”
“They are fantastic,” said Ron.
“That’s one way to get on the boss’s good side,” said Jake Norman.
Bill Mathews added, “Ron knows the right things to say. That’s for sure.”
Ron laughed slid down to the floor an opened his attaché case. “I like horses. I liked them since I was eighteen, and first got to work with them. It doesn’t leave your blood once it is in there.”
Sandy nodded and smiled.
Katie Moustakos said, “Well it never got inside of me and I don’t intend to let it get in there now.”
Ron looked at her. The short, enormously chested woman, seemed to be shuffling her papers with nervous energy. She wanted to get started. She handed Ron a list of the upcoming workshops for the first half of the year. “When we post the sign ups next month your office has always tallied up the ones that will run and the ones that don’t get enough attention and will have to be scrapped.”
This was the staff development model that Sandy and Bill had created. Teachers were paid twenty dollars an hour and got on-guide credit to continue honing their skills. It meant more money in their pockets and a better level of teaching for the school. Because it was the staff development committee, Sandy thought it best if it were chaired by a faculty person instead of an administrator.
Ron was struck by the brilliant simplicity of the set up. Presenters, largely from the faculty, were sent out to conferences. They learned new skills and techniques. They came back and served as instructors, who were paid to present by the steering committee. Other faculty members took their workshops and were compensated for their time. It was continued staff development with a monetary and professional incentive.
But this part of it was the nuts and bolts. Scheduling the workshops, coordinating availability of instructors, making additions and subtractions to the lists. The gears and shifts that allowed the program run smoothly.
Jake Norman, a vice principal at Summit, was a former teacher at Mountain Oak. He had Ron had not been there at the same time but they knew about each other. Jake was a former history teacher and wrestling coach. He had been an active union organizer who had played rough when it came to the teacher’s contract negotiations at Mountain Oak.
For the last ten years he had been an administrator who was just as gritty on the administrative side. He had become well versed with alternative scheduling and was largely responsible for the scheduling changes which had taken place at Middle Hills. The word he had gotten on on Ron was “smart, disarming, and vicious.” He could respect that but could not help sizing him up as an opponent.
Jake viewed Bill Mathews as a passive egghead who preferred not to take the lead. Katie was attracted to him, and he could pretty much get her to go along with whatever he wanted. Holly Trimmer was an art teacher with long blonde hair and a sports car. Katie was a business teacher who loved tight organizations. Holly enjoyed making Katie happy because she sent her endless Greek desserts and was always friendly to her.
It was Sandy’s committee and Jake knew that. But she had been promoted and would not have the time to pay attention to all of it any more. She was going to try to entrust that to Ron. Jake wanted to be sure that Ron was up to it.
When they broke for the lunch that was catered for the committee, Ron changed his shoes and slipped back out to Frank and Tahar. He was hungrier to see the horses again, and Sandy had told him that he could take them more carrots.
Tahar was more affectionate than Frank. He came over and snorted and bobbed his head happily when he saw more carrots. Frank held back and ate straw from a mounted bail that Sandy set out during the day.
Ron ventured under his head to rub his sleek neck and feel the power at the tops of his front legs, all the while speaking and reaching out for that sense of connection that drew him. Then when Tahar wanted another carrot, he gave Ron’s chest a soft thunk with his large head. Ron was knocked back by the immense power of the horse, but came back laughing and handing Tahar his carrot. He slipped his free hand around the horse’s neck to hug him while the Tahar, ears alert, chewed and bobbed his head.
“You really do like them,” said Jake as he walking over after watching Ron from the porch.
Frank trotted over to even things up and Ron gave him a pat and a carrot. He turned to look at Jake from the other side of the fence. “Yeah, I really do like them.”
“Mountain Oak is a great place to be from,” said Jake.
Ron smiled, “I know you still have some friends there.”
“And some enemies,” said Jake. “How’s Rufus?”
Ron laughed, “We never talked much. He didn’t say goodbye. You worked for Margaret Philco, didn’t you?”
“I hated that dumb bitch,” said Jake.
Ron nodded seeing a weakness in Jake. “We didn’t get along well either.”

Chapter 68

It was not a surprise to Celeste when she heard about the scandal surrounding Duane. It seems those were not the only two women. Duane, as the rumors contended, had been seeing. There were other women from the parish. There were indications that these relationships were not appropriate.
None of the affected women seemed to be complaining, but others seem to think it unsavory and went to the bishop. Since the retirement of Jack Spong, changes were afoot in the Episcopal Church. The liberal thinking of Spong was now challenged regularly by more conservative elements of the church. This was happening from top to bottom. Spong’s successor was already feeling the heat.
It was no different in the parish. The liberal element wanted to forgive these supposed indiscretions, particularly since none of the women were among the people voicing objections. The conservative folks wanted him gone. Enough was more than enough.
Duane was at first uncaring about the rumors. Celeste had warned him twice now. “Who exactly am I hurting?” had been Duane’s defense.
The last time he voiced that sentiment to her, she said simply, “Only yourself.”
Duane no longer was himself. He avoided any question of faith like it was toxic for him. His standard answer now was, “We have to take care of each other because no one else is going to take care of us.”
This response left many feeling unsatisfied. It did not comfort the sick. It did not ease the grieving. Duane knew these things to be true and was at a loss about what he could do to change things.
Celeste found herself engaging less and less in her church. She resented comments about “Duane’s harem” and knew that there were even whispers about her because of their friendship. Celeste withdrew.
Duane was called in for a hearing in front of the bishop’s chancellery. It was decided that it would be in the best interests of all if Duane was transferred. He was taking a position in upstate New York. He would be gone by the end of summer.
The news hit Celeste harder than she expected. She knew that Duane was in trouble but she expected that her church, for whom Duane and Mandy had done so much, would have been more understanding. She too began questioning her faith in “the good community” as Jack had called it. She quietly resolved that she had enough.
Ron and she talked about it as they lay in bed. He listened and then asked, “Do you think you really had more faith in Jack and Patricia and Duane than you did in the religion?”
“I don’t know,” said Celeste. “Maybe I did but I know that I believed what they were saying, and isn’t that the religion?”
“You know I’m the wrong person to ask about this,” said Ron, who had been baptized three times and was done with all of it.
“I don’t know who else to ask. My family is Catholic so they don’t have to think about it. Your mother would just try to get me to come down to her church. You’re all I’ve got to talk to about something like this.”
“Do you want me to go to church with you?”
Celeste laughed. “That would be a disaster. You’re sincere now but your tolerance for any of it would last less than a day.”
“I would try for you,” said Ron.
Celeste smiled. She knew that he would and she know that right now he was just trying to find some way, anyway, that would help her feel better, but that would not last. When someone got under his skin, he would totally forget why he was doing what he said he wanted to do and find the need to go for someone’s jugular vein. That was who he was, but it didn’t help her to find what it was that she needed.
Celeste lay awake long after Ron dropped off. She knew that she believed in God. She felt that, but maybe the only true way for her to believe in God was totally on her own, with no family, no friends, and no husband beside her.
A chill shivered through Celeste. He was right there and he loved her and they had made a life but at this moment she felt totally alone. She waited for sleep. She desperately wanted to sleep. She needed to sleep. She took Ron’s hand as he was sleeping and he instinctively turned into her. She could feel his heart beating. She let the quiet regular sound cause her to start to drift.

Chapter 69
Angel was accepted for the fall semester. She was excited about hearing the Communications Department had a good reputation, but not at all happy about her living arrangements and the location of the school. A strong part of her thought that it was all a waste of time. If she could have thought of something else to do she would have done it.
She was still smarting about Salem. The anger fueled her sense of loneliness. The pounding of her conflicting desires felt like a wall that was colliding with her head. She could not really live in the barn. There was no running water. She did not want to live with them
The barn was the best that she could achieve. She could forget about them, but then they were always there. She always had to feel that need to eat food with them. She did not want that.
They did respect her privacy. She had to admit that, but then another voice in her head screamed that was because they didn’t care enough to want to know what was going on. She could not live with them.
They were having dinner. Ron was grilling vegetables from a local farm stand, along with burgers and hotdogs. Celeste was chopping greens for the salad. Angel sat at the table patted Keats and asked if she could help with anything.
“I’m happy you got accepted. It’s not a bad school,” said Ron.
“They had a great nursing program,” said Celeste.
Angel’s voice was sharp and raised. “I have absolutely no interest in the nursing school!”
“I didn’t say you did,” defended Celeste. “I was just adding to the conversation.”
“The conversation is about how I am possibly going to be able to go to this school that Dad thinks is so great,” Angel was animated.
“The school is as good as you make it,” said Ron, pacing between the grill and the conversation.
“I’m not like you. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life around schools.”
“Then use the schools to make contacts to where you do want to spend your life,” said Ron.
“How am I supposed to do that?” Angel looked at him with that same objection that he’d heard her use about 100 times before when she did not want to do something or was frightened into not wanting to do something.
The view that parents had into the mannerisms of their children was at once insightful and limiting. Associations of the mannerisms with past actions was inevitable. A parent could try to disassociate how something was being said from the content of what was being expressed, but it was so hard.
Ron wanted to pause to and use the tools of the grill to buy time so that he could try to wash that mannerism out of his mind. He managed to say, “You’ll figure it out. Find professors who you like. They will show you how it works.”
Seeing his daughter as a college student, filled Ron with pride and fear. He felt she could conquer the fear and wanted more of the pride.
“Here’s how I see it.” Ron looked over at Celeste, they joined eyes. Angel’s slap had hurt. Ron and Celeste had talked about it and come to a decision. Ron thought he would introduce it and Celeste could follow up. “We can either afford to get you a good car that will make it possible to stay in the barn, or we can afford to get you an apartment in a safe neighborhood that is close to the school.”
Buying another car for Angel had been a very sore spot. They had already bought or given her more than ten cars. Some she destroyed, but all were gone except for the twelve year old, three door with over a hundred thousand miles on it that she was now driving. Celeste had wanted her to have the option of staying in the barn. Ron agreed that at least she would have a safe place to be, but wondered how safe she would be driving up and down the interstate.
They ate quietly. Celeste had saved some Hot Grill chili sauce for her hotdog. The grilled vegetables were soft and sweet on the burgers. Keats was getting passed food by Ron and Celeste, under the table. He loved their meal time as much as his own.

Chapter 70

The first day of faculty was something for which district administrators prepared for weeks. Ron and Connie had worked hard to make sure that every teacher’s supply order was in that teachers home classroom. He let Connie do the figuring and counting while he did the physical labor of carrying them to the classroom and stacking them on the teacher’s desk. Sometimes heavy cartons of books were involved and Ron smiled when he thought about building his terraced gardens.
All of those stones and now this was easy. He felt strong and like he could just keep going. Connie was impressed. She thought that he might be the type to just jump in and get his hands dirty but this was even a little better than that.
Ron sent Connie back over to his other, air conditioned offices in the other school. He sat down in this windowless office, which was Audie Riffle’s way of punishing Sandy for not being more receptive to his advances. Audie’s problem was that now she outranked him. They were no longer equals in either of their minds.
Ron turned on the fan that blew the hot air around, slipped off his shoes and drank some of the bottled water that Connie had brought to him. She was pretty sure that if he sweat any more he might dehydrate and collapse. He sat in front of the fan hoping it would dry his shirt.
Darlene Learner appeared at his doorway. Ron had partially cleaned out this office and turned the desk so that it faced the wall and he could talk to visitors without a desk being in between them. Carlene was a petite blonde with perfectly straight hair and a Maybelline complexion. She was a third year English teacher who had been confident and successful. Sandy had spoken glowingly about Darlene and her sense of organization. She looked at Ron with an expression of disapproval as he say there shoeless and sweating and gulping water. He sure was no Sandy Humz. “I like the way that you redid the office,” she said.
“Thank you,” said Ron. “Not exactly the portrait of administrative cool at the moment am I?”
Darlene smiled and said, “It’s very warm today. I just stopped in to get a look at my classroom and put some things in place but my door is locked. Do you have a key?”
“Sure,” said Ron. He got up and grabbed the ring of keys from his desk and started down the hall towards her room in his socks. Ron liked the way the cool of the halls felt on his stockinged feet. Darlene thought he looked ridiculous.
When he opened her door the wave of deeper heat seemed to be like a cooking oven greeted them. Ron grinned at her. “Few minutes in there, you’ll be as hot and sweaty as I am.”
Darlene wasn’t sure what he meant by that. Was he saying that he wanted her to be hot and sweaty? He did know that she was married didn’t he? “Thank you,” said Darlene.
“If you need any help just let me know,” said Ron.
Darlene wondered what he meant by that. What kind of help was he offering? She set about arranging her desk.
When Ron got back to his office, he felt like he had a second wind. He began delivering more teachers their supply and book orders. These trips caused him to pass by Darlene’s open door a few times. Each time she heard his cart squeaking as it approached and wondered if he was intentionally passing by her classroom this many times.
When Ron finally completed all of the Hills supply orders, he stuck his head back into her classroom and said, “I’m going to be taking off. Is there anything I can do for you before I go back over to the other building?”
“No, Dr. Tuck, I’m fine. Thank you.” She started back to her desk.
Ron stepped into her room. “I know that we don’t know each other very well, but please try to call me Ron, if you can.”
“I will,” said Darlene, uncomfortably.

Chapter 71

As the census grew at Sunrise, Celeste was required to enlarge the size of her staff. The State regulations mandated a ration of five to one. Celeste was not to be counted as primary care staff. This meant she needed to double staff. Heidi Kleiss listened with distracted interest. “You’ll need five staff because they will all be part time, Celeste.” It was not a discussion. It was the way things would be.
As she filled out her staff, Celeste adopted her own managerial style. Her directions were clear. “Work out a timetable that suits your lives. There are some events where everyone will need to be present, but they will be scheduled well in advance.”
That was it. She presented them with the grid and the hours that needed coverage, and then let them sort it out and present it to her. Celeste did keep track of any conflicts or holes that might occur.
It ran like a charm. Celeste trusted her staff to cooperate and even though that were hardly professionals, they worked it out. Of course, this was not without some bullying and a bit of complaining among them, but Celeste simply decided to not be bothered with it until it affected the running of the program, which it never did.
Celeste one other rule was they had to be kind to the clients. There was absolutely no doubt about her stance on this issue. Celeste was clear at their job interviews. “If it is an effort for you to be kind, this is the wrong place for you,” Celeste routinely said.
Morning coffee was a place where Celeste liked to touch base with her clients. “What do you like best about this time of year, Jim?” It would soon be September.
Jim was a retired fireman. He was 78 and very arthritic. He would soon have to shift from his cane to a walker. Celeste was introducing him to the walker as a method of getting out of a chair more easily. “I liked going down to the ocean after all the kids and families cleared out. I watched the seabirds and people who lived by the water.”
“Oh yes,” said Cecile. She smiled a soft dreamy look of remembrance. “I was proposed to on the boardwalk at Asbury Park.” Cecile was an 81 year old grandmother. Like many of her generation, she had lived the life she imagined. There were the lean years that were best forgotten and the sadnesses that one kept private. Her Clark had been a good man and they had a good life and great children. Nothing to the contrary was worth mentioning. “I do remember how much I liked salt water taffy though,” she said laughing.
Celeste arranged a trip to the shore. She found a spot that had adequate wheelchair access, she made contacts with family who might be able to accompany them for the day. She determined that she would basically need two to one or even one to one ratio of caregivers to clients.
Judy Campbell thought this was a poor idea that was going to require her to do a lot of work. Why were they even doing it? How stupid was a convoy of wheel chairs and walkers going to look along the boardwalk? People would be laughing at them. “I don’t think we should do this, Celeste.”
Celeste slid down in back of her desk and Judy closed her door sat right down in front of it. “Why do you think it’s a bad idea?”
“It’s dangerous,” said Judy. She knew that this was her best argument. “What if one of them slips and falls?”
“They could slip and fall anywhere,” said Celeste.
“But getting in and out of the vans and walking on the boardwalk. Suppose one of those walkers gets caught and they fall? How are we going to get medical attention?”
“Those are good points,” said Celeste, “and they are challenges that we will have to work out.”
Judy stood up, “Well, you just can’t do it, that’s all.”
Celeste was calm and spoke slowly. “Judy, this is the way it’s going to be. We are going to the seashore.”
Judy stormed out of Celeste’s office without answering. Heidi Kleiss had told her to keep her ears open if Celeste was doing anything really crazy. She phoned Heidi. “She wants to bring a busload of people down to the beach!” complained Judy.
Heidi was not impressed. “She’s your boss, you’ll do as she says. Is that all?”
Judy shuffled back into Celeste’s office a few minutes later and apologized for losing her temper.

Chapter 72
The combined English and library departments met at the Summit library. Ron sat through being introduced by the Superintendent and politely applauded. He listened the HR Director talk about changes to the benefits package. Then he and the other administrators were allowed to leave while the Union held its welcoming meeting at a teachers only group.
Ron surveyed the library. Connie had laid out the fifty-eight binders that Ron’s staff would be getting. He wondered if he had time to go for a cigarette but then decided that he did not. He was allotted ninety minutes with his group, then they would be a break for lunch. The principals would then have their building meetings and the teachers would be released to spend the rest of the day preparing their classrooms.
Marilyn Seeger and Nicole Johansson were standing in front of Ron and chatting. They looked up when he walked over. Marilyn smiled in a matronly way. “Are you nervous?”
Ron smiled. “Not so much,” he said. In reality he had been looking forward to this for weeks.
The teachers shuffled in. Some with coffee, all in small chatty groups that teachers make after having seen each other most every day and then having the enforced break of summer giving them that welcome interruption. Ron gave them a few minutes and checked the number of binders that were not retrieved. There were eight left on the desks. He felt he could start.

“Let me be the seventh or eighth person to welcome you back for what I hope to be a good and exciting year at Middle Hills,” Ron began. Then he paused to allow them to quiet down. He was surprised that it was almost immediate. What he was blissfully unaware of was the level of anticipation about what he was going to say. “This is the day when all the administrators get to tell you things that you won’t remember,” continued Ron. There was a polite smattering of chuckles from the veterans and a wide-eyed looking around from the younger staff to see who was chuckling. Ron started down his own list of things to remember. Sick calls should be accompanied by lesson plans and be made as early as possible. Lesson plans would be inspected each Friday and returned by Monday morning. Reservations to bring classes to the library should be made at least a week in advance. These were all standard things that they had heard before. Ron now slipped in his changes. “Each of your teacher observations would now be accompanied by a pre observation conference and scheduled at our mutual convenience.”
This was a change. Sandy never let them know when she was coming. She and Ron had debated the change. Sandy said that he lost the element of surprise. Ron countered that he wanted to trust them and by scheduling the observation he had the right to hold them to a higher standard. He wanted to see if they knew what they were going to do and were able to do it. Sandy relented. His method was the preferred observation model. “It’s your department,” said Sandy. Thinking to herself that there were some who would play him like a fiddle, but he would find that out for himself.
Althea who was sure Ron had never observed a librarian before asked, “Won’t you be able to tell from our plans what is going on? I mean why do we have to spend a prep period telling you what we have already written to you?”
Ron smiled and said with just a tinge of drama in his voice. “I surely hope there is more going on in the class than you have written into your plans.”
Althea’s husband raised his hand and began asking his question at the same time. “Does that mean you aren’t really that interested in what our plans say?”
It was clever. Ron found it slightly amusing. He decided to play in kind. “Oh no, I’ll be enraptured by your plans. I would not think of leaving on Friday afternoon until I had thoroughly read and signed off on each one. Of course, if I have any questions about your plans I’ll expect you to answer them as soon as possible.”
Althea smiled to herself. He was a bit of a sarcastic smartass.

Chapter 73
Ron and Keats were out mowing grass for what Ron hoped would be the last time this year. They had a system now. Unbelievably the system had been Keats’ idea. Keats did not like the sound of the lawn mower but always felt the need to walk alongside Ron wherever he went out on the property. He was a young male dog now. He was incredibly strong through his back legs and through his shoulders. He loved to swim and did with a growing agility that caused Ron to be amazed.
So Keats would go to the midpoint of the area Ron was mowing and sit. After Ron passed with the mower, Keats would move back just the width that Ron and the mower made. His eyes never left Ron’s progress. Ron was trying to create a gym style workout on the property. It was fine as far as strength was concerned, but difficult when it came to aerobics.
Keats setting the marker caused Ron to be able to go faster and not worry about whether he was moving in a straight line. He smiled and gave Keats a “good boy” as he passed him. The happy Keats would scurry back and take up his new position. He was a rich, liver brown, curly coated being. When he naturally sat, he was straight and proud and almost regal in his stillness. Because the sun was still strong, he was panting slightly with what seemed like a smile, red tongue lightly quivering between his growing incisor teeth.
Ron would mow for about an hour and a half and then stop. The cycle of mowing would take three afternoons this way. At this time of year it could be done every two weeks, but in June the cycle was endless. They had developed this system in June.
When Ron clicked off the motor, Keats would bound over. Ron would hold him and Keats would lick his face or the sweat from his neck. Ron would find a stick and toss it a few times but would give up when Keats would not give it back and Ron ran out of new sticks. He started the lawnmower towards the barn. Keats ran alongside and gave a rare bark. “We’ll go down to the lake after dinner,” said Ron.
Angel’s car pulled into the barn driveway as Ron was putting the lawnmower away. Not for the first time Ron thought that it would not take much to convert this barn into an apartment and a barn. All that was needed was water. Keats was not comfortable in the barn and liked to stand outside the door and wait. It was the darkness and the smells. If he saw Ron was not coming back out, he would venture in, but it was not his first inclination.
Angel, Ron and Keats met up alongside the barn. “How was your day?” said Ron.
“It was good,” said Angel. “I found a place to live.”
Ron thought that was fast but said, “Come on inside and tell your mother and I about it.”
Celeste was thrilled when she saw all of them come into the house at the same time. Motown was playing loudly as she cooked. The Drifters sang Under the Boardwalk and Celeste was thinking about how she was going to actually accomplish this trip to the beach.
“I can have dinner on the table in ten minutes,” said Celeste.
“What can we do?” said Ron
“You could feed Keats,” said Celeste delegating. “Angel you could set the table.”
When they worked like a team this way it was fluid and easy. Ron would make a little bit more of a mess feeding Keats than Celeste did and Angel would put more things on the table than they needed, but it felt good when they worked this way.
Dinner was boiled and cleaned shrimp with fresh tomato salad, corn on the cob, and crusty Italian bread. It was what they called their summer meal.
“It’s a two room apartment in Hackensack with a tiny kitchenette and a decent bath room. The building is clean and safe. The front door is locked.” Ron had been pretty strident with her about safety since she floated the idea of sharing a house with three guys in Montclair. Angel was looking from one of their faces to the other as she spoke.
Ron said, “How far away from the school is that?”
“I don’t know,” shrugged Angel. “Fifteen minutes maybe. But it’s got great transportation to New York City.”
Celeste saw that register on Ron’s face and spoke quickly. “That sounds very nice. I can’t wait to see it. I lived in Hackensack. Where is it?”
Ron was trying to convince Keats that shrimp were really good but Keats wasn’t having it. He listened as Angel and Celeste talked about location. Then Celeste looked half over to Ron but said to Angel, “I know that area. It is busy but very safe.”
She knew Ron would accede to her on all things Bergen County. That was her territory. Essex County was his. It was how these two lifer Jersey people divided up things.
Celeste told the story about taking her clients to the shore over corn.
They always watched with some peculiar interest as Ron stood his ear up and carved the kernels with a knife. They heard his stories about why, but found them less interesting than the peculiarity of not wanting that feel of sinking your teeth into a juicy ear of corn.
Angel said, “So what are you going to do have them race up and down the boardwalk in the wheel chairs or maybe have some kind of demolition derby?”

Chapter 74
Franklin Fevel leaned into his microphone, “Today we are thrilled to again be joined by Celeste Tuck, the Director at Sunrise Day Center. Celeste, it is wonderful to have you back. Did you have a good summer?”
Celeste was now comfortable and was no longer transfixed by the bulbous phallic microphone that Franklin so enjoyed placing in front of her face. “I surely did, Frank and now I am ready for the beautiful colors of fall.” This wasn’t true. Celeste hated the fall because she dreaded the winter, but she felt like it was the right thing to say.
“Now, don’t automatically switch us off but today we are going to be talking about Death and Dying. I promise we will not get too depressing.”
“That’s very true, Franklin.” Celeste saw the opening that he had given her and jumped right in. “We have taken dying and death away from families in our modern times.” Celeste had wanted to say contemporary thinking but modern times kept it folksy. “People used to die at home. Now they die in hospitals. Many people are unable to see a dead person because they have no experience of having ever seen one and it is frightening. Unfortunately, this extends to dying.”
Fevel said, “Are there things that we can do to make it less frightening?”
“That’s a tough question, but the simple answer is yes. We can allow people to talk about dying. Our tendency is to always say that everything is going to be ok even when we know it is not. But most people know when they are dying. Elisabeth Ross has done excellent work on the stages that people go through when the end of life is drawing near. Not everyone goes through all of the stages but there is some universality in them.”
“Can you talk more about that,” said Franklin. Celeste had her legs crossed and was bobbing her top leg up and down and Franklin was transfixed by how that action showed an expanse of Celeste’s thigh and then took it away on the down stroke of the bobbing.
“Denial is usually first. Doctors routinely hear that there must be some mistake in the tests and that they want them run again. This is partially because we know much sooner than we used to when someone is terminally ill. It is that feeling of ‘this can’t be happening to me’,” said Celeste She took a breath and noticed Frank’s eyes and the thin line of perspiration on his forehead and thought that it did not seem that warm in the studio today.
“The next stage is anger. The idea that it is wrong that our own lives are coming to an end. Even though you know it intellectually, there is an emotional rise of anger about it that many people have not experienced before and may not be equipped to handle.”
“That seems very natural,” said Franklin.
“That is where faith, as you know better than I do Reverend Fevel, plays such a big role,” said Celeste.
“Indeed it does,” said Franklin with conviction. “But I have also found it is harder on the families than it is on the people who are passing.”
“It is much harder on them. Not only do they need to allow their loved ones to talk openly about their passing, but they need to care for them as well.”
Much to Fevel’s disappointment Celeste’s leg stopped bobbing and she shifted in her chair bringing her skirt back down to a very modest level.
“People need to not feel guilty about taking a break. Treating themselves to something special once in a while and to allow other family members to assist.”
“What do you mean by allowing them to assist?” said Fevel who found that he had stopped sweating and realized that he had almost been panting while he listened to Celeste.
“Caregivers get very protective. They know how much they are doing and tell themselves that no one else would do it. They see it as a trust that they can only be sure it is not violated if they do everything themselves.” Then she paused and met Frank’s eyes and starting her leg swinging again. “I cannot tell you how sad it is when a caregiver run’s themselves into the ground and sometimes winds up dying before the person they are caring for. That is tragic and unbelievably hard on all concerned.”
Franklin knew what she was talking about he had seen it himself Then he served up his softball question. “What can we do?”
Celeste swung her leg a little faster and smiled at Frank who felt his pants begin to feel tighter. “We have a support group that meets on Wednesday evening at Sunrise. All are welcome to attend and there is no charge.”
The program ended and the radio station began to get calls wanting to know how they could reach “the death lady.”

Chapter 75
Nicole Johannsson sat in Ron’s office sipping the hot Dunkin Donuts coffees that Ron got for their meeting. She was transitioning from summer with some hitches. At thirty six, Nicole was a widow with an adopted child. She met her late husband at Summit where they taught together. Then the accident, and the surgery, and his dying all happened while they both taught at Summit. Sandy Humz admired Nicole’s class and strength. She made her the consulting teacher at Hills in order to give her a fresh start.
Nicole accepted her transfer and elevation with gratitude. Sandy had hired Nicole, who knew that she was a tough but fair boss. She gave her small gifts of celebration and hugged her with the empathy of loss. They were tight, but Sandy had an authoritarian style. She would just tell you how things were going to be, and if you did not agree you would learn to agree.
Nicole really did not have a clear picture of Ron yet. She heard the story about him delivering supplies himself and the story about him walking around in his socks. She thought they were amusing. She kept in mind that this had been Sandy’s choice for a position that she had held in the district. He was her first hire.
Marilyn Seeger was a powerful force at Summit. Her husband had been a Vice Principal at Hills. Their children went through the school system. She was just fifty-five years old and feeling on top of her game. She knew Sandy Humz quite well and been in the district longer than she.
She was chatting with Nicole about book orders and whether they needed to trade books between the schools to fill a short term need for a particular text, when Ron came into the room.
They did some small talk about how things were opening up. Ron listened and encouraged the two women to just use the meeting as they saw fit. He drank his coffee and listened attentively. They obviously knew exactly what they were doing.
“As I see things,” said Ron. “I am totally at your mercy. You know the systems better than I do. You know the strengths and weaknesses. My job is to learn what you need. That way we can all get what we want.”
Nicole smiled and thought well this is a different approach. Marilyn felt that Ron had started with a respectful tone.
“I also need you to be able to be my sounding board when it comes to the faculty, until I can get to know them.” Ron grinned. “We are English Departments. I am sure we come complete with our drama.”
“Some people are unhappy about the amount of room changes they have in the schedules,” said Marilyn.
“Ok,” Ron nodded. “Everyone had a schedule for the entire department in their binders. If they come up with ideas that work we can make the switch.”
“It’s not always only within the department. A lot of the newer teachers don’t really have rooms of their own and Vice Principals sometimes have to schedule other departments into their classrooms for periods when they don’t have class,” said Nicole.
“Both schools are full,” said Ron. “Send me those conflicts and I’ll work them out with the building principals.”
Nicole smiled. She would give them to him but it wasn’t going to be fun for him to try to get any changes made.
“What do the teachers think about the pre-conferences?” said Ron.
“Most of them really like it,” said Marilyn. “You have to expect that some will not like change and you, dear Ron, are definitely change.”
Ron laughed. “We’re on our honeymoon. Let’s hope it’s welcome change.”
Marilyn blushed a little.
As the meeting was breaking up, Nicole said to him privately, “You might want to keep your shoes on.”
Chapter 76
Celeste was changed into her pajamas and upstairs in the bedroom with Keats. She had convinced him to come up on the bed and allow her to rub his belly. His fur was so soft on his underside. Celeste marveled at the closeness that she felt with Keats. She had never had dogs of her own as a little girl, and had always been a little wary of them. But Keats had been a baby in her arms, there was nothing to be hesitant about with him.
Keats had gotten a full dose of petting and worship. He jumped off the bed and Celeste gave him one of the snacks that she had carried upstairs for his evening treats. The phone rang.
“Hi Frosty,” said Marjorie. “How are you?”
Frosty was one the endless nicknames that Marjorie had made up for her. This was connected to her desire to in Marjorie’s words “freeze everything.” Now that she had a home freezer there was absolutely no stopping her. Celeste still had her turkey from last year, boxes of ravioli, container after container of tomato sauce, a variety of breads, rolls, a birthday cake that needed a recipient. She froze various other meals that were too large to eat and too good to throw away. So the nickname was in obvious contrast to her disposition. Marjorie had never used or said it that way either.
“Hi Marjorie, how are you?”
“I was just wondering if I am ever going to hear from my son again.”
“He’s working. You know your son. It’s a weeknight. The chances of him being home aren’t very good.”
“Yes, I know my son. If he wanted to make time to call me, he would.”
“That’s not it Margie. I hardly see him. If he didn’t sleep in this bed, I’m sure that I wouldn’t see him very much either.”
“Well we both know how important it is for him to sleep with you,” said Marjorie sarcastically. She used her son’s sexuality as a soft club with which to whack Celeste occasionally. “Thank God for that or you would probably never see him.”
Celeste changed the subject. “Did you go to the doctor yesterday?”
“Yes,” said Marjorie. Then she paused. Marjorie felt her chin begin to quiver. “I have to start taking insulin. I tried really hard Frosty, but I knew it was going to get me and, now I have to stick needles, not only into my finger but into my stomach every day.”
Celeste was quiet. “I’m so sorry,” she said.
“I can’t do it. I’m afraid. Suppose I fill up the needle the wrong way or suppose I don’t do it right?”
“I can show you how to fill the needle. I can show you how to put it in,” offered Celeste.
“What good would that do with you way up there? It’s not like you can just come over and show me how to do it, and be there if I make a mistake!”
“I know,” said Celeste. “But I’ll tell Ron and maybe we can come down over the weekend and I’ll show you exactly what has to be done.”
“Why did you have to move way up there? I never heard of the towns by where you live. Don’t you get frightened in that house all the time by yourself?”
“I did at first, Marjorie, but it’s my home now.”
“Some home! No streetlights, no sidewalks. You live in the middle of nowhere! Now, when I need something, are either of you anywhere around to help me? Of course not. I’m not one of Ronald’s students or your patients so I don’t really matter.”
Celeste let her rant on. Then she said, “Do you think that George can help you?”
“George!” Marjorie was incredulous. “Do you really think I am letting George anywhere around me with a needle? He wouldn’t do it anyway. Lois is the only one that gives me any help.” She chose a rare time to use Bumpy’s proper name. “She’ll give me the needle. She used to do it for her mother. Not that I have anyone to do it for me. Thank God for Bumpy.”
“I’m sorry that you have to take the needles Marjorie. You fought against it for a long time, but it’s not the end of the world.”
“No, it’s just one more horrible thing. Was it this much of a sin to like a good piece of cake once in a while? Isn’t a person supposed to have anything to enjoy in life? Is that what it means to get older? You find out that everything that you love is bad for you?”
“I’m sure you can still have a piece of cake once in a while,” said Celeste.
“Three ounces,” complained Marjorie. Dandy gobbles more than that with two mouthfuls. What kind of a way is that to have to live? I have to count each one of my cigarettes and not eat cake. Is there anything else that they are going to take away from me?”
Celeste didn’t want to answer. There were no answers that were going to make Marjorie happy, but Celeste knew how to distract her. “I got your son a Christmas present that he’s really going to like.”
“What did you get him?” Marjorie’s tone changed She was interested.
“SCUBA lessons,” announced Celeste.
“What is that? Like Sea Hunt?” asked Marjorie. That was an old Lloyd Bridges TV series that had not been on in twenty years. ”You got him that so he will keep on taking you to those islands, didn’t you?”
Celeste grinned. She hadn’t been thinking that when she got him the gift but she had to admit that she knew it would be a by-product.
“You should come with us on one of these cruises. You would love it!”
“Frosty, you think that I am able to get on a boat with you and Ronald? You know that’s impossible. Why even suggest such a thing?”
The conversation ended a few minutes later with Marjorie announcing that she had to prick her finger and that Bumpy would help her.
Celeste put down the phone just as she heard Ron finally coming in the door. Keats hurried his way down stairs to meet him. Celeste resolved that Ron was going to have to go and see his mother this weekend.

Chapter 77

While the rest of the world prepared for the Y2K disaster, Ron was battling leaves. They started falling at the end of September and fell with increasing magnitude as the calendar turned into October. The sheer volume of them was extraordinary. Ron laughed when he heard about people storing their raked leaves in bags. His property included over 100 trees. He calculated that he would need that many bags and discarded the idea.
At first he and Keats did their summer mowing technique to clean the grass of leaves, but soon there were too many to make that happen and Ron was outside with the blower. Keats did not like the sound of the blower either but loved to romp in the blowing leaves.
Ron found it easier than mowing but frustrating because he never seemed to get them all and when he created a long pile the amount of leaves was staggering.
Soon the blower was not able to move the weight of them and Ron shifted to the rake. Keats liked the rake. It made no noise and it reminded him of the snow shovel. The time seemed to stand still with Ron raking and Keats romping.
Celeste made her way out the back door and over to where Ron was working. Keats saw her coming and took the opportunity to dive into the leaves, turn over on his back and wiggle all four of his paws in a delighted display.
Celeste put her hand on her hip. “Will you look at him?” she said to Ron. “Do you have any idea how we are going to get him clean?”
“He’s having fun,” said Ron. “I’ll take him down to the lake to wash off before we come in.”
“That’s perfect, Ron. Then I’ll have a wet dog with wet leaves matted into his fur. That’s a great solution!”
“Do you want to brush him?” said Ron.
Celeste ignored that. “I don’t understand why you just can’t wait until they all come down and do it all at once. That’s what my father did.”
“Yeah,” said Ron sarcastically. “I’ll just leave them all in the gutter and wait for the street sweeper to come by and collect them.”
She did not want to argue with him. He could be such a bastard when he was intent on doing something. Celeste carried her newly frozen containers to the barn door, opened it and slammed it shut hard a few times.
Over the summer, cave crickets had made their way into the barn. They were horribly ugly insects and they kind of hopped down from the walls at you. The first time she had gotten one in her hair, she had screamed and stomped her feet and run back upstairs to take a shower. Now she just avoided the barn whenever she could. She wanted to mention an exterminator again, but she had to admit that $700 to get rid of the mice had been costly and the man had said that they would no doubt be back unless they left the poison pellets out. Ron refused to do this because of Keats.
Celeste thought to herself that she was never cut out to be a frontier woman. She did love the lake and her home, but did it really mean that she had to put up with rodents and bugs in her hair. Was that his plan for her?
Ron had gotten the leaves into five humongous piles and was trying to decide what to do with them when Celeste came out of the barn, brushed herself off and shivered. She took some pleasure in hollering over to Ron. “You’d better get cleaned up, we’re going to your mother’s house soon.

Chapter 78

Ron could not say that he enjoyed observing other teachers, but he did learn from it. It wasn’t that there were not times that he did not genuinely smile and feel part of the educational process. It was that he wanted to forget the evaluation and jump into the class and become part of it. This was a misguided feeling. It was more the residue of nostalgia over no longer having a classroom that he called his own.
By the third year of being fully out of the classroom, those feelings subsided. Observation and evaluation was the way that he had chosen to teach. He told himself that he’d better concentrate and not think about the classroom any more.
Middle Hills had a radically new schedule. Classes were eighty-eight minutes long and met on alternating days. Teachers saw their students half as much for twice as long. It made each class more important. It made attendance more important. Being absent for one day could create a six day span between classes.
Ron found that he could not really schedule more than two observations in a day. One a day was ideal. He and Connie talked about it.
“When you mentioned or two a day, I did some checking with schedules and calendars. We can finish the first round of tenured teachers and two rounds of the non-tenured teachers, hopefully by the end of the year.”
“Can we do all of that and the pre conferences?” asked Ron.
“No one knows exactly how long those conferences should be,” said Connie.
“I’m not sure either,” said Ron. “Let’s schedule these first ones for forty-five minutes.”
Connie laughed. “That will kick you back until February.”
“I want to do Nicole and Marilyn first,” said Ron.
Connie giggled her mischievous grin. “OK, I’ll tell Nicole and Marilyn that you want to do them.”
Ron burst out laughing. “I wouldn’t put it exactly like that to them.”

Ron was sitting in Marilyn Seeger’s class. Their preconference had been more Ron saying, “and then I will ask this,” so that Marilyn could tell others what it was like.
Marilyn was teaching The Stranger, but her class was on the point of view of the narrator. The essence of an observation was the narrative.
Ron began in the almost totally illegible scratching and partial words and partial sentences that he would dictate to Connie afterwards. He decided that he would time activities.
The class discussion on point of view lasted about twenty minutes. Marilyn was very good at helping them to divorce their dislike of the protagonist from describing his point of view.
Then she set them work at finding examples of point of view excerpts that were particularly poignant to the theme of existentialism. That exercise, complete with some discussion, lasted about fifteen minutes. She then led to an understanding of the political situation in Algeria at the time of the novel. She used straight lecture for this and Ron thought she could possibly increase student retention through a different means of delivering instruction. He made note.
The last part of the class was spent analyzing the effects of prejudice on point of view. Here Marilyn attempted to set it all on context. Students were encouraged to muse on other times where prejudice altered point of view.
Ron left thoroughly impressed by Marilyn’s knowledge organization and use of supporting materials. Having taught the AP class, he knew that she was leading them more to an understanding of point of view than she was taking them through the story. That was the way it should be.
He came back into his office to find Connie laughing while she was on the phone. He glanced down at her line and saw it go to hold and then heard her say, “Ron, it’s your mother.”

Ron would have been kind of shocked by his mother calling him at work, but Connie had been laughing and so nothing really bad could be wrong.
“Hi, Mom” said Ron.
“Hello Ronald, do you see what things have come to?”
“What do you mean?”
“Now in order to talk to you. I have to as much as call your office for an appointment.”
“That’s isn’t true. You just saw us on Saturday night,” objected Ron.
“So is that my quota of your time, Ronald?”
“Mom, I’m at work. I will call you tonight,” said Ron with finality.
“I wouldn’t want to interrupt your important life Ronald. Only call me if you really want to.”
Ron heard the click on the other end of the line.

Chapter 79

Marilyn Seeger presented the appearance of a woman whose life had gone as she expected it to proceed. Her family was grown. Her husband retired and she felt a freedom without him being an administrator in the district. She still felt a little girlish when she was about to have her evaluation conference. She knew much more about Ron than he knew about her.
About to evaluate the acknowledged leader of the English faculty at Middle Hills, Dr. Tuck was under far more scrutiny than Marilyn Seeger.
Marilyn wore a pink and grey suit, and a butterfly broach. Ron put his jacket on when she came into the office. Connie made note to remind him when someone was coming in.
Ron looked down at his narrative, back up at Marilyn, “It was a great class and I think you’re a fine teacher,” started Ron. “I want to ask you about the way that you structure your class and the way that you plan for your class.”
Marilyn accepted her compliment and touched her finger to the tips of the wings of her butterfly broach. She smiled, “You mean because of the longer classes, the block?”
“Yes,” said Ron. “I’ve never done it and you’ve mastered it. I know how to evaluate good teaching, but what changes came when you’re class time doubled and you saw them half as much.”
Marilyn nodded. Met his eyes. He was asking her to explain something like a colleague. For a moment she was a bit surprised. “Time management and how you think about it was the most profound shift. They were attuned to an attention span that would last just so long. As a teacher, you have a clock in your head and in your pace. All of that has to change.”
“How did you manage?” asked Ron.
Marilyn was now smiling as she remembered. “Staff development offered lots of professional development, and personally I thought back to the way I remembered the pacing of seminars. I knew I wanted to start with my AP course.”
“I understand,” said Ron. He grinned and thought, then grinned again and said, “Wow that is a different clock.”
Then they talked about the different techniques she used with the class. The reasons for choices. What the teacher was finding in this year’s group.
When it came time for Ron’s one suggestion, he phrased it in the form of a question, he clasped his hands, gave his head a slight nod, sat back, “What was your feeling about lecture to deliver to a description of the political climate?”
Marilyn shrugged, pursed her lips, “I guess it was the best I could come up with.”
Ron grinned. “I was thinking about it too. Maybe a newsreel type clip from the period?”
Marilyn smiled. “Using films when we moved over to the block was discouraged as a way of wasting time. So you won’t find as much as you might expect in our curriculum.”
Ron smiled too. “We’ll have to start changing that.”
Marilyn tilted her head to the side, “You know that was one of Sandy Humz rules?”
“Yes, I do. We’ve spoken about it. Here is the thinking. Multiple Intelligences are better served by varying learning modalities. See it, hear it, write it, and say it. It can be used or abused like any other strategy.”
Marilyn nodded in agreement. “OK, Dr. Tuck, those are good ideas.”
At lunch, Marilyn held a moderately sized group’s attention. “He knows teaching,” she said.
“Well that’s a relief,” exclaimed Tim O’Rourke. Tim had never thought Sandy a good teacher or a good administrator. He was being humorous.
“He pays attention and wants to know why you did what you did?” explained Marilyn.
“Because I decided that was the way that I wanted to do it!” exclaimed O’Rourke. This drew laughter from around the table. Tim was probably the second most influential of the faculty. He was both funny and irreverent in a way that inspired loyalty. Tim leaned forward and said in a lower voice, “How much of the administrative Kool aide do you think this guy has had to drink to get this job?”
It was a fair question. The other teachers paid attention as Marilyn answered. She had drawn an honesty pact with them. She had told them that her husband drank the administrative Kool aid was could only be trusted so far. She was respected for that. “From my experience, that is a question of seeing how things work out over time. He isn’t a natural for it, that’s for sure.”

Chapter 80
Warren County had been having an annual fair for as long as anyone could remember. It was a combination fair and expo actually with vendors from all over the tri state area coming in to show off the latest in farm equipment and home improvement. The 4H clubs in the area were huge and there was variety of animals, produce and handicraft also on display.
Celeste had a booth across from the goats and next to the exotic chickens. She was housed along with the county food stamps provider and the outreach people for a couple of other family services like Meals on Wheels and a free screening for blood pressure, eyesight and hearing. She was only there for senior citizens day of the week long gathering.
Relatively speaking, this was better than some of the other dreadful events to which Celeste was sent. There had been the minor league baseball game, the town farmers’ markets and a sad collection of other events that Celeste attended.
Celeste was happy that she had a small group of people who she knew. She was not popular at these events. No one wanted to talk about death and dying while out at a county fair and carnival.
When the home team mascot at the baseball game began contending that the opposition team needed to see Celeste by trying to usher those players over to her booth, she had been humiliated and asked the young man to stop. He had laughed at her and said that it was all in good fun.
The smell of the goats and chickens was at first overpowering, but it eventually wore off. Celeste liked to pet the goats. There were huge ones and miniature ones and ones with curling horns and ones that were so cute that she wanted to adopt one, but was sure that Keats would not approve. Celeste knew that he would sniff her accusingly for hours after she got home that day.
Celeste was invited to take part in the Women’s Mud Race but politely declined saying that’s he did not have a change of clothing. She had her eyes on her watch and was waiting for the tractor pull to begin. This was such a popular event that it was generally considered pack up time for those people in the family services tent.
People were still wandering by her booth and happily taking Peter’s cookies but not even bothering to say hello to the woman who was obviously out of place at a good time gathering. Some literally sneered at her.
A woman in her sixties, in a neatly pressed house dress, approached her booth. “Do you have any cards or things that you pass out?” she asked.
Celeste said that’s he did and gave the woman her array of pamphlets and brochures. One outlined the advantages of senior living at Height Village, another spoke about the necessity of a living will and yet a third one implored readers to know their End of Life rights. The woman looked through them happily and then said in a conspiratorial voice, “I want a gag birthday present for my husband Bob. I think these would be perfect, don’t you?”
Celeste looked at her in astonishment. “Do you or Bob have a living will?”
“Oh Gosh no. We just have faith in the Lord and know that he will provide. But he is always playing tricks on me and I thought this would be perfect.”
Celeste considered. She could try to talk some sense into the woman but that was really a waste of time. She smiled politely and said, “Let me get a little bag for you so that you can hide the gift until it’s the right time.”
When she had placed them discreetly in the plastic bag, the woman said, “I listened to you on the radio and I do think it is all nonsense but you seem like a very nice woman. Did something terrible happen to you that made you want to be around death all the time?”

Chapter 81
By early November, Ron was deep into his observation and evaluation cycle. Darlene Learner’s class had been one of the better ones. Her conference would be easy. As he waited for her arrival, he reassessed how they had gone so far. A few were excellent. Some were really good. Most were adequate and there were a couple of disasters. Ron had grown pointedly aware that while some teachers were embracing the block schedule others were working in defiance of it. They would be harder to help, but Ron could easily recommend some of the staff development workshops on new techniques. That would at least postpone him needing to do anything more.
He called Connie over at his Summit offices. “What do we have this afternoon?”
“Sandy called and wants to see you at 2pm in her office,” said Connie. “Other than that you are clear.”
“Good,” said Ron. “I will have two evaluations ready to dictate after lunch. Let’s sit down and do those before I meet with Sandy. Did she say what it was about?”
“No,” said Connie. “She just said that she needed you to stop by.”
Darlene Learner appeared in his doorway. Ron said, “OK, Darlene is here. I’ll see you in a little while.”
Ron hung up the phone and smiled. “Come on in Darlene, close the door and have a seat.” Ron turned to his attaché case to take out her narrative.
Darlene seemed a bit nervous and hesitant. “I’d prefer to leave the door open, if that’s alright with you Dr. Tuck.”
“Sure,” said Ron. “It does get hot and stuffy in here.”
Darlene did not smile back. She came in and set down her bags. Female teachers almost always carried several bags when they moved from place to place. She placed her purse at her feet and her insulated lunch bag next to it. She opened her over the shoulder bag and took out her lesson plans and notebook.
“I thought it was a good class,” began Ron. “I think that putting the kids in a circle both aids discussion and helps everyone to see each other. I loved using that technique in my classes, but let me ask you this. How do you handle using the chalkboard?”
“That can be a problem,” said Darlene. “I know some of them can’t see what I write and I thought about using handouts but there is no spontaneity there.”
“I agree that it’s a problem. I’m going to suggest that you move to a horseshoe arrangement. You like to write on the chalkboard. So do I.” Ron grinned, “It’s almost natural isn’t it?”
Darlene nodded with a tense smile. “Yes, it is natural.” She shifted in her chair. Ron was totally oblivious to any lack of comfort that she might have felt. He questioned her about her strategies for creative writing and engaged her as he had on a few afternoons at the end of the day when he would wander through the halls and check with the teachers about how things were going.
“I think that you’re doing great,” said Ron in closing. “I do think you can be a little more assertive when it comes to class control. Room awareness is a tough thing, but you’re getting it.”
Darlene seemed relieved as the evaluation conference drew to its conclusion. Darlene closed her books and held them in front of her chest. “I’m sorry to say that I’ve made a complaint against you for sexual harassment. I feel like you deserve to hear it from me.”
Ron stared at her but did not understand the import of what she was saying. He paused for a long minute to let that sink it. “I don’t understand. How is it that you think that I have harassed you?”
“I really don’t think that it is appropriate for me to discuss that with you. I’ve gone to see Sandy and she asked if I would feel more comfortable having someone else evaluate me. I wasn’t sure, but you’ve given me a fair evaluation.”
Ron was more than a little confused. How should he respond to this?
“Well, thank you for that Darlene. I gotta tell you, I’m at a total loss to understand what I could have possibly said or done to make you feel harassed and if you are feeling uncomfortable, please don’t be afraid to let me know.”
Darlene looked at him sharply. “I did not feel comfortable letting you know, but I have always felt comfortable with Sandy. It’s nothing that you actually said or did, Dr. Tuck. It’s how you are and how you make me feel.”

Chapter 82
Sandy saw the blink on her personal extension. “I thought I might be hearing from you,” she answered.
“I just don’t understand,” said Ron. He was bewildered and concerned.
“Maybe you’d better come over now,” answered Sandy.
He drove between the schools on autopilot. His mind was on a full loop replay of every action that he could remember with Darlene. She had been sick, which was practically a natural occurrence for teachers in the fall. He had stopped by to inquire twice, at the end of the day, about how she was feeling. When he saw that she was teaching creative writing, he offered her some lesson strategies to encourage creative thinking. He had gone into the basement with her one day because she was searching for a bookcase, and he sorted through old pieces with her and found a low standing, flat topped bookcase that suited her needs perfectly.
There had been more interactions with her than with some others, but she was a third year teacher. This was her tenure year. Ron knew that he would have to make an evaluation on her by springtime. He wanted to get to know them all, particularly the younger ones.
He had already confided to Sandy, that the Summit staff was senior and that he could only imagine how difficult it was to recognize when it was time to call it a career. She leveled with Ron that some of them were going to have to do that and that it was a delicate balance. So, maybe he had tended to pay more attention to the younger staff, but they were also the neediest.
“Come on in and shut the door,” said Sandy. She got up and closed the adjoining door to her secretaries’ office. She turned to Ron. “You ok?”
“I’m bewildered. I have no idea of what she’s talking about.”
“I’ll tell you what she told me,” said Sandy. “I don’t see where there is any problem with anything that you have done, but of course it had to be passed along and now others are involved. There is the now slightly famous incident,” Sandy rolled her eyes, “of you showing her around the school without your shoes on.” Ron shook his head. He hadn’t even thought anything of it at the time. “She describes that as you being inappropriately dressed. I even asked her if that he meant that he wasn’t wearing his shoes, and she said that yes it was that and also that some buttons at the top of your shirt were not buttoned.” Ron gave her a look of disbelief. “Your collar and the one below it was not closed.” Ron closed his eyes and felt his jaw set in an expression of anger. “She went on to say that you were overly solicitous about her health in a way that she found invasive.” Ron felt his shoulders and neck begin to tense. She said that the day that you took her into the basement she felt that she was almost forced to follow you down there because when she presented her request, instead of you saying that you would tell maintenance to look around and see what they could find, you immediately led her down into the basement.”
Ron had been trying to contain himself. His brain was starting to work again. The shock of the tailspin had passed. This came from a good, young teacher that he respected. She had sat right there in his office and looked into his face and told him that this was how she felt. That was problem one. The second problem was that he might now have a job anymore. He was now technically a second year contract employee who was still in his first year. He had no tenure. He could be unrenewed without comment. He had no clue about how that was going to work but he was about to find out.
“So she is not contending that I said or did anything that was inappropriate?” asked Ron.
“As I told you,” said Sandy, “now others are involved. Audie Riffle insisted that it was at least partially a building matter and he wanted an examination of her contentions. He has decided that part of the problem is that your door has no window and so he has taken the door off of your office.”
As insulting as it was, Ron could not let the humor of it escape him. “So he thinks that if I have an office without a door that everything will be fine?”
“No,” said Sandy shaking her head and deadly serious. “He wants to embarrass me by humiliating you.” She saw him absorb that reality. “I’ll make sure you have a door with a window within a couple of days.
Ron wanted to say that perhaps that could put yellow crime scene tape up across the door, but he just nodded.
“We only looked at it for one morning,” said Sandy. “But it looks like you hit a homerun with you evaluation. Artie had Darlene come to his office right after she met with you. He already called me and said that we should drop it. So that’s good.”
Then Sandy learned forward like she wanted to make absolutely sure that he was paying attention. “But it will be viewed as unprofessional. You are my poster boy, and Artie and some others are going to test you. I’ve spoken to the Superintendent and he understands what happened, but you need to understand what has to happen. We’ve always got to be totally professional with faculty. You are no longer a colleague and you cannot expect to be viewed as one.”

Chapter 83
By the time that Ron got home that night, he was exhausted. The adrenalin caused by the day’s events had been coursing through his system all day. He had gone back to his office after seeing Sandy Humz and not wanted to do anything or see anyone. Connie listened as he gave his recitation of events, only interrupting with an occasional, “What?” as and expression of confusion and disbelief.
The end of his day came following a call from Nicole Johannsen. “The door to your office was taken off,” she said.
“I was told about it,” said Ron. “They’re changing it for a door with a window.”
“I collected what I thought were most of your personal things and put them in a locked case in the book storage unit,” said Nicole.
“That was nice. Thank you,” said Ron a little flat in his tone.
“We’re supposed to meet in the morning,” continued Nicole. “Would it be better if I came over there?”
“Not on your life,” said Ron automatically. “We’ll meet in my office without a door at the usual time.”
Nicole smiled. That showed an amount of spirit. “Ok, then,” she said.
“Did you know that this was happening?” asked Ron.
She thought he might wait until the morning to ask, but she knew the question was coming. “Yes, I did.”
“I’ll see you in the morning,” said Ron and hung up.”
Ron drove home feeling that he could trust no one. He dared not ask if Connie knew. He was afraid of the answer. He smiled at the thought that he should talk to somebody who could give him advice. Who was he going to ask that knew the situation better than he did?
Keats heard his car in the driveway and was waiting for him by the door with a wagging tail that had no questions of complications about it. Ron pet his puppy and went back outside so that Keats could pee. He bounded happily back into the house to announce Ron’s arrival.
Celeste was starting dinner. She had fallen in love with the best artichokes that she had seen all year, and wanted to stuff the leaves with breadcrumbs and garlic and drizzle some olive oil on them before they were roasted. Ron took off his jacket.
“Has Keats eaten?” he asked.
“He couldn’t wait,” answered Celeste. “He was so hungry when I got home. He’s eaten and gone out, but not for long, it’s chilly outside today.”
“I got accused of sexual harassment today,” said Ron like he was making normal conversation.
Celeste decided that she would play along and wondered if this fantasy of his was going to be one of the ones that managed to leave them upstairs, happy and hungry. “And who is that you have harassed this time?” she said, walking towards him with a smile.
Ron met her eyes and stopped her in her tracks. “I’m serious,” he said.
“What happened?”
“One of my good, young teachers has been taking everything that I have said with sexual innuendo. Like I’ve been coming on to her. I think that she actually believes it.”
Celeste’s face was a mixture of curiosity and anger. “She believes what?”
“I’m not sure,” said Ron. “I’m really not sure what she believes. But she filed this compliant and there’s been an investigation, which everyone except me knew about, and I’ve been cleared of doing anything wrong.”
“Then I believe that she’s a little bitch,” said Celeste. Celeste one hand was on her hip. Ron thought that she looked poised to do something for a moment.
“She’s a small problem. There’s a bigger problem. I was told that there is the perception that I could have been more professional.”
Celeste considered this. She asked thoughtfully, “What does that mean?”
“It means don’t ever forget you’re a boss,” said Ron.
They held each other. They molded into each other’s body in that familiar and exciting way that people who have lived in love a long time can experience.
“Did you forget that you were a boss?” said Celeste.
“No,” said Ron. “Adele taught me that so many years ago. They have a different idea of what I should be like.”
“So how much of a problem is it?” said Celeste, the meaning of the distress she felt in his body was becoming clearer.
“I won’t really know until I come up for tenure,” said Ron. He squeezed her to him and she felt warm and soft like their love.
“That’s a long time isn’t it?” said Celeste.
“As Angel would put it,” said Ron. “I’ve gone from being a Narc to a sexual predator, but the pay is better.”
They held each other and were both worried.

Chapter 84
The blue of the ocean was deep and rich like liquid fabric that rocked them along gently on the bed of the sea. The picture perfect sky was just starting its daily show. There was a soft breeze. Celeste was happy in back of her large sunglasses. She was reading about the exploits of Alex Cross. There was a glass of pineapple juice on the small table next to her. She looked down at her toes and smiled. When she was a young girl dancing, everyone told her that she would have to have ugly feet. She didn’t care. She did not know one dancer that ever did. But she had stopped dancing and now her toes were painted shades of blue and red to match her fingernails.
She closed her book and scanned up to the Sports Deck Track where she saw him walking his way through a cooldown. She knew he would want the steam room, and a shower before he was ready to have breakfast. She had about forty-five minutes.
The ship would be making port in a little while. She could see the outline of the island in the distance. He wouldn’t want much for breakfast because he was going diving this afternoon. She really had three of four hours to wander in the port town.
With her hair pulled back on her head, wearing sunglasses, a white midriff top and green shorts, Celeste wandered up and down the aisles of corrugated tin and wood shacks. She fingered the carved, polished wood figures. She held the dyed fabrics up to the light against her skin. She inhaled the pungent scents from the incense stall. She purchased some packets of spices. She bought a half dozen t-shirts to give away as gifts.
It was a luxurious treat for her. Shopping with Ron was as much fun as a forced march at double-time. She talked to the people, even though she knew she was getting the stock tourist answers, because she liked the sounds of their voices.
“We will be entering the water using a giant stride, make sure you are righted before you begin your descent. We’ll drop down about 60 feet and establish neutral buoyancy. Get with your partners and let’s have a great dive. When you have ten minutes of air let in your tank, you are to surface and make one safety stop at twenty feet that lasts no less than two minutes. Does anyone have questions?” There were none. The dive-master was a thin, blonde Aussie who had spent enough time in the water so that he always needed to wear a dive skin. He looked over at his assistant and signaled that it was time for her to start loading them into the water.
Ron had his hand up over his face mask and his mouth piece between his lips then he stepped. The exhilaration of hitting the water made him breathe faster but he steadied himself in the water, inflated his vest and traded OK signs with his partner, and started his descent.
From here on he needed to trust his instruments. The amount of light that filtered through gave a person some idea of depth, but not a real accurate one. The sound of his breathing was loud in her ears and he calmed himself with by watching his depth gauge as he descended. The bottom was in sight. A small cloud of sand was being raised as the divers, mostly not all very experienced, touched their flippers and tried to stand.
Ron slowly kicking straight legged to slow his descent, began to inflate his vest again to find neutral buoyancy. It was one of the first rules of a dive and allowed for that feeling of weightlessness which Ron found addictive. He and his partner traded OK signs and started off following the dive master, whose partner hung to the very back of the group.
There was a field of brain coral, one of two of them as large as twenty or more human brains. There were bubbles and fish everywhere. The fish lived in small neighborhoods in and around the reef and would disappear instantly at the sight of a predator. Everything was fluid, geometrically shaped colonies of small fish changed shapes and reconstituted to accommodate passing disturbances.
There was a green Moray eel that stuck its large head out from his lair inside some rocks. Its skin was almost neon in color.
It was a different world, a different life that was the cradle of all life but hostile to him now. Denizens glanced at the inhabitants like they were ill prepared tourists in their world. Ron floated and swam in a delighted delirium. A dive never seemed long enough.
Ron’s dive buddy signaled that it was time for him to surface. Ron looked at his own gauge. He was almost there too they traded OK signs and began to kick up.
Back at the ship, Ron looked deliriously happy. It was a special look that seemed to be reserved for an after dive glow and Celeste drank it in like a cold drink with an umbrella.

Chapter 85
They were eating lunch in the main dining room, dressed in shorts and t-shirts, eating from fine plates and silver. It still seemed so strange to them both. They were not unaware or disinterested in the people who were serving them, but they told themselves that these jobs were not bad work for people from their countries. There was that uncomfortable class shift.
They decided to choose a cruise line that did not allow tipping and paid a wage that did not encourage the staff to grovel. They didn’t really talk about it all that much, but at times like this, it was inevitable. Ron was eating sushi for lunch and Celeste was having a great sounding salad.
“Do you think we are becoming rich liberals?” said Celeste. They both laughed at the ironic feel of that question in this setting.
Ron adopted a politician type character to his response. “There’s a case to be made for it.” That made them laugh again.
“So, what is the agenda for this vacation’s conversations, Dr. Tuck?” Celeste was changing the mood again. It was one of the contentions between them. It was her primary assessment of this man that she loved. “We both know that you already have an agenda.”
Ron grinned. She had taught him that was true about himself. The fact that he seemed to be sometimes oblivious did not mean that he had not been planning on some level. He had to agree that it must be true. He knew about his conscious manipulations. Both teaching and his mother had helped him to hone those skills. She was talking about something else.
“Why don’t we decide on one together?” said Ron.
Celeste smiled. That was the answer she expected. “You go first.”
“I think that we should discuss getting another puppy,” said Ron.
Celeste felt her mouth drop open. “You are totally insane. You are one of the most insane people on the planet. People have no idea about the depths of your insanity. Why on earth would you possibly want to get another dog?”
“I thought we were making an agenda?” grinned Ron. “Your turn.”
Celeste poured more ice tea. She forked a delicious combination of lettuce, berry, radish, and citrus. Then she grinned and waited for him to have a mouthful of sushi and said, “I know that you just did that on purpose because I accused you of having an agenda and you decided to show me just how much of an agenda you could have,” said Celeste calmly as she watched him try to interject but not be able to do so because he had a mouth stuffed with raw fish. She thought it seemed appropriate for a cruise.
Ron was finally able to speak and said as sincerely as he could, “If it was, I didn’t know it.”
“Right,” said Celeste.
“So, your turn,” said Ron.
“Let’s talk about putting in trees,” said Celeste.
“I like that,” said Ron.
Celeste could not contain herself. “Why do you want another dog?”
“To keep Keats company,” said Ron. “Neither one of us is around as much as he is.”
Celeste felt a pang. That was true. Yes he was at home and yes Angel had agreed to spend the time up at the house while they were gone. But he was alone a lot.
“Do you have any idea how much work another dog is going to be?”
“Maybe it will be even less work because they will amuse each other. You know they are pack animals.”
Celeste was thoughtful. He did know more about dogs than she did. Her family had never had a dog. Her father contended that they could not afford it and her mother said that they were all allergic and that having a pet would kill them and so there wasn’t really much discussion about it in her youth.
She loved Keats. He was a source of joy in her life. She had no complaints except that Ron continually promised that Keats was learning to only pee outside but Celeste knew that it wasn’t true. It seems like backwards thinking to me said Celeste. “You’re saying that we’re not home enough for Keats now and your solution is to get another dog that we won’t be home for?”
She reached under the tablecloth and wrapped her fingers around his strong bare thigh and said softly, “See, I know how to play too.”
“Try some sushi for me,” smiled Ron.
The thought made Celeste shiver. “I can’t.”
“This one is just asparagus and rice,” said Ron. “I put a little wasabi on top and a quick dip of soy sauce on the bottom.
Ron held it out on chopsticks and Celeste opened her mouth and closed her eyes and loved vacation.

Chapter 86
Celeste had managed some coupon deal and they were awarded a car for the afternoon. They set off to explore and came upon a butterfly farm. Neither of them had any idea of what a butterfly farm could be and so they stopped. For, fifteen dollars were given a rum punch drink, a tour, and the freedom to stay there as long as they liked.
The proprietor was from the UK and was clearly enjoying life in this tropical paradise. He had not worn anything but shorts and sandals and a t-shirt for eighteen months now and he was intent on perpetuating his streak. His girlfriend shared his goal and they knew that being friendly and developing a good reputation was the pathway to success. When they heard the name of the cruise line that Ron and Celeste were using, they paid special attention to them. Being placed on a cruise line’s list of preferred stops, not only required payment but a solid reputation. It was, however, a ticket to assured success.
“Some butterfly fossils are more than fifty million years old. So it is possible that the same beauties that you see flitting around in here, tickled the ears of a T-Rex. You probably all know the cycle of caterpillar, chrysalis, and then finally butterfly stage, but did you know that most butterflies do not eat? They get drunk on fermenting fruit juices and have sex all of their lives.”
This was of course not entirely true but the tourists who really wanted to live like butterflies on their vacations drank it right up.
“If you just squeeze a little of the juice on your finger you might get one to land on you. Please do not swat at the butterflies. They do not bite and carry no diseases with them.”
Ron stood next to Celeste listening to the recitation and then reaches down casually and squeezed the round cheeks of her bottom. Celeste was startled and almost squealed but caught herself and gave Ron a mock dirty look. “Would you stop that?” she whispered.
“My new heroes are butterflies,” said Ron and squeezed her there again.
“We are in public,” objected Celeste. She had to admit that having a husband that could be this hungry for her after this many years was flattering, but she would really prefer if he did not get a kick out of doing these things in public.
Ron squirted a few drops of fermenting orange juice of Celeste’s hand and soon a black and white butterfly landed on her fingers. Celeste was a little startled. She did not want to do anything that would hurt him. It was almost like the butterfly was tame. Then the thought that he was encouraging her to have insects crawl over her while be pinched her ass, caused her to wave her hand and the butterfly flew away.
Ron had just started taking pictures, and he was clicking away from different angles at different butterflies. She took the camera from him and lined him up with the butterfly in the frame and began to click. He had grown a very thin pencil moustache that had turned pure blonde in the summer sun. He held the butterfly up to his lips after her put some of the fermented juices on it. Celeste clicked away and wondered if there were any creatures in the world that he would not have sexual thoughts about.
This went on for well over an hour, trading the camera between them. Using the other as a model. Then Ron concentrated on getting super close up shots of some of the butterflies who were green and blue, yellow and black. Celeste dreamed of a world where beautiful creatures flew through the sky with joy and abandon. She felt like she was in this little mosquito netted world and could just wander and feel and then go back to the ship for her next meal.
Ron wandered over to the proprietor who was between tours at the moment. “How long have you guys been here?”
“Six years,” the Englishman answered. “We’ve had to rebuild twice because of hurricanes but it sure as hell beats life on my cold rainy island up north.”
“I agree with you,” said Ron. “Think you’ll ever go back?”
“We’ll think about it after the next hurricane but as long as the money holds out, why should we?”
Ron smiled. He could admire that kind of life and freedom but it had to be from a distance now. He and Celeste had chosen such a different path.
They felt a little wistful when they got back into the car. “What do you want to do now?” Celeste asked.
“Let’s go back to the ship and pretend to be butterflies,” said Ron.

Chapter 87
The ship was on the Caribbean Sea and the night was soft. They had called it a day after walking out on a mildly entertaining but mostly lame after-dinner show. They excused themselves from Judge Andrews and his wife Edith, with whom they had dinner and decided they were going to the same show. Went to their favorite bar, got drinks and carried them back to their room.
They were engulfed in the pace and atmosphere that the experience provided for now. They were happy, returning consumers in the eyes of the cruise line and they had taken the opportunity to provide them with a complimentary fruit basket. This was itself a bit gratuitous as fruit was free all over the ship. They laughed about the ridiculous gesture and then ignored it.
They settled out on the balcony. Celeste was amazed that she could do this at all. She had always suffered from motion sickness. The scopolamine patch in back of her ear made all the difference. Celeste put out her painted toes and took a long swallow of a delightfully flavored seltzer. She had watched the bar man spray it from his gun into pieces of fruit that had been split open. The patch did make her thirsty.
“I don’t think I could live like this,” said Celeste.
“You are living like this,” said Ron.
He lit a cigarette and stared out over the dark water and the slightly less dark sky and the occasional little white fluffs of wave that appeared and were then gone as the ship cruised. He felt happily lost in the night at sea. Anything might happen and mostly it was all good. It truly was the appearance of a world with magic.
They booked their first cruise after a miserable week at the Jersey shore. The next year, Angel, Celeste, and Ron had set out from New York City on a week-long cruise to and from Bermuda. It was a forty five year old ship that was coming to the end of its pleasure sailing days. But this was an easy and profitable run.
Celeste had done it before but she knew it would be magical for Angel and Ron and it was. She remembered his face having breakfast at sea that first morning. He was as happy as she had ever seen him. It was the way to ignite his spirit of adventure. It would never be flying, it would always be the sea.
She thought back and closed her eyes and dreamt for a moment about how Angel made a friend of the Captain’s daughter and how they had laughed and decorated a wooden deck horse that they had bought and entered into the sweepstakes.
Celeste said, “We named it Filly Stakes All because it was a female wooden horse and she had learned that the name for a female horse was a filly.”
“Yeah,” said Ron, “that was the first cruise. I think this is the fourteenth or fifteenth.”
“I want more,” said Celeste.
Ron grinned, “Me too.”
Celeste asked, “Now that this tenure thing is over, will things calm down?”
“It’ll be different,” said Ron. “The job is secure. They pay me incredibly well.”
Celeste waited. He hadn’t really put it into words yet but she knew it was there. “I sense a but,” she ventured.
“I don’t think I’ll ever love it, or really trust anyone there. Some of the work is really interesting, but I don’t do any of it anymore. This is creating things that other people do. It’s strange. I don’t feel I’m as good at it as I was when I was doing it,” said Ron.
There it was again. It had been gnawing at him for five years. “You still miss teaching,” said Celeste.
Ron looked out at the ocean up at the sky that was now twinkling with the small flashes of stars and then brought his eyes to her face. “Teaching was like this, all the time.”

Chapter 88

They were in port the next morning and Ron was off on another dive. Celeste left him instructions about where to meet her. She would be on the beach, not on the ship.
They were about to do a wreck penetration. It was a more serious dive and there were fewer takers. It was a WW2 ship that had sunk, just off the north western curving edge of the island. It was lying flat in 120 feet of water. It was largely intact.
The descent went smoothly. The five divers hung about 10 feet over the bottom. This was a darker world, the bottom was sand and the things that were moved along the sand by the tides. The long uncovered rock was almost white. The air bubbles were fleeing towards the surface.
The wreck was now half buried in the sand at a forty-five degree angle. There was a gaping hole at the bottom. They would penetrate from the bottom and work their way up through the innards of the ship and come out the top. Creatures had burrowed their way into this ship for safety and others had come in to find them. The dive master pointed down to the right at a small, lone shark, gliding through the water and scanning with its head and mouth as it moved back and forth. The breaches in the hull were crusted over, inside seemed a swirl of tiny, slightly larger than microscopic, particles that moved more quickly inside the remains of the ship.
Going through the wreck, Ron told himself that he had to remember to breathe. There was a tendency to hold your breath in such a place. Ron thought it looked like a sad skeleton that had become home for something else.
When he left the ship, the sea seemed brighter as his eyes shifted again and he felt that wash of freedom and the need to look around and find his dive buddies.
On deck, they laughed as they stowed their equipment. A smiling giddiness bounced among them. “Any dive you come up from was a great one,” said the partner.
They shook hands in that comradery. It was a popular refrain. “Every dive,” Ron answered.
Ron showered and set off looking for Celeste. He was walking with a bounce in his step and a smile on his face.
Celeste thought his timing was perfect. They were docked at a French port and the beaches were all clothing optional. Celeste had arranged to have most all of her body painted in shades of lavender and green.
The portrait her body made began at the sides of her neck, with designs that hinted they were vines but were more abstract as they swept underneath her lavender breasts. Her thighs were pale lavender, her girdle was forest green. A staff of green ran up the center of her back and seemed to grow out of her lavender cheeks
She walked up to him naked, painted, and smiling and carrying two drinks. “Can I get you a drink, Sailor?”
Ron stood there dumbfounded. He was obviously erect at the sight of her. She turned so that he could watch her lavender cheeks roll as she led him to a little hut she had rented on the beach.
She’d brought his camera and posed for him and ordered him drink after drink as he took endless pictures of her body. Celeste had herself waxed a few days before. She was a creature outside of herself now and she knew he would take her right in that hut, but this port was French. Celeste was pretty sure no one would object.

Chapter 89
Ron and Celeste sat in front of the “Your next Cruise” consultant’s desk. The cruise line consultant was wearing her uniform complete with epaulets and stripes and stars. She was a Scandinavian woman, as blonde as blonde could be, and tightly poured into her attire. “Dr. and Mrs. Tuck, thank you for taking time out from your vacation to sit with me. How is your cruise so far?”
They both knew that the woman was working from a script, but they also had a form of script. Celeste would have the most say over the broad strokes of where they were going, and Ron would handle the details. Celeste was not detail oriented in this regard. She wanted to know where they were going, for how long they were going and when they could leave. After that, she quickly lost interest. “The cruise has been wonderful but a little too short. We like to look at slightly longer opportunities.”
Ron was quiet. These rum and cokes seemed the tastiest of all because he had won them at a table tennis tournament. He grinned thinking about how the college kid, who was wearing his gym shorts and carrying his own paddle, had been shocked by this one shot. He had created back spin by dragging his paddle down the face of the ball as he struck it, and having the ball seem to just give the table a feather touch before it flitted away. He had only found the shot again halfway through the tournament, which he really did not think he had any chance to win.
Ron smilingly sipped the drink as he heard Celeste say, “Let’s see something with an air sea package that includes Europe.”
Ron began to cough. He had just been in the middle of a long draw on that sweet little plastic straw when the words registered. It bubbled back into the glass and he tried to regain composure.
“Do you both have your passports?” asked the blonde.
Celeste smiled and reached into one of the little pouches that she carried in her bag and produced them happily saying, “Yes, they’re only four years old.”
On Caribbean cruises leaving from and returning to a domestic port in the United States, valid drivers’ licenses had been sufficient, but Celeste had thought they needed them for a trip up to Canada a few years earlier. Ron had liked the idea of having a passport. It made him feel more cosmopolitan and on childish level that never came to the surface much anymore. It might now.
“Am I allowed to smoke here?” said Ron.
The Scandinavian woman looked at the healthy, young appearing, middle aged man in front of her, and give him both a quizzical look and an ashtray. In the same fluid motion she opened a brochure in front of Celeste and said, “There is an eleven day cruise leaving from Venice and docking in Rome.”
“That’s the one,” said Celeste. “When do we leave?” She turned to Ron with the sweetest smile on her face and said, “When do you think you can get off and want to travel again?”
He was drawing hard on the cigarette and was studying the itinerary. She hadn’t exactly sprung it on him. They had talked about going to Europe. She had been there. He had not. It looked far away and magical as he stared at the map. “Would people speak English?” he asked.
“English is definitely one of the languages spoken on the ship,” she said smiling.
That made him feel more at ease. He so admired people who spoke another language fluently but he wondered if a grouping of languages clouded your mind when you thought deeply about something. He did not always think in language but he often did. It was a question he should have asked his first students. He could still ask some of them
Realizing that she was speaking to an American, she added, “and the TV will have English speaking channels.”
He looked at Celeste. She was smiling at him now. She knew that there wasn’t going to be an argument. Inwardly, she felt a pleasurable wave knowing she would not have to argue. Ron looked up and shrugged and smiled over at the blonde woman. He stubbed out the cigarette, dumped the ashtray into an empty waste can and returned it to her. “What do you have at the end of June?”
They held hands. It was a gift for her. Her joy at dreaming of the next trip before this trip ended. It had taken him so long to get that. One night, talking in bed, he told her that he was too afraid of being disappointed if he allowed himself to act that way. She had told him that even before the disappointments there was the joy of anticipation. It was one of those things he had learned to admire so, as he learned to love her more deeply.

Chapter 90
They drove up to their home with a different kind of anticipation. This one was mixed with a solid dose of trepidation. Ron reminded as they rode, “Something always goes wrong. Let’s try to take it in stride.”
Things looked normal from the driveway. Angel’s car was by the barn.
Keats started barking as soon as he heard the car. He charged down the stairs, his long, straight, thin tail whipping his hips with the enthusiasm of the wags. They dropped their bags and crouched down. Keats was licking Ron’s face and whimpering. Then he went to Celeste and she tried to say, “No licking,” but he totally ignored her. Then he was back to Ron for round two.
Angel came out alongside the barn and called out a “welcome home.”
She walked up to them looking happy and strong and said, “Shits-a-lot killed a chicken and ate it.”
Ron held him by the sides of his face and looked into the dog’s eyes, “Did you really kill a chicken?”
Celeste was feeling nauseous at the thought that Keats had just been licking her face. “How has the week gone?”
“Quiet, Dad gets a lot of phone calls, and oh, I broke the lawn mower.”
“Why were you losing the lawnmower at this time of year?” It was fall. Ron had parlayed teacher’s convention and some vacation days to carve out a week before the holiday season started.
“I was trying to grind up what was left of the chicken from the mess that it made on the lawn,” said Angel matter-of-factly.
Celeste felt like she might vomit now.
“Oh, and I’m pretty sure the washing machine is broken.”
Celeste stared down at the packed valises. They had over packed as usual and everything that they brought would have to be washed or cleaned.
“Did Keats get sick?” said Ron.
I thought he might when Keats bit off his head, but he was fine,” said Angel.
“I have to use the bathroom,” said Celeste. She went in the door tried not to look into her laundry room walked upstairs and found everything shining immaculately, walked into her perfectly cleaned bathroom and vomited.
Ron continued to ask questions about Keats health. “Has he been eating regularly?”
Knowing she had gotten to her mother she decided to give Ron a try. “Well he didn’t eat much more that day. Drank a lot. You know he’s too fat, right Dad?”
“He’s still growing,” defended Ron.
“Seems to me he’s just growing fatter.”
Ron smiled and hugged Keats more. She wasn’t entirely incorrect but he wasn’t sure that he knew what a full grown Irish Water Spaniel should look like and he was sure that Angel did not.
“Everything else go OK?”
Angel showed a feeling that mixed mild exasperation with the knowledge that he cared. But maybe he only cared because she was at his place and didn’t want anything more to go wrong with her while she was in his home.
“How did it feel to be staying out here again?”
“It was good. I saw some old friends. You know Dad, it really is beautiful out here. There’s just nothing for me to do around here.”
They embraced. She hugged him hard. It had started when she was a little girl and he would say, “Hug me harder and show me how strong you are.” He’d said it so many times back then that she did it automatically now.
“What’s wrong with the washing machine?” said Ron.
“I don’t know, it just stopped and wouldn’t even drain. I was washing my tent from when I went camping.”

Chapter 90
It was still Friday afternoon. Ron and Celeste had arranged to be the first off the ship and had driven straight home after a room service breakfast that neither of them could resist. One of the perks of their preferred traveler status was easy embarkation and disembarkation.
They had driven straight home. Ron drained the washing machine and managed to get the now 300 pound wet tent out onto the gravel driveway. The washing machine would be OK. Keats was happily helping. Celeste listened to the messages that came in after Angel stopped answering the phone.
There was #1… Celeste it’s your sister, give me a call. Celeste clicked delete. Tina had called mid-week and forgotten they were away. That was her sister alright. #2… This Duane. I know that you and Ron are away but I wanted to let you know that my mother has died and I am selling her house and moving away. I will be in touch with a number. Instead of clicking delete, Celeste felt a pang at Duane loneliness and her inability to give bring him any comfort anymore. It was not lost on her that she had become the comforter of her priest, of more than one priest. #3… This is Connie. I’m sorry to have to call, but could Ron get in touch with his office as soon as possible.
Celeste went to the window. “Ron, you better come up here, Connie needs you.”
“Dr. Tuck’s office,” said Connie.
Ron said, “Hi.”
Connie was excited to hear his voice. “How was your trip?”
“It was really fine. What’s going on there?” said Ron.
Connie had somewhere between a giggle and a chuckle sound that she made when she was going to have to tell him something that surprised him. “You’re working tomorrow,” she said.
“I am?” said Ron genuinely surprised.
“Sandy said to say that she was sorry. She broke her ankle yesterday. She is scheduled to give a presentation tomorrow in front of The Reimagining the District Committee. She wants you do it.”
Ron felt like he was being catapulted from trampoline to trampoline. He was both exasperated and excited. Ron called for Celeste to pick up the extension.
“Hi Connie.”
“Hi Celeste, how are you?”
It was Jersey girlfriends talking at its best and it demanded a few moments. It would give Ron a moment or two to think. He knew the project. He would need to call Sandy and see what special things she wanted him to accomplish. She had called him instead of Bill. That was odd. Sandy and Bill were often co-presenters. Maybe he couldn’t do it.
“You had what?” said Connie.
“It was this beautiful waiter in a short white jacket and tight black pants and he squirted this seltzer gun into this crushed up fruit. It was delicious.”
“Sounds like you would want to eat that fruit,” said Connie.
Ron said, “So I have an idea. It’s after lunch on Friday right? Looks to me like you might have to go home early and say that you had to drive papers to me at my house. I already have everything I need on the thumb-nail drive.”
“I can’t just go home early!” said Connie.
“Sure you can,” said Ron. “I’m your boss.”
Celeste chimed in. “Why don’t the four of us have dinner tomorrow night?”
Connie said, “That sounds great. I want to cook. Steve wants Ron to taste some trout that he smoked.”
Ron had to interrupt. He knew he would get teased for this. “Connie, I need you to connect me to Sandy now.”
Both women were silent. Celeste said, “He really does enjoy being the boss, doesn’t he?”
Connie said, “You have no idea.”
“Are you kidding me?” laughed Celeste.
“Come on,” Ron pleaded. “I really do need to talk to her.”
They giggled for a few more seconds and then Connie said, “Right away.”

Chapter 92
The friendship among the four of them had grown past the initial stages. Steve was from Bloomfield. Connie was his high school sweetheart. Steve’s family did not really exist for him anymore. His solution was to just make Connie’s family his. It had happened naturally.
Steve was a lifer at the phone company and he had done well. From his perspective he no longer really had to work. He just had to make sure that things got done. Steve was very good at that. He found Connie’s stories about what happened at work amusing. Now that Stephanie was engaged and living in Hoboken, and Steven had graduated and started a solid career, the work stories took a more center stage.
Steve and Ron shared Giants football. The Giants were playing the Minnesota Vikings. “If Collins lets Tiki have the ball and a place to run, they could be OK,” said Steve. “They looked good last week and you know that guy from the Jaguars,” Steve paused from a moment.
Ron said, “Brunell.”
Steve nodded and said, “That guy can be a pain in the ass.”
“I know,” said Ron. “I always enjoyed watching him play because he’s a lefty, but I am pretty sure I wouldn’t like it against the Giants.”
Ron and Celeste had brought Keats. He was entranced, sniffing in the back yard and going down by the inlet to the lake. Ron suddenly moved down the stairs and said, “Pup.”
Keats stopped and turned and sat.
“You can’t go in the water.” Ron walked to the dock and pointed into the water and said, “No.” Then he walked back to Keats and hugged him and came back to the table.
“Do you think he’ll listen to you?” grinned Connie.
“I hope so,” said Ron.
Celeste shared a grin with Connie. “He will. Keats knows Ron’s the boss too.” They looked at Ron and started laughing.
Ron looked at Steve for help. “That’s your bed,” said Steve. “Try some of this trout, you like trout, right?”
“Sure,” said Ron. “But you smoked this right?”
Ron took a piece and Connie said, “We’re thinking about getting a dog.
“What kind?” said Celeste.
They were still researching that.
Ron said, “We’re thinking about getting another dog too.”
When it got chillier, they moved inside. They loaded some of the pictures that Ron and Celeste had taken to help convince Connie that she would enjoy a cruise. She was uneasy about motion sickness. But Celeste had an opening that she knew was gonna work.
She showed Connie the itinerary from the cruise they had booked. “We fly to Venice and spend a day and a night at a hotel there. Then we board the ship and basically sail out into exotic islands and beautiful weather. And we get to see Italy. We fly home from Rome.”
Celeste had her and she know it. Connie looked at Steve.
He smiled and said, “It’s up to you.”
“Well. If I’m ever going to do it,” said Connie.
They evening was long enough for Keats to wake up from his nap and need to go outside. Ron lit a cigarette as he watched Keats look for the right spot.
Connie said, “You really think I can do this?”
“I’d trust Celeste all the way. She has motion sickness pretty bad.”
“But she doesn’t get afraid on the ocean?” said Connie.
“You won’t be afraid either,” said Ron.
“Althea Babel is starting a new rumor about you,” said Connie.
“Oh,” said Ron. He saw Keats lift his leg.
“You are guilty of ageism,” said Connie.
“I guess that’s a step up from sexual harassment,” said Ron.

Chapter 93

When Dr. MacTavish decided to retire, there was a scramble of candidates for his job. He would leave in the springtime. It was custom for him to not support a successor. Sandy Humz immediately applied for the job. So did Dirk Wllamore. There was one other candidate from outside of the district but he was not viewed as a serious candidate.
MacTavish had set Middle Hills up on a corporate model. His administrators were among the highest paid in the state and MacTavish knew that would inspire their loyalty. It did. As far as Sandy and Dirk were concerned, he walked on water. Ron had to admit that he was impressed. MacTavish rarely spoke to him, electing to keep to the chain of command and work through Sandy. But he knew everything.
MacTavish had spoken to each of his in-house candidates and told them that he could not endorse either of them but that the Board of Education could not make a mistake with either of them. There was whispering and the setting of alliances throughout the district.
The English department became a hot bed of rumor, since Sonja Goldman, one of the senior English teachers, who Ron believed was well past her prime if she had one, was the wife of a Board member. Ron stayed away from all of it.
He had no desire for a promotion. He was sure that if Sandy got the job that Bill Mathews would be her Assistant Superintendent. Mathews had confided this to Ron and he was fine with it.
Audie Riffle’s sphincter tightened each time he thought about Sandy Humz as his boss. That would signal time for his retirement as well because he knew that Sandy would use him as a whipping boy from now until the day he left. He tried to glean some information from Ron.
“You know that I’ve always liked you, Ronnie. Even when that nasty business happened with that bitch Darlene Learner, I was really on your side.”
Ron nodded not believing a word of it. He remembered the humiliation of the three days he spent without an office door because of Audie. He knew by now that Audie had the reputation as a leech who was banging his secretary and had tried to work his slimy way into the pants of every woman in the district that he found attractive. “I’m sure you were, Audie. I never doubted your support.”
“You know that she’s got no chance. The Board will never support a woman as the Superintendent. Dirk has already made it clear that he would do the job for three years and then retire. The Board will like that.”
MacTavish’s retirement was a milestone in the administrative lineup in the Department of Education. Tenure for Superintendents had been eliminated. MacTavish was one of the last tenured superintendents to go. The Board of Education was gleeful at their new found power. Everyone was now jockeying for position.
Sandy and Dirk were colleagues who more often than not were on the same side of an issue. Neither would have a problem being passed over for the other. They were both part of MacTavish’s team. They were both shocked when the Board passed them both over and went with the outside candidate.
Leonidas Stavros was chosen to succeed MacTavish. He had no secondary school experience. He was considered to be a politician who could pass budgets. He was active in State organizations and his wife was a high priced lawyer.
Ron had never seen Sandy so angry. She sat venting in the board office with Ron and Bill. “Of all the short-sighted, wrong-headed decisions that they could have made, they chose this fool and now I am supposed to work for him? He knows nothing about how this district works and when MacTavish reached out and said that he would give him all the help that he needed, he met with him for one hour and was none too interested.”
“I agree with you,” said Bill. “They think that you’ll run the district and he will take care of the politics. I don’t think that they meant it as a slight to you.”
“Let’s face it Bill, I didn’t get hired because I’m not a man,” declared Sandy. “They could never have been comfortable with a woman leading them. That’s why I was convinced that they were going to choose Dirk.”
Ron was quiet. He was still the newbie in this group. He would do better to listen. He was sure that he would be happier working for Sandy than he would have been working for Bill, who he had found to be a math head who was not all that interested in creativity. Bill would always leave that to Sandy and Ron.
“He’s a fool and I’m going to have to save the district from this fool but I don’t have to like it. The good news is that he won’t do anything to block any of our plans. He won’t want to butt against me this early on. He wouldn’t know how to even if he did. So we soldier on and we run things the way that we know that they are supposed to be run.”

Chapter 94
Over Celeste’s desk was a framed saying that read: You can’t reminisce if you don’t remember anything. Most people ignored the sign. Ron was the only one who saw the immediate humor. She looked at his picture on her desk, tanned and kneeling with his arm around Keats. Her men.
Her program was full and she had a waiting list. The beauty of this was Celeste could now do whatever she pleased with her work day. She had contacted her farm and they were arranging a small luncheon and trip through the corn maze before they closed it down and started bringing in the Christmas trees.
It was a good time of year for her clients. The cold had not yet taken its yearly toll on them. They were already dressed for winter and talking about Thanksgiving.
Celeste’s phone rang. “Sunrise Social Center, this is Celeste Tuck.”
“Celeste, I’m so happy to finally talk with you. I called last week but you were on vacation. This is Nancy Atwood, from the Alzheimer’s Foundation. I’ve listened to your radio series with Franklin Fevel. You have a strong radio voice.”
“Thank you,” said Celeste. She could not imagine this woman sitting around the radio in the middle of the day listening to Franklin Fevel’s show. “How did you hear those shows?”
“I’ve heard a tape of all three and I am wondering if you would like to do some work with us?” said Nancy. “To begin with, we’d like to meet with you. I don’t think that at present it would interfere with what you are doing, but I know that you must be quite busy.”
Celeste was grinning broadly on the other end of the phone. “I would like that. I have the greatest respect for the Alzheimer’s Foundation.”
“Let’s have tea,” said Nancy Atwood.
Celeste wandered out into the main room in time to see chair yoga. Judy Campbell was bent over a straight backed chair, wearing yoga pants with her ample rump raised into the air. “Today we are gonna tighten our butts,” said Judy. “You just squeeze and release.” She demonstrated.
The women looked both horrified and amused. The men were smiling. Celeste turned on her heel to go back into her office. Perhaps Sally Winter would be a better choice to lead chair yoga.
Her telephone rang again. It was Marjorie. “Hi Marge, how are you feeling?”
“Oh Celestes,” Marjorie said her name making it a familiar form of possessive and plural that sounded almost liked baby talk. It was Marjorie’s term of endearment. “I’m just cold all the time.”
“Is George giving you a hard time about the heat?” said Celeste.
“He’s a cranky old bastard. He’s been a cranky old bastard for his entire life. I can’t stand to look at him!”
Marjorie was in venting mode. She was safe until the venting got around to Ron. Maybe she could keep that from happening. “At least you have Bumpy there.”
“Thank the Lord for Bumpy,” said Marjorie. “She never used the name Jesus Christ in exclamation. That was what Catholics did. “I would be crazy in a padded room without Bumpy. Who would I talk to? I could have just as two sided a conversation with a squirrel, and the squirrel would make more sense.”
This went on for a little while. “What are you and Ronald having for dinner?”
“He won’t be home tonight. He’ll get something on his own,” said Celeste thinking about a Chicken potpie that she could share with Keats and enjoy without his obvious disdain for anything chicken. “Why does he hate chicken so much?”
“He has always hated chicken soup. He claimed that the skin was slimy and the meat was dry,” remembered Marjorie.
“He still says the same thing,” said Celeste. One of her favorite meals had always been a roasted chicken. He would always eat it but never ask for it. When they still needed the money it was a cheap two dinner cook, but he turned his nose up at anything that was a left over now.
“He’s a stubborn man Celeste. He’s like his father,” declared Marjorie whenever she was putting out one of Ron’s less desirable traits.
“You can be a little stubborn too,” teased Celeste gently.
“When I’m right, of course I am. Everyone should be. But when I’m wrong, I have to admit that too. I saw that George would be a good provider and I was right about that, but he’s a miserable old greedy bastard and he’ll live forever.”

Chapter 95
The breeder’s home was in upper Passaic County. They left Keats at home and took the Nissan. They were excited. Norma Flynn was a middle aged woman with a little bit of an edge. Her home was large and spacious and she lived there alone, although Ron and Celeste had thought they saw movement inside the house. Norma and Ron had talked on the phone. They had checked each other out through the Irish Water Spaniels of America where they found that this litter would hold cousins from a previous litter to which Keats was born.
At first reluctant, Celeste was now totally committed. They greeted warmly at one of her side doors, where she was waiting for them at the top of her driveway. She wore old jeans, a work shirt, woolen vest and a bandana on her head. “There were five in this litter, I’m keeping one of the females, and the other is sold. There are three boys.” She exchanged a grin with Ron and Celeste.
As they walked Ron asked, “Do you hear anything from John Reilly?” He was the man they had gotten Keats from.
Norma chuckled. “His wife made him stop. I guess he had to keep his wife happy,” she said and shrugged. She exchanged a quick smile with Celeste that communicated a few volumes about what the relationship between John and her had been.
Norma open the gate and her entire demeanor changed. She was like a proud mom with her brood. “Over here everyone, she called out.
Ron saw four almost identical liver brown colored, immaculately groomed heads react and bound towards her, followed by four scampering, stumbling balls of brown fur who were trying to run.
Celeste crouched down and Norma corrected her. “Keep yourself higher than them until they get to know you. They are very friendly but very serious dogs.” Celeste stood back up and felt surrounded by Keats’ family. For a moment, she almost felt bad that he wasn’t there to say hello.
“You should have brought Keats with you,” said Norma.
“We weren’t sure how Keats would react,” said Ron.
Norma gestured to her pack. “They would have kept him in line.”
The three puppies made it to the group. Two of them went to Norma and one went to Celeste. She lifted him into her arms and never really saw the other two.
As they completed the exchange and the puppy lay in Celeste’s arms as she held him hypnotized with her soft stroking on his baby fur, Norma said, “What do you want to name him? We need it for the registry.”
Ron and Celeste smiled to each other. They had agreed on a name. “Fitzgerald,” said Celeste.
Norma gave Celeste a quick smile. “His official name had to begin with the letter Q. It’s how they date registries and lineage by using the alphabet instead of numbers which are banned.”
“Call him Quinn Fitzgerald,” said Ron.
Celeste felt a thrill. She liked that. “The mighty Quinn Fitzgerald” she cooed at him.
“He’s very social, very athletic.” Norma turned full-faced to Ron. “You understand that it is against the rules for you to breed him, don’t you?”
Celeste spoke up. “That is not going to be a problem I assure you.”

Fitzgerald slept in Celeste’s arms as Ron drove home. At least he slept as long as she stroked him. The minutes she stopped he began to stir.
Celeste felt compelled to begin petting him again.
“Keats is going to be so mad at you,” said Ron.
Celeste looked at him in utter disbelief. “You are a complete fucking lunatic. Now you are going to convince Keats that this was my idea and my fault?”
“Of course,” said Ron. “You’re absolutely in love already. What should I take any of the blame?” Ron paused and grinned at her a bit devilishly. “Keats won’t want to blame me, but he’s going to blame somebody.”
“A bastard of a lunatic. That’s what you are. And you’re not already totally committed to this Puppy?”
“Of course I am but something tells me that Fitzgerald will get more than his fair share of love.”

Chapter 96

It was a Sunday morning and they were having breakfast. Fitzgerald had doubled in size and could walk more easily. When they could see them both, Ron and Celeste would allow them on the floor together. They were still wary of Keats who seemed undecided about whether or not to allow the persistent puppy to live.
Angel pulled into the driveway with a spray of gravel. She was into the house and on her way up the stairs calling out her customary hello when she saw Fitzgerald come prancing in to meet her. “Oh my god, you got another one!” shrieked Angel. She walked passed the puppy, into the kitchen. “Shits-a-lot, you have a brother! I’ll bet you are thrilled about that.” Angel sat down, petted Keats and watched as Fitzgerald came prancing up to them. Keats gave a short little growl and Fitzgerald immediately redirected towards Celeste.
“Well, I got an internship with NBC Sports,” announced Angel. “I’ve already been out on Long Island covering Arena Football, they are flying me to Minnesota for the National Gymnastics Tournament, and if everything goes OK I’m going to be covering the Triple Crown in the spring.”
“That’s amazing! That’s fantastic,” said Ron.
“What are you going to be doing?” asked Celeste.
“Right now I’m just a go-for but they know that I have experience with sound and lighting so I get to do the crap work of setting up,” said Angel.
Keats ventured over to get some water and Fitzgerald took it as an opportunity to approach Angel. She could not resist picking him up. He was that soft and that pretty. When Keats turned, he saw Fitzgerald in Angel lap, made eye contact with the pup and sat down. Fitzgerald dutifully slipped down to the floor and over to Ron.
“It doesn’t matter what you are doing, the important thing is that you are part of the team,” said Celeste.
“It does matter what I am doing mother. It would be a lot better if I was running a camera or setting up lighting but those are union jobs and this is one of the only ways to qualify for a card.”
“I don’t know if I’m going to do great but I want to. So that’s what I need to talk to you about.” Angel and Ron shared a love of bagels and lox. She knew it would be there on a Sunday morning. She made herself a bagel with cream cheese lox and tomato. Angel held it up with two hands and sunk her teeth into it with delight. “I want to drop a couple of classes so that I can give this enough time.”
“That sounds fair,” said Ron automatically.
Celeste bit her lip. She would like to know more about what classes she was dropping. How many classes was she intending to take the next semester. Celeste knew they were committed to a couple of years of rent, but she wanted to make sure that Angel was making good use of the time.
Angel was happy. She did her laundry, raided the pantry, and was on her way while Ron was out on the lawn with Keats and Fitzgerald trying to get across the concept of stick and sharing. He was not doing that well. Keats was grabbing every stick Ron tossed and snatching every one that Fitzgerald picked up.
Celeste answered the phone. Chris Calvin said, “Hi, what’s up?”
“Chris, great to hear your voice. How are you?”
“Good, good,” said Chris. “Are you guys going to be home this afternoon?”
“Are you kidding Chris? The Giants are playing. Where else would we possibly be?” said Celeste and they both giggled that contagious giggle that they shared.
“I thought I might take a ride up,” said Chris.
“Ron would love to see you and we have a new puppy!” said Celeste.
“Do you need me to bring anything?” asked Chris. “I’ve already got what I think Ron would like.”
“No, I’m fine Chris. I’m not sure that Ron is able to get high anymore,” explained Celeste.
“Ron is always able to get high,” said Chris reassuringly. “He’s not the Chief Investigator any more right?”
Celeste laughed. “We haven’t seen you in such a long time. Can’t wait for you get here.”

Chapter 97
The sky was a late autumn gray. Fitzgerald had taken refuge with Celeste up in the bedroom. Keats was in the living room with Ron. The sound of the football game was muted. Jackson Browne was singing, “For Everyman” when Chris arrived.
Celeste had closed the bedroom door and was hoping that Fitzgerald did not beg to go downstairs. She wanted to give them some time alone.
Ron stood up when he heard Chris making his way up the stairs carrying his guitar and a pineapple. “How are you Chris?” said Ron. Chris embraced Ron and handed him a small baggie of pot. Rom saw the plastic bag and rolling papers and seemed to smile from a forgotten place.
Keats gave one bark which seemed like an air-raid siren. Fitzgerald immediately began to try to get down from the bed. When Celeste tried holding him and talking gently, he whimpered but continued to struggle. Celeste had to relent.
Chris was kneeling on the floor in front of his open guitar case. Ron was reclining on the couch with a pillow between his knees.
“How are pigs doing?”asked Celeste. “Hi Chris, nice to see you.”
Chris got up from his knees. Fitzgerald padded into the room, smaller than everyone else there. Chris and Celeste embraced warmly. She remembered that he always looked smaller until she hugged him, but was as tall as Ron. “I brought you something,” said Chris. He took her hand and led her back into the kitchen and showed her the pineapple. “Now we just need a cutting board and a big knife and we’re in business,” said Chris.
Celeste would have to say that in his awkward way it was touching. He was the only one of Ron’s friends who remembered to bring anything when they came to the house. She did not expect it from Angel’s friends but she did see it as an act of respect among adults. Celeste was touched and smiled. “You go and watch the game with Ron. I’ll take care of this.”
Jackson Browne was singing the words, “sing my songs to me” and Ron was sipping a rum and coke, smoking his first joint in years and absently petting Keats who was grinning. Chris eventually was introduced to Fitzgerald and was polite but uninviting with the puppy.
Chris began to tune his guitar, Ron sipped harder and petted Keats a little more intensely. Fitzgerald was trailing Celeste in the kitchen. Chris said, “I’ve been working on one of your songs.”
Chris laughed and sat cross legged on the floor. “Two of them actually. Hey, can we mute Jackson?”
Ron smiled, “We can try.” He loved double entndres and Chris was masterful at both creating and understanding them, intentional or otherwise.
“Have you been playing?” said Chris.
“No time, not enough talent,” said Ron.
“Hmmm,” said Chris. “Seems like it must have taken some talent to write this.” Chris launched into Riding in the Driving Rain Blues with a far more complex cord pattern than Ron could even understand or was vaguely capable of. Quietly, Ron remembered that he had written this song for Chris. He smiled as he recalled his frustration at trying to teach him the words and just agreeing to sing the thing as he played. The gift had never really gone farther than that.
He listened to the gravelly, evocative texture in Chris’s voice and was floating on this new old song of his when Chris forgot the words and abruptly stopped. He made a couple of false attempts and was stymied and went on to another part of the song.
Ron said, “Sitting in a traffic jam in New York City.”
Chris snapped back to that spot in the song and began again. Ron laid the now extinguished roach in the ashtray and Keats, silent as a shark, snapped it with his tongue, un-noticed.
“Where have you been?” said Ron. “I don’t think I’ve seen you for six months.”
“Don’t have a car anymore,” said Chris. “Helga let me borrow hers to come up here today.” Helga was the woman with whom Chris was living since things had gone really wrong and then gone worse and then hit the basement for what had been the structure of Chris’s life.
Ron did not know what to say. He could not explain what had happened. Vivid and sometimes bizarre scenes were like segments of video in back of his eyes as he listened to Chris sing a flawless and beautiful version of his song “Imagination.” He almost felt a tear when Chris sang the line, “But in my imagination, you’ll still be around.”
Next to Celeste, this was his best friend in the world. He wanted to help and didn’t know how. Nothing was going to put his marriage back together. Nothing was going to allow him to create the opportunities for his children that he had wanted them to have.
“Are you doing any lawyering?” asked Ron.
“I’m out to beat your record,” said Chris. “How long did you go without a job? Two years, maybe more.”
“We were in college Chris, we had to scam our money.”
Chris laughed and twirled the unkempt end of his moustache. “We decided to scam our money,” he corrected.
“So what’s your plan now?” said Ron.
“Haven’t got one,” said Chris.

Chapter 98

Tea led to a request that Celeste be interviewed by a larger radio station. The subject was the importance of a living will. Celeste had been strongly in favor of the concept since she worked across the street. She thought that it just made sense for people to think about the end of life care of their own bodies as much as they thought about the after their life care of their assets.
Celeste had put it that way with Franklin Fevel and the way that she expressed it intrigued Nancy Atwood who saw an opportunity to get out a good message. They sat in the Morristown radio station.
It was more spacious, there were more wires and a control board behind a glass panel where two engineers worked the show. Celeste knew Franklin had an engineer but she had never seen him.
Nancy was smooth in her reading of an advertisement and turned to Celeste. “Today we are here with Celeste Tuck, also known as the Death Lady of Warren County. Celeste why don‘t you tell us how you came to get that name?”
Celeste was a little flabbergasted. “I guess I didn’t know I had that name.”
That was exactly the reaction that Nancy wanted. “Celeste Tuck has earned that name by being courageous enough to speak out about end of life care. The subject that nobody wants to talk about. How do you cope with that Celeste?”
At this point Celeste was kind of wondering where all this was going, and if she was going to be able to cope with the interview. She felt a little blindsided and then praised.
“It’s probably best if you don’t make it the centerpiece of holiday dinner conversations,” said Celeste. Remembering when Ron had insisted that he tell his mother and George and Bumpy about it at one of their holiday meals. That had been one of his rather poor judgements of timing. “What I mean is that when people are ready to talk about these things, they will ask. I just suggest that they not wait until they are incapable of asking.”
“There are many ways to have a diminished capacity to ask, aren’t there? said Atwood.
“Yes, definitely,” said Celeste. She launched into the direction in which she knew Nancy was steering her. She knew that dementia was the way that she wanted her to go. “It’s not that you won’t remember who your doctor is, although that can happen eventually, it is that you may have impaired judgement over what you think is best for you.”
“Celeste, are you talking about Euthanasia?” asked Atwood.
Celeste knew she needed to be careful here. There was only so much detail for which the average person could abide consideration, before they switched her off with a decided prejudice against hearing more. There may come a time when they needed to hear more, but then they would no longer have a choice.
“No it is about retaining control. If you decide you no longer wish to eat, do you want to be forced to endure a feeding tube is an example.”
She saw Atwood wince a little. That was a powerful image. She segwayed into an advertisement about living on the lakes in the Poconos.
After the interview Nancy said, “Celeste I am going to be very honest with you. We think that you’d make a very positive addition to our team. I would like you to come to our offices in Parsippany and listen to an offer.”
Celeste felt her cheeks warm from the flattery. She was pretty sure that she did not wish more upheaval in her life but said that she would be happy to meet in Parsippany.

Chapter 99
Even Sandy would have to agree that No Child Left Behind being enacted and Leon Stavros arriving at Middle Hills was coincidental, but she couldn’t help herself. Bill, Ron and Sandy watched from the Board office room as Leon made his way to his car.
“Did you ever see anyone walk that slowly?” observed Sandy. “He moves like a reptile in cold weather.” Her hatred of him was palpable. “The two of you should thank me that you don’t have to deal with him more. He knows nothing.”
“Better put,” said Bill, “he knows exactly as much as you would expect a graduate of the University of Phoenix to know.”
The three of the chuckled. When Stavros displayed his degree and started making reference to it, there was difficulty in holding back titters from anyone who knew. It was almost an on-line scam shop. Ron was surprised that you could even call a degree from this place a real one. In itself, it was no real measure of the man, but the fact that he openly referred to it was.
“So, No Child Left Behind. What is your assessment of how it will impact the district? Sandy looked at Ron. Two of his areas were the most troubling.
“We have a separate problem at each school,” said Ron. “Because Summit’s Special Education program is popular and people have actually moved into the district because of it. Our cohort is too big too not be considered and measured. Because of our sending districts to Hills, our ESL population is also in the same category.”
Sandy looked over at Bill. “What about you?”
“We will have to start coordinating far better with the sending districts. With the level of preparation that we are getting from some of them, there is no way that our students will be able to pass. But I think we have a couple of years before penalties start to apply.
“So you are both telling me that we are screwed and about to look bad,” said Sandy.
The truth was that the testing systems were designed to have schools fail. The first part of that design was that no penalties accrued to a school until high school. Students could be denied graduation as the result of not passing the High School Proficiency Assessment by the time they were scheduled to graduate. Aside from this, students were not impacted at any earlier point. A high school could be penalized for not meeting what was called AYP, or Adequate Yearly Progress towards the President’s stated goal of having 100% of students proficient before they earned a high school diploma.
Unlike states like Texas, where state testing required a 6th grade education in order to pass, New Jersey had opted for a test that was set at 10th grad norms and was first administered during the first part of the junior year. New Jersey was told that they would not be allowed to change their limits.
Until now, Summit was customarily in the top ten schools in the state and Hills in the top twenty. This was going to change all that.
“I think that all of us need to make our voices heard at State Department of Education meetings and in every way that we can. Bill, I want you to set up meeting with the grammar school principals this month. Ron I want you to help me with an article that we are going to write for the School Administrators Magazine. We are also appearing on TV Ron, so make sure you have a bunch of answers to a bunch of questions translated into language that regular people will understand.”
“When are we going on TV?” said the surprised Ron.
“Right after the holidays. You’ll be great,” said Sandy.
“What about Stavros?” said Bill.
“He wants to do the same sniveling act that you would expect out of him. ‘If that’s what the state wants’ was all he said. He wouldn’t know a principle if it crawled up his pants leg.”

Chapter 100
Ron, Celeste and Connie sat having their morning conference call. Sometimes each was at a desk and sometimes Ron and Connie had Celeste on speaker while they all had coffee.
The regular topics were the TV programs they were all watching, but today Connie said, “OK, you have all talked me into it. Steve found the cruise you are going on and booked it.” Connie laughed. “So I guess if I’m going to die it’s going to be among friends.”
Celeste said in a dreamy enthusiasm, “We’re going to Venice together!”
Connie sipped at her coffee. Ron smiled often when he saw that Connie tore the little V in the top of her container. He did the same thing and had showed Celeste how to do it. Even though he hadn’t learned the skill in Newark, he asked Connie, “Where did you learn to tear that V into the top of your container?”
Connie with her newly relaxed and immaculately trimmed straight black hair framed her face like a portrait. She stared down at the lid. She looked up at Ron quizzically. “The lids have little perforations on the top, see?” She showed Ron her lipsticked lid.
Celeste laughed on the other end of the line.
Ron defended, “They didn’t always have them.”
Celeste could picture the two of them as they spoke and the image caught her funny bone. “I let Ron show me how to rip open my lid,” she started.
“I’m sure you did,” interrupted Connie. This brought giggling laughter from both women and a proud grin from Ron.
Celeste continued her tease, “And now he thinks that he invented it and they stole his idea with the perforations.”
Ron had never really expressed that to Celeste, but he had showed her how to tear the pie shaped hole in the top. It was fair game.
“You should have had a patent,” continued Connie.
Ron directed a feigned exasperation at Celeste, “Tell her you made that up or she’ll tease me about the millions that I should have made from the idea forever.”
Both women laughed again. “So, how do I pack for this voyage?” said Connie.
Ron checked out of the conversation to look at his calendar. He had a pre-conference to an evaluation in fifteen minutes. “I’ve got someone coming in for a conference,” he said.
Celeste had one more jibe. “Are you telling your wife and her girlfriend that they have to get off the phone?”
Ron was smooth. “No dear, I am suggesting that my wonderful assistant move your conversation to her desk.”
Connie almost giggled. “I really do have to get some work done.”

Tim O’Rourke was a good teacher who hated the bureaucracy involved. He had tried to make it for years as a professional actor, he wrote poetry, and he was a student of literature. Tim also harbored vile feelings of resentment towards all administration. Directives got his defiant back up and ready for a fight.
Tim was a challenge for Ron. The classes Ron had seen were at least good and sometimes very good. Tim shared the belief that Ron had held about the only way to teach kids to write was to have them do it over and over. Tim had also been smart enough to realize that students would only write if they were interested.
He sat across from Ron and at first they chatted about what books Tim was teaching.
“So what are you going to do with the class?” said Ron.
“I’m going to teach them about Frankenstein,” said Tim.
Ron feigned a little laugh. “Ok but how are you going to go about it?”
“Same way that you used to go about it, Ron. Remember?”
“OK, Tim,” relented Ron. “Let’s let it be my surprise. But Tim, you’ve given me lesson plans once so far this year. I can’t keep ignoring it. When we do your evaluation, you know? If I don’t have any plans I have to say that I haven’t gotten any plans.”
Tim was not concerned. “You’ll just do what you have to do, Ron.”
“Tim, you’re really going to make me give a fine teacher a less than stellar evaluation. What is the point of that?”
Tim became deadly serious. “The point Ron is that I know I’m teaching them and I think that you believe that I’m teaching them. Why isn’t that enough?”
“If you’d just give me a summary of what you covered so far, I could accept that and we could move on.”
“You’ll do what you have to do, Ron.”

Chapter 101
As Christmas presents to the house, Ron and Celeste bought a pellet stove and installed a doggy door. Along with the door had come a wireless fence that created an area of thirty yards in a circle. Ron fitted Fitzgerald with a radio transmitter after he tested it by shocking his own neck until he found a level that was not painful but a serious reminder. He led Fitz out to the perimeter of the invisible fence that Ron had marked with small, red flags. Fitzgerald heard the warning beeps and froze for a second. Ron walked back and Fitz followed him.
Ron crouched down over the small Fitz and kissed his muzzle. He whispered, “You have to understand that this will be a great thing for you, but you’re gonna have to learn a lesson. Ron knew he didn’t get it. How could he? Fitzgerald was just not as good at reading other people’s feelings as Keats was. He was still a self-involved puppy.
Ron got to his feet and took several steps forward. Fitzgerald followed despite the warning beeps and the shock knocked him off of his feet. Ron scooped him up and carried him back to safety. He whispered, “Once you hear the beep, you have to stop.”
He put Fitz down and in that instant, shock now totally forgotten, he went to find a stick for Ron to toss. Keats liked it too but Fitzgerald was obsessed with fetch.
The pellet stove was a major purchase. It was installed at the head corner across the door from the fireplace that was no longer to be used much. The temperature could be kicked up as high as you wanted it.
It was New Year’s Eve and Ron had been blasting the thing all day. Celeste had the oven on. Keats and Fitzgerald were drinking more water.
Celeste had placed candles all over the living room and lit the frame over the live tree that they kept on the deck and that Ron intended to plant that spring.
The candles flickered in the breeze created by the open windows. Celeste remembered her father bellowing when someone left a window open in the wintertime. “Are we heating Fairlawn tonight?”
She expected that Ron’s attitude was about as far away from her father’s as was possible and she was happy for that. But this was crazy.
“You know how insane it is to have the windows open and the stove blazing in January, don’t you?”
“You made me promise to make it always be summer,” said Ron. “This is the best I can do.”
The music was soft jazz and this was how they were bringing in their new year.
“What are you going to do about the other job?” said Ron.
“I don’t want to go anywhere else, Ron. I like it where I am. I’m happy. I don’t like the pressure of having people on my back and I can do some good.”
“You could become a spokesperson. Now they want you to do TV! It is a shot for something different.
Celeste felt a little shock ripple through her belly. She could not believe that she was about to say this. She always liked different so much more than he did. “I don’t think I want anything different, Ron. I think I’m content. I wish my daughter didn’t hate me, but that’s not changing now. She’s healthy and has a future she is pursuing. I’m good with it all.” Celeste looked at Ron with a tinge of admiration and sympathy. “I don’t think that I have that same drive that you do. I don’t think that you can live without it.”
“It is what I’m doing right now,” said Ron.
Fitzgerald surprised Celeste by showing her that he could jump all the way up onto the couch. They shared a look of astonishment. “Have you ever seen him do that before?” said Celeste.
“I’ve never seen a puppy that young do that before,” answered Ron.
Fitzgerald burrowed in to Celeste’s body as close as he possibly could and then shut his eyes to sleep. Ron was petting Keats and Bill Evans was playing piano to what seemed to be in time with the flickering of the lights in the moving air.
“You’ve seen Chris twice in a month now and each time he has wanted oxycodone.”
“I know,” said Ron. “I’m going to tell him that we have no more. We still have plenty in case either of us gets into trouble right?”
“We’re fine,” said Celeste. The stockpile of pain meds that she kept on hand was prodigious, but neither of them ever abused the pills and both regularly suffered some form of acute orthopedic distress. Something that was in the back of her mind once in a while now. “Are you going to say anything to him?”
Ron dismissed her. “There would be absolutely no point in that.”

Chapter 102

The spring thaw was in full drip. Everywhere one stepped was spongy. There were still small crusts of ice in places that did not get much sun. He was pretty sure he could drive the second hand Ford truck up to the top of the rise of the property but the weight on the load of top soil was causing the mud flaps to drag on the pavement of the county road as he navigated the relatively short ride home. Ron had closed off the doggy door because he already had a plan about what he was going to do. There were two things on his side. Speed and the good set of tires he had put on the Ford.
Ron was hoping for a clear road and he got it. He crossed the road at about twenty five miles an hours and bucked and bounced and squeaked his way to the top of the rise. Ron smiled when he put it in first gear and turned off the truck. He looked at the deep tracks he had made in the new grass on the way up the rise and smiled. He didn’t care. They would go away. At the top of the terraced garden, in back of the barn and atop the twelve foot field stone wall, Ron had carved out enough dirt for a large vegetable garden.
He went inside to let his puppies out and they bounded from their confinement like creatures who had been denied the use of the yard for days instead of the hour Ron has closed them in to go get the dirt and jockey it to the top of the rise. They sniffed around the new space and christened it. They were curious about shovel filled with dirt that Ron flung into the garden.
Three hours later Ron had finished shoveling out the truck and was raking the new top soil smooth. He was sweating and thought he was about done when Keats came over and deposited a large poop in the center of his newly created garden. Ron laughed, “Well you didn’t waste any time, did you?”
Finished now and using his back paws to try to cover his deposit Ron watched Keats undo some of his work. “I suppose it is the softest dirt around,” said Ron.
That afternoon, Ron put up his fencing which consisted of rolls of chicken wire attached to long metal posts that be banged into the ground until his shoulders hurt and his hands tingled from the banging. He was tired, hurting and proud.
Celeste came out to have a look. “Do you think the fence will be enough to keep the critters out?”
Ron grinned, “The fence and Fitzgerald should do the trick.”
Fitz, hearing his name trotted over. He came to Celeste and waiting, not patiently to be hugged. He was a strong boy now who had an abundance of energy. He charged through the doggy door fifteen times a day, because he did everything at a charging speed, and because he might have missed something since the last time he was out.
Keats came over to Ron and sat beside where he was standing. Fitzgerald, trained by the occasional nip to his hindquarters and the occasional swat or growl, responded to each of Keats movements or signals. “I’m going to train them to be puppies with a job,” said Ron.
In full view of Celeste, Fitzgerald and Keats, Ron opened his overalls and urinated against his newly planted fence. Celeste quickly looked around to see if anyone was watching. “That’s disgusting, Ron. You’re just as much of an animal as they are,” complained Celeste.
To her amazement Keats dutifully lifted his leg and peed against the fence. Fitzgerald trotted over and followed suit. Celeste was aghast. “I live with a crew of animals!” said Celeste. She stared at Ron accusingly. “Disgusting animals,” she said again. And started back into the house. Fitzgerald dutifully followed her through the doggy door and into the house. Keats gave one bark to signal his approval.
Ron followed Celeste into the house. “You could always come out and cop a squat and join in,” said teasingly.
Keats followed Ron into the house lifted his leg and gave a little squirt against the side of their couch.
Celeste screamed, “I live with a bunch of filthy animals,”

Chapter 103
Ron and Celeste were seeing Connie and Steve tonight to help them get through a bad night. Stephanie’s engagement had fallen apart. In fact he had taken the puppy that they bought for their new home, moved to Florida and told Stephanie that he really didn’t want to get married. He notified her of this change of heart five weeks before their intended wedding.
Connie had to cancel everything. Steve was becoming increasingly angry at the amount of money they were losing from down payments and deposits. The number was creeping up into the thousands.
The four of them decided that the only thing to do was get together and party. “What are we going to do?” said Connie. “We don’t want to sit home and feel sorry for ourselves.”
Ron had an idea. “Suppose we go down to the place and take pictures? We can see if they have already booked it again. That can’t hurt.”
Steve had agreed. Maybe pictures of the hall, already re-booked would be helpful. It couldn’t make things worse. Steve had mixed some of the most potent Long Island Ice Teas that he had ever made.
It was a warm spring night and the drinks went down easily. Ron asked at one point if there was much alcohol in these drinks. Steve laughed, “It’s all alcohol. It just doesn’t taste like it.”
Connie and Celeste stopped after the first drink. Steve and Ron had three. Connie tried to warn Ron about drinking with Steve. “He’s got a hollow leg, Ron. I’ve never seen anyone who can tolerate as much alcohol as Steve.”
Steve smiled and Ron took it as a challenge. “What else are friends for if you can’t get blasted with each other once in a while?”
Connie drove their Honda down to the Brownstone Inn. It was a place that Celeste knew well. It was close to Paterson and her family had used it forever.
The place was in full swing when they arrived. Ron realized that he was not quite himself, when he felt the unsteady carriage of his legs moving him along while he sort of watched himself walking. They were dressed very casually and this drew suspicious looks from the people who were filing into the reception area and the tuxedo-clad staff who were watching them closely.
Ron walked in snapping pictures. Steve was at his side but quiet. “May I help you?” said the maître d.
“We’re here,” said Ron in a voice that was a bit too loud for the surroundings, “because you are trying to screw these good people out of getting a deposit back and claiming that you couldn’t book the room on short notice. But it looks to me like you’ve got all your rooms going. I’m just going to take a few pictures.”
The maître d started to say that Ron could not do that but Ron brushed passed him and started snapping pictures of the guest registry and standing in the entrance of the various rooms and setting off his flash to the slightly startled guests who were assembling.
Two large men appeared from out of nowhere at the signal of the maître d. They were burly men who had either not shaved that day or had incredibly thick beards. “That’s enough, Sir.”
“Why? I’m just taking a few pictures. I’m not bothering anyone. You folks have nothing to hide, right?” Ron was buzzed and his words were tumbling out with a slight slur. Steve retreated when the men came closer.
“Come with us, now Sir,” said one of the men as he clamped a heavy hand on Ron’s shoulder.
Ron was agitated, “Why should I come with you? You going to write out a check to my friends who have had enough go wrong, when some scumbag, who looks a little like the two of you, by the way, runs out on their daughter like the dickless wonder that he is and that maybe you are too?”
The men were on either side of Ron and in no mood to be gentle with him as soon as they got him away from the still arriving guests. This was not going to go well for Ron.
It was then that Celeste appeared from out of nowhere and said, “Is Anthony Ragucci here?” The men seemed to freeze at the sound of the name and let Ron go.
“Do you know Mr. Ragucci, Miss?”
“He’s an old friend of my family from Paterson,” said Celeste.
Hearing the name, the maître d came back over. “I’ll be happy to tell Mr. Ragucci that you’re here, but we can’t have this. Do you know this man?
“He’s my husband,” said Celeste.
The men let go of Ron and Steve walked him back to the car. Celeste went to meet with Tony Ragucci. In the car, Ron said, “I think we got all the pictures.”
Twenty minutes later Celeste came out of the Brownstone and got into the Honda and handed Steve a check. “I think that’s everything,” she said.
“How did you do that?” exclaimed an astonished Steve.
“It was just a family thing,” said Celeste. “Let’s get out of here before they remember Ron”
Ron was now hugging her in the back seat repeating, “I was just trying to help.”
Celeste patted his head and Connie laughed. “You really showed them,” said Celeste.

Chapter 104
Celeste truly believed that Ron would be in a severe hangover state this morning. After losing his credit card under the table at which the four of them had gone to dinner, he had drunk more and gotten to the state where him passing out was a distinct possibility. He had avoided that, but finding out the waitress’ name was Sara, he launched into an uncontrollable and badly mangled version of the Bob Dylan song by the same name. Celeste remembered Steve smiling like a Cheshire cat and Connie whispering to Celeste, “I tried to warn him about drinking with Steve.”
When she woke up this morning and reached for him, he was gone and so were both dogs. Fitzgerald not being there when she woke up, startled her. A few moments later she saw his note, Went to bakery, took the dogs. She wished he had saved this maiden voyage for a time when he was feeling better.
She was sitting at the table having coffee when she heard the door and the sets of paws coming up the stairs. She smiled and thought that her baby was OK and that Keats had given up the idea that he could just kill him and be done with the nuisance. She had to admit that Keats had actually accepted Fitzgerald and had even showed him occasional tenderness.
“How are you feeling?” asked Celeste.
“I feel fine,” said Ron.
“You feel fine? Do you realize how drunk you got last night?”
“Yeah,” said Ron. “I was pretty plastered. It was a great night though.”
Celeste was incredulous. “And you feel fine today?”
“Yeah,” said Ron. “I took the dogs to the bakery and we got bagels and lox and the paper. Two stops and not one squabble. Fitz whimpers when I get out of the car though.”
Celeste was annoyed. A person who got that drunk should have to pay. It seemed like a scam that he got off scot free. She could tell, he wasn’t faking that he was OK, he was.
Not totally unexpectedly, Angel arrived carrying her basket of laundry. Ron wondered if all adult children picked Sunday mornings to visit their parents. He had done it. Celeste told him that she had done it. Here was Angel.
“I feel like a duck who has been fucked with a firecracker,” said Angel.
Everyone was silent except for Fitzgerald who padded over happily. Keats heard her tone and sensed the tension in Ron and Celeste and kept his distance.
“Fritz,” said Angel. She bent down to pet him.
“What happened?” said Ron. “Did you go to the Preakness?”
“Oh, I went to the Preakness! I’m just going to run downstairs and threw these clothes in,” said Angel. “I really don’t want to talk about it.
“Do you want me to slice you a bagel?” said Ron.
“Yes, please,” said Celeste, “and then if you’ll do my wrists?”
She walked to the ringing phone and picked it up as he sliced three bagels. They were all sesame so it didn’t matter except for the pumpernickel that he’d gotten Celeste to begin to apologize for being a complete ass last night.
“Hi Chris,” said Celeste. “Yes, I think we’re going to be home. Sure we’d love to see you.”
“Chris is coming over,” said Celeste.
“Sundays aren’t quiet anymore are they?” said Ron.
Celeste sat down to fix her bagel and look at the newspaper. “You have no schedule, no meetings, and no crusades to mount. Sure, it’s a quiet day.”
They laughed as Angel came back upstairs. “This apprenticeship is another word for slave labor.”
Ron and Celeste both smiled. It was true. “You’re like the roadies,” said Ron.
“I’m like two steps below a roadie. If I am lucky, I get to kiss a roadie’s ass,” posited Angel.
“Have some breakfast,” said Ron.

It was on this third visit that Chris coaxed Ron into picking up his guitar.
He first asked to see it. They he tuned it. Then he played it and handed it to Ron. It felt both familiar and strange in his hands. He stretched his fingers and strummed a few cords and then put it down. “I don’t know,” said Ron. “I really haven’t got time to practice. Celeste doesn’t like my guitar playing and she barely tolerates my voice.”
Celeste didn’t mean to hear this from the kitchen but she did. She wondered if he meant it of if he was just deflecting Chris.
Chris said, “I want to play this lead that I have been working on for The Woman I Love Said Goodbye,” He gestured down at the guitar. “Just play the chorus.”
Later Chris met with Celeste in the kitchen. “Do you have some valium still?”
He had changed the drug. Celeste was prepared to tell him that they had no more oxy, but he asked for something that she had plenty of and probably would not ever be needing again. “I have some but they’re six years old, back from when Ron got sick. I don’t know if they’re still any good.
Chris snapped his fingers and smiled, “Shelf life of valium is at least 7 years old.”

Chapter 105
Ron sat with Nicole Johannsen at his Hills office. “I got approval to run the course, now I need you to write the curriculum,” said Ron.
Nicole gave him that beautiful smile that Ron was sure melted most men. “So you are actually going to run it with the choice of subject electives in the fall?” asked Nicole.
“Yes,” said Ron so we have to have it ready and I already budgeted the money for the films.
The Art of Film had been Ron’s brainchild. He dressed it up in all the appropriate language and tried to hit all the sweet spot of what Middle Hills required for an addition to its curriculum. His most strenuous objections had come from Sandy Humz.
“Ron this was a big issue when we were researching the Block. Board of Education members objected that teachers would use the longer classes to just show movies and so I stripped just about all of the films from the English Department Library. You’re going against something that I preached for five years.”
Ron had thrown her off balance with his first assertion. “We aren’t going to show movies in class. My plan is to give each student a personal copy of the film the way that we give them a book. They will view it on their own time,” explained Ron.
“How can we possibly afford that?” asked Sandy.
“It will only be a financial burden the first year and after that it will be less expensive,” said Ron. The films will get used again and again. We can swap them between buildings and go in reverse order in the schools.”
“Have you seen some of the prices that they are charging schools for movies?” objected Sandy.
“We aren’t going to use educational suppliers. I can get everything I need either through Amazon or at COSTCO.”
“Here’s the justification,” said Ron. “The state says that we need to school students through reading, writing, listening, speaking and viewing the language. We aren’t doing anything with viewing skills and a still frame for this course will make excellent practice for the picture prompt writing that they’ve instituted.”
“We can get pictures anywhere,” said Sandy.
“What we can’t get is the vocabulary that helps kids to express their ideas about what they have seen.” Sandy seemed unconvinced so Ron decided to take a chance. “You’ve seen The Horse Whisperer, right?”
“Five times,” said Sandy a little defensively.
“Suppose instead of just saying that it was good, kids could write about the use of music when they transported Pilgrim cross country. The use of an establishing short to show the differences in terrain. The uses of lighting when we first see Pilgrim after his accident.”
Sandy agreed. It was a valuable approach. He then started tickling Nicole with the idea. She was viewed as one of the best teachers in the district. She had Marilyn Seeger’s stamp of approval. She had the district’s sympathy because of the untimely death of her husband. No one was going to want to reject Nicole if she had something she felt strongly about doing.
When she started mentioning different titles and what she could do with them, Ron knew that he had her interest. Then he started creating graphic organizers that would help with collaborative learning.
He knew that her juices were flowing when she started coming back with graphic organizers of her own. “So,” said Ron “let’s pick out our 15 titles.”
“I saw that film about the Beanfield that you picked out for the magical thinking genre. It’s really good and I never heard of it before. What do you think about using Moulin Rouge and contrasting it with Busby Berkeley clips?” said Nicole.
“I didn’t like the movie, but I see where you are going,” said Ron.
“We’ve got to figure out who is going to teach it at Summit,” said Ron.
“Don’t worry about that,” grinned Nicole. “Drew Weaver will jump at the chance to work closer to me.
“Can you control him?” asked Ron.
“I’ll just agree to let him take me to the movies. It’s a way for me to get him off my back. We used to date but I stopped that.”
Ron was surprised. Drew Weaver was a full ten inches shorter than she was. He could not picture them together. After a couple of hours they had their list. Nicole would get $750 for creating the curriculum. “I feel like I’m cheating for taking this money,” said Nicole. “You’ve done most of the work.”
Ron smiled. “I’m on salary.”

Chapter 106
Venice was a dream and it flickered in back of their eyes as the ship left the port. The sounds of the water lapping against the canals, the shouting communication of the shopkeepers, and the light as it bathed everything in sepia, the unexpected flowers blooming from omnipresent windows, the smells of the sea as they swept in from the south and the Mediterranean.
Ron was learning that he had an eye for taking pictures. It hadn’t really occurred to him before, but he knew a good photograph when he saw it. He knew that he might take the smiling picture of Celeste here or there in front of this or that. But if they were alone, Celeste would pose and that was a whole different thing for both of them.
He had learned to find angles and light. He had learned to create composition in his photographs. He had done really well with butterflies, but told himself that everybody did well with butterflies. But he had taken pictures as they walked through Venice and slipped along the canals in gondolas that he felt differently about. He had decided that he wanted his pictures to be things that were looked at for themselves, not who was in them.
Celeste could still feel the excitement in San Marcos Square at night when everything was lit and vibrant. Four or five bands played in turn, and sometimes in unison, and sometimes in competition from the outdoor restaurants where people danced, laughed, ate and sang.
Connie was a little nervous about what it would be like on the water but so far everything smelled, tasted, sounded, and look so good that she could not imagine something going wrong. There was hardly any rocking as they lay back in the sun on the deck.
Steve was studying the map and watching the people pass by. Ron and Celeste were friends. They had helped him convince Connie to go on this kind of trip. Celeste had saved him that money. Ron was funny and felt loyal.
Steve said quietly to Ron, “Take a quick look at Abercrombie.”
Ron looked back from out over the rail and saw a pretty young girl with red hair down to her shoulders and happily bouncing breasts inside a cut off t-shirt the read Abercrombie. Ron let his eyes travel downward, as they invariably wanted to do, and saw her bikini clad bottom rolling in a decidedly delicious walk. Ron smiled. “She’s a star.”
That’s as far as that part of communication had ever gone between them, nothing really more personalized than that. It was easy and open and the girls joined in. “I think we should scout out some of our own Abercrombies,” said Connie.
Celeste took off her sunglasses grinned and looked around. She was all for that. They ordered drinks. The sun got hotter and Connie and Celeste got rid of the cover-ups.
Ron was happily taking mental photographs of the pretty people he saw walking by. “So, no SCUBA for you this time, Babe” said Celeste.
“Nope,” said Ron. “This is a different kind of trip. I’ve wanted to see Greece forever. Walking on those islands will feel like a pilgrimage and a reunion for me.”
“What do you mean?” said Connie.
“I’ve spent so much of my life reading stories that come from these places and teaching the lessons of the characters that were created by these writers. I want to see what they were seeing. I want to feel the sea air that they wrote about. I want to imagine Odysseus is real.”
“Is he your favorite character from those stories?” said Connie.
Ron had to think about that for a moment. A certain level of sophisticated snobbery among his circle of friends would have made such a question seem too common and not clever enough to be considered seriously. It was like what is your favorite flavor or color or song. It would be like asking Connie or Celeste what’s your favorite kind of food? Then it struck Ron that neither Connie nor Celeste would respond in a way that was other than sincere. There was something he could learn to do more of. “Yes, he is,” said Ron. Ron laughed and leaned in to the group. “He has no super powers, only his wits.” Connie nodded her head thoughtfully.
Celeste said to Connie. “You’ve just been introduced to Mr. Tuck, the teacher.”
Ron looked up at Celeste a little astonished. When she said that he’d felt a jolt.

Chapter 107
Ron and Celeste selected a walk through the town of Albertobello to see the Trulle houses. Connie and Steve went to see a thirteenth century castle. The two couples were each on a four hour excursion but much of it was spent on buses. The tour guide for Ron and Celeste’s bus was a young woman from the town they were travelling towards. She was about twenty five years old and smiling constantly. Celeste said, “My grandfather was born in Albertobello. My grandmother too.” She used a combination of speaking slowly and hand gestures.
The girl smiled broadly and said, “That is good. You come back home.”
Celeste hadn’t thought of it that way but nodded her head and agreed happily.
“There was a sweet food my grandmother made at Christmas. No one ever heard of it before,” explained Celeste.
The girl nodded half understanding and half welcoming someone who was once from the town. She had heard the some Americans called themselves Italians, but she didn’t understand how that worked and why they would want to be from a place that they left. “Yes,” she said nodding.
Celeste said, “She took zeppole dough and fried it and then boiled it in grape jelly.”
A large grin spread across the girl’s face and she said, “Bambini dolce.”
“Yes,” said Celeste understanding. Ron traded places with the girl, and she and Celeste sat together and shared the recipe for the dish that Celeste learned had nothing to do with Christmas but was a dessert that was served mainly to children.
When they reached the town, the girl now holding hands with Celeste as they walked along the cobblestone streets that were actually hard to navigate because each of the stones seemed to be so smooth and distinct and a bit slippery if you did not know how to walk these streets.
The street was obviously spruced up for tourists and there were definite streets that the girl was trained to guide you towards but when Celeste said that her family owned one of the houses in the town and she would like to visit it, the girl asked question after. Did she have the address? Did she know if they still owned it? What was her family’s last name?”
Then Celeste said, “Bragovinni.”
The girl lit up and said, “You are Bragovinni?”
Ron had never heard the name before. As far as he knew, their name had been Brago.
The Trulle house was conical shaped with walls that were several feet thick. The Bragovinni house had become a sort of informal Inn. They served lemon cello. When the proprietor learned that Celeste was Bragovinni and that her father was Mario Bragovinni, she was taken to a wall where the male names of the Bragovinni family had been carved for hundreds of years. Celeste reached out and touched the carving of her father’s name. Then the small group, including Celeste, blessed themselves and said, “Familia,” and took turns embracing and kissing Celeste and the astonished Ron.
Celeste and Ron and what was there of the Bragovinni family sat drinking their lemon cello as the slightly feral Bragovinni cat wandered over and bit Celeste’s partially sandal covered big toe. Celeste screamed more because she had not seen the cat and no idea what had bitten her. The Bragovinnis were alarmed and jumped up to drive the cat away and get first aid for the bleeding toe. Celeste was warned that she should have a tetanus shot when she got back to the ship. The Bragovinnis knew how Americans were and said, “You no sue. We kill the cat.”
Celeste was horrified and assured them that they did not have to kill the cat.
Ron wandered and snapped pictures of the interior and exterior of the Trulle house and then they climbed back into the bus to head back to the ship.

Chapter 108

The four travelers sat by the pool having drinks in the afternoon sun of Italy that was blazing hot. Ron and Steve sat under an umbrella but both Celeste and Connie were fully greased, with the exception of Celeste’s newly bandaged big toe. The conversation was easy. Ron and Steve were doing their ever-present Abercrombie search and Celeste and Connie were talking about the dessert that Connie had never heard of either.
A muscular man with dyed blonde hair remembered Connie and Steve from the castle trip. He was stretched out on a longue chair with his companion. The man said to Steve, “Hell of a long bumpy, ride to see a bunch of old rocks,” he said.
Steve nodded in his affable way. He and Connie enjoyed the trip but he wasn’t going to contradict. The man was talking and alternately caressing the bottom of the woman lying next to him and pointing to her nicely rounded cheeks for the other two men.
Ron noticed that the man and woman had matching tattoos. He had been thinking of getting a tatt since he started diving. His father’s admonition still rung in his ears. “Don’t do it unless you are sure. I got this thing at twenty–one and I’m still stuck with it.” He had been thinking about a sea horse on his calf. At first he wanted a dolphin but then he found out that dolphins were a favorite tattoo of gay men and used as a signal to other gay men. The dolphin got dumped and Ron was now unsure about the sea horse. But this man and his wife had matching tattoos. Ron wondered about that.
It was a small spray of flowers wrapped in a ribbon and fastened with a small heart. It was on the man’s forearm and the woman’s thigh. Ron didn’t like the tatt itself but the idea intrigued him. “Did you and your wife get those at the same time?” said Ron, pointing to the man’s tatt.
He gave them woman a little pat of her bottom and said, “Oh she isn’t my wife, she’s my secretary.”
Connie looked over at Ron and said quickly, “Don’t even think about it.”
Celeste and Connie looked at Ron accusingly. The secretary ignored them.
“I wasn’t thinking anything,” protested Ron. The four of them laughed. The man told his secretary that it was time to go back to their cabin. She stood up and began to gather both of their things.
The group watched the two walk away. “What do you think?” said Ron. “Half an Abercrombie?”
“Maybe,” said Steve.
“Do any of the other secretaries tease you about Ron?” said Connie.
Ron interrupted. “You made us promise no work talk.”
“This isn’t work talk,” said Connie dismissing him. “Work talk is when Steve and I have no idea what the two of you are talking about. I think we all know what this is about.”
Connie looked at Steve and smiled. “They did at first. Audie Riffle’s secretary warned me to watch out for you,” said Connie staring at Ron who really did not want to have this conversation. “She said that you had roving eyes.”
“I don’t have roving eyes and besides,” Ron turned to Steve for help, “there’s nothing wrong with looking right?”
“Nothing at all wrong with looking,” agreed Steve.
Connie gestured to where the boss and his secretary had been sitting. “Do you think they were just looking?” she said.
“I think looking was well in their rearview mirror,” said Celeste accenting the words rear view and staring at Ron and Steve.
“A few of the girls were really surprised that we decided to go away together. They asked why we didn’t want to get away from each other for a while.”
“We could always go with the matching tattoos,” said Ron. “Then we’d always be close.”
“Not on your life,” said Connie. “I would never let any man handle me like that in public.”
Celeste nodded. They were joined in their disapproval of the woman. They were wives. The believed that there was some poor woman at home thinking that her husband was on a business trip and here he was showing off his secretary’s assets. The two women stared in tacit disapproval at the men. They had done nothing but they were both men and men were capable of anything.

Chapter 109
The four of them walked through the sea port of Mykonos and Ron wanted to take the day trip to Delos to see the birthplace of Apollo but the way the small boats bobbed in the current dissuaded both Celeste and Connie. Ron snapped photographs of windmills and moorings as they walked in the seaport town.
Then they went to Santorini with its clifftop town, all painted white and blue and its magnificent flowerboxes and cafes. They elected the donkey-ride up over the cable car choice to get to the town. Both Steve and Ron rode in back of Celeste and Connie and watched their wives bounce in their saddles.
“You know what their back there doing?” said Connie.
“I know what Ron is looking at,” answered Celeste.
“Steve too,” said Connie.
“Isn’t it great?” giggled Celeste. She looked around to some of the hills. Nothing about this landscape had changed since that time Ron read about. “I wonder how the women got their water.”
“We might be looking at it,” said Connie.
They both realized that it could not be salt water but Connie’s point had been made.
Ron and Steve laughing uncontrollably as Celeste and Connie frantically bounced and clung to animals bristly necks, as the donkeys, knowing the pattern included rest and food on this end trotted down the steep trail.
Ron’s knee had started aching after the ride up. Ron and Steve rode the cable. As beautiful as it was, Ron wondered how a person could live here. Would the shoals of tourists begin to resemble the food that the sea gave to them?
Connie and Celeste’s excitement at the open markets of Nice over shadowed Steve and Ron’s easy smiles. “Why are we walking through a food market when we have spent days being stuffed full of fine foods and there is absolutely no sense in buying anything?” asked Ron.
Celeste dropped back and took his hand. She brought his fingers up to her lips and kissed them. “Just look around at how beautiful everything is and don’t think of it as shopping,” she said softly.
“I could take pictures!” said Ron.
Celeste patted his ass and said, “Yes Ron, you could take pictures.”
Tomorrow was Florence. As the ship cruised on the plate glass sea and the moon and stars twinkled their hellos. Steve said, “I’m looking forward to Florence. It’s probably too crowded but to me it looks like the perfect city.”
Celeste was the only one of the group who had been there before. She had travelled through Germany and Italy and France with her first husband over a two month span, when they were still happy. “Florence attracts people, that’s for sure.” She said to Steve.
Ron had been waiting for this moment. He saved the picture in his safe. He hadn’t even showed it to Celeste. He took out a picture of the David with Bill Helmut’s head superimposed on the David.
Bill Helmut had also taught with Ron at Mountain Oaks. He was a math teacher. They had been linked back there because Bill’s wife was an English teacher that Ron supervised. Through the grapevine of years, it had become known that Helmut’s wife was quite pleased with the unusually large size of Helmut’s penis.
Connie had complained that it was now impossible for her to look at Helmut without thinking about the size of his penis. Celeste found that funny and teased Connie about it. Ron handed the picture to Connie.
Connie opened her mouth, began to laugh, she brought her hands up to cover her mouth. She looked at Ron. “You are the Devil. This poor man, I cannot even look at him without laughing now.”
“From what I hear, he’s not poor,” ventured Ron.
Connie slapped Ron on the shoulder with the picture. “You just did that so that now when I looked at The David I would see Helmut’s face and my eyes would travel down.” She slapped him with the picture again laughing.
Ron played along. “Sometimes it’s fun to be with the Devil.”
Connie opened the picture looked at it again and laughed. “As long as Celeste is around to take care of the rest of the devil stuff.”
Celeste chimed in. “Oh yes believe me, I get it all.”
Ron looked up at Steve. “How come they never pick on you like this?”
Steve smiled. “Looks to me like you set yourself up for that one.”

Chapter 110
When they got back home, Ron threw himself into his first campaign in a long time. Campaigns had a different feel because there is a goal and a deadline. Campaigns for esoteric value, while they may be noble, seemingly cannot sustain the intensity because there is no end of decision deadline in sight. Politics and education are bedfellows, but they often meet with entirely different goals. The come from the perspectives of popularity as opposed to the perspective of achievement for the sake of competence.
By now, the team of Ron Tuck and Sandy Humz had spoken at County and state events. They were fighting the imposition of what they termed a “teaching to the test” position that the Department of Education was considering.
It was a strange debate. Both Ron and Sandy were proud of the career work they had done in professional development and curricular design.
They had, at different schools, radically changed scheduling. Sandy was the much more powerful political force. Her incredible workaholic habits were satiated by a cornucopia of committees on which she served. She found it difficult to relax.
Standing five foot ten inches with a lean and hard physique, Sandy also exuded an unmistakable sexual energy. It was a stern force and many of the men with whom she successfully worked were cowed by it. MacTavish looked upon her as his tomboy daughter, and she was always acquiescent in his presence, but he had retired and she had been passed over.
Sandy had worked for Middle Hills for her entire career. She had attended as a student. Her only marriage had ended, childless when her ex just said that she had no room or time in her life for a man. Sandy agreed.
She had one torrid affair with a teacher that she supervised. The rumor was that they used to rendezvous in the same office where Audie had removed Ron’s door. Audie Riffle was suspicious of the affair that ended when the teacher left the district. The rumor was that he had left the district because he was afraid of Sandy Humz.
Artie saw this departure as an opportunity to make a move on Sandy. That was when she began calling him little man.
Sandy and Ron made a good team. When they grew comfortable with each other, a teasing element developed between them. They had common history at the same State College. She had used her contacts there and found out he spoke really well in public. Then she witnessed it.
All the while assessing him, she saw his ease with public speaking. He did not go faster and read his remarks. He engaged larger groups in a conversation and tried to persuade by presenting their sides of an argument and answering questions that arose from their conflicts. He could persuade. He persuaded her anyway. He also teased her constantly.
Sandy required proof reading of all major from his office. This amused Ron and he asked her if she did not think he proof read his memos? She countered that she had found a split infinitive in one of the things that he had written. Sandy was a grammar Nazi of the first order.
Ron had grinned at her and said, “Oh, well sometimes I like split infinitives.”
“You make like that but that does not make them accurate!” said Sandy.
Ron proceeded to insert a split infinitive into every memo he sent to her. At first she thought it was a failing, but slowing she realized that he had been doing on purpose.
“Do you think that I have time to play ‘Where’s Waldo’ with your memos?” she had accused him.
Ron laughed, “Well since you saw the need to proof read them all, I figured it should not be a wasted exercise for you.”
“I knew it!” Sandy blushed. “You’ve been teasing me.”
Ron smiled his reassuring smile. “Look, your secretary let it out that I send all my memos to you, for what she calls final approval. That’s not good for either of us.”
“I agree with you,” said Sandy. She saw his point, but did he have to tweak her for this long to make it?
“It’s not great for me to be seen as your boy,” said Ron. “I can be more effective as an ally.”
It was Sandy’s turn. “Well you do have to work under me. So this is what we are going to do. I’ll provide the rationale and the numbers in a global sense. You talk about what it means to the education of the students.”
“I can do that with my eyes closed,” boasted Ron.
Sandy fixed him with her serious gaze. “Please do not attempt to prove that to me while we are on camera,” she said. They both laughed.

Chapter 111
The studio was large but they were only going to be using a small segment of it. There were two desks and five cameras. Ron had a mic fitted to his lapel. They were being interviewed for Education in New Jersey, a cable show that would be rebroadcast, and played on a monthly loop by a few local stations.
The interviewer worked out of Trenton, where these shows were often taped. Sandy and Ron had created a stir with a co-authored piece on the importance of trust in educators. Connie had become adept with the creation of power points.
Shelia Storm began her questions. “Sandy, tell us why you feel that standardized testing is such a danger?”
Sandy was poised. “The testing itself isn’t the danger. The danger is in how the educational community is responding to it.”
“Why is that dangerous?” asked Sheila.
“There is no reason to revamp curriculum because it is going to be tested. This is a time for us to have faith in the curriculum that we have created and to fine tune it to accommodate changing needs. What is being proposed is radically different from that.”
“What do you think it being proposed?” pressed Sheila.
“A punitive approach that will force districts to comply with immediate results or face monetary consequences and consequences with respect to who had the right to make district level decisions.”
Sheila turned to her other guest. “And how do you see this Dr. Tuck?”
Ron smiled for Sheila and the camera. “We’re being asked to compare apples and oranges. They just don’t taste the same no matter what you do. For example, Texas creates a test where kids have to have a sixth grade level of education in order to pass. New Jersey creates a test where the same passing score requires an eleventh grade education.
The President lauds the Texas school accomplishment and criticizes New Jersey for having a system where education fails its kids. Is he saying kids from Texas don’t need to be as smart as kids from New Jersey?” Ron grinned and shook his head. “That’s another question entirely, isn’t it?”
Shelia felt she had a point to make here. “But don’t New Jersey parents have the right to expect an education that is on grade level?”
“Sure they do,” said Ron. He decided to change things up on Shelia a little. “Chief complaint of most kids in school is?” Ron paused like he almost expected her to answer, but he didn’t. “The compliant is that they are bored. Our challenge is to make their education meaningful and interesting. One cannot do that and concentrate on the test driven standards and benchmarks we are being asked to drop everything and pursue.”
Sandy chimed in. “Dr. Tuck was actually on the state committee that formulated some of our tests.”
Ron laughed. “That’s true. That was back when we were being told that we would have local control, educator created testing. That lasted one year and the State decided to give it over to a company who designs tests for profit.”
“Why is it important that they are for profit?” asked Shelia.
“Because they also design and sell the prep books that districts buy in order to pass their tests. I’m not saying that the tests are designed to have a bias that produces a certain failure rate, but that is a distinct possibility isn’t it? The more books and tests that are sold the greater the profit.”
Sandy was growing a little uncomfortable. Ron had almost taken a tone that inspired distrust in motivation. It was true that New Jersey had a Republican Administration now. But he might seem to be using this to attack them. That wasn’t a fight that Sandy thought they could win. He would turn some heads by raising the point though. She just needed to rein things in some.
“What we need is to have faith in our existing curriculum. We will be alright if we do not panic and right now I sense an amount of panic,” she said.
It was a good thirty minute segment and both Ron and Sandy were told for weeks that they had been seen on television. They felt good about themselves. That was when Leon Stavros informed Sandy that he would like to replace Ron when they gave these interviews.
“How is the sloth supposed to replace you when he doesn’t know anything!” fumed Sandy. “The solution is simple. We won’t do any more interviews. Let him do his own interviews.”

Chapter 112
Celeste and Ron were having their Sunday morning ritual when not surprisingly they heard Angel come in the downstairs door. Fitzgerald hurried to greet the guest. Keats stayed at the top of the stairs cautiously wagging his tail and waiting.
“Get away from me you smelly, fur-ball maniac,” hollered Angel.
Ron and Celeste shared a look. I wasn’t going to be a happy visit.
“Come and have some breakfast,” said Celeste.
“I don’t think I should eat unless you want vomit added to your menu,” said Angel.
Ron said, “What’s wrong?”
“I’m fucked with NBC is what’s wrong,” said Angel. “It’s kind of funny actually but they didn’t think so and I doubt that anyone there will ever want to see me again.”
“What happened?” said Celeste. She jumped up. “You can at least have coffee.”
“Yeah, I’ll drink some coffee. I’ve been up all night drinking it anyway so one more cup isn’t going to hurt. What happened is that I disliked being an easy piece of ass for the guys that work on those shows,” said Angel.
Ron’s face furrowed. “What does that mean?”
“It means Dad that some guy was using your daughter as a convenient fuck and when I found out that I was nothing more than that I got angry.”
Ron shook his head. He could only imagine what things were like between the young people there. He remembered the restraining order. “Did you hit someone?”
“I should have. I should have electrocuted the worthless asshole, but I didn’t.”
“What did you do?” asked Celeste.
“Well mom, I told the sonofabitch’s mother that he fell from the top of a ladder and was dead,” said Angel.
Celeste gasped. Ron was shocked. Angel looked at both of their faces and said accusingly, “Your expressions are exactly what the faces of the NBC people looked like when they found out. It seems the old bat went crazy and started calling people to find out what happened to her son. She only thought he was dead for about an hour.”
Ron did not know what to say. Celeste said, “Why would you do that to that poor woman?”
“Right mom, that’s exactly what I would expect from you. Worry about the woman and not about me. That’s fucking perfect. I don’t know why I even came here and told you. You don’t care how hurt I was by the asshole, only how upset his poor little mother must have been.”
Celeste recoiled. “I didn’t mean that I wasn’t upset for you, but Angel you told a mother her son was dead.”
“I was angry and yes, now I am royally screwed,” said Angel. Her face was hard. Her chin was beginning to quiver. “It might be nice if, at least once, someone was on my side.”
“It’s not that I am not on your side,” said Celeste. “That’s a pretty brutal reaction.”
“At that moment I wanted him dead. She just called at the wrong time,” explained Angel.
“Isn’t there some way you can apologize?” said Ron.
“Nope, they don’t want apologies, they want me gone.”
“Maybe you could get transferred to another unit?” asked Ron.
“NBC doesn’t want to deal with shit like this. The team leader says I’m gone and I’m gone,” said Angel.
“There are other networks,” offered Celeste.
“Yeah Mom, I’m sure that they’ll give me a great reference.”
“You still have school,” said Ron.
“Yeah Dad, this worthless fucking school you sent me to has me afraid for my life all the time.”
Ron could not hide the incredulity on his face, “What do you mean afraid for your life?”
“Those kids that come up from Paterson, all carry guns. They can’t read and they can’t write and they like to pull their guns on people to see the reaction they get. They aren’t paying for anything, so it’s all a fucking joke to them.”
Celeste should have stayed quiet. She should have just listened. She was nervous and frightened for her daughter and was just saying things from that emotional state. “Marjorie and George are coming up for dinner.”
“Well that’s god-damned wonderful mom. More people who hate me. This was a mistake! I have to go?”
Celeste said, “Aren’t you going to stay and do your laundry?”
“No Mom, I’m not really worried about my shitty laundry right now.”

Chapter 113

Ron and Sandy’s point of view was firmly trounced. It was defeated without comment. Leon Stavros felt quietly victorious at her defeat. Since she had refused to work with him, he sabotaged her. He did not publically work against her, but he did circulate a response of compliance that placed him in a good light after the inevitable defeat happened.
Sandy was angry and directed her feelings of anger towards Stavros by avoiding him when at all possible. She and Ron worked out an agreement that he would spend mornings at his Summit offices and she would use his office at Hills. Leon went to lunch at the same time each day and that is when Sandy would come to her suite of offices that adjoined his.
At this point, Sandy would schedule one of her committee meetings to extend passed the time that Leon left for the day. Sandy would then work into the early evening in her offices. Intersection at Board Meetings and district Council meetings was inevitable.
These interactions were always done in cool professional tones. Alignment lines were drawn among the members of the Council and among members of the Board. Sandy knew and managed the nuts and bolts of district operations. Leon cultivated his relationships with the building principals.
The way the administrative structure had been aligned by MacTavish, Ron and Bill had control of curriculum. They were the experts. Principals managed most other aspects of their buildings, with complete control of the building itself. When everyone was on board with each other, it ran like a corporate machine. Now the machine was straining in separate directions while it worked.
The key to this balance was the relationship between Dirk Willamore, Summit’s principal, and Sandy. Dirk had been passed over as well. He and Sandy had agreed that each had fine qualities and deserved the job. Now that was behind them.
Every two weeks, Sandy, Ron, Bill, Leon, Audie, Dirk meet in the conference room where they were joined by Hector Gonzalez, the school business administrator.
The meetings could last for several hours. Other administrators would be invited to join from time to time, but this was the room where it happened.
Hector kept the minutes of these meetings. Hector was a proud Spanish man who bristled at the suggestion that he was Hispanic and made sure to correct any such indignity whenever it arose. He was also a juggler of numbers without equal. He was MacTavish’s money man.
Leon would chair the meeting. Ron was at the top of the agenda with an item for review discussion and implementation. He and Bill had worked out the proposal but Bill asked Ron to make the presentation.
“We have to make curricular changes to implement these new testing benchmark requirements. Some students who are obviously proficient must not have their schedules impacted by the demands standardized test prep that they do not need. But the State does not specifically say how standardized test prep will be demonstrated. Bill and I have taken a creative approach and developed a district test that we can administer to all of our students one time. That will give us all the test prep indication that we will need.”
Ron passed out copies of the tests that he and Bill had created. Hector did not even open his copy. “What norms and variable spectrum did you use to calculate the accuracy of your little test?”
Bill leaned forward and answered smoothly. “I have all of those graphs and charts right here Hector. I did not want to bore everyone by duplicating that formula but if you look on the first addendum you’ll see what you need.” Bill had a soothing manner and his math skills were respected and sometimes leaned on by Hector. So he nodded and was satisfied. That had his vote.
Audie said, “I don’t think we learn enough by giving them one test one time. We are going to be vulnerable in the community if our scores come back lacking.” He looked directly at Leon. “We will be seen as a failing school and will have a harder time passing the budget.”
Leon nodded. “That’s a consideration. Lots of things depend upon the budget. He have to look strong.”
Sandy said, “I think we are looking strong and independent. We are acknowledging a directive from the state and standing by our principles at the same time.”
“Your principals,” said Audie, “are why we are in this mess.”
Sandy leaned forward and stared hard into Audie’s face. “Are you saying that you have different principles, Audie?” She looked him up and down and deadly serious. Ron thought that at that moment Audie must have felt like she would slice off his penis and feed it to whatever animals that wanted it. He had begun to sweat.
Audie stammered. “I just mean that some kids may need to be tested more.”
Ron was about to speak and Sandy knew it caught eye and imperceptibly blinked no. “We will identify those who don’t meet the standards and offer them,” she looked at Audie like she was trying to sympathetic but wasn’t. She said slowly biting off the word, “remediation.”

Chapter 114
Planning for the holiday season began for Celeste in September. The summer was officially brought to closure by a dinner that the clients of Sunrise hosted by their families and friends. It was one of Celeste’s only fund drives and it came in the form of a 50/50. Half of the proceeds went to paying for the dinner and creating a small pool of money from which Celeste and her staff would purchase holiday presents for the residents. This was not a big time fund raiser but it was important to Celeste to have enough to make sure everyone had a present. Her theme was clear. Life did not have to be over for them.
Because of its feel good nature, local newspapers and the radio station where Celeste had become a regular gave her free advertising. This brought a trickle of entrepreneurial folks who wanted the publicity to promote their service or product. Charlie Rosen was one such man.
Celeste had met Charlie at the county fair. He was riding the crest of a holiday fad, deep fried turkeys. Charlie was a bear of a young man with burly arms and a beard. He was jovial. He was working next to Ron who had volunteered to man the barbecues. Angel was there, as she promised her mother she would be, serving plates to the residents. Keats and Fitzgerald came to offer hospitality and to provide the guests with the pleasure of feeding them extra food.
Celeste was the hostess and she was radiant, wearing a genuine smile, a lingering tan and flowers in her hair. “Jesus Mom, you look like you are at Woodstock, but you are pretty,” said Angel.
Ron could not have been happier. He was sweating, working hard to keep up with demands of people wanting burgers and hotdogs and reveling as he saw his family working as a team. He noticed that on the days he ran his legs were hurting now but he didn’t care. He watched his wife.
Celeste moved between arriving families and seated tables. In front of what was still a thriving garden that they planted, always reaching out her hands, always offering tender kisses and embraces. The pride with which her clients introduced their families swelled Celeste’s heart. Of course she knew the majority of the families to whom she was being introduced, but that wasn’t the point. When, usually a male member of the family would correct his elder and say, “Mom, or Gram, or Dad, we met Celeste before. Don’t you remember?”
Celeste would find a way to hold or touch them both and say, “Of course we remember, but it’s so nice to be introduced to you for this.”
Ron had watched her do it at least fifty times over the years. It was a perfect blending. It seemed to be and was a natural gesture. At the same time, it hit every professional mark of reinforcement, instruction and acceptance. It was a marvel to see and yet no one really knew that she was doing it.
What Celeste had managed to keep alive was a sense of community love, perhaps the most worthwhile achievement of Woodstock, although Ron was not sure that Angel would ever see it that way.
He was flipping burgers and rolling hotdogs and he turned his attention to Angel, his fierce and exasperating daughter. He thought she had found her way into a professional world. He would never know or really want to know what happened at NBC. Sometimes truths had a way of driving wedges between them.
He added cheese to some of the burgers. He started to fill the platters and place them into buns. “Dad, some of the people are taking the hotdogs and hamburgers out of their buns. Why don’t we just put them on the side?”
“That sounds great,” said Ron. “Less work for me.”
Angel smiled. “And some of the ones without teeth can dunk the buns and just suck on them too,” said Angel with that ever present sharpened wit.
Even when she said that about the hamburgers it carried a tone of challenge to it. Ron wished that wasn’t a part of her nature. He thought for a time that she just said things that way but really didn’t mean it as a challenge. He once asked her about it. “I may do it more with you,” she answered. “But you describe it exactly the way that I mean it.” He struggled to stop trying to correct that about her. It made things much more difficult for her.
Keats and Fitzgerald were working the yard of picnic tables like a team.
The smells of the cooking food the gathered people, their sense of security with the environment made them happy and alert. The order of their pack was it was the younger dog’s job to not get in his way. His eyes were never long off Ron. He loved to be petted but this was a sensory feast for him that could only be topped if it had water.

Chapter 115
Ron and Celeste arranged to have trees delivered. It was a Monday in early October and Ron had the option of taking the day because there were no classes to celebrate Yom Kippur. There were twelve trees being planted. A row of evergreens that they helped would grow into a sound barrier and in the center of the side garden a willow tree, and about fifteen yards away a flowering plum. When Celeste got home from work Ron was busily supervising and inspecting. The frustrated dogs were very happy to see her because Ron wouldn’t let them out into the yard where the machines were working.
They kissed and Ron squeezed her into him like it was planting day.
“I don’t think the dogs like it,” said Celeste. Ron and Celeste turned and watched their two dogs staring at them embrace and sitting, Fitzgerald fidgeting a bit when he saw them look at him, Keats perfectly still, upright and aware.
“Ok, well they have to stay in here.”
Ron turned and went back out the door. The dogs looked at her and whimpered. Celeste said back to them, “Ok, I’ll feed you. You just think I’m a refrigerator, both of you!” griped Celeste as she went back into the kitchen. She gave them each a biscuit
Celeste stirred her twenty-first and she hoped her last batch of tomatoes for the year. The vines just kept producing. It was late afternoon when the workmen left. Ron and Celeste walked their property with Keats and Fitzgerald romping sniffing and marking everything that they could find. Celeste held him to her. “I love planting trees.”
“I want to plant more in the yard by the lake but let’s see how these do.
They walked over the tile lined perennial garden that was graceful in its cycle. Celeste saw its full summer splendor and its buds of spring, its decline of fall and hibernation of winter. They were its guardians.
The evergreens were even bigger than Ron and Celeste imagined and would need daily watering into the ground around the root ball, as wood the willow and flowering plum. “You’re looking forward to watering them aren’t you?” said Celeste.
Ron grinned and nodded. “I am, they’re alive and part of us here now.”
Ron tossed a stick in one direction and Keats, as was his right was entitled to it. Ron held up the Frisbee. Fitz trembled with excitement. His tail wagging frantically and unable to stop. Ron tossed it in a smooth arcing motion that he learned from playing catch with a friend named Hank. Fitzgerald sped after it, a streak of motion, growing muscles at full speed and then leapt into the air, caught it in his mouth, brought his hind legs underneath him, landed with ease and trotted at sort of parade victory speed as he brought it back.
“I never expected any of this Ron,” said Celeste. “Look at what you made possible.”
Ron shook his head, smiled, tilted, grinned deeper. “Wouldn’t that be a prime example of 1950’s thinking in 2003?”
He had her. This was teasing material for years. And now she looked confused, because she didn’t realize he was teasing her yet.
Celeste said with some conviction, “No sweetheart, you made this possible.”
Oh, this was beautiful. “You’re an idiot,” said Ron.
Celeste blinked.
“For anyone to think that either of us could have done this without the other, idiocy or ignorance are the only options.”
Celeste was a little annoyed with him. “You still haven’t learned how to just take a compliment, have you?”
Ron looked down, sheepish. “I just didn’t want you to think…” he started to say.
Celeste interrupted him and molded her body to his. “I know,” she said.

Time in a Bubble

Chapter 1
He was asleep in a small apartment where the window fan created a breeze. She sketched, eyes flicking between the paper and him. Zoë’s hair was a spectacular, straw colored mess. She drew with long, lean lines and remembered his fingers. Some of him leaked out of her. She stared at the curve of his hip and wanted him to turn so that she could draw his balls and penis.
Zoë’s thighs were sore. He had squeezed and pawed and humped her. She wanted him to wake up and do it again. She wondered about how she might need him.
Ron’s breath was dreamy and Zoë wanted it. The soft light of a feel good moon illuminated her. He had told her that he would start teaching at Our Lady of the Forlorn later in the week.

That morning, everyone met in the convent. At 10:15, they called Ron. “I must’ve written the date wrong,” he mumbled. “I’ll be there right away.”
He showered and dressed without looking at her. Then he said, “Please wait here until I come back home.” She smiled with the thought that she might not have to put clothes on at all today. She could look into everything that he owned, and when he came back home she would fuck him.
There were figurines and a red feather mixed with crumbs and ashes on a wooden desk that was covered with a paisley cloth. Some records were scratched and scattered in and out of jackets. An after-smell of tobacco and pot mingled with the ripeness in the sheets. Piles of books, some with papers wedged between their pages, were stacked on the floor. Unkempt plants that tangled and flowered reached out to watermarks on the wall and to a tin ceiling that was painted over.

He drove through Newark’s metal and concrete mix with a flood of hometown familiarity and in a panicky sweat. He was going somewhere that he’d been before. This was so very strange. He’d been sent to this school in 7th grade after being caught with a knife, now he was coming back to teach in the high school and he was late. He knew that wouldn’t go over all that well with the nuns.
Parking in one of the playground spots that were reserved for faculty, he looked over at the door of the church where he’d been marched with the rest of his classmates to pray during the Cuban Missile Crisis. He gazed at the towering oaks that lined the street and whose roots buckled the pavement. Looking up into the long comforting embrace of leaf lined branches, he tripped over the edge of an upturned sidewalk slab that sent him sprawling. His hands slapped down hard onto the stone and he snarled, “Fuck!” as he lay like some overly zealous penitent just as Father Joyce, who was carrying Communion wafers for the sick, came out of the church’s heavy door. Ron looked up in disheveled dismay as the veteran priest shook his head and walked around him. The fall had torn loose the sole of his shoe causing it to make a double slapping sound as he tried to walk.
“Great!” he said to himself, “I’m going to walk in and announce my presence with the authority of a clown. Maybe I can find a rubber ball to wear on my nose.”

The great room had a low ceiling, passageways that led off like spider legs. Crucifixes and portraits of saints with a variety of lighted halos hung on the walls over cut flowers. The incensed aroma was cool in contradiction to the temperature. The nuns were in their summer linen whites. One or two still wore the full headpiece that included the face frame and bib, but most had moved to the revealing below the knee hemline and abbreviated cap that the older nuns sneeringly referred to as “stewardess’ outfits.” They sat in the room with the empty cups of coffee that had been provided for those who had been on time. About twenty-five of them seated and everyone one of their heads turned to watch Ron limp into the room with his slapping heel.
He entered with a stumbling burst that reset one’s equilibrium. Sister Irene Emanuel looked at him over the top of her glasses and thought that he looked healthy in an annoying kind of way. Then she realized that he also smelled of smoke.
Sister Vincent Salvatore, seeing a man enter the room, could not help but get to her feet and move to bring him coffee. Irene Emanuel noted the gesture… “Mr. Tuck, thank you for coming” she said in her unmistakable tone. Then, knowing that it would be expected that she make some note of his tardiness added, “Not a particularly auspicious beginning for you.”
Automatically, Ron said “Good morning. No, not at all, Sister.” The tone in his voice put the room at ease. It was masculine but contrite and respectful, or at least it seemed so. He took a seat and was handed a folder. He took it with his scraped and bleeding hand. The nun that passed it to him looked at the traces of blood that had smeared onto the freshly copied white paper with a look of repulsion that she normally reserved for vomit.
The rest of the day was a blur except for when he saw his classroom. It was wooden; there was a podium; it had long and wide windows; there was a flag and a cross. He was attracted by the smell of chalk and the feel of slate. After the windows went up on their clicking chains, the city birds called in from branches and porches. He lit a cigarette before he thought about it, tossing the match out the window.
Sister Juliana Marie looked up from her student’s new baby and saw him standing in the window smoking. A scowl of disapproval crumpled her face. This lout was standing in his classroom smoking cigarettes. What was next? Was he going to strip down to his underwear to escape the heat? She rose and silently walked down to the principal’s office fingering the beads that belted her habit.
Ron stood under the Lincoln portrait that he’d hung next to a crucifix in the room. Even though it was 90 degrees and he was dressed in a sports jacket and tie and the heat was plastering the cotton shirt to his back, he felt that he was where he belonged and where he wanted to be. He raised his eyes to the Lincoln and the crucifix and said to neither in particular, “Please don’t let me screw these kids up.”
By mid afternoon, Ron noticed that the school had emptied. He’d been copying the names of the 117 students that would be in his classes. He’d thought about what he needed to accomplish on day one. He wanted to read the stories for a 3rd time before he began them tomorrow. He wanted a cigarette. He wanted to stop being Mr. Tuck for the day.
One by one, the nuns with whom he’d be teaching had come to the door to introduce themselves. Ron inhaled the fresh clean smell of their linen. He appreciated the quiet invitations that they offered. How could he have forgotten that he’d need paper? They would show him where the books were stored. Neatly stacked towers of white pages and blue covers, red covers, and sleek silver gilded pages that Ron wandered through; fingertips sliding across the books, mind trying to imagine who would open them.

He drove back to Elizabeth in silent reverie. Zoe was sitting naked in the middle of a floor that was filled with charcoal sketches. Fleeting portraits of him as he slept that featured just a line or two of detail. Still life drawings of his plants woven into self portraits of her face and the massive tangle of thick blonde hair that was smudged with charcoal and fastened with rubber bands.
She crawled to the door when she saw him and nuzzled his feet and calves. She didn’t say words. She uttered soft sounds that pled for attention. He felt and saw her crawl around him and wanted nothing in the world more than to have her for his own.

Chapter 2

The bursts of energy that pulsed through the halls on the opening day of school kick started the old buildings like jumper cables that were fed by a nuclear power plant. Everywhere, young girls were laughing in nervous, giggly groups. The nuns were radiantly smiling and hugging their returning charges. Ron felt eyes on him at every moment. There was no sense in trying to blend in. How could be blend in? He was the only male in the school. The bell sent people scattering like careening bits of mercury. Ron stood in back of his podium. His hands were sweating. His collar was tight. He wanted a cigarette. The girls sitting in front of him duly rose at the sound of Sister Irene’s voice. “Ladies, welcome back to school. Your teachers and I have been anxiously awaiting your return. Let us pray for the health of our families, for the souls of those who have walked these halls before us and for our continued dedication to the shaping of our lives and the lives around us. Let us pray. We ask our Heavenly Father and the Blessed Virgin for guidance” Everyone blessed themselves. Ron remembered how to do it. He felt his jaw twitch as he looked down and mumbled his way through the Lord’s Prayer, and then a Hail Mary, and then a Glory Be. He heard the quizzical cacophony as some of his students prayed in rattling Spanish. Then Sister Irene’s voice said, “When you have completed your homeroom paperwork, please send attendance sheets to the main office. For today and today only, we will delay that start of classes until we have received all of the homeroom sheets.”
His first class was 9th grade reading. There were twenty-eight students in the class and twenty-nine chairs. Ron Tuck smiled his dimpled grin as they entered the room. They looked down shyly when they saw him smile at them and some of them squirmed in their chairs like they had to go to the bathroom. The faces were white and brown and black and combinations of all of those. It did not take Ron long to discover that in this Reading class, that was using a 9th grade literature book, only about one half of the students knew enough English to carry on a conversation. Mostly, they just spoke Spanish. He looked down at the copious notes that he had prepared on the first there stories and realized that they were absolutely of no use to him. Then his brain began to whirl with a high speed that was as strange as it was exhilarating. “Ok, who here can understand every word that I’m saying?” More than half the hands shot straight up proudly waving in the air. “Great,” said Ron smiling and making fleeting eye contact with each and every one of them. “Now how many of you would be able to understand the same words if they were written in a book in English?” About half of the hands sadly lowered. The girls, looking around to see who was still among the chosen, gave a couple of eye rolls at those who still had their hands up in the air but were lying. Ron had it in his head now. “Those of you with your hands up, please stand along the back of the classroom.”
A tall girl with very dark hair that was swept back into a shoulder length tangle had a look of intensity on her face that drew Ron to her.
“You are?”
“Elena.”
“Do you speak Spanish, Elena?”
Everyone in the class laughed and Elena’s dark eyes were dancing and she laughed with them. “We all speak Spanish, Mr. Tuck.”
Ron looked at her evenly. “I don’t. Am I the only one here that doesn’t speak Spanish?”
Six or seven hands went into the air. Ron saw that those girls did not have Hispanic features. “So Elena, what do you think we should do to help everybody?
“I don’t know what you mean,” said Elena.
Ron looked at them and said. “We are going to break some rules today. First of all I want you to sit with your friends and not in the alphabetical order that I’ve put you in.” He intoned. “That wasn’t real bright of me was it?” The girls laughed cause of the way that he said it, and because of the dramatic look of self loathing that comically swept across his face when he said it, and because all of the teachers in the school always put them in alphabetical order. “Here are the new rules. You sit with your friends and if you have more than one friend you sit with the one that speaks the least amount of English. If you haven’t any friends that don’t speak English, you tell me and I will assign you to someone.”

“Do we have to sit with someone who doesn’t speak English,” said a freckled girl with red hair and glasses. “I mean suppose we don’t want to?”
Ron felt an instant tension in the room. Spanish words from the back that he couldn’t understand and the sharp turn of heads. Ron walked towards the girl smiling, and then with a wink of his eye and a flash of his grin that he settled just on her, he said very softly, “I need you to help me. Wouldn’t you like to help me?” He saw the girl begin to grin and heard some laughter in the room.
One of the Spanish girls who had a silver streak running through her dark hair said, “I’ll bet she would help you do anything.”
Mocking laughter bounced off the walls of the class. The red haired girl blushed furiously. Ron went back to the podium. “Here’s the thing. It’s not good to be dumb. Nobody wants to be thought of as dumb. Knowing language is a way to not appear to be dumb. Language is a way that can help you get what you want. That’s my job, to help you get what you want.” He said it so earnestly and looked right into the eyes when he said it. They couldn’t help but believe him.
The class was over just as Ron was getting comfortable with his students. “I need more time,” he said to himself as he watched them file out. But then there was another group who was filing in and it started all over and Ron learned that what he’d just done could be done more smoothly the second time.
The reactions weren’t exactly the same, but the gist of it was, and by lunchtime he had discovered the power of his smile with them. It was a tool. It was an ally. He could buy time with it. He could change the mood of everyone in the room with it. Ron thought that maybe it was too much power to have but he liked it and if he didn’t misuse it, what was the harm?
His schedule said that he had lunch now. He looked up at the clock. Lunch? It was 10:40 in the morning and he had lunch?
As he walked up the wide worn wooden staircase, several girls hurried passed him. None of them failed to look at him. Ron thought that he would have to start ignoring the looks.
Making his way to the room marked faculty lunchroom, Ron had no idea of what to expect. All he really hoped for was an ashtray and a place to get some coffee. Both were available. The Mr. Coffee pot was half-filled and Ron selected one of the freshly washed mugs that were turned upside down on a linen napkin that was spread over a small countertop. The nuns did not use this room; they went back to the convent or stayed in their classrooms during lunch. This was for lay faculty. Ron grinned thinking he was one of the lays.
A round table that comfortably seated six or could squeeze in eight was covered with a clean plastic tablecloth. Ron took his coffee and slid in next to a washed out bleached blonde who sat curled over her coffee over her coffee cup puffing vigorously on a cigarette. She said, “I’m Doris, we met briefly yesterday before the penguins carried you off.”
Nodding, Ron said, “Hi how ya doin?”
“I’m wondering if they’ve used deodorant since June.”
Ron didn’t know what to answer to that and so he said nothing and lit a cigarette. Doris waited until two more teachers came into the room before she repeated her quip about body odor.
“You just have to desensitize your nose again Doris,” said Marsha, a husky brunette with dark plastic rimmed glasses.
“The first place I’m headed when I get out of here is the shower,” said Doris.
Ron wished that she would go now. Then he saw Marsha looking over at him and his coffee. She said coldly without introducing herself, “The coffee club is 3 dollars a week and you are responsible to bring and wash your own cup. Ron nodded and then saw that Marsha was still staring at his coffee mug. He looked down at it too and then back up into her fleshy face.
“Did I use yours?”
“You used somebody’s”
“That was a mistake,” he said quickly getting up and pouring the remainder of the cup into the sink and rinsing out the mug. It was a cursory sloshing of water that did not by either Doris or Marsha’s standards constitute a wash, but he was oblivious to them and set the mug, still dripping back on the once fresh linen. Then he walked out the door.
“Where did she get him? said Marsha.
“With what they pay here, what do you expect?” answered Doris.

Ron’s next class was senior English and this was a different story altogether. The twenty two girls who came into the room wore uniforms that were tight through their hips and across their breasts. They were last year’s uniforms and the girls hated them except that they could hike the skirts up and take them in so that their breasts seemed to be bursting to get out and bounce and sway and be free. They looked at Ron differently too. They had all seen him before class; they had made sure of that. This was the guy that the frosh girls, some of whom were their younger sisters and cousins, were talking about, were looking dreamy and goo-goo eyed about. But these girls were different. They drove. They had real boyfriends. Some worried monthly about becoming pregnant. Some had learned that there were less dangerous ways to keep their boyfriends happy and satisfied. They were organized.
When he stood in front of them and began calling the roll, their looks were so obvious and powerful that Ron retreated back behind his podium, anything to give himself a little distance between them and him. This was senior English and that meant English literature. After they’d each filled out their cards and gotten their books and said their names, Ron looked at them for a long moment and then said, “Page 6, Beowulf. Here’s the question. What’s a monster?” He looked up at them from the text. They looked down. He could play too and he knew how to look into a girl’s face just long enough to have the tingle of his eyes and smile begin to work on her. Then he looked up and said again, “What makes someone or something a monster?”
“Ask my stepfather, said Andrea who wasn’t buying his act. She’d stop him right in his tracks with the first thing that she said. But Ron seemed oblivious to the overtones of her comment.
He continued, “Is a monster born a monster? Do you know monsters? Are any of you monsters?” Then he began to pace as if he was in deep thought. He walked up and down the aisles, checking to make sure that they all had the books that the students were required to purchase every year, new or used. Most of the girls had used ones that came with at least one year’s worth of notes and, if you were lucky, a copy of most of the tests. But there was nothing written in any of the margins that was going to help them. Ron said, “Tonight start reading Beowulf, but for now, he strode quickly to side table where the stack of paper that he’d been given yesterday was waiting. “Write to me about what you know about monsters.”
“You mean like King Kong or Godzilla?”
“Or the Creature from the Black Lagoon,” said Ron, with a reference that none of them got. I’ll tell you story,” said Ron. “When I was a kid growing up down on Broadway,” he started lining up his street credits, “we thought that there were monsters that lived in the empty storage bins in the basement. And we used to dare each other to go down there without turning on the lights. Do you think that there were real monsters down there or were we making them up?”

Chapter 3

At home, he turned on the fan, turned on the radio, lit a cigarette and began to read about their monsters. They had trouble forming sentences and when they did get a complete thought down it seemed vacuous. “… my monsters wait for me to forget that they are watching, and then they snatch at me.” He looked at the name, it was Andrea. He couldn’t connect it to a face. Then he called Zoe.
“Please say that you are going to come and take me out of here,” was the first thing that she said.
He answered, “I’m on the way.”
In his car, she straddled his lap and shrouded him under her hair. He swelled up for her and kissed her neck and her lips and her chin. She bit his ear and then curled up against the door and said, “Take us somewhere that we can be alone and naked.”
He said, “Have you eaten?”
“Yes,” she said quickly.
Back in his apartment, on the sofa bed that was always open, after he’d been inside of her with his tongue and fingers and cock, she whispered, “Do you know how to tie me up?”
He grinned, “I’ll learn.”
She guided him as he took one of his belts and wrapped it around her thighs and another that he buckled tightly across her nipples. He yanked on them as he slid in between her bondaged cheeks and stuck himself right into her ass. He moved slowly and she clung to him as best as the belts would let her.

They bathed and then they showered and then he read papers and essays while she sketched him over and over. She wanted that wave of light brown hair and the soft angles and hollows of his cheeks and the long eyelashes that sometimes gave him the look of a harlot. His hard round little ass and the thick thighs and scarred knees called to her eyes. She sketched all of him and showed him what she saw. While he read, he preened for her.
When he needed to go to sleep she said, “I grew up on your poetry. My sister and Laureen read it to me all the time.” Ron was stunned. He looked at her as if she had spoken a language that was made up of ideas that were foreign to him. He understood the words individually but he couldn’t grasp what they meant when put together and directed at him.
“Didn’t you used to show Laureen your poetry and give her copies of what you’d written?”
Ron still didn’t seem to understand. He nodded his head. He searched her face with his eyes waiting for the joke, waiting to hear that she was teasing him, waiting for a Julian T. Willy comment like maybe he should find a job as a plumber, or a Warren Lashly scrawl across a page of free verse with the word “SHIT.” written in accusing, heavy red ink, but she was serious.
“I think I fell in love with Ron Tuck the poet before I ever met you,” she said secretively. “Would you read some of it for me? I’ve never heard you read and I’ve imagined how some of them would sound.”
Cautiously, he said, “Which ones?”
She opened the back of her portfolio. Ron watched, his eyes caressing the thick, thick blonde hair and marveling at the way her glasses accented the slender bones of her face. His mind was spinning like a tilt-a-wheel that was lifting up into the night sky of an amusement park on a soft summer night. Voices inside of him were exhaling shouts of excited glee.
He’d been back at Rahway just a few nights ago. Laureen had asked him to come over and to help move a couch. It was old and stained with cat piss. He got it to the curve of the stairs where it was wedged when Zoe had come in the front door. Laureen was having trouble putting enough pressure on the end to force it through and Ron was using most his bulk to pull, but what it needed was a harder push. Zoe had jumped right in to help. Before he even knew who she was, he had put his hands on her waist and lifted her up over the couch to help Laureen. He remembered the way that her hips felt just then and the way that she had smiled at him. Zoe was very strong and her additional force had made the task easy. The three of them had coffee and then Ron said that he was going to The Cove to listen to Morris Nanton play piano. Laureen said that she didn’t want to go, but to Ron’s shock, Zoe had been eager to go with him.
She selected a very old poem that he’d written about his cat, Leni. She looked at the page as Ron recited it for her. Her eyes were wide with appreciation. Then she said, “I always say this as kind of a children’s poem and I wanted to illustrate it.”
Ron wasn’t sleepy anymore. He was in love.

Chapter 4

Across the street from the high school was a corner coffee shop. The girls piled in there at the end of the day, unbuttoning their tops and hiking up their skirts even more for the collection of males that waited for them. The place had the heavy Latino aroma of beans and rice, fried plantains, and Cuban sandwiches. Lots of things happened in the candy store. Gambling, street drugs, contacts who knew where to get guns, people who dreamed of the death of Fidel and their return to their long lost home, talk of baseball and soccer. The nuns never entered the place. The lay teachers were afraid of it, but Ron needed a place to get his coffee and he had already decided that the faculty room wasn’t for him. So, twice a day, once in the morning before school, and once at lunch he entered the place to the suspicious stares of the collection of men who weren’t sure why he was there. But the girls were always thrilled to see him.
That Friday morning he made his first entrance. The girls had told him that it was the only place around where he could get a good container of coffee.
“Mr. Tuck, I want you to meet my brother, Edwardo and this is Jimmy my brother’s friend” said Elena, placing Jimmy’s arm around her waist.
“It’s good to meet you, Edwardo,” said Ron, sticking out his hand.
Edwardo shook his hand politely. “Like Elena said, I’m her brother and this is Jimmy, her boyfriend.”
Ron smiled and extended his hand to Jimmy. Elena seemed about ten years older in the store than she had appeared to be in his class. In the store, she was a hot woman who knew the needs of men.
“Elena is a talented student. I’m sure that you’re proud of her.”
“Thank you,” said Edwardo. “We are very proud of her and of all the girls in the neighborhood, Mr. Tuck. You just here to get coffee?”
“Yeah, “said Ron smiling and taking his container and trying to pay for it.
But the man behind the counter said, “You teach my daughter, Connie. It wouldn’t be right to take money from you.”
Ron smiled and kept his dollar bill extended. “I need you to take it so that I can feel free to come back.”
Everyone was watching. The counterman took Ron’s bill and made change. “Connie will study her vocabulary at night with the rest of us,” said the man. “She says that you care about what she learns.” The man emptied the change into Ron’s hand adding, “I care about what she learns too, Mr. Tuck.”
Ron wasn’t sure if it was a warning or a compliment but he took his container to his fire escape and ripped a V into the lid, lit a cigarette and rested his head against the metal. He could hear the music coming out of the store. Then he heard the buzzer that said his lunch was over.
Edwardo grabbed Elena’s arm as she started out the door. “Don’t let that American man fill your head up,” he said.
“No,” said Elena lightly. “I’ll keep my head just the way you like it, all empty and pretty.”
When she left Edwardo said to Jimmy, “Why my fourteen year old smart-assed sister is somebody you want is a mystery to me.”
“Elena knows who she is,” said Jimmy. “Don’t worry about her.”
Edwardo took a step back and raised his hands palms up. “I’m not worried but maybe you should be.” His accent had the singsong of bravado and gentle mockery.
All day long, Ron tested them. They were to use dictionaries to help them write. They could use Spanish to English dictionaries if they needed to. Ron was hungry for their essays. He wanted their thoughts. He wanted them to get used to writing for him. He’d devised a question for each class. He hadn’t planned the questions. He’d planned the test. But when it came time to put the question on the board he seemed to know what it was and wrote it out almost automatically.
The girls left his classes that day complaining that their hands and heads hurt. Ron laughed at them and they pouted for him. He loved the way that they pouted because it always ended with a turn of their heads and a dark eyed smile that wished him a good weekend.
Now he was sitting in back of his desk arranging the piles of papers and Sister Irene appeared in his doorway. “How was your first week, Mr. Tuck? Are you planning to stay with us?”
Ron felt a flush of fear wash through his body and he froze at the sound of her words, “Yes, Sister.”
“Then I suppose you’d better have this,” she said and handed him his check. Father Smith liked to give the teachers a week’s pay at the end of the first week of school, even though the pay period was every two weeks. It had been a long summer and the check was the boost that some of them needed. Ron was amazed when he stared at the check. They’d given him money for teaching.

Chapter 5

He left the school but instead of driving west to pick up the parkway and head home, he drove north towards an older home. He stopped at the four corners that marked the first school that he’d ever attended, Elliott Street School. It was a three story brick and concrete place that was it was filled with spray painted graffiti now, and there was trash in front of the doors. It looked deserted. It was an old building whose last real renovation had been completed in 1905. Ron got out of his car and walked to one of the entrances that he remembered. This was where they were dismissed from when he had shop. It was right here that he’d fought Paul Peterson and had pushed his face into the dirt and made him lick the sidewalk with his tongue while kids stood around and laughed. A guard approached Ron as he stood in the vestibule looking at the metal cages that surrounded the staircase.
“What you lookin’ for?” said the short man with a broad chest and a cigar stub stuck in the side of his mouth.
“I used to go to school here,” said Ron.
“Not, no more,” said the janitor/security person.
“Can I see the gym? said Ron.
“What you want there?”
“I want to see the balcony and the indoor track that wrapped around it.”
“We don’t run no sight seein’ tours, you know man.”
“I know. I’m sorry,” said Ron. “I’m teaching down the street. I loved this place.”
“Ain’t too many people lovin it now, Mister Teaching Down the Street”
“Yeah, I know. It’s Friday. I just cashed my first paycheck ever for teaching anyone anything and I was right here.”
The security officer looked him up and down. He did look like a teacher. He was harmless and the man thought that with the broom in his hand and the knife in his pocket he wasn’t frightened. If he didn’t show the guy around, he would be sweeping the floor and suppose this guy knew somebody. “Come on then,” he said. “Ain’t no one been up in that balcony for 10 years. It’s all condemned. But I’ll take you up there.”
Upon entering, Ron could immediately hear Mr. Kloss’s voice intoning the names of the relay teams. “Army, Navy, Notre Dame, and Cal.” Ron could fly and he could kick and hit and throw and when he didn’t miss school cause of his asthma, he could make Mr. Kloss smile with his agility and strength. “Why are you absent so much, Tuck?”
“I get sick.”
“Getting sick is a weakness, boy. You can’t afford to get sick in a foxhole.”
“I’m gonna suspend you from safety patrol for two weeks, Ron. You’re sick too much.”
“Yes Sir, Mr. Kloss. I won’t get sick anymore. Can I have my belt back after that? It was a single shoulder around the waist strap that Ron had bleached so that it was bone white.
“We’ll see what happens,” said Mr. Kloss.
Ron liked the hot chocolate that the safety patrol got on cold mornings and that the girls in the home economics class that’s served them. There was Elaine Tadeo and the way she smiled and put a second marshmallow in his cup. Later that year, Ron had thrown rocks at her to prove to his friends that he didn’t really like her, but when the black kids from Broadway Junior had come up there looking for the pretty Italian girls, Ron went home at lunch and came back with a butcher knife, ready to keep anyone who came near to Elaine far away. He’d gotten caught right outside the iron mesh grated window. His mother had called the school frantic that a knife was missing. The cops had told Ron that he would be in trouble at Broadway Junior and they sent him down the street. Ron looked at the window where he’s hit the softball further than anyone except Paul Peterson, who he’d made lick the sidewalk. He flushed and went down the stairs and back to his car.

Halleck Street was a shambles. He and Rich had played stickball here every day. This was where he’d first played football. This was where he’d told the rest of the team to line and throw him the ball and try to stop him. He ran hard and they had shied away. He knew what it was like to crash into a body or to have one crash into you and he longed for it. Now it was broken rubble, like the ruins he read about in Rome and Greece.
He was up on Rich’s door and knocking at it before he realized that he was there. There were bars on the windows and the small Italian woman was hunched over in back of the bolted door.
“It’s Ron Tuck,” he said.
She opened the door with a huge smile. “Ronald, how wonderful to see you. Come in, come in!”
“Mrs. D’Orio, I really didn’t think that you were still here.”
“We don’t give up easily, Ronald. How is your mother?”
Ron put his head down respectfully. This woman had fed him on more nights that he could remember and when she came out into the back yard and had asked if Ron wanted to stay for dinner, he had always shouted a triumphant ‘Yes.”
Now her place looked worn and torn up and used passed the point where it should have been left alone. Wallpaper hung in puffed peels in the hallway. The kitchen looked like something was crawling in it. The smells were old and not fresh and clean the way that Ron remembered them. The rooms were dark and small and Ron had remembered almost feeling like he was in the country when he’d been at the D’Orio house. She was now old and scared and Ron wondered how Richie could have ever let this happen. She seemed to have a lump on her back that was stretched over an old sweater and a plaid housedress with a raveled hem. Her lips were shaking.
“My mother is good. I was just in the neighborhood, Mrs. D’Orio.”
“Can you stay and have dinner, Ron”
“No, Ma’am, I got to be getting back now”
“Have you seen my Richie? You’re always welcome here Ronald.”
“No, Ma’am, but please give him my best.”
Ron turned and walked away from the place.
“Come back anytime, Ronald.”
He didn’t answer. He drove down to where Halleck Street met Broadway and then north towards Belleville.
Ron looked for his building. The gas station across the street was gone and the diner had been demolished. His basement apartment stood in back of an 8 foot high chain link fence with razor wire that ran along the top of it. It was a battle zone and no place for his memories.

Chapter 6
Elton John was singing “Don’t Go Breakin’ My Heart” with some English girl as Ron’s car snaked its way up the hills into New Providence. He knew the ride to Zoe’s house now, and as soon as he pulled up she was out the door and running towards him with a large duffle bag thrown over her shoulder. She was wearing tan shorts, a white cotton shirt, no socks and runner’s shoes. Her hair gave her the look of a halo as she pulled his door open, threw her bag into the back seat and kissed him. “I was waiting for you all day,” she said smiling. Ron laced his fingers between hers as he drove and they listened to Paul Simon say that there were “50 Ways to Leave Your Lover.”
“What do you want to do?” said Ron.
Zoe smiled and brought his hand between her legs. She pressed the backs of his knuckles to the swollen lips inside of the light fabric. She moved his hand up and down and closed her eyes, and then she smiled over at him coyly. Ron had already lain in the fastest route back to his house. She was already taking off her clothes as he put the key into the door. He heard the telephone ringing. She wore no bra, no panties. She pulled off the runner’s shoes and dove into his bed as he picked up the phone.
“Hey man,” said Quimpy. “Where the hell have you been?”
“I ain’t been around much Quimp. What’s happening?”
“You need some extra cash?” said Quimpy. He was sitting in his apartment at the kitchen table. There was a bottle of wine open and a half finished pizza box on the table. He was smoking a joint and stroking his black beard with a smile as he spoke.
Sure,” said Ron. “What’s the deal?’
“Tutoring kids who are fucked up. I figured you’d be a natural.”
Ron laughed. “Of course, I’d love it but I got this gig teaching in Catholic school.”
“This would be after school,” said Quimpy. “Can you meet me down at the alley tonight?”
Ron shook his head. “Not tonight, man.” It was the first time that Quimpy could ever remember Ron not being willing to come and meet him.
“How about tomorrow?”
“Maybe,” said Ron. “I’m not sure.”
Ron was being too evasive and Quimpy said, “You shacked up or something?
“Yup,” said Ron.
Quimpy laughed. “Alright well that explains it. Look gimme a call over the weekend or stop up. I’ll be around on Sunday for the games.”
“I will,” said Ron. He felt Zoe tugging at his clothes and laughed. “I gotta go, man.”
uimpy laughed too. “See you on Sunday.” He put down the phone and picked up the ever present nail file that was always in a mug on his table. He began to work the cuticles of his right hand. They were always an obsession. He wanted them long. He didn’t care about dirt under his nails, but he wanted the curve to be just right so that when he lifted the ball, the nails gave his fingertips just the right amount of support to follow through. It made the ball finish strong. He put down the nail file, picked up his keys, finished his last swallow of wine and headed out the door. Friday night was a scratch 375 pairs league at Welmont. He felt ready.

When Ron got off the phone, Zoe pulled him onto the bed and then lay on her belly. “I’ve been so naughty all day that you should spank me,’ she said. Ron stared as she lifted her bottom and then pressed it down onto the mattress.
“I should?” said Ron. He’d never spanked anyone, but the idea seemed erotic and she was lifting her bottom up in the air and then pressing her pelvis down onto the mattress in a way that that was making his cock twitch in his pants. He crawled up across the bed to her. He moved his palm over her cheeks gently. She made them go up and down faster. Then he slapped her ass.
The flesh against flesh feel gave a sting to his hand but she moaned the way that she did when he put his cock in her and gyrated her hips in a circle on his bed. He raised his hands again and slapped down harder than he did the first time. He was surprised at the way that the sound bounced off of the walls. His stared at her cheeks. There was a slight glow where his hand had slapped her and he felt his cock get unbelievably hard in his pants. It was sticking against his zipper. He opened the button of his jeans and pulled down his zipper. She saw what he was doing and squirmed over to him, pressing her lips to exhale warm breath against his stretched tight jockey shorts. He slapped her ass again and she wriggled, pressed her nose in between her thighs where his balls were full tight and murmured, “That felt so good. Do it again.”
Ron’s hand was a blur as he raised and lowered it against her cheeks. She kissed his thighs and let her hair spread out against them and over his belly; she exhaled warm breath against the fabric and dragged her hair back and forth, squirming and moaning.
Quimpy got into his 1963 Pink Convertible Cadillac. The long sleek fins sliced into the night as he drove with the top down and his black hair trailing behind him. The car was smooth and Quimpy stroked his beard appreciative of the silence of the ride as he thought about tonight’s games. He was throwing the ball good. If Buster just didn’t get crazy, they could win the league. The idea of Buster and not crazy was an oxymoron that amused Quimpy. Buster was always a fucking nut, playing lines that made his ball work harder than it had to, and just killing the pocket all night long from the wrong angle. Stubborn Polish fuck that he was. Quimpy pulled into a parking space in the lot, far away from anyone else’s car. He didn’t want to give anybody any excuses.
Ron’s hand slapped down hard on Zoe’s ass again and this time she writhed for him and said, “Please, please do it to me now.”
Quimpy’s ball drove into the pocket with purpose. Pins splattered like shacks against the surge of a tsunami.
“Nine in a row,” said Butchie. “You got three more in those lucky cakes of yours?”
“We’ll see,” said Quimpy, stroking his beard. “But we both know your bet, even with the ridiculous spot, is history.”
“I know, Cakes,” said Butchie. “But you still got to be feelin tight in the collar.”
Quimpy smiled at Butchie “I ain’t tight. You already paid for my night.
Ron’s had slapped down hard on her raised ass. His left hand had grabbed hold of her hair like it was reins. His cock was driving in and out of her and his right hand was slapping her raised red cheeks with the tempo of his thrusts. He was riding her and she was moaning and panting, lubrication leaking out her.
Quimpy mounted the approach and felt himself drifting slightly to the right as he moved toward the foul line. He adjusted by giving his arm just a slightly harder lift, fingers coming out after his thumb slipped free, the ball sliding and then catching its line, churning fast and hooking, catching the head pin and sending it careening off the side wall and then bouncing back to take out the 5 pin, the deck a dancing gyrating collision of wood that cleared and left everything spinning and down on the deck.
A cheer rose up in back of him. The house had stopped and gathered to watch. Everyone wanted to be there for perfection or the anguish of coming this close to perfection. A perfect game in a league earned you a diamond ring. Sal was watching from the next pair. He hated Quimpy but looked down at the perfect 300 that he wore instead of his wedding band, twirled it once and hoped silently for failure. The more exclusive the club was, the more he liked being a member.

Ron’s hips were quivering like he was a feral thing. The electricity between them was sending jolts through their bodies. With each slap and thrust and backward coiling and tug on her hair and moans that came from deep inside of them where their organs were joined and desperately in need of each other and of yet another release. He felt like he was a heated piece of wood inside of her. Every inch of him was tense. She was bouncing her hot, red cheeks back against him when he felt the release shoot out of him like the hose of a pump that was just under too much pressure. Hot seed blasted into her, he bucked harder and the second blast sent him lurching on top of her. She was crying now and wanting him to not stop to not ever stop.
The ball was dead in the pocket. The expectant cheer that went up from the crowd was silenced by the stiff straight unmoving defiance of a 10 pin that looked like it must be a mirage because of the way everything else had blown off the deck and into the pit. Sal smiled and got up to throw his ball. Excitement over! Quimpy screamed down the lane, “Motherfucker!” He kicked the ball rack as the collection of appreciative faces dissolved into business as usual on Friday night.

Chapter 7
On Saturday morning, Zoe told Ron that she wanted to run. “I know a place,” said Ron. They got into his car and drove up the parkway towards his parents’ house. The high school field in back of the house had a quarter mile track that wrapped around a football field and a baseball diamond and a softball field. Ron said, “I haven’t run in a long time. He was wearing a bathing suit and a sweat shirt over a t-shirt. He wore an old pair of sneakers. He couldn’t remember the last time that he had them on. Zoe looked resplendent. Her thick blonde hair hung loose over her shoulders, her legs were thin and muscular. She had borrowed one of his t-shirts and tied it at her waist. “Let me watch you run around just once,” she said.
Ron started off tentatively. The track did not hold good memories for him. Embarrassments of having dry heaves, of having his knee buckle while he was jogging with the team rushed over him. Now she would be there to watch. She would see it all. She wouldn’t want him. She would look at him like he was a pathetic mess.
He started off anyway, looking down at the way that his feet struck the cinders of the track He wasn’t gonna let it beat him again. If he ran until his heart exploded, he wasn’t gonna let it beat him. To his amazement, his body moved with a light footed grace and he circumnavigated the track almost before he was out of breath. She was sitting in the wooden bleachers watching and her smile was as broad as a sunrise coming up over a hill on a summer morning. “You’re an athlete,” she said coming over to him. “I can see it in your stride. It’s strong and solid.” Ron blushed. He had not thought of himself as an athlete for a very long time. Then she said, “You run clockwise and I’ll run counterclockwise. That way nobody will be trying to keep up with anyone else.”
Ron laughed. “I’m not silly enough to think that I can keep up with you. You finished the Boston Marathon and I just ran my first quarter mile since Nixon was President.”
She laughed and bounded off. He watched the cute little jiggle of her cheeks and that erotic sway of her hair as it brushed back and forth and bounced on her back. Then he ran too, in the other direction. He felt his breath started to give out and was breathing hard when they passed each other for the first time. She smiled and held her hand out as she neared him. They slapped palms and Ron kept running. He pushed and then the most amazing thing happened. He felt his breath slow and his heart settle in his chest. He saw the track and felt the cool air speed past him. He heard birds and smelled the fresh cut of the grass and then they were passing each other again. Ron sped up. He felt himself start to lose his breath and slowed just a little. His breathing returned to the comfort zone and he felt like his feet weren’t touching the ground anymore although he could hear the soft slap of his old sneakers on the track.
He didn’t know how far he ran but he stopped because his legs started to get wobbly, not because his breathing was giving out and then he walked. The first wave of retching, body shaking coughs hit him about 30 seconds later. They doubled him over. Leaning against the wooden bleachers, palms flat on the wooden slabs, Ron coughed and coughed until he was dizzy. The he straightened up and breathed in deeply. Another burst of body shaking heaves coughed their way out of him. He staggered. Then he breathed in again and it was clear and he felt a wave of euphoria warm his body with a sensation that he’d never in his life felt. She was flying around the track now, her hair no longer touching her shoulders but spread out in back of her in golden plumes. Smiling like he’d just smoked opium, he sat in the bleachers breathing easily, feeling each intake and exhale of air like it was the sweetest food he’d ever taken.
After what seemed like an hour she finally stopped and simply walked over to him. She wasn’t breathing hard. She was hardly sweating, but she was smiling broadly.
“How far did you run,” said Ron.
She grinned. “I don’t know. Till I got bored.”
Ron stared at her in complete amazement. What was she doing with him? Why did she want him? How could he ever keep up with her?
“How far did I run?” said Ron.
“I think a mile and a half, which is great for a first run.”
“Then you must have run ten miles,” said Ron worshipfully.
They got back into his car. Ron did not want to stop in and see his mother. He wasn’t ready to explain Zoe to anyone. It wasn’t going to last. He wasn’t going to be able to keep up with her. He didn’t want to answer any questions after she left him. He thought about Robin for just an instant and then he shoved the image away from his brain with a screaming “No!” that he kept deep inside of him.
They drove up Bloomfield Avenue towards Welmont Lanes. Ron was showing her the neighborhoods. They passed the new high rise apartment building that skirted the border of Glen Ridge, into one of the black sections of the city where second hand stores and soul food eateries and the Jehovah’s witnesses all had storefronts. The apartments were dilapidated, the side streets were worse. Zoe felt a look of appall spread across her face and tighten her mouth and darken her eyes. Ron talked about walking these streets like it was a badge of honor. She just felt endangered. As they approached the center of Montclair from the south, it all changed with a four-cornered plaza of banks and fine shops that were designed for upscale patrons. The shift was abrupt and obvious. She felt herself settle back against the headrest with a certain amount of reinstated ease. Ron was talking about movie theaters and music shops and she was looking at the people who seemed so much more like her. How could they live so close to such an obvious lack of safety?
The neighborhood was slowly shifting again when he turned onto the street next to Welmont. Some things were clean but others were run down. The mixture gave her a tolerable sense of danger that she found more exciting than threatening.
Quimpy maneuvered his Caddy with the glow of a man who had just had a good night and was expecting things to continue in the same vein. He’d tacked his 3 game score sheet up on the refrigerator. He was interested in a match but he wasn’t hungry for one. It was a good place to be. He felt that he could sit back and let things come to him and sort them through and take the best bet without needing to prove anything else this weekend. He could have even skipped today, but he wanted to bask in last night. A perfect game was one thing, but a 700 series was an accomplishment that was not so much based on luck as it was a credit to sustained excellence.
Ron reached down and squeezed Zoe’s bottom as they walked through the dark, cool, enclosed parking lot. She instantly turned to him and pressed her glowing body against his and whispered. “You can take me out of here whenever you want and just bring me someplace and do whatever you want to me. You don’t even have to say anything. Just snap your fingers of give me a look, and I’ll be right in back of you.”
Ron smiled, felt his chest puff and said. “Let’s get something to eat here. I have to see this guy that called last night. Then we are out of here.”
She reached her hand out and squeezed his ass and repeated, “You can do whatever you want to do to me.”
When they walked in the back door the usual collection of heads turned. There was a crowd on 15 and 16, a match was going on. Ron smiled remembering when it would have been the most important thing happening in the day, but now he walked passed not even bothering to see who was bowling. His arm was around Zoe’s waist as they walked to the luncheonette.
Butchie nudged TJ after they walked by. “Ronnie’s finally got a hole that he can crawl into. It’s a skinny hole, but any hole is better than none.”
TJ puffed on his cigar and laughed but did not answer.
Sal was watching too and turned to the deskman. “Well at least she‘s white. I half expected that jerk-off to walk in with some niggar broad one day.”
The deskman laughed. “He might yet. Didn’t Quimpy bring some dark meat in here one day?”
“Who knows if Quimpy humps anything but his bowling ball.” said Sal.
Quimpy was having coffee with Buster at the counter. He turned to smile when he saw Ron and Zoe. “Well, glad to see you finally got around to coming back.” he said, ignoring Zoe.
Ron laughed and held up Zoe’s hand wrapped in his own. “This is Quimpy, Zoe. He’s one of my oldest friends.”
Quimpy nodded and looked up at Zoe smiling and said, “You know he’s a crazy fucked up lunatic right?”
Zoe laughed and blushed but did not answer. They three of them slid into a booth and Buster went up to see what was happening on 15 and 16. They ordered cheeseburgers and coffee. He hadn’t let go of Zoe’s hand and she was holding on to him as if some strong wind might blow through the luncheonette any minute and carry her who knows where. Quimpy said, “708.” And then allowed the number to settle in.
“Last night?” said Ron
Quimpy nodded smiling and then Ron smiled and turned to Zoe. “708 is a huge number.”
Zoe let go of Ron’s hand and interlaced her fingers on the countertop between them. “It’s nice to meet you Quimpy. “
Quimpy bobbed his head without saying anything at first and then smiled. “I can see why Ron wouldn’t want to be wasting his time around here.”
Ron slid his hand below the counter and grasped her thigh, fingers close to the top of it, squeezing her leg, feeling the muscles and the heat that was radiating from between her legs. “So what’s this about a job?” he said to Quimpy.
Quimpy answered, “Eighteen an hour, takes a couple weeks to see cash, but the job is nothing. You pick up some books and go and sit with these kids for a couple of hours. You talk to them. Teach them if you want. Then you leave and turn in your time sheet. Kids give you any shit, you just walk out. They need you. It’s an easy bit.”
“What do I have to do?”
“Show up at my office sometime through the week and I’ll show you. You gonna stick around here?”
“Not at all,” said Ron. “You heard from Hank?”
“Somebody told me that he got a job as an assistant golf pro. He ain’t around anymore.”
Ron took two fast bites of his burger, saw that Zoe had already demolished hers and said, “Me neither”
“That’s cool,” said Quimpy. “This place was never anything good for you.”
“It ain’t good for nobody,” said Ron, sliding into the vernacular.
Zoe asked where the bathroom was and both he and Quimpy watched her walk away. “That’s a very pretty tail that she’s got.”
“No shit,” said Ron and finished his burger in large bites.
When they got back into the car, he thought he smelled a feint staleness on her breath and noticed that’s he did not kiss him as they drove back to his apartment.
He thought about Welmont. It must have been at least four years since he’d been there last, and they acted as if he’d been there every Saturday. He wondered if that was their way of ignoring him or if they hadn’t really missed him. The place just didn’t change. It was frozen in time like a village in a glass bowl that you could shake and cause snow to fall. He wondered if Quimpy changed or if he was just the same as everyone else at Welmont. He wasn’t. He’d called Ron and asked if he could help him up with some extra money. Nobody at Welmont would ever do such a thing. The only money they would let go of was a lure that was supposed to suck a fish into deeper water. Ron wondered if Quimpy’s job offer was a lure and into what deep water Quimpy might be trying to suck him. He looked over at Zoe; she was staring out the window with her hand up over her mouth.
“What did you think of Welmont?” he asked.
“It was an ugly place,” she said without taking her hand away. “They are ugly people.”
“Do you think I’m like them?”
“I think that they are jealous that you aren’t like them and would like nothing better to make everyone and everything just as ugly as they are.”
A Bob Dylan line surged through Ron’s brain. “… drag you down into the hole that he’s in.” It repeated like it was on an unending loop as he parked the car and they walked towards his apartment.
She took his hand and held it as they walked. “You’re nothing like them. You are a beautiful man.” He stretched over to kiss her but she danced away and said, “Wait until we are inside.”

Chapter 8

Back at Ron’s apartment she took her clothes off and then took his clothes off smiling and squirming as he caressed her. Then she ran the first bath that Ron had ever seen in his tub and filled it with bathing salts that smelled of vanilla. She knelt on a towel that was folded on the tile floor next to the tub in which he lay back and closed his eyes. Her egg-shell blue eyes followed the progress of her hands as she stroked his shoulders and his ribs and his thighs that she knew would become hard, unyielding and forceful. She wanted them that way. She dabbed exploding bubbles onto his nipples and admired the taunt hard kernel that stood out for her. She slid her strong forearm muscles in ascending and descending waves of soapy pleasure along the length of him. Her nipples were hard and her clit was swollen as she worked her thumbs higher and higher on his thighs and then saw his cock swell so that the head poked through the top of the water.
His eyes were deep green when he opened them and stared at her from a dreamy haze. They startled her as she worked over his wet body. He sat up and turned the hot water on full blast. He stood up and lifted her with a cooperative ease, his body dripping. He lowered her into brim filled, warm, sudsy tub.
Starting with her toes he silently rubbed the bubbles from the sponge into her flesh with the help of his trailing hand. One hand was holding the loaded sponge and slowly squeezing it. The other was rubbing slow, soft, smooth circles into her thighs, into her breasts, along her belly. When she thrust her pelvis up he emptied the sponge onto her sex and then massaged it with those concentric maddening circles and she moaned, fitfully.
Ron carried her dripping body to the bed and stretched her legs up over her head and entered her with the thrust of a suitor. She bucked for him; pelvis unable to stop and he pounded into her and then shot seed inside of her and she hoped that he had impregnated her, and wrapped her arms around him holding him until she was asleep.
In late September, the coolness of the evening comes late to Elizabeth. Ron was reading papers when she opened her eyes. His body was long and relaxed but his eyes were intent on the words. When he saw that she was awake, he turned the stack of papers over and said, “I loved watching you sleep.”
She said, “Can we go for a ride?”
He said, “We’ll have to get dressed”
She frowned. He said, “I have to get dressed but I can wrap you in something.” She brought a pad and they drove into the hills, curled in a plaid comforter, sketching with a pencil, as the fading light softened the full rich greens into shades of dark.
Ron wondered what his students were doing right now; the voices of the essays were whispering in his mind. Zoe repressed her feelings of hunger with the need not to vomit again.

Chapter 9

On Sunday morning, Ron told Zoe that he was going to need to spend most of the day with papers. She smiled and stretched in front of him. His eyes grew perceptibly larger as she spread her legs and said, “Are you going to want to visit me later?”
Ron cleared his throat but he couldn’t take his eyes away from in between her legs. “I assigned all these essays,” he said unconvincingly.
She laughed and snapped her legs shut so quickly that it made him blink. “Maybe I’ll spend the day at my parents’ house and go for a swim and show my face. Do you want to drive me there now?” The angular shape of her jaw had a strong curve and with the way the sunlight was dancing off of her hair he could have sworn that she was throwing off a radiation of light that came from within her.
“Do you think that maybe we should talk about living together?”
She smiled broadly and slid her arms around his neck and said, “We just did.”
He drove her home feeling very close to her and not wanting to send her off anywhere, almost as if some spell would be broken if she wasn’t in contact with him. She talked to him about her sisters and how they used to put on puppet shows for their parents on Sundays. The girls had constructed a miniature stage and Zoe painted the comedy and tragedy Greek theater masks on it. They would practice all week long. Hiedi would write the script and Barbara, the only one of the daughters named for someone on their father’s side of the family, would make clothes for the dolls that they had converted to hand puppets. Zoe would paint scenery. Her face became very dreamy when she said, “Do you think it’s possible to have a childhood that is too happy? So happy that growing up can’t help but be a letdown?”
“You’re asking the wrong guy that question,” said Ron in a voice that at that moment felt very old and far away from childhood. Except that childhood was sitting right next to him in its entire splendor. That thought made him smile.
Back at home, he unpacked his briefcase and spread the papers onto the bed. The scent of her in the sheets made him lie on his back and just close his eyes, turn his face into the bed sheets and inhale her. He felt a stirring between his legs and his eyes opened like some kind of alarm sounded in his head. He needed to work.
Coffee and papers and a red pen carried him through the next hours. He learned that they had uniform difficulty with the placement of nouns and verbs. He drew circles and wrote to each of them. By the time he was finished with a paper, there was as much red on it as there was any other color ink. When he could link a face with a paper, it made him smile. To each of them, he wrote a few sentences at the end. He told them what he thought were their best ideas and what they needed to work on to express themselves better. Lashly had very rarely paid him any compliments at all and he wasn’t going to be one of those teachers who made it an ordeal for students to read their graded work.
He was insatiable for their ideas. He almost sighed when he finished reading some of the papers. He wanted to talk to the authors right then and show them what could make their papers better. They were so vulnerable and transparent. He was almost finished with his senior essays when he read he came to Andrea’s paper.
In the second paragraph, she wrote about the power of language. She had learned the year before that poetry could inspire emotional and physical responses with the power of words. Then she wrote, “I once read a poem that said the words ‘a candle between my thighs’ and when I read it I felt jolted. Then I read it again and again and it made me want to have that feeling.” Ron read to the end of the paper and then started reading it again. He noticed that he was sweating and that he hadn’t turned on the widow fan even though it was a warm day. He got up and to his shock saw that he had an erection. He walked to the fan and switched it on. Then he lit a cigarette and read her paper again. The words “a candle between her thighs” jumped out at him again and he stared at them. She said that it came from Dylan Thomas. What was he supposed to say about this? Was he supposed to ignore it? It was the most powerful line that he’d read all day but how was he supposed to respond to a seventeen year old girl who was writing about a candle sliding between her legs? She deserved a response. That was exactly what poetry was supposed to do: stop you dead in your tracks and make you want to go back, but how was he supposed to tell her that. He was sure that he’d never heard the line before. He would have remembered it if he had. He wanted to know where it came from. Then he saw again that she said it was Dylan Thomas. What was this girl doing reading Dylan Thomas? He went to his bookshelf and looked for his complete Dylan Thomas poems. He had to admit that he hadn’t read them ardently. He loved the prose things like “A Child’s Christmas in Wales” and of course “Do Not Go Gentle” but he didn’t know this piece and now he was determined to find it.
The phone rang and it was Zoe. “I want to be there with you,” she said.
“Can I come and get you?” he answered.
“Come now,” she whispered.
He left the book of poems lying on the bed but carefully packed away each of the stacks of papers. He glanced over at his clock. It was 6 o’clock. He’d been reading for more than 5 hours and he hadn’t once looked up at the time. He hadn’t straightened up the apartment. Before he left, he pulled the sheet up and tried to smooth it out and put the pillows at the head of the bead next to the rougher fabric of the sofa portion of the hide-a-bed. He left the book in the middle of the bed and was out the door.
She had run to the curb almost before the car stopped. She dove in and ran her arms over his shoulders and kissed him and straddled him so that she was between him and the steering wheel. Then she said, “I guess you can’t drive this way can you?”
She settled onto her side of the car, rolled down the window, the first rays of the sunset were bouncing on the sides of her glasses and her presence warmed him. She waved at the closing drape as he pulled away.
When they were back inside his apartment, she said, “I did something for you today. I hope that you like it.”
Ron looked at her quizzically. “What did you do?’
She pulled her shorts down and unbuttoned her top. He lay back on his bed and she tucked her hand into the waistband of her panties and slowly wriggled them down until they were just over her knees.
Ron’s eyes were drawn and then they saw the bareness, the nakedness of her pubic triangle. “I waxed myself for you.” She stood very straight until the panties gathered below her knees and then slid down to her calves. Then she stepped out of them. Ron was transfixed. He knew that his mouth was open but he didn’t care.
“I want to kiss it,” he murmured.
She crawled onto his bed and lay on her side and then her left toe raised and pointing at the ceiling, she let it slide down to the back of her right knee so that he could see her the way the flower of her opened and swelled with the feel of his gaze.
She tasted moist and fresh like a saturated breeze and he let the tip of his tongue wiggle along the slit of her sex; appreciating her with soft licks. She slid from her knees to the mattress and raised herself up for his mouth. She held herself up like a delectable morsel and quivered for him. He shifted his shoulders between her thighs, inclined his head and placed his lips on her. She tightened her cheeks and thrust up at him. He bit into her naked lips and shook his head like a warm, feral lover and she felt the waves of the first orgasm pulse through her. It caused her to buck against his hard teeth. He swallowed. He sucked and shook his head, gulping her. His lips pushed against her hips, his hard teeth squeezing her like a fruit that he wanted to split open. Then he rubbed the wet of her all over his face; he glistened with her. He pressed the chin that he hadn’t shaved since the day before against her lips, while his fingers peeled back the hood of puffed flesh that gathered in protection of the small bundle of nerves that was throbbing and pulsing and sending electric shocks like Morse code.

His sandpaper chin was pressing to her lips, his fingers were exposing a swollen clit, his tongue was lapping at it like a soft gentle whip; she exploded again. Juice was squirting out of her. She tossed her head as the erotic explosions rolled over her.
His eyes traced the tender shape of her flowered lips, blinking so that his long lashes brushed her into deeper frenzy. She locked her elbows in back of her knees and rocked for him, incoherent moans formed in her brain. She was not at all sure that they came out of her mouth that was locked wide open and gasping, head in jerking spasm that moved it from side to side. He had never seen a depilated vagina before.
Robin had been covered in a soft angel hair, a tangled swirl and she had told him it felt funny when he sucked on her and drove his curled tongue wiggling in and out of her, just as he was doing now with Zoe. She screamed with this orgasm or maybe it was a continuation of the last one that hadn’t stopped, but the urge to mount her was overwhelming.
He was so hard and he wanted to feel the silky warmth of that tight wet glove that she slid around him. He needed to feel her fingers on his ass urging him in and out. Wait! She didn’t do that, Robin did that! A voice inside of him screamed, “No!” and he sat him with a dazed expression.
She panted and tried to relax and managed to say, “I was about to pass out.”
He sank deep inside of himself, clawing and screaming against the silence like a man that had been tossed down a well, fingertips ripping against the stony sides of the chasm. He blinked up at her; had he been blind? What had he been seeing? Where had he been? Then his thoughts merged into clarity. It was Robin’s hand that slapped on his bucking ass, her small voice in his ear saying “I love you,” repeating it over and over.
He looked Zoe straight in her face and realized that what he wanted was that Robin would be this way with him. He told himself it wasn’t true. Zoe was in tune with his spirit; he loved the way that she saw him. For Robin, he had been all potential and doubt and now it was himself that he doubted.
How could he let a woman inside of him again? What was wrong with him? Look at what had happened the last time that he’d made that mistake! And then Zoe had his head in her arms and she was holding him to her breasts and he realized that he had been crying.

Chapter 10
Monday morning: Mr. Tuck stood in front of his 9th grade reading class grateful for the faces and the immediacy of their needs. They were reading “An Open Window” and it was painful for all of them.
Ron said “Close your books.” And then he told them the story of the nervous guest and the imaginative girl who played with his fears and her longings. They listened quietly and understood. Then he said, “Now, I’m going to read it for you.” And then he did and they understood. Then he said, “Let’s go line by line and when we find words you don’t know, raise your hand and I’ll put them on the board and we can see what this is about together.” They did.
It was a two page story but he filled the three panels of the chalkboard once and then he filled them again. He had no time for a dictionary and so he told them what the words meant as he understood them.
He paced down the aisles as they copied everything that he had written. His handwriting frustrated them and so he printed, which only added to the frustration because his printing would lapse into a combination of block and cursive writing and sometimes m’s had three humps and sometimes they just had two. He said that that night they should take the story home and tell it to their families. Tomorrow he wanted to talk about what everyone had said.
“Suppose nobody’s home?’ said Connie DeMatteo
Ron thought for a moment and then said, “Tell the story to yourself like you are somebody else. Imagine that you are somebody listening. That’s what I used to do. My mom was never home and so I’d turn the TV on to a news station and turn the sound down and talk to the face like it was someone I knew.” They all giggled He could be very silly.
After lunch, he met with his senior class. Returning their essays, he thought about what Andrea had written and his response to it. “Poetry can cause an emotional reaction, a deep thought or even a physical response. The power is not in the language alone but in the connection that the reader makes to the language. All by itself, the poem is powerless. It needs you, even more than you need it.” Was it a copout considering the nature of what she had written? He decided that it wasn’t. It was what he could in good conscience communicate to one of his students in a high school.
The class was surprised that he had their essays ready. Rosa said, “Didn’t you go out at all this weekend, Mr. Tuck?”
Ron grinned at them showing them his white teeth and his dimples. “Why would I go out when I could stay at home and read your papers?” he said. They laughed.
“It’s ok,” said Rosa. “Most of us don’t have a life either.”
“Rosa has a life,” chirped Tina. Then she muttered under her breath, “She spends it on her back.” Two or three of the girls closest to Tina began to laugh and Rosa shot the group a hard look that dissolved into a deep smile.
“I know, I know,” said Rosa, “but I just can’t help it.”
“How is Beowulf a story about people who are partying too hard?” asked Ron.
“These men don’t do anything but brag about themselves,” said Tina.
“Why do you think that?” asked Ron.
Tina was thoughtful then she said, “Look at the way that they go on and on about themselves. They have more titles for each other that there are grains of rice in a Carolina box. It’s all exaggeration. They just exaggerate everything.”
“Why would they do that,” said Ron.
The class was silent. He waited. He liked it when they were quiet like this. It meant that they were thinking. It scanned their faces trying the read their thoughts. Ron’s mind was running full speed. They had been right of course, but Lashly had taught him that it was easy to put characters down and that it was important to learn to defend literature. How could he teach them that? How had Lashly taught it to him? Ron thought, by doing it. He taught me that it should be important by how important he made it to himself. That wouldn’t work on these kids. There were too many other things competing for importance in their lives. But Rosa had said that some of them didn’t have lives either. Ron smiled to himself about the “either” as he paced around the room rolling chalk between his palms, listening to the way that it clicked on his ring. He looked down at the Minnesota Jasper that Robin had given him the day that he’d arrived in Minneapolis. “This is for getting your ass out of New Jersey,” she said to him.
Then an idea hit him. “When I was growing up around here reputation was really important. For girls, it meant that you couldn’t have dated too many guys and for guys it meant it mostly had to do with how tough you were.”
Rosa whispered to Andrea, “Or how big a dick he has.” Andrea laughed.
Ron ignored them. “Why would a guy want a big reputation?” said Ron. Rosa and Andrea burst out laughing. This time Ron turned to them. He walked straight towards Andrea not realizing that at their seated height they were right at cock level. The girls laughed harder. “Come on,” said Ron, “stay with me here. Why is it important to have a reputation for being a tough guy?”
“So that people won’t try to step on you,” said the girl looking up at his face and seeing his green eyes very intently looking first at her and then at Rosa and then at the rest of the class.
“Why would it be any different for them?”
“Because they were like from biblical times. Everything was different,” said Barbara, a chubby girl who shifted from side to side in her seat as she spoke.
“Maybe some things don’t change,” said Ron. “Maybe that’s why it is important to read this stuff to see that some things don’t change.”
Rosa said, “Does that mean that after we learn that some things don’t change that we can stop reading this corny stuff and read something that is interesting?”
The class laughed. Ron laughed too. Rosa was right. It was kind of boring but he didn’t think that their studying it had to be boring, not if he could make them see the connection between them and it. “All these people thinking about a lot of the same things that you and I are thinking about. Maybe they’ve thought of some things that we haven’t. Maybe some of them were smarter than us and we can learn from them.” Ron hesitated. It wouldn’t do any good to scold them, not yet. He hadn’t hooked them deeply enough yet. He needed to lure them in just a little more first. “When does the monster appear?”
“At night,” said Tina quickly.
“What have they been doing before the monster comes into the mead hall?”
“Sleeping,” said Andrea.
“And before that?”
There was the silence again Ron sent them back to the book, to the story. The read together about the first time that Grendel had appeared. Then he sent them to another section and another.
“They’ve always been drinking,” said Ron finally. “What do men do after they’ve been drinking?”
The girls laughed. Rosa said, “They pee.” The girls laughed again.
Laughing with them, Ron said, “What else do they do?”
“They get all hot,” said Rosa loudly. The girls laughed very hard now.
Ron said, “And what do they do after they get hot?” Then he blushed realizing that they would take it differently from the way that he meant it.
Rosa said in a mildly mocking voice, “Mr. Tuck, you don’t want us to talk about that.”
“Do they ever fight?” said Ron. The room got very, very quiet. “Could people sometimes get hurt?” The room was so quiet now that he could hear his own footsteps as he paced back and forth in front of the room. “Maybe this is a story about the monsters that come out from inside of men after they’ve been drinking too much. These were violent men. Men who were used to killing and fighting. Is it any wonder that if you put a bunch of them together in a bar, that someone would get hurt?” And then almost as perfect punctuation to what he said, the bell rang. He smiled. His timing was getting better.
Ron got into his car and drove back towards his house. His mind was still back with his classes. He could see their open faces and their deep, dark eyes like they were indelibly printed somewhere inside of him. He asked himself for at least the tenth time if what he was trying to do was any good for them. Did he have anything that he could really give them that was any different or better than what the other teachers had to offer? They looked at him with faith in their eyes. They trusted him, or at least it seemed to him that they trusted him. Suppose he fucked it up? Suppose some Catholic thing just made him go off and somehow they were taken away from them. He would be just another in what he knew to be a long list of disappointments for them. He couldn’t let that happen. If he had to pretend to still be a Catholic, he would. Then another voice said inside of him said, “They’re just kids. Who are you, the fucking Catcher in the Rye?” He screamed back at the voice that he was sane. That he would battle for his sanity. That he would not let himself go crazy again. It was giving up. He didn’t want to give up on them and he didn’t want them to know how quickly, how completely, he wanted to be part of their lives. He wanted to be a teacher that they would smile about when they were older and to do that he had to give up some things and be there for them now. Nothing that he had ever done was as important as what he was doing right now, and he would not allow himself to let them down.
Back at his apartment, he found a note from Zoe that said that she had taken the train back to her father’s house. Ron noticed that she never called it her parents’ house. It was always her father’s house. He missed not having her there and yet he didn’t want to miss her. He had learned to be alone again. Robin had taken that away from him and he had it back now. He could be alone without waiting for someone to call up and save him. It had been so hard without the aid of being a kid who could have imaginary friends and games. What he had now was music and pot. He rolled a joint and turned on the radio. He lit the joint and sat next to the fan so that the smoke would be sucked out into the alleyway. He sat back in his Danish rocking chair, one of the two chairs that he had taken from his Aunt Dottie’s house after she died. He looked over at the place of honor that he gave her fan back chair. He didn’t sit in it as much as he stared at it and imagined her when he did. She wouldn’t like these kids. She would think that he was wasting his time and that they didn’t pay him enough money.
The phone rang twice before he moved towards it. He expected to hear Zoe’s voice but it wasn’t Zoe. Robin said, “I was thinking about you and wondering how you were.”
In a stunned voice, he said “I’m teaching in a little Catholic school in Newark.”
Robin laughed. “Are you pretending to be Warren?”
“I think that I can do this, Robin. These kids grew up on the same streets that I grew up on. I can help them to learn what they need to learn to get out.”
“So, you want to save them?”
“I don’t know. I wish that you could see what happens to me when I’m in class. It’s very strange and kind of wonderful really.”
“Are you smoking pot again?”
“Not so much,” said Ron, stubbing the joint out in his ashtray.
“I’m coming back for a visit.”
“When?”
“In three weeks.”
“How long will you be staying?”
“I haven’t decided. Can I count on you to pick me up?”
“You can always count on me. Didn’t I tell you that?”
“Things change.”
“Yeah, they do,” he said. She was fully alive in his mind now and he could see her face so very clearly, the high cheekbones, the blonde straight hair, and the blue eyes that saw everything.
“Are you seeing anyone?”
“No,” he lied.
“You should see other people, Ron.”
“I want to see you.”
There was what seemed like an incredibly long silence over the phone line.
“I’ll call you again when I know when I’m getting in.”
“OK,” said Ron. And then she was gone and he was alone in his one room apartment in Elizabeth and the radio was annoying him and he felt very lonely. He picked up his book bag and began to prepare for the next day’s classes. He relit the joint and in a while it felt as if he must have imagined that she had called.
It was dark when the phone rang again. This time it was Zoe and her voice sent a wash of guilt that felt like a cold shower run through his mind and then down over his body.
She said, “I’ve been waiting for you to call.”
He said, “I had to work.”
“Is it too late to come and get me?”
Ron broke into a grin and said, “I’m half out the door already.”

Chapter 11

The next day Ron was invited to the principal’s office. Sister Irene was in back of her desk. There was a large arrangement of cut flowers underneath the picture of the Blessed Virgin. Off to the left and directly over her desk was a crucifix. “Things seem to be going rather well for you, Mr. Tuck, but we have to talk about some things.”
“Yes Sister.”
“First of all the girls are very excited to have you here and I’ve already had two calls from parents asking about who you were.”
Ron stiffened. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. “It must be a tad difficult for a man like you being here with us, Mr. Tuck. These girls are very young and sometimes very obvious in their interests.”
“I like them very much, Sister and it’s not at all difficult. I know my place.”
The nun smiled. That was exactly what she was worried about and she liked that he was bright enough to anticipate what could have been a tense conversation.
“I came from around here, Sister, and these kids deserve someone who is willing to see them as what they are.
“And what is it that you see them as, Mr. Tuck?”
“Young girls who could benefit from learning the language, Sister.”
The nun smiled and came around from behind her desk. “We’d like to have you over for dinner next Wednesday. Do you think that you can make it?”
“I’d like that very much, Sister.”
“Good, then we’ll expect at six o’clock. We’ll be back from prayers by then. Enjoy your day, Mr. Tuck.”
And Ron did enjoy the day. The pattern of his classes was a constant in his life now. Whenever he had nothing to do, he had preparation for the next class and papers to grade and pieces to read again with an eye towards what he would say to them the next day or the day after that. Twice a day, he dutifully went to the coffee shop and got his coffee. He didn’t sit on the fire escape and drink it and smoke the way that he had done on the first day or two. Now, he took it back to his car and sat there with a stack of papers, the front seat rolled back, his watch placed on the dashboard so that he didn’t lose track of time. Each story or each fragment of a larger piece of literature that he read was seen with a new eye, in a new light. He wasn’t seeing them for himself as much anymore as he was studying them for his students. He found that his thoughts went deeper into the ideas. He saw not only what the ideas were but what the ideas were meant to do. It was an entirely new way of looking at what he read that he’d never experienced before. What would his classes think of this? How could he structure something to attach it to an earlier idea? When should he say this? He didn’t take notes, he absorbed what he read. He felt himself wrapping around it and internalizing it. It grew inside of him and became part of how he looked at everything. The stranger thing was that it didn’t only happen with literature, it happened with everything he saw and everyone he saw.
When he wasn’t teaching or preparing he was with Zoe and that was magical. He never told her that he’d heard from Robin. In fact, he told himself that he had not heard from Robin and made the lie stick, although it didn’t stick too deeply. He was unable to do that. If he saw the truth of something a certain way, he didn’t seem to have the ability to consciously lie to himself. He couldn’t lie to himself. It had always been a problem and he knew that he’d gotten it from his mother
She had been told so many lies as a child that she had taught him and re-taught him the value of truth. She seemed far away now. Although she was always just a telephone call away, or a short drive away. If he needed her, or more possibly if she needed him, he could be there.
He’d gone to see Quimpy’s office and had been duly impressed by its size and the wonderment that Quimpy actually had a secretary. It would take about two weeks to process his forms and put his name in front of the board of education. Ron didn’t understand any of that but Quimpy had said that it was all bullshit and not to worry about it. They had agreed to get together for the games that Sunday.
Zoe was going to visit her youngest sister up in Boston and Ron was alone on Friday afternoon. His phone rang.
“Hello, Ron,” said Chris.
“Chris, how are you doing?”
“I’m getting blasted with the law round the clock. It’s like the Sheriff’s revenge.” Ron laughed hard and genuine. “Anyway, what I was thinking was that if you weren’t doing anything tonight that you could drive in and we could get some dinner and maybe play guitars.”
“I’d love to do that,” said Ron quickly. “I’m on my way in.”
“See ya then,” said Chris.
The drive into the lower east side on a Friday afternoon was a nightmare. Ron fought his way down to the parkway and then up to Route 82. That would take him to the tunnel. The skyway was a stinking crawl. It was a warm afternoon and the industrial combination of smells rose like an uncomfortable tweed suit that assaulted his nostrils and would not let them go. The cars rolled and then stopped for no apparent reason. They sat idling and then would roll forward less distance than he hoped that they would. Ron had brought some joints with him but he refused to light one. Everyone that he knew that smoked in their cars got busted. He’d seen it after Hank, who had been so careful about the way that they smoked in the car and where they smoked in the car, got popped. Even Chris had been popped. Joseph had been popped. Ron was not about to get busted. He had learned a long time ago when and how to pull back so that didn’t happen. It was only with Chris that he stretched those limits.
The tunnel squirted him onto the streets like he was ejaculate. He moved around a circle in a tight speeding line of other cars that moved around the circle, and then he saw the street and turned and he was on Broome Street and he careened his way across town, wincing at every pot hole and uneven street over which he rolled and bounced.
East 6th, between Avenues A and B, was humming. Windows were up and some people were cooking their dinner on the fire escapes so as not to heat up the small kitchens. Ron parked, grabbed his guitar from the trunk and walked down the street feeling very cool but scared at the idea that someone might actually think that he could play and ask him to play. He remembered the looks on faces when he played his guitar for them, how people would just start to talk to each other by the third verse of some of his songs. The idea made him wince and grip the guitar case handle tighter.
Ron was never sure how many flights he had to walk up to get to Chris’s apartment. He only knew that it was the landing after the strong smell of gas that always gave him the feeling that the building was unsafe. He could hear Chris’s stereo as he turned the corner for the last half flight. The door was slightly ajar but Ron knocked anyway. “Hello?”
Chris called out. “Come on in.”
He was on his knees in a small living room that had large windows that faced the south. There were rugs, a thick oriental rug on the floor and wall hangings and pictures that reminded him of Rahway. Chris put down the guitar that he had been playing along with to the stereo and reached in back of him for a large pasta bowel that was filed with pot, along with various seeds and stems. He had a playing card and was sifting through the shake and ridding it of seeds and twigs.
Ron reached into his pocket and dropped his contribution of three joints into the bowel. He put his guitar case down and sat cross legged across from Chris, who looked somehow thinner than Ron had remembered him and focused in a different way that Ron had seen him before. On the other side of a large pillow that was on the window side of Chris there was a stack of law books and notebooks.
Ron said, “How’s school?”
“It’s almost over now, but then it’s the fucking bar exam.” Chris shook his head with amazement at the thought. The fucking bar exam where it mattered how many people took it at one sitting as much as it mattered what they wrote.
Chris handed Ron the bowel and lifted up from his knees in a fluid unfolding. “Listen to this.” He went to the stereo that was mounted halfway up one of the floor to ceiling book shelves that were filled with books and records and piles of papers. Ron lit one of the pre- rolled joints that he’d wanted so much when he was stuck in traffic. Chris was careful with the needle and got it down into the perfect hissing silence between the tracks.
“One soft infested summer me and Terry became friends, trying in vain to breathe the fire we was born in”
It was Springsteen and his voiced hissed and wailed and glistened with hope, disappointment, strength, the past and the present all at once. They smoked the joint. And then they smoked another. Chris turned off the stereo and picked up his guitar and began to play it softly. He was playing blues and the single notes slid out of the sound hole and teased Ron’s imagination.
“Do you ever think about Rahway, Chris?”
Chris looked down at the guitar, not making eye contact with Ron. There was a pause and then Chris said, “Have you ever been to Zabars?”
Out on the street Ron and Chris set a good pace as they moved east up 6th street and then they turned south and went into a delicatessen. Ron realized that he’d been hungry. Chris just wanted to buy cake or donuts, but they each ordered a sandwich and walked back to the apartment. The opened things up on the floor of the living room and Chris said, “I try not to think about it because it just makes me feel bad and I want to have something other than feeling bad connected with my memories of the place. It’s just Sheriff’s place now and it will never be anything else than that while he’s there.”
Ron took his guitar out and they began to play and the night got a bit cooler and the sounds from the street turned into night time sounds. There was a siren and there was a radio and there were the sounds of people speaking different languages and hollering their greetings. Ron thought about how much it reminded him of Newark, not that New York City was like Newark but that this part of it was.
In the middle of one of their songs a mouse dropped down from the chimney and ran frantically surprised along the wall and into Chris’s kitchen. Chris laughed. Ron had jumped when he’d seen the rodent but Chris went looking for it with a cardboard box and was talking softly as if he could lure it out and make it come to him and then Ron heard the box slam down and Chris exclaimed, “Ah, now I got you.”
Then he carried the box down the four flights of stairs and let the mouse out. When he came back he said, “I suppose that isn’t the smartest approach but I didn’t feel like killing it.” They settled back into their play with the guitars and in just under an hour another mouse or perhaps the same mouse dropped down the chimney and Chris laughed very hard and said, “That’s what I get for not killing it when I could.”
Ron tried to tell Chris about Zoe and about his students. And Chris tried to listen, Ron noticed that he didn’t have any questions and that it seemed as if he was just waiting for Ron to finish what he was saying. Finally Ron asked, “Are you seeing anybody?”
“Just law books and mice,” said Chris.
It was very late when he drove home and it was a clear sail over the same streets that had been so congested when he’d come in. Chris’s apartment seemed larger and somewhat more private than his one room studio. He did have a real bathroom and Chris’s apartment only had this alcove with a box and pull chain. Chris had a stall shower in the middle of the kitchen, but at least there was no limit on sound and Ron was sure that there was no landlady keeping tabs on what Chris was doing or not doing. It was always that way when you wanted real privacy. You had to sacrifice a certain amount of comfort in order to get it.

Chapter 12

Ron fell asleep quickly. He remembered thinking that he wished that Zoe was there to sleep alongside of him and then he didn’t remember anything at all. From somewhere inside of a dream he felt heat, very hot on his face, on his hair and it pulled him awake. He lifted his head and stared into a very real wall of fire that was crackling and dancing with devouring merriment.
Jumping up quickly he stared at it, was transfixed by it. The flames were climbing up the side of his wall. A calm came over him as he pulled himself into his jeans and made sure that his pot tray was tucked away in the drawer under the writing table that doubled as his eating table. Then he opened the door and ran down the hallway to the fire extinguisher. Turning it upside down as he knew you were supposed to do, he took hold of the hose and nozzle. When he got back to the apartment the entire back of the hide- a-bed was engulfed and he pointed the extinguisher at the conflagration and then nothing happened. The god damned thing was empty. He shook it and cursed and dropped it on the floor and ran into the hallway screaming “Fire!” He screamed as loud as he could scream. It was only then that he realized that he’d been choking. He tried to clear his voice and screamed again, “Fire!”
Ron heard doors begin to open and people coming into the hall and he ran back into the apartment and dragged his Aunt’s Dottie’s chair as far away from the flames as he could. He tried to fill something with water; anything that he could throw on the flames that were eating everything around him. He saw the paint on the dresser that he’d had since he was a little boy begin to blister and peel away. His feet were bare and now the floor seemed very hot. The water that he flung at it did nothing. It disappeared into the flame and belched out one quick thick puff of black smoke.
He could hear people around him now and someone said, “Get him out of there,” and another voice screamed, “Get out into the street.” Ron was dazed but he kept filling this bowl with water and flinging it at the fire. His lamp shade went up in a brightly lit crackle that surrounded it and then seemed to engulf it and then it wasn’t there anymore.
Ron was dazed and staggering around what was once his apartment and then hands were on his shoulders and he was being moved and large men in hats and rubber coats were moving passed him and there was a burst of white powder everywhere in the apartment and he was being carried out into the hall and down the steps into the street. He stood there transfixed at the sight of the truck and the people coming out of the other buildings. More and more firemen were arriving now and they ran passed him and through the double glass and wrought iron doors and up the few steps and down the hall. Ron watched them pass like shadows. No one was talking to him, but people were staring at him.
Two firemen wearing heavy gloves and coats carried the smoking remains of his hide-a-bed out the front door and dropped it on the small lawn in front of the building. People gathered around to stare at it. Then he saw his landlady and she looked scared and even more horrified when she saw Ron. “Are you hurt?”
Ron stared back at her. “I don’t know what happened. I was sleeping”
“I think he’s in shock,” said the landlady’s son.
Ron looked over at his couch and wondered if he could sleep on the floor of his apartment for the rest of the night. It seemed like only a few moments later when the firemen came out and said that people could go back inside. Maybe it had been longer than a few moments. Ron started to walk back inside with the rest of the occupants of the rather large apartment house.
Men were milling around in his studio. Ron wondered if they’d found his pot and whether he was going to be arrested. He walked up to one of the men and said in a voice that was very strangely soft and raspy and thick, “Will I be able to sleep here tonight?”
The men looked at Ron with disbelieving eyes. Ron looked past them and saw that everything that he owned in his life was covered with white powder; his records, his books, his papers, his furniture, except for Aunt Dotty’s chair that he had somehow managed to drag into the bathroom. Had he dragged it in there? Had someone else realized the value of it and dragged it in there for him. Ron looked for someone to thank.
His landlady was standing in front of him now. “What did you do to cause this?” she demanded.
Ron just repeated, “I was asleep.”
One of the fireman said, “It wasn’t the kid’s fault. Look over here.”
The three of them walked towards what had been his wall and the man pointed at the black char, the flash point spidery web that spread out from the electric socket on his wall. “What did you have plugged in there? said the landlady.
“My radio, I think, and my alarm clock,” said Ron.
The radio was a melted mass of plastic on the floor and one of the firemen kicked at it. The alarm was nowhere to be found. There were two gaping holes in the wall where someone had taken an axe to it. Ron stared at the slashes and felt wounded.

It was the middle of the night in Minneapolis when Robin’s phone began to ring. She answered on the third volley with a sleepy hello.
“Robin, this is your father.”
“What’s wrong, Daddy?” There was instant concern and anticipation in the timbre of her voice.
“Your boyfriend’s had a fire.”
Robin looked over confusedly at Richard, who snoring softly next to her in bed. “Who?”
“Robin, Ron was burned out of his apartment tonight. You know that he lives on my street now and that he took that apartment just a block from where you used to live on Cherry Street. I think they took him to the hospital.”
Robin’s voice was filled with fear. She said accusingly, “Didn’t you do anything to help him?”
“I tried to talk to him Robin. His eyebrows were singed and his face was very red and I could smell burning hair on him.”
“Oh God, Daddy is he OK?”
“I think that they took him to the hospital Robin. He was very dazed. I don’t think that he was burned badly but he kept apologizing to everyone in the street and saying that he was sorry for disturbing their night.”
“OK, Daddy thanks for calling and letting me know. I’ll take care of it.”
“I didn’t know whether I should tell you or not. The two of you are hard to figure with each other.”
“It was good that you called.”
Robin put down the phone. Her hands were shaking. Leni looked back out her from her shadows in the corner and gave her a plaintiff “meow.” She shook her head and picked the phone up again, wondering if she would ever look at that damn cat without thinking of him. She dialed the number from memory.
Laureen answered on the fourth ring like she was wide awake even though it was almost 4am. “Hello?”
“Laureen, its Robin.”
Laureen felt herself brighten into a nervous laugh. Ron’s not living here anymore, Robin. He hasn’t lived here in two years.”
“I know,” said Robin with a patient cool in her voice. “And I know that it’s very late and I’m sorry to call so late but Ron was burned out of his apartment tonight. I think that they took him to the hospital.”
“Did he call you?” said Laureen with a touch of amusement in her voice.
Then Robin outflanked her as she was invariably able to do. She never dealt with Laureen from anything but a position of strength. They were too much alike. “My father lives on the street. He saw Ron and tried to talk with him. Ron didn’t know who he was and he was burned. I can’t call his mother, but if you or Warren could help him.” Then she didn’t say anything.
“Do you know which hospital they took him to?”
“No, I don’t.”
“I’ll see what Warren wants to do.”
“I’m sure that you will,” said Robin.
Laureen walked back through the kitchen and through the middle room that was now equipped with a dining room table and chairs and paintings. She went to the bathroom, had a pee and straightened her hair and then she knocked on Warren’s door.
Warren answered with a, “Hang on just a moment and then he got up and moved to the door. He was wearing a t-shirt and jockeys.
Laureen looked down and then up at his face. “Robin just called. It seems that Ron had a fire down in Elizabeth and that he was taken to the hospital.”
“How bad was it?”
“She didn’t know. Her father is one of Ron’s neighbors. He called her. She wants to know if we can do anything to help.”
“Alright, give me a moment.”
“Warren, he can’t live here. I’ll leave if you move him in.”
“That’s not why she called,” said Warren.

After the doctor looked Ron over and they took his blood pressure and gave him a breathing test and inspected his body for burns, they released him. Ron felt himself moving from somewhere deep inside of him, but all he could see was that wall of flame in front of his eyes and the way the fire danced, like something that he was in love with, something that wanted to hurt him.
Warren called Elizabeth General and tried to get some information. Yes, there had been a Ron Tuck, who had been in a fire. No they had no information about whether he had been admitted. Yes, he might still be in the emergency room, but he might not be. It was a busy night. Yes, they would see if someone could get a message to him but they could not promise anything. Warren said, “Tell him that Warren Lashly called and that he’s welcome to come here if he needs to.”
Ron got the message as he was walking out the door of the emergency room. He was wearing a white bracelet with his name printed on it. There was a band-aid on his hand from where they had put the heparin lock and where they had pumped a bag of fluid into him. He got into the first of a line of 3 cabs in front of the hospital and sent the driver back to Cherry Street. The sun was just coming up when he got out and paid the driver and looked around for his car. He felt for his keys reassuringly. He thought that he remembered that it was the weekend. He wanted to take a shower. He wanted to change his clothes, but he had no clothes to change into and he had no place to take the shower.
He walked over and stood in front of his building staring at the remains of his couch and saw that his rug was in a pile next to it along with his melted radio. Someone had taken a knife to the couch and exposed the stuffing to the air. He could smell the fire. He could see the fire. He could feel it still on him.
He walked over to his car and got in and thought about driving towards Rahway. He hadn’t wanted to go there. The last thing that he wanted was to be broken at Rahway again. It was too early to drive up to his mother’s house and he wasn’t ready for her to be angry with him for having had a fire and demanding that he come back there and live. Then a thought hit him. He didn’t have his book bag. A feeling of panic swept over him. Then the next thought. Why couldn’t he go back to his apartment and get the things that he needed? What was going to stop him? He got out of the car and walked up through the double doors.
The quiet of the building was thick with the smell of something stronger than a burnt dinner. It didn’t smell like charred food. It smelled like catastrophe. His door wasn’t locked. When Ron pushed it, the door squeaked on its swollen hinges. Ron saw that it was wavy on the inside. Things were strewn everywhere on the floor in the center of the room where his couch used to be. And there was the smothering white powder on everything. Ron’s eyes searched until he saw his book bag and he smiled for the first time since he didn’t know when. It was slid under the coffee table over by the window under the fan that had been pushed out of the window and was lying in the side alley. He picked the bag and shook it just once the way that he always shook it. He smiled again. He was feeling a little better. He went to his dresser. His mood swung hard in the other direction when he saw it. It was the only dresser that he had ever owned. It was part of the set that was in his room in Newark when he was a small boy and slept on one of the twin beds, his great- grandmother in the other. The beds were long gone and the chest of drawers was up in the garage in Glen Ridge, but he had loved this dresser. He found a roll of plastic trash bags under his sink and stuffed handfuls of clothes into them. He went over to his writing desk and held his breath and opened the drawer under the white powder covered material. It was there. He emptied the tray into the baggie and stuffed it into his pants and then, without looking back he walked out dragging the plastic bag stuffed with smoky clothes in one hand and holding his schoolbag in the other.

Chapter 13
He drove south towards Rahway and then his brain began to start working again. How the fuck had Warren known to call the hospital? If he knew that Ron was in the hospital, why hadn’t he gone there? He thought about the message again. He could stay there if he needed to. He swung the car into right turn and headed west towards the parkway. No, he didn’t need to. He stopped for some coffee at a diner in Bloomfield and then he went to a bakery and bought some freshly baked goods. If he was going home on the crest of a wipe out, he might as well bring food.
He had a key but he felt funny about using it. It was very early and there was no way that Chipper wasn’t going to start barking. But then he had an idea and put the key gently into the lock and opened the door. Chipper padded out in the hallway and began wagging his tail frantically when he saw Ron. Then he peed on the rug as was his custom. Ron smiled and whispered, “Come here, Chip.” The dog ran to him and Ron carefully backed out of the door and sat with the dog on the porch drinking his container of coffee and looking up and down the quiet street. He looked at the newspaper that had been delivered. It was Saturday morning. That’s right. Last night he had been in the city with Chris. He stroked Chipper’s head and whispered into her ear. “It’s good to see you, Chip. Boy is this news going to go over like the Hindenburg.” Chip perked his ears as if he understood, but continually kept sniffing at Ron’s clothes and licking his face like he was trying to make it better.
When Ron heard stirring inside, he picked up the bakery bag and opened the door calling out, “Hello?”
George Bombasco walked quickly to the door, his pants undone in the front. He saw Ron and blinked. “What happened?”
“I had a fire, but I’m OK.”
“What kind of fire?”
“In my apartment. Everything is toast.”
“Jesus,” said George shaking his head.
Ron held up the bag of donuts. “At least I brought breakfast,” he said.
“We’d better let your mother sleep until she wakes up. You know how she is.”
“Is it alright if I take a shower? I want to get this smell off of me.”
Then George noticed the hospital band on his wrist. “You were in the hospital?”
“They were just being careful,” said Ron. “I’m fine.”
“Do you need clean clothes?”
“I have some things in the car.”
When Ron got into the bathroom to take a shower the sight of his face startled him. His eyebrows were almost gone and the front of his hair sported frizzled clumps. His face hadn’t felt hot but it sure as hell looked red.
The water sprayed over him like he was a farmer’s crop in need of nourishment. He felt the grime of the fire and his nervousness and the long, long night wash away. This wasn’t that bad. He wanted to live with Zoë anyway and now there was the perfect opportunity. What was damaged could be replaced and it would be new and different and not have an inconvenient history attached to it. The fire had spared Aunt Dottie’s chair, he was going to be ok.
Marjorie Bombasco came out of the closed door of her bedroom slowly. Ron watched her from the kitchen table. He was drinking the coffee that George had had made and munching on a crumb bun. George had happily devoured the apple turnover that Ron always tried to remember to get for him. Marjorie had schooled him repeatedly, “Make sure that you buy an apple turnover for George. He appreciates it.”
Now, she looked at her son with a happily surprised, “Good morning, Ronald. You’re here early.”
Ron said, “I bought you jelly donuts.”
Marjorie smiled and Ron got up and poured her a cup of coffee. The sugar was on the table and he pulled the refrigerator door open and saw the half gallon of milk in the bottles that they rinsed out and returned, right where it was supposed to be. She had just bitten into the sweet fully stuffed jelly donut when Ron said, “I had a fire last night. I got burned out of my apartment. I got taken to the hospital, but I’m fine.”
A large glob of jelly plopped down onto Marjorie’s paper plate as her teeth clenched. “What kind of a thing is that to say to person when they’ve just opened their eyes?” she asked.
“If I didn’t tell you, you’d say that I was keeping things from you.”
“But at least let me open my eyes.”
“Are they open yet?” said Ron.
“Why are you such a bastard?” she said dropping the jelly donut down onto her plate. “You bring this nice surprise and then you ruin it by saying something like that.”
“Mom, I woke up n the middle of the night and there was this wall of fire a few inches from my head. I’ve been up all night. Give me a break, ok?”
She looked at him more closely and saw his hair and his face. “Nunny, I’m sorry.” She reached over and took the sides of his head into his hands. “I love you. I’m sorry.”
Ron hadn’t even flinched when she had called him the baby talk name that was kind of a pig-Latin among his aunt, his mother and him. It felt warm and good, like a crumb bun and hot coffee, sitting with his mom at the breakfast table and able to think about the world from this place of security.
He told her about all of it, except the part about the pot and almost driving to Rahway. He looked around her kitchen. She had all the plants that he’d given her. She had learned to take care of them. Traces of Aunt Dottie were interlaced among her things. “Have you told your father?”
Ron shook his head, “I haven’t told anyone. I just came here.”
“This is always your home, Ronald.”
“I know but you and George have a life and this place is small and perfect the way that you have it set up now. You know I gotta live alone, Mom.”
“I don’t see why you couldn’t stay here until you get on your feet.”
“I don’t know, said Ron. “ I think I’m gonna get an apartment with Zoë.”
“The skinny girl with the glasses who squints all the time?”
Ron laughed and said, “Stop it.” Then he said, “I need to use the phone. I’m gonna drive down there and assess the damage in a while.”
It was almost 10 o’clock now; it was a safe time to be calling Rahway. Ron dialed the number with an automatic sense of familiarity.
“Hello,” whinnied Warren, with a voice that said he was awake and ready for the day.
“I got your message,” said Ron. “Thanks.”
“Are you ok?” asked Warren.
“Are you at home today? I’m gonna take a ride down to Elizabeth in a while and see how bad this is.”
“We’re here.”
“Maybe I’ll see you later. By the way, Warren, how did you know?”
“Robin called Laureen, very early this morning.”
Ron’s heart began beating faster. He repeated, “Robin called?”
“Yes,” drawled Lashly. “We’d like to see you here.”
“Yeah,” said Ron. “I’m sure I’m like a favorite song that you can’t wait to get back on the turntable.”
“I’ll see you when I see you,” said Warren.
Ron managed to leave his mother’s house without saying when he would be back. His mother always understood the need for business and she had plans for her day.
He rang the bell outside of his landlady’s door. He waited for a moment and then pushed the painted gold circular button again. Her face appeared on the other side of a lace curtain with gray white hair and the lines of Ireland in their creases. She pulled her door open and smiled. The fire inspector had listed 23 violations and she was thrilled that finally the owners were going to be forced to put the building into shape. Ron’s fire had been a blessing. No one had been hurt and now everyone was aware. Her son, who was usually good for not much, had even made a useful suggestion and Ron had been taken to the hospital while they had time to make things right.
The owner’s voice sounded nervous on the phone. “Get the people that are needed to complete the work. Don’t go overboard of course, but do what needs to be done. We don’t want any problems with the fire department.”
“What about the tenant?” she’d said.
“Do you think that he’ll sue us?” said the owner accentuating the ‘us’ and making them a team against this possible threat.
“I think he just wants to get what he has left and be moving on.”
“Let’s not do anything to upset him,” said the owner.

Ron said, “Some night, huh?”
“How are you feeling, Mr. Tuck?”
“Lucky,” said Ron. “Nobody was hurt, right?”
“Everyone is fine,” she said reassuringly.
“I think I’d like to come by and get my things before too much longer. There’s going to be the need to fix the place up and…” his voice trailed off. “I don’t think that I can stay there anymore.”
“Take a couple of weeks if you need to,” said the landlady. This was perfect. The apartment building fixed and this pot smoking hobo out of her life.
“I’ll just come in and get things when I need them,” said Ron.
Back in his car, he set sights on Rahway. Driving down the main street that became St. George’s Avenue, he stopped at the congestion that was created by the Linden Pathmark and thought about the years of scammed meals that they had eaten from there. He smiled. He wondered where April was now. It was almost as if she had disappeared from existence, but they weren’t in college anymore and that meant that people began living their own lives in a more separate way, at least it meant that for some of them.
Ron made the left off of St. George’s and rolled into the gravel driveway, under the carport and into one of the slots in the back yard. There was only Warren’s car there. Ron never ceased to wonder how someone who had been in New Jersey for what seemed like ten years could get away with driving on North Carolina plates, but Warren did.
It didn’t surprise Ron that the back door was locked. It had never been locked when he’d lived there; it had never been locked when Chris lived there. It was symbolic of who Warren and Laureen were that it was locked now. He tapped on the glass. There was no response and so he tapped again. He fought an urge to get back into his car and just drive away, but he didn’t. Then he saw Laureen coming down the back steps and opening the door.
“Come in, Ron,” she said with a politeness that measured the distance that had grown between them.
Ron felt strange about being invited into Rahway by Laureen of all people. He had nicknamed her The Snake and had written a song about her. Chris had tried calling her The Deputy but Snake was a better fit. Ron walked passed her and went up into the kitchen. Warren was seated in his chair in front of the window at the table where they had shared so many meals. Ron felt very awkward.
“Well,” said Warren smiling, “how are you?”
“I’m just trying to figure out what to do next,” said Ron standing there.
“And what do you think that you want to do next?” said Warren.
“Well obviously, I’ll need a place to live.”
Laureen who had slid into a chair at the table between them stiffened and Ron saw her glance over at Warren.
“Yes,” said Warren, “you will need that.”
“I’m going to ask Zoe to move in with me.”
Laureen visibly relaxed. “Nothing like setting a fire under you to get your ass to do what it should have done a while ago,” she said.
“I’m not sure how she feels about it.”
“Oh she wants to,” said Laureen. “In spite of anything that her sister or I have said, the girl is quite in love with you, Ron. And you haven’t told her about Robin at all, have you?”
“Robin’s not finished with him yet,” said Warren.
“Oh Warren, just shut up when you don’t know what you’re talking about. Robin is more than finished with him.”
Ron sat there listening to them and then Warren smiled in a slow grinning way. “You are welcome to stay here until you find a place.”
“Zoe knows,” said Ron. “How could she not know? You and her sister showed her every poem that I wrote about Robin.”
Laureen laughed. “And we can all see what a lot of good that did.”
Ron said, “It’s nice to know that I can stay here, Warren. Now if the two of you could just tell me how I explain that to Chris.”
It seemed to Ron that they both winced simultaneously at the mention of Chris’s name. It held a power that neither one was truly able to deal with.”
“I can see it now,” continued Ron. “Hey Chris, how are ya? I had a fire and have no place to live so I’m gonna stay with Warren and Laureen until I get myself re-situated. Yup, he’ll understand that.”
“Chris knows that ultimately what I did saved his career and quite possibly his life,” said Warren.
“Ya think he sees it that way huh, Warren?”
“I’m not ready to have this conversation,” said Laureen. She got up and walked back into her room.
Warren looked Ron straight in the eyes and said, “Do you think that I don’t care for him? Do you think that it was easy doing what I had to do?”
“I think that I need a place to stay and that I’m in a bit of trouble and that it’s a good thing for me that you are willing to help out. I think that it’s gonna tear Chris up and that there is no way that he’s not going to see it as a betrayal. But thank you. It’s a kind offer. Please understand that I have to figure out how I’m going to explain it to my friend that his one time partner and one time lover want me to live in the place that they drove him out of.”
“When did you see him last?”
“Last night,” said Ron. “I saw him last night.” He sat in complete wonderment at how fast things had changed in his life. Then he said, “I’m going to try to get in touch with Zoe.” Ron stopped. “I know that I sound ungrateful and I don’t mean it to come out that way, Warren. Truly, thank you for the offer.”
Warren smiled. “It’s my delight.”

Chapter 14
When Ron called Zoe, he was politely told by her mother that Zoe was not at home and that she really didn’t know when Zoe would be back from Boston. Yes, she would leave a message. Ron took a deep breath and said, “Please tell her that I’m not going to back at my apartment.” Then he looked around at Rahway and said, “Tell her to please leave a message for me at Laureen’s.”
Mrs. LaDue said, “I’m not sure that she’ll be home this evening.”
Ron could not help but smile at her assumption and said with a grin that almost showed through the telephone, “That’s ok. She can leave the message here anytime over the next few days.”
Then he hung the phone up on its wall cradle and walked back through the kitchen passed the very clean sink and down the step into the living room, moving the length of the long, very large room he moved straight to Laureen’s door and knocked lightly.
“Come in,” said Laureen.
Ron pushed the door open; she was sitting in a chair that was tucked in a corner by the window. It was a low chair and covered with soft brocade of off white linen. She was reading a book that she closed when Ron came in.
“I just need a few minutes,” he said.
“Sure.”
Ron moved and sat down on her bed. He let his eyes travel around the room. It wasn’t the same color as when he and Robin lived in it and the double beds that Warren had strapped together were in his room now.
“Is it gonna freak you out if I take Warren up on his offer?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think that I’ll like living with you. You carry too much baggage of too many memories that you never let me forget, Ron.”
“I know. And me being me is not an easy thing for you.”
Laureen laughed. “That’s certainly true.”
“I’m gonna do my best to find a place quickly. I really don’t want to stay here. I’m worried about Chris and how it will make him feel.”
She laughed again. “Do you think that Chris would be worried about you if the roles were reversed?”
Ron didn’t want to answer that. The roles weren’t reversed and he knew that Chris would not take that into consideration but they weren’t the same people. He had never been Chris, could never have been Chris. “That doesn’t really matter.”
“So you are just going to spring this on Zoe?”
“We’ve talked about it.” Ron lied. There had been the short conversation that wasn’t really a conversation at all.
“She’s fragile,” said Laureen. “She is the craziest person that I know and that is really saying something. If you use her as someone to make Robin jealous, it will just tear her to pieces and if you do that, I’ll never forgive you.”
Ron looked straight into her face with his green eyes. He gave her a deep gaze that she did not meet. “We’ve all done unforgivable things,” he said.
“See, that’s what I mean, Ron. You do that to me all the time.”
“Ok,” he said “I’m being defensive. But I’m not interested in fucking Zoe or anyone else over and that includes you. We used to be friends.”
“We still are friends,” she lied.
“Do you have the number at Zoe’s sister’s house?”
“No,” she said, lying again. “But I might be able to get it.”
“I just don’t want her to keep calling my apartment and getting no answer.”
Laureen thought that after he left, she would call and give Zoe’s older sister the whole story and they could figure out how they wanted to handle this.
Ron said, “OK, listen, I’ll just try and stay out of your way and make this as painless as possible for you.”
“Where do you think you’ll live?”
“Somewhere north of here, closer to my school. I want to be close to those kids.”
“That’s fine,” said Laureen, without any interest in which kids and which school he was talking about. She knew that he had taken a job teaching but figured it was definitely a temporary thing.
“If you get the number, leave it for me on the refrigerator.”
When he walked back through the living room, classical music was on the stereo and Warren was sitting on his couch with a couple of piles of papers and books stacked neatly on the table in front of him. It felt off balance in a way that made Ron both at ease and uneasy. That’s what Warren always did to him. He knew that he could have gone to the car and got his book bag and gotten some much needed work done, but the idea of sitting in the same room while Warren controlled the environment made him want to rebel against the control.
Warren looked up smiling and said, “Did you have a good conversation with Laureen?”
“She’s going to get a message to Zoe for me,” said Ron.
“I’m going into the city in just a little bit and then the place is yours. You can have either one of the back rooms.”
Ron nodded and said, “Thank you, again. I’ll be back later.” He walked out the back door and listened to the very familiar sound of the chimes as it closed and get into his car and backed out of the driveway and onto St. George’s Avenue.
He drove over to the college by a familiar route. He knew all of the approaches and on Saturday afternoon it was a clear sail. He wasn’t as sad about the apartment as he thought he would be. The truth was that he always felt half in the hall there and when his landlady had told him that she could get “a good whiff” of his pot in the side alley, he wanted to get out. He did not, however, wish to be burned out.
He wondered if the fire was inside of him still. He had stared into it. It would have hurt him; it would have eaten him if it could have. Then a strange thought occurred to him. Why hadn’t it attached to his bed linens? They were certainly flammable. Why had it spread across the top of the couch portion of his hide-a-bed without spreading down around him? Why hadn’t he been burnt?
Ron thought about whether or not he was lucky. He wasn’t lucky the way that his father was lucky, but his Dad had more skills than he had. He had earned his skills with lots of bruises. Ron had gotten what he inherited there and not done much with it, except for football.
It was the fall and Ron didn’t know anything about what the Giants were gonna do. He hadn’t followed a team in a long time. Football had grown to mean his knees and what he could no longer do. He had been as good a football player when he wasn’t hurt as anyone, well almost anyone. Maybe the game was a part of things he had lost. Maybe Robin was another part of what he had lost. Maybe Welmont was gone too, like the Kennedys and Martin King, and the Viet Nam War. Maybe at 25, he was old enough to have some things be a part of history.
Ron drove passed the college and kept going. This was also a part of history and then he found the car pointed in the direction of Westfield. Colonial Westfield with its snobbery and the history of two people who thought about the most in his life: Chris and Robin. The thought that struck Ron next was that neither one had heard from him since the fire. Robin, as it turned out, had known and had tried to help but Chris knew nothing about any of it.
Laureen was able to reach Zoe easily. First she called Barbara and filled her in. Her friend sounded worried about her sister. “Do you think that he cares for her?”
Laureen answered, “I think that he believes that he does, which is not the same thing, particularly with Ron.”
“She’s crazy about him,” said Barbara.
“Ron isn’t the artist that she is, at least I don’t think he is, but he gives off this feeling of being able to protect the people that he cares for. They might be good for each other.”
“What do you think I should do, Laureen?”
“Give them a chance. Maybe they really are in love.”
“Maybe just she’s in love and he is getting laid regularly.”
“I don’t think that’s him. I think he’d like to think that’s him but I don’t think that it is.”
Ron circled through Westfield slowly. He drove along Palsted and then over to Robert and then around through the center of town. It looked very pristine and secure. He thought about his time there and how he had never felt like anything more than a loose thread on the fringe of the piece of material that made up the fabric of this place.
Heidi answered Laureen’s call on the second ring. Her voice sounded young and filled with spirit. It made Laureen grin. “Heidi, this is Laureen, how are you?”
“I’m more than terrific, Laureen, how are you?”
“I was wondering if Zoe was there.”
“Sure, hold on.”
It took a long minute for Zoe to come to the phone. Her voice sounded strong although not as exuberant as Heidi’s voice had sounded. “Hi Laureen.”
“Zoe, Ron’s looking for your number.”
Zoe almost squealed in delight. “I’ve been trying to call him. Is he there?”
“He had a problem. He’s alright but he had this fire that burnt up his apartment.”
“He had a fire,” repeated Zoe, “but you’re sure that he’s OK?”
“He seems fine, a little worse for wear maybe but fine. Zoe, he wants to get in touch with you and he’s going to ask you to live with him.”
There was a long pause and then a small voice said, “I want to live with him.”
“Zoe, Ron’s got a lot of baggage.”
Another long pause followed by, “I want to talk with him now.”
Ron headed his car back towards Rahway. Springsteen was singing Jungleland on his radio and his thoughts drifted along the line of the music. He needed to call New York. He needed to call Zoe.
Returning to Rahway, Ron found the back door open and walked in with the sound of the jingling bells over his head. For a second he thought that it must be what a jester’s hat sounded like in a king’s court, a bit of a fool. On the refrigerator was a note that read, “Spoke with Zoe, she’ll be back tonight, she’ll call you as soon as she gets in.” Ron smiled and opened the refrigerator where the note had been tacked. Except for the crumb bun with his Mom, he could not remember the last time that he’d eaten. There was nothing that he wanted to eat in the frig and so he started brewing a pot of coffee and sat at the oval oak table and rolled joints.
With a hot mug of coffee in one hand, a joint in the other and the phone tucked under his chin, he listened to the phone ring in Chris’s apartment.
“Hello,” said Chris in a voice that seemed almost surprised that someone was calling him.
“Hey Chris, it’s Ron.”
“Hey, what’ happening?”
Ron took a dramatic breath and said, “Well, let’s see…I got burned out of my apartment late last night and it looks like I’m going to have to spend a little time in Rahway with Snake and Sheriff.”
“You got what?” said Chris.
“I had this electrical fire, Chris. It burned up almost everything.”
“Are you OK,” Chris’s voice sounded tremulous.
“Yeah, aside from being homeless, I’m fine.”
“What are you goin’ to do? I mean, do you need help?”
“As usual” said Ron, “I need lots of help, but for now. I’m going to stay in Rahway and see about getting an apartment with Zoe.”
Chris didn’t acknowledge what Ron said about Rahway. It was almost as if it didn’t register. Ron waited for him to bring it up and then saw that he wasn’t going to say anything about it. Ron loved that about Chris. It was something that he wouldn’t have been able to do.
Dragging on the joint and walking back out to his car, Ron walked the book bag back into the kitchen. Although he hadn’t checked, it felt like he was the only one there. He dusted off the bag and got some damp paper towels and tried to rub the remains of the fire off of his work. Then he opened the bag and began to prepare. A second and then a third cup of coffee and the second of the joints and he was deep into his work when he heard the announcing jingle of bells. Laureen walked into the kitchen followed by Zoe and Barbara.
Laureen said, “I see that you’re recovering nicely and making yourself at home.”
Ron didn’t answer her cause in the next seconds Zoe was in his arms and squeezing him with her body and shamelessly rubbing herself against him in front of her sister and her sister’s friend.
Watching them together, Laureen turned to Barbara and said, “Well this is obviously no time for conversation.” Then the two girls laughed as Ron and Zoe kissed and stroked and held each other, seemingly oblivious to them.
In Ron’s room, they fell onto his bed and she whispered, “It feels like forever since you held me, can you just stick it in me right now?”
Ron did and they came hard together and then they lay in each other’s arms, him feeling relieved of a tension that he hadn’t realized was building inside of him. She wondered if this was the time that he had impregnated her. “Do you want to live with me?” said Ron.
“I want to live with you and make babies with you,” answered Zoe.

Chapter 15

On Sunday morning, he left early with Zoe and drove her up to her father’s house and then headed over to see Quimpy. The plan was that he would call her later. Zoe had said that his fire should earn him a day off, but Ron didn’t want a day off. He was yearning to be Mr. Tuck on Monday morning.
Quimpy opened his door smiling and bobbing his head. “I just finished making this guacamole and shrimp thing and we got chips and some great exotic buds to smoke.”
“Games start yet?” said Ron, not sure who was playing or what time it was.
“Just about,” said Quimpy.
Then Ron told him about the fire and what he wanted to accomplish with Zoe. He left out the feeling of the flames on his face and concentrated on the things that he had lost. Quimpy was comfortable in that territory. The living room was a jumble of street furniture and dusty antique tables and stacks of magazines and books. Ron saw that in one corner Quimpy was replaying the Fischer-Spasky matches on a board that was set up with a book about the championship. Ron looked at it but didn’t touch anything. In another corner was another desk set up with stuff on the Kennedy assassination. Quimpy had been in contact with this newspaper guy from Dallas and there were his newsletters and their exchanged letters along with a yellow legal pad of notes and books that had been written about what had gone on. Six Seconds in Dallas, next to Whitewash and Rush to Judgment and a strange book called the Rich and the Super-Rich were lying in these piles.
Quimpy noticed Ron looking and said. “Lamar Hunt, now
there’s an evil mother-fucker. Texas oil money and connected in unbelievable ways.”
Ron nodded. He didn’t know who Quimpy was talking about. The one thing that he did know was that if Quimpy thought that it was important that it probably was. It was Quimpy who had been Ron’s early mentor, before there was a Lashly and before he became Mr. Tuck. It was Quimpy who had realized that Ron was smart enough to grasp things and began to show him the music of Lightin’ Hopkins and Phil Ochs and the talking albums of Mark Twain made by Hal Holbrook.
Now Ron flopped down into a bean bag chair as Quimpy opened a small jelly jar, one of the 30 small jelly jars that he had had sealed from the best pot that they had smoked over the last few years. Ron admired Quimpy’s ability to collect and preserve things, even if wherever he lived did seem to have a musky dusty smell that spread across everything.
Midway through the first game, Quimpy stroking his beard said, “I know a studio apartment that might be available right now. It’s in Bloomfield and the guy isn’t staying there anymore. He left his wife and then got cold feet and went back to her. Everything that you need might be right there, if you can cover the monthly nut.”

Chapter 16
Ron Tuck knelt on the kneeling board with his hands folded and draped across the back of the pew in front of him. He was singing as if an angel were listening. His eyes roamed from the face of Sister Bernadette Catherine up to the old altar that was more there as a storage facility, now that the priests had been turned around and a new altar, more a large stone table, had been installed so that the congregation could see what was once hidden and whispered over in secret. The smell of the church sent him back to childhood and the way that he and his friends had gone to mass and stared at the rear ends of the girls in the rows in front of them while the girls smiled knowingly at each other and shifted on their knees and clenched their cheeks on and off to give the boys a little show. He did not want to look at his students that way and so he sang with elevated eyes and his head lifted upwards to the stained glass windows in back of the altar and the mural that must have been over 100 feet in the air.
It was First Friday morning and the school had gone to celebrate the mass that was held mostly for them on that day each month while school was in session. Bernadette Catherine was in charge of the choir of girls’ voices and their songs. She beamed as they sang and moved her raised arms in slow, well timed figure 8’s. Ron tried his best to sing as well as he was able, both for her and to set an example for his kids about how it was necessary to open one’s mouth when singing. He tried to breathe from his solar plexus and move his stomach to the cadence of the songs. “Holy. Holy, holy, God of Power and Light, Heaven and earth are filled with your Glory, Hosanna, in the highest…” He felt like he was making eye contact with her when they sang and that she could see him trying so hard for her.
Two days earlier, at the convent for dinner with the rest of the lay faculty and the nuns, she had asked him about his faith. They had saved a surprise for him and re-introduced him to Sister Grace Natari, who had been his 7th grade teacher when he had first come to the school. Sr. Grace had remembered Ron and said that she was glad to see him back with their church. She told the story about how Ron had been the first Protestant boy that had ever been allowed to attend the grammar school because his mother had met one of the priests while she was in the American Legion hospital. She told them about how Ron had gotten into trouble with the police and how his mother had come to the church and “begged” to have him admitted because he was on a path that was leading to no good. She smiled recalling how Ron had known scripture and how all the nuns had wanted to convert him to the true faith.
Ron winced when his mother was associated with begging, but he knew that it was true. He had been in trouble. His mother had gone and asked that he be allowed to go to school there. What the nuns didn’t know was that the detectives had given Marjorie the choice of either getting Ron into that school or sending him to a reformatory called Jamesburg.
Dinner was spread across five different tables and there had been bottles of wine and salad and chicken and roasted potatoes and string beans. Some of the lay faculty had known enough to bring their own bottles of wine to contribute to the meal. Ron was oblivious to this tradition and because he didn’t go to the faculty room for lunch, no one had told him that it was expected. The nuns suffered the lack of contribution patiently and with tight lipped perseverance. Some of them were sure that manners were not something that could be expected from this disturbingly popular young man.
When they prayed before dinner, Ron blessed himself with the others, feeling less awkward than he had before. He ate slowly not wanting to appear overly hungry. There was polite talk at the tables and soft bouncing polite laughter. Ron grinned and talked, not noticing that he was the only lay person seated at his table. He did not know that the table arrangements were a thing that was the object of discussion before the dinner and that some of the nuns had wanted very much to sit with him and others had expressed a desire to sit anywhere else rather than with him.
The mass reached the point of communion and the girls dutifully filed up to receive. Ron was unsure about what to do. Part of him wanted to move up, to be an example for his students. But what kind of an example would a lie be? What kind of example was he able to provide spiritually anyway? Wasn’t it all a lie when it came to that?

Ron got up and moved down the aisle towards the priest. He was determined to take the wafer in the new fashion and not to open his mouth and stick out his tongue as he had been taught. He cupped his hands hoping against hope that he was doing it right and looked into the thin worn face of the silver haired priest who seemed to hesitate for an instant before placing the wafer in his hand. Ron took it and was surprised by the lack of magic that he felt on his tongue. A cascade of memory voices used to flood him about not letting it touch his teeth and certainly not chewing it. The host was to remain on his tongue until it dissolved.
At the convent, Ron noticed that as the evening grew later that the voices around him got looser and the faces of the people became pink and red. The laughter was easier now and when Ron looked up he saw that some of the people had already left. Sister Bernadette Catherine took his hands and said softly, “When the weather gets bad Ron, you can stay here with us if it becomes necessary.”

Chapter 17
At Halloween, the students were allowed to dress up. They came dressed as witches and angels and cats. Ron hung a skeleton up over his door but did not dress up himself. The girls giggled as they entered his room, halos tilted, witch hats crumpled and cat tails sticking up and bouncing along behind them. Ron’s first thought was that this was going to be a difficult day. He tried to think of ways that he could have fun and still make it productive. Some of the girls had not dressed up at all and looked embarrassed by their navy blue skirts and white tops. Some just wore silly hats and put on makeup that gave them a clownish appearance.
“Where’s your costume, Mr. Tuck?” said Andrea.
Ron laughed. “I wear a costume every day, Andrea.”
When he was a young boy, his mother would dress him in her clothes because of how much he looked like her. He cringed as the thought sprang into his mind. What was she thinking of, dressing a young boy up like a girl! It had left him never wanting to wear a Halloween costume again.
Ron drew columns that he crossed with lines that made them squares on the board and said, “Do you guys know the game Jeopardy?” Their smiles told him that they did. “Today we are going to play team jeopardy. This side of the room, push your desks together and this side do the same thing. The winners will get 25 points on the next quiz.”
Now Ron had to think about categories that they would know something about. He wrote across the top History, Vocabulary, Music, TV, Movies, and Literature.
Ron figured out some rules and told them that each side would get a chance at the same question until someone got it right. If there was any calling out of answers from the other side it would not count. There was no penalty for wrong answers, just points for right answers. Each girl would get to answer a question for a point value. The questions would be harder depending on the number of points. Only the girl whose turn it was got to answer the question, but she could get help from the others on her team.
The girls were excited and squirmed in their desks. “Where are you gonna get the questions from?” said Maria.
Ron pointed to the side of his head and said, “From here.”
Quickly, he filled in the point values and then he saw Sister Irene Emmanuel opening his door and walking into the back of his classroom. She sat down quietly with a small pad and nodded, smiling to the girls. Ron was stunned. This was the class that she was gonna watch him teach? After all of the gritty work that he had done with them over the last two months, this was the day that she picked to observe him? Too late to do anything about it now! Ron looked at the board and at his smiling students and then thought, “Fuck it,” this is what he told them that he was going to do and this is what he was doing.
The first girl, Sadie, chose TV for 20 points. Ron thought for a moment and said. “What is the name of the bald NY Detective who chews lollipops because he has quit smoking cigarettes?”
A girl in back of Sadie whispered into her ear and then Sadie’s face brightened and she said, “Kojak.”
Ron smiled as Sister Irene began to write. “Correct!”
He put the 20 in a column on the side. Then he saw Andrea whispering to her friends and the next girl picked vocabulary for 30.
Ron said, “OK, from the story The Open Window what does the word endeavored mean?”
The team got it right and for the next 30 minutes his students ignored TV and movies and music and asked questions about history and literature and vocabulary. Ron could have kissed each one of them as the class ended. He knew what had happened. They had tried to save him. In the process they had shown Sister Irene what he had taught them about literature and vocabulary and history. Even the nun was smiling by the end of the class. She stopped by Ron’s desk and said that he should come to her office during his free period.
After lunch, Ron waited outside of the principal’s office like a kid in trouble. They had done a great job but was she going to buy his method? Sister Irene came to the door all black and white and starched and scrubbed clean. He followed her into her office and waited to be asked to sit. Never having down this before, he wasn’t sure what was supposed to happen. When the vocabulary and history and literature questions had run out, Ron had put new point values up to keep it going. His kids had made it seem like it was always that way. “That’s an interesting review technique that you use, Mr. Tuck,” began the principal.
Ron decided to just blurt out the truth. “When I saw the costumes and how they were all wound up, Sister, I made it up so that we could at least get a good review in.”
The nun arched her eyebrow, “You made that up as you went along?”
“Yes, Sister,’ said Ron bowing is head. “ I wanted it to be a fun day but not a wasted day.”
The nun stared at him for a long moment and then said, “We try to keep popular culture out of our studies as much as possible, but given the day and the way that it turned out, there’s not a lot that I can criticize you for today,” she paused and pursed her lips, “except your handwriting. Mr. Tuck, is it necessary to assault the blackboard the way that you do and press down so firmly on the chalk?”
Ron stammered. “I’m not sure what you mean, Sister.”
“I’ve had complaints that you press so hard on the chalk, Mr. Tuck, that it is necessary to wash your boards every night. Do you think you could write a little more lightly and perhaps even a little less sloppily?”
“I can try, Sister or I can just wash them myself at the end of the day.”
The nun was inwardly amused at his response. Of course she had set up him by going in there on Halloween, but he had passed her little test very well. She did need to talk with him about some things though. “There’s another matter, Mr. Tuck. Some of the girls have taken to writing your name over and over on their books like you were a boyfriend.”
“I didn’t know that, Sister,” said Ron, genuinely surprised.
“These are very impressionable minds, Mr. Tuck, and it is important that we don’t overstep our boundaries.”
“I understand, Sister,” said Ron hanging his head again.
“I’m sure that you do. It was a nice review, Ron and I was pleased to see how much vocabulary they’ve learned. That’s what we are going to call your lesson, a literature and vocabulary review. Do you understand?”
Ron wasn’t sure that he did understand but he nodded anyway.
Then the nun said, “And Mr. Tuck, John is spelled J…o…h…n…..not J ….h …o…n.” She enunciated each letter clearly and with what Ron could have sworn was a clicking or her tongue against her teeth.
His felt his face flush hot with embarrassment. Had he really miss-spelled John?
“Yes, Sister. I’m sorry about that, Sister”
“Do you realize how much you pace while you are teaching, Ron. It was making me dizzy to watch you.”
“I guess that it’s just nervous energy.”
“Perhaps you can find a way to channel your nervous energy more efficiently, Mr. Tuck.”

When Ron got back to his and Zoe’s apartment he saw her naked body running towards the bedroom when he opened the door. The table was set for dinner and across his plate were six willow switches that she had cut from one of the trees. He stared at them with his mouth open. Zoe was kneeling on the bed with her head down on the pillows and her ass raised up towards the door. Without turning around to face him she said into her pillow, “I played with myself today while you were gone. Please don’t hit me too hard.” Ron laughed and fingered the switches, and then he began to strip off his clothing. The thought crossed his mind that this was one way of channeling his nervous energy.
Slowly, he slid the switches across her raised cheeks. He smiled when he saw that she strained upwards for the contact. He turned them so that the thin, young leaves, spiny and long, slid along her flesh. She whimpered and then he took the end of one of the switches and slid it between her thighs, under her cheeks along her puffed, opening lips. She trembled. He slid them up and down and rotated his wrist so that they would drag along that special place, then he pulled them back and smacked her ass with them. The air hissed as they snapped towards her. Ron felt himself twitch and she moaned. He slapped them across her cheeks fanning them out so that they covered her raised, trembling, slightly reddened flesh. They broke with snaps that surged through him. They fell on the lounge cushions that were their bed and he broke them over her bottom with hissing, plaintiff swats that sent them into pieces.
She turned to him as he dropped down onto his knees. She tugged at the stiffness of his penis. She licked her tongue across the tip of it. Ron was sticking out with his eyes closed, swaying like an inebriated creature. She lay on her belly and thrust up from underneath him with a hope of impalement that slid along his shaft with a wave of intoxicating chills. Then Ron pointed it at her and stuck it right in. Zoe’s arms and legs flung out. She screamed some kind of deep, wordless wish. The liquid releases convulsing through them like a whirling machine that had gone full sprint.
Afterwards they smiled that kind of self satisfied grin that rises from deep inside and holds you like a warm glow of the sun. Zoe stuck her elbow out across the mattress and cradled his head in her hand. She put on her glasses and inspected him.
He was lean, thick-boned with an oval face and spring green eyes that took each signal that she sent and then spun it back to her. Ron smiled and let his eyes explore her. From time to time, he extended his hand to part a thigh, or lift an arm. The warm glow in her belly heated as she noted his approval.
Ron said, “The girls came dressed in costumes today.”
The idea caused her eyes to shimmer like a long caress and then she gazed at him strong and deep and said, “Do you want me to wear a costume?”
Ron’s eyes let off excited sparks that flew at her and she smiled when they entered her like they were his seed. “Let’s make something,” she said
Ron took a scissors to a pair of her cutoffs. He left the seam that ran between her legs and cut an outline of wings to stretch across her thighs and cheeks. Then he cut away the intruding white of her pockets. Then he cut U shapes for where her pockets had been. He slipped the remains of the cutoff’s up snugly while she put on a sheer blouse that she had decorated to accent her nipples, which it covered in a tight pull that was drawn down by inserted ribbons that gathered the fabric up, so that it seemed she was lifting her shirt from her body but was frozen in that pose. Ron, his hands on her hips, held her at the length of his arms; she swiveled back and forth for him.
Then they heard the first buzzer of the evening go off in the October quest for candy. Ron gave her two bars and squeezed her mostly naked cheeks as they jutted out with anticipation and the promise of a quick slap that sent her to answer the door. He followed her, wanting to see the reaction and the way that she responded to it. She looked back at him and extended her arms with the candy in her hands, asking him to do it. Ron made her wait and watched her squirm and then took the candy and opened the door. Two little girls dressed up like ducks held their bags open and chorused “Trick or Treat.”
Ron filled their bags and then he shut the door and dropped to his knees and slowly swirled his tongue up her exposed taunt inner thighs. She came for him almost immediately.
They lay with the bag of miniature candy bars between them. Zoe told him that she wanted to go to New York and get a piece of alabaster that weekend. Ron smiled and asked what that was like.
“There are rooms filled with chunks of stone, different sizes.” She set her hands at shoulder width and navel to nipple height. “I want a piece of white alabaster this big,” she said.
Ron said, “How do you know which piece to take?”
Zoe said, “I embrace it and see if it hugs me back.”
“Can I touch them?” said Ron, eyes like fireworks now.
Her smile spread from her mouth to her ears and she said, “That’s why I want you to come with me.” Then she glanced back and forth quickly and said, “Remember your cat poem?”
Ron nodded, and his mind flashed on Leni in his kitchen, slinky, inquisitive and devoted to him. He recited,
“A piece of cheese very small, curled up on its end and stuck to the floor, attracted a black cat with licked white paws.
Raw chopped meat excited her more, and she made sounds for more
I was ecstatic, I wanted her to stay, so I gave her some more cheese
She licked it; she liked it,
Better than the first piece that she’d seen
I had made a friend that I could keep and tell her so out loud
She would agree, nod her head and make such friendly sounds
I dropped some bread, she gave it a clout
Raised her head licked her chin
Turned around and walked out”

“I want to draw it,” said Zoe. “I can see her.” Ron recited the poem again and again as Zoe drew.

Sitting at a desk that Zoe gave him, a blonde oak blank door frame laid over a set of custom made saw horses, Ron opened the Literature book to Canterbury Tales. Immediately, he was flooded with memories of the stage. He was playing Henry II and his partner for the scene was Thomas Becket, played by Todd Crumbly, who later became known as The Crumb after her flipped subsequent to being caught selling joints out of a rooming house in Elizabeth. He’d flipped on Chris and some other people but this was before that and before he discovered his guitar and heavy dope. Ron circled him hissing and screaming like a predator while Todd stood there looking vulnerable and contrite.
Canterbury Tales was about what happened after Henry had Beckett stabbed to death and he become a martyr. Ron absorbed the pages and the details of the Prologue. He saw how the ways that labor was divided were important things for his students to see. The colors they wore and the imperfections used to describe them gave the characters the substance and humanity that Ron wanted to communicate to his kids.
Naked, Zoe was drawing with charcoals; pad on her lap knees bent up, hair tangled and an aura to the movements of her arm. Her pink and straw colored body was intent on creation.
Ron stared back to the page and as he read about the Oxford Cleric, and The Squire and The Cook. He imagined each of them fucking her. He saw her lifting herself up to the pounding thrusts of each of their detailed, clothed bodies and he wanted to be all of them and still be himself. Then he put his book aside and wrote for himself.

Chapter 18

Chris read but the words blurred and made him look away. He slipped his glasses over his nose and tried again. He tried to concentrate on his belief that the law was the rules through which people organized their principles. His reporting parts provided a series of responses that that drove him toward reverie but then he tried to rally himself with thoughts of getting dressed. He was too easily defeated with an opening of windows and a needle on a track and a song that could put him right.
He sat in the open window with the law book on the sill and his head and knee bouncing to a beat. He could do this, it wasn’t that hard. It required more time than deep thought. Reporting parts quieted and listened to the song and inside of it all he was able to think with just a few minutes of clarity that came and went. Mose Allison cooed, “Everybody’s crying mercy but nobody knows the meaning of the word.”
Chris didn’t think about the list of callbacks that he could make. If he wanted to hear a voice. He would call and if he wanted a presence, he could make it appear. For now, there was the book and the music and the street sounds and the promise of a walk. Reporting parts had different volumes and illuminations. Anything might be turned down or faded to black. It was right to wait for what the tide brought in, inspect what it carried, sort through and move on. Dancing like figurines in compartments, reporting parts had occasional convulsive rhythms that crested and subsided.
Warren and Laureen were perfect together, particularly since he had managed to avoid the entangling loops of both of their snares. He looked back into the book and brought the print into focus. Reading and taking notes while the light faded and the street music rose in back of it.
Later he did yoga, turning the stereo off and listening to his heartbeat and the continual hum that ebbed and flowed outside of his windows. He longed for the place of silence, not the silence that he had learned to use as a weapon, not the cold and predatory place where emotions waited and sharpened, not the resistant silence, but the honey hued invitation of his breathing and the steady strong beat of his heart.
It made him light headed and that told him that he was hyperventilating and that he must slow it down even further if he was ever to develop a means of travel to reach this new and quiet place. He read and took notes and tried not to think about the lures that would cause him to wander. He picked up his guitar and began to play and for the first time ever, it was one of Ron’s songs that he heard in his heart and played through his fingers. Chris fought the nets of incompetence and felt well rendered. He breathed in New York City and thought of Laureen: slinky, smart and able to make him cry. Then he played the blues song and tried to remember the words. There were other rhythms in it and he searched for them. Just as it was feeling right, it would make him stumble, like she tried to do. It was almost uncanny.

Chapter 19

“What is a pilgrimage and why did people go on them?” Ron was pacing. The chalk rolling between his fingers while his students watched him like they were at a tennis match. It was a very warm day for early November and the windows were cranked wide open. The students seemed fidgety because of the change in temperature and the excess of clothing. He had them trained to have their notebooks open at the start of each class. He kept a supply of pens and pencils in a canister on his desk and anyone who had forgotten to bring one could just walk up and take one. If you hadn’t brought your book, you had to sit with someone else, but then you knew his eyes were going to be on you and that you were sure to get called on at least a couple of times. Their initial testing period of him was over. He could be flustered by them but it was much more likely that they were gonna wind up blushing on account of the way that he turned things and his class was fun. They wanted to read for it.
Andrea said,” It’s like a journey or a vacation.”
Ron smiled, “You mean like going down the shore?”
Andrea felt herself redden. “No, not like that. They didn’t have boardwalks or anything like that.”
Ron paced and ran his fingers through his hair. “Well, they did in a way. They had this shrine for this guy Tom who was a patron saint of the Saxons, who were kinda like the poor. Everybody felt good about Tom now that he was dead, and people would take trips to the place that was dedicated to him.”
Andrea sat back in her desk and spread her legs wide open under her desk, the short skirt hiking up along her thighs. Ron pacing saw her white patch of panties and turned his head to keep his mind focused.
“But the trip could be dangerous, like going out for a walk by yourself in the middle of the night around here. And so people traveled in groups and as they went, they made up stories to tell to entertain each other.”
Now her legs were opening and shutting like a bird that was flapping its wings, only slower. Ron was hoping that she needed to go to the bathroom or that she would stop because he was finding it more and more difficult not to look. He took off his jacket and noticed that his shirt was wet from the perspiration that had gathered underneath.

“So these stories were things that they made up as part of a contest to see who could tell the best story.”
“You shoulda been there, Mr. Tuck. You woulda kicked butt.”
Ron laughed and the grin spread across his face and showed his dimples and the girls smiled and one with bleached bright blonde hair who had a case of acne that would not quit said, “But they were all religious stories right?”
“Some of them were, Joyce, but some of them were pretty raunchy.”
There was a giggle and then one of his seniors who liked to look confused because she thought that it was attractive said, “What’s raunchy?”
“Off- color stories,” said Ron.
The blonde grinned at him and said, “You mean dirty stories?”
There was that nervous laughter that bounced through the room like a crazy ball that was careening off the walls. The blonde wiggled herself back and forth on her seat and made a show of renewed interest in her book and then said, “Ok let’s read those and skip the others.”
It gave Ron an idea. He was learning that if he threw things out to them and listened to how they reacted that something would be revealed to him, a way into the piece and there it was. “What we are gonna do is divide up the stories and tell them to each other like we are on the journey together. Each of you is gonna pick one and read it and put it into your own words and then we are gonna tell the stories to each other. Now there are some that we have to tell and I will handle those if you don’t pick them first but for the rest of them, you need to look the book over, skim the characters and decide whose story that you want to tell. Some of them are long, some are really short and some are really exciting and some are really boring. I’ll try to keep you away from the boring junk.”
Andrea was flapping faster Ron was wondering if he should ask her if she needed to use the bathroom and then the absurdity of asking a 17 year old girl is she needed to pee struck him and he dismissed that idea.
There was a knock at his door a light tapping, but Ron didn’t hear it. He was at the board and writing down names of the pilgrims for the kids to choose from. He rattled off the first dozen or so from memory and then he was looking in the prologue to find the others. The girls heard the tapping immediately. Their heads all turning towards the door and then their eyes going straight down to their books and their hands making sure that they were copying what he was writing on the board. The was a second set of taps and this time Ron looked up to see the face of Sister Irene Emanuel standing in his doorway with a crooked finger that was beckoning him. He walked quickly to the door as she opened it and backed up and asked him to step into the hallway.
“Yes Sister?”
“Mr. Tuck, you have your jacket off.”
“Yes Sister, it’s really warm today.”
“But Mr. Tuck, your bare arms are dangling out.”
Ron blushed and looked at his arms and then back into her face. She turned him into a child almost instantly but he liked her. He trusted her and above all else he wanted to please her and have her think well of him. “Yes Sister, I’ll put the jacket back on right away.”
She nodded with a serene kind of admonishment and said, “That’s an excellent idea,” and walked back down the hall towards her office, the black habit floating along just above her feet.
Ron walked back into the room and as his students watched put his jacket back on immediately.
Joyce said, “Busted.” And the girls giggled.
Ron smiled and said, “Yes the sight of my arms in apparently an unnecessary distraction.” and went back to writing at the board.
Andrea said to Joyce, “Wasn’t his arms that I was staring it.”

Ron noticed that he lit up in a gleeful way when he taught his younger students. It wasn’t that the lessons were easier to do or that he liked the literature more, it was them. They rushed into the room eager to be there, to be in contact with him and he brightened so visibly at the sight of them that it was almost as if he became someone else. It was their writing that he pondered over. It was their questions that reappeared in his mind on his drives or when he was in the shower, never when he was with Zoe. He wanted to keep them to himself, to mold them. At the end of the day it was they who flew passed his room and stuck their heads in and wished him good night.
That afternoon Ron left his class room early to attend a faculty meeting. Sister Irene Emanuel presided over these meetings with a look that commanded respect. She could use her facial expressions to convey her thoughts, particularly to accent what she wasn’t saying. Looking freshly laundered and finely scrubbed, she smiled at the gathering of her teachers and said. “Well it seems that we have settled in nicely and started the year off well and gotten through the foolishness of Halloween. Our enrollment is up by 30 and so we now have 485 students, which, all things considered, must be thought of as successful. Now, paper is not free and I have been finding too much of it wasted and discarded into the trash. Please remember that the girls do have notebooks and that it isn’t necessary to give them our paper for every little thing that they do. Also, please remember that we are not a provider of pens and pencils. The girls know that they need to come prepared and it would be wrong of us to spoil them.”

Ron felt heat come to his cheeks. He wondered if this was directed at him. Maybe he was being foolish and spoiling them but wasn’t it more important for them to learn. He almost raised a hand to ask this but then thought better of it.
Sister Irene Emanuel continued after a pause and a scan of her eyes and a pursing of her lips that communicated that she was not talking about the sisters who knew better. The nuns smiled and looked down. This had been a topic of discussion at the convent. They knew it was coming and she had delivered the line expertly, although one or two would not have minded if she had singled out the prime offenders. “Now the subject of discipline needs to be discussed. We are instituting a system of demerits.” She passed out a stack of freshly copied pages that were passed up the aisles. “I’m not going to read to you. Take a moment and look over the page.”
Ron read quickly. It was a system of offenses and the number of demerits that each carried with it.
Late: 1 demerit
Uniform violation: 1 demerit (first offense) 3 demerits (second offense and a call home) 5 demerits (for each additional offense and a parent conference) Excessive makeup is a uniform violation.
No homework: I demerit and an academic penalty
Failure to be respectful: 3 demerits
Unprepared for class: 1 demerit (this includes lack of book covers, or coming to class without the necessary tools for that day)
Fighting: 10 demerits (a parent conference in the principal’s office)
Inappropriate Behavior: the number of demerits assigned for this is at the discretion of the teacher. (Whatever she thinks is appropriate.)
Conduct unbecoming a lady: 2 demerits but perhaps more depending on the severity of the offense.
Inwardly, Ron groaned as he read the list. It was all about class control. He had no problems with class control. Why should anyone have a problem with it? Ron knew enough to not say any of these things. He sat and listened.
“Today we are going to form a faculty council that will meet with girls who have exceeded the ten demerit limit. I know that any of you that are chosen will take this responsibility seriously. There will be five members of the council, two lay teachers, two sisters and myself.”
Ron nodded and looked around wondering who he would think was best. Sister Juliana Marie was quickly nominated as was Sister Bernadette. Ron knew both. Juliana taught math in the classroom above his and Sister Bernadette taught religion and led the choir. Marsha was nominated and quickly confirmed by the staff as one of the senior lay teachers. Then Irene Emanuel said, “I think the addition of a male presence would help us in our cause and without asking for a vote looked over at Ron and said, “Would you be kind enough to join our effort Mr. Tuck?”
Ron almost gasped. Then he said as obediently as he was able, “Yes Sister”

Chapter 20

Zoe sat naked in the middle of the room. She held the shirt that Ron had worn yesterday up to her face and inhaled the traces of his scent. With her other hand, she worked the hard plastic buttons on the cuff of the shirt back and forth over her clitoris. Her eyes were closed. She imagined herself flying through the air and he was flying with her, his head between her legs, his tongue snapping the way that it did across her clit. Her mouth opened and she rocked back and forth and then, in the dream, he opened his mouth and began to devour her. He took large bites out of her vagina, chewing and swallowing her. She tried to fly faster, tried to get away from his mouth but he was devouring her from between her legs. Her hips bucked faster over the buttons, the hard buttons that could have been teeth. She was sweating and smiling at the same time. He was eating away all of her fat. She would be thin if he kept eating at her. The waves of the orgasm rushed over her and she bucked her hips faster. Then he was spitting her out. Parts of her dropping down from the sky and wherever they dropped, flowers sprang up and tried to ensnare her. It was the fat trying to get back into her. He was spitting her out. He was just like she was. She raised her fingers from between her legs and stuck them down into her throat and then began to gag into his shirt and then the burn of the vomit, the harsh gritty feel of the vomit in her mouth, making her pay for what she had eaten. Her body wretched and shook and still she was cumming. Then she got up and ran into the bath room, frightened as a little girl. She scrubbed the shirt clean of what had come out of her, her entire body shaking. Now she could draw. She sketched the likeness of a fat hippo sucking on a straw that was stuck into an ice cream sundae.
When Ron came home, he found her curled up in his aunt’s wingback chair. She had been crying. Her hands were in front of her mouth. She watched him walk in and drop his book bag down and take off his jacket and then walk towards her. She held up a hand for him to stop before he reached her.
“Why do you want to live with me?
“What?”
“I’m a pig. Why do you want to live with a pig?”
“You aren’t a pig.”
“I’m a fat, filthy, disgusting pig and I don’t want to be with someone who could stand to live with a fat, filthy, disgusting pig.”
“You aren’t fat. You aren’t a pig. You aren’t disgusting.”
He stood in front of her an expression of complete confusion on his face. “Did you have a bad day?”
She screamed and ran passed him into the bathroom and locked the door. Ron stood there feeling helpless. What was he supposed to do now? What was wrong with her? What did he have to do to fix it? He paced through the apartment rooms. His stomach growled at him, a reminder that he hadn’t eaten all day, nothing except coffee. He picked up the mail that he had gathered from his parents’ house the day before and sorted through it. The envelope in Robin’s handwriting made him drop the stack of mail like he had been given an electric shock. Was this it? Had she seen the letter? It was still sealed. Had she found a way to open it or read it through the envelope? The door opened and she walked out fast, her face angry. “I’m going to take the train back to my father’s house.”
“Why?”
“Because I can’t stand to be cooped up in this ugly apartment all day long. I want to run. I want to swim. I want to ride my bike.”
“I’ll drive you, if you really want to go, Zoe.”
“There’s no place for me to be free here,” she screamed. “I’m dying here.”
Ron felt like he had been slapped. He felt as if he took a step off the curb and that some bus had whacked him in the side of the head. “Wait,” he said.
She dropped her bag to the floor and he moved to her and gathered her into his arms. She was crying and shaking and he body trembled like a leaf in a stiff breeze. She reached her arms up and held onto him, like he was the branch that was keeping her from being torn off. “I’m so fucked up,” she whispered, “and I don’t want you to see me like this.”
Ron patted her ass and said “Go clean yourself up and get dressed.”

She went back into the bathroom and Ron picked up the envelope and opened it. “I’ll be arriving on Wednesday on Flight 148 on American Airlines. It gets in at 8 pm. See you then. Love, Robin.” Wednesday, today was Tuesday. Ron walked to the bathroom door and said, “Maybe a few days up at your parents’ house will help you to clear your head.”
She opened the door. She looked like the angelic child again. “You won’t mind?”
“If it’s what you need, it’s what we should do,” said Ron.
Her face brightened. I just want to run and swim and get my head in a better place so that I can come back to you healthy,” she said.
Ron nodded. “It’s ok. I trust you.”
Someplace inside a voice told him that he should be feeling very guilty, but he wasn’t. He would tell Robin that he was staying with his folks until he figured out what to do about an apartment. She definitely would not want to go to his mother’s house. Funny, he thought, she calls it her father’s house and I call it my mother’s house. Is it a gender thing?
That night after he drove Zoe, and picked up a pizza, he sat at his desk and called Robin. She answered on the first ring.
“Where are you?” she said. “The phone is disconnected and I really didn’t want to be calling Rahway again so I wrote in care of your parents’ house.”
“That’s where I’m staying, just until I get things sorted out. I didn’t want to stay at Rahway. I’m sure you can understand why.”
She laughed. “No, actually I thought that any excuse that got you back into Rahway would be the one that you would take.”
Ron flushed. “Contrary to popular opinion, I do have some integrity, Robin.”
“Anyway,” she said, “Can you pick me up?”
“Absolutely.”
“How’s the teaching going?”
“It’s incredible. It’s where I want to be. It’s who I am. It may be the best thing that I’ve ever done in my life.”
“That’s good, Ron. Just remember that you aren’t Warren.”
Ron’s hand clenched on the receiver. Why did she have to say shit like that? His voice was small. “I don’t drawl,” he said with fake drawl.
She giggled. “I’m really looking forward to seeing you and everyone else.”
Ron felt panicked. Who was everyone else? “How long are you staying?”
“Let’s see how it goes. Ron, I’m not sure how much longer I’m going to be staying in Minneapolis. Things have gotten complicated here and I am thinking of coming back home.”
Ron felt his pulse quicken. Zoe cleared from his mind like she was a hallucination. “There is nothing that I would like more than that.”
And then they hung up.
A minute later the phone rang. Zoe’s voice said, “I miss you so much. I don’t want to sleep without you next to me.”

Chapter 21

Ron was waiting as they walked into the room. He was amazed at how he could forget and did forget anything else that was on his mind as soon as he saw them. They stood, said their customary prayer before the start of class and then opened their books.
“Ok, so last night you read a story and then rewrote it into your words, correct?”
Some faces nodded and others looked down. Ron knew that meant that some had found the assignment too difficult to finish or had not done it for one reason or another, so he decided to go with volunteers. “Joyce, why don’t you go first.”
Joyce looked nervous. Her “OK” was timid.
Ron said, “Come right up here in front of the room and stand behind my lectern.”
“Do I have to do it from up there? Can’t I just sit here?”
Ron thought. Yes, he could understand how being in front of the class could be intimidating. But Joyce sat near the back of the room and he wanted everyone to see her face while she was telling the story. Then an idea. “Ok, what we are gonna do is make a big circle with the desks.”
Joyce smiled. Some of the girls groaned their teenaged “Do we have to move” complaint. But they did it. Ron waited as the desks scraped and pulled across the floor and then there was not what you could call a circle but a perimeter around the outside of the room. Ron moved into the center of it. “Pens out, notebooks open, you are responsible to take notes on what Joyce says.”
Ron looked over at Joyce. Her head was bent over her notes and she was moving it back and forth, her lips moving. Then she looked up at him and smiled and then giggled at the other faces that were staring at her.
“Which story did you pick Joyce?”
“The Miller.”
“Do you know why you picked that one?”
“Yeah, my sister, who graduated last year, said it was a dirty one.”
Nervous giggles spread across the room. Joyce began. “This old guy John marries a young girl named Allison. Now why a young girl would marry this old guy,” She elongated the old. “We don’t know but she did. I mean maybe the guy had money, or maybe she was just stupid. She seems kinda dumb, but anyway she married him.” Joyce put her hand down to her hip behind the desk. “And of course she was bored.” Joyce paused. “And frustrated.” The girls laughed. Ron smiled. “But she was stuck with him. Until this other guy whose name I can’t pronounce and so I decided to call him Abe,”
“Absalom,” said Ron.
“Yeah that’s it. Abe starts coming around and telling her that he can’t live without her. But he’s such a dork even if he is young, he’s just too dorky. Even her husband laughs at him.” Ron smiled as she continued with the story. It was working. They were listening to every word. He walked around the back of the outside of the perimeter as Joyce continued and told about Absalom and Allison and John. “So now this guy Nicky comes along and Nicky was hot!” Joyce smiled again and paused. Then she said, “I mean slick and handsome a good dresser and knows how to talk.” Ron noticed three heads turn in the direction of a girl named Marion a pretty girl who was very quiet and really not buying into what Ron had been doing so far. Her responses had been terse and clearly designed to make him leave her alone whenever he questioned her. Joyce was looking at her and smiling as she described Nicky but Marion was not smiling back and there was immediate tension in the room. Ron felt it and saw and knew, he instinctively knew. He decided to interrupt.
“Ok wait a second Joyce. I’m seeing a lot of Nicky’s in people’s notebooks, his name was Nicholas right?”
“Yeah Mr. Tuck, but you said in our words right?”
Ron shrugged, “You’re right Joyce, I’m sorry.”
But he had relieved the tension and Marion no longer had a real excuse to think Joyce was talking about her boyfriend he thought, feeling proud of his instincts. “So Nicky, cause he’s a dog, wants to sleep with Alison and cause she’s bored and frustrated and a slut wants to be with him too.”
Now it was Ron’s turn to feel uncomfortable. Was it alright for them to say that the character was a slut? But then he looked at the faces and saw that each one of them including Marion was hanging on every word and said to himself, “Screw it.”
Joyce went on and she did a good job. She even got through the farting in face business and made it seem so natural that all Ron heard was a couple of “Ewws” from different parts of the room.
When Joyce finished Ron said, “You did a really good job with that, excellent in fact. So what is the moral?”
Marion raised her hand. Ron called on her. “They had no morals, like some of the people in here.”
During lunch, Joyce and Marion fought. It was a face slap that led to a hair pull and a ripped uniform top and scratches down the sides of the necks of both girls. Sister Irene Emanuel called Ron down to her office. He saw both girls sitting outside of her closed doors staring daggers across the room at each other, while the old nun who served as a secretary sat at her desk in between them. Ron was shocked when he saw them.
“What happened?” he said to Joyce. She looked down and was silent.
He walked over to Marion. “Was this about the story in class?”
Marion just stared at him.
“Sister is waiting for you, Mr. Tuck”
Ron opened the door of the office. Irene Emanuel was seated in back of her desk reading and looked up at him over the top of her bifocals. “Well, it seems that we have had a problem and although the faculty council hasn’t met yet, I thought that it would be a good chance for you to see how things work, Mr. Tuck.”
“I think I may have had something to do with it, Sister.”
“You?”
“Yes Sister, it started in class. I was having them retell Canterbury Tales in their own words and I think Marion was offended by Joyce using the name Nicky. I think Nicky may be Marion’s boyfriend.”
“Mr. Nick Bontieri is Marion’s father, Mr. Tuck. And it seems as if Marion’s father has,” she paused pursing her lips and thinking about how she wanted to say it. “not been behaving himself. But that is no excuse for this. These girls have to learn that if they break the rules, they get punished.”
Now Ron was even more shocked than he had been before. “Joyce knew about it?”
“Joyce and Marion were friends and of course the one girl shared things about her home life which was better not shared and so when they stopped being friends, of course, there were hurt feelings. As far as I can tell, this was revenge.”
“I’m sorry, Sister.”
“What are you sorry for? You did nothing wrong. Perhaps you got used a little bit, but you would be awfully foolish of you thought that you could teach these girls and not have them try to manipulate you.”
“I don’t know,” Ron said. “I saw the tension in the room and I thought I had dissipated it. I thought it was a boyfriend issue. I was wrong.”
“And is this the first time in your life that you have had the unpleasant realization that you were incorrect in your judgment, Mr. Tuck?”
“No, Sister.”
“Then it is hardly worth mentioning, is it?”
Ron broke into his dimpled grin. “I guess not.”
“Well, sit over here on my left while we conduct our own little version of justice, Mr. Tuck”
Ron moved his chair over in back of her desk and to her left. She turned to him and said, “Half of the time I wish this was a boarding school so that we could minimize the influence of their parents. But we work with what we have.” Then she buzzed for the girls.
They walked in one after the other, looking guilty, wearing the marks on their necks, and their puffy red eyes as both signs of their crime and also, Ron thought, with a certain amount of pride. These were tough kids who had grown up in a tough neighborhood. They may have been frightened of this very proper nun, but they knew that they could take whatever it was that she had in store for them. And besides, it had been worth it. Joyce had gotten completely under Marion’s skin and shattered that “I’m better cause I’m prettier” façade of hers. Marion had loved the hot sting on her hand when she had slapped Joyce right on her pimply face. Marion was thinking that when she told the story later she would say that when she had slapped her that she had popped one of her zits and had to wash her hands forever just to make sure the puss was gone.
Ron was about to learn that out and out declarations of war between girls was never over. They would carry a hatred of each other for the rest of their lives unless of course something radical happened.
“Well ladies, have we anything else to add?”
The girls were silent. Irene Emanuel waited and then said, “Did I mumble? Are your ears too clogged with wax to have heard me?”
Both girls mumbled, “No Sister,” in unison.
Irene Emanuel turned to Ron. “Are you allowing these girls to speak in class Mr. Tuck? Have you been keeping them so quiet that they have lost any power of elocution?”
“Not at all, Sister,” said Ron careful to enunciate distinctly.
“Good, although sometimes it is best to hold one’s tongue, isn’t it Joyce?”
“Yes, Sister.”
“And to learn to retain your dignity as well. Isn’t that true, Marion?”
“Yes, Sister”
“Since we have not given you the proper demeanor that your parents have sent you here to achieve, since we as a school have failed you, and are shortly sending you out into the world in an obvious state of ill-preparedness, we shall have to try harder in these few months that we have left. Therefore for the next month, each of you will spend Saturday morning working and praying with us in the convent. I will be speaking to your parents this evening. It would be best for both of you to come clean, as they say, before my call.”
“But Sister, I have a job on Saturdays, Joyce whined.
“Yes, you do and it is to be here promptly at 7 am. That’s all ladies. You may leave.”

Chapter22
Nervously, he thought about what he was going to do when he saw her get off of the plane. Was it going to be like other times, when his mind went into a slide show of her smiling at him, looking at him as if he were the center of her world, taking his hand into hers, walking with him as if they were two explorers who could overcome any obstacle that was set in front of them. Or, was it going to be the small smile that upturned the edges of her mouth with strain. Was her body going to stiffen when she was close to him and was her hand going to tentatively pat his back as if the very feel of him was toxic? Waiting for the plane and thinking about how he’d phoned Zoe’s house and been told that she was out. Nothing more: out. Hearing the humiliating pause, he’d asked if her mother would tell her that he’d called. The begrudging “yes” followed by the distinct click of receiver being replaced in its cradle.
The announcement came that the plane had landed. She carried one bag slung over her shoulder. She was standing upright in spite of the weight, keeping her posture and smiling at him. He moved to her instinctively, lifting the bag from her shoulder. He kissed her. She said, with a nervous tension in her voice, “It’s good to see you.”
They walked to his car together. He still wore his tie, although he had tugged the knot down to the center of his chest hours ago. Her leather jacket was form- fitting and her long skirt swayed beneath it and brushed against her ankles. The longing that he felt was deep, sad, and uncontrollable.
“Have you eaten?”
“I’m starving.”
They drove to the Café Mozart in Union. They ate goulash and spaetzel and red cabbage. They drank German beer. He told her about the fire and about his students. She told him that she had learned to make paper. No, she never thought about acting anymore. Yes, she was seeing someone but he wasn’t important. She was going to stay with her mother. No, her mother hadn’t stopped drinking. Yes, she was thinking of coming back to New Jersey.
She didn’t touch him as they spoke. Then she reached her fingertips across the table, slid them along his forearm and said, “If we can just stay friends long enough, who knows what might happen.”

Chapter 23
Ron got to school early the next morning. Zoe wasn’t in bed next to him, tempting him to stay just a little longer while she sucked or sketched or massaged some part of him. So, he got there with two containers of coffee over an hour before the official day was to begin. Sitting in his room, staring out the window over the fire escape, Ron drank coffee and watched the street. This part of the city, because of its tumult of large oak trees, was filled with squirrels. They scampered along tree branches and over the sidewalks and between the cracks in stone walls. Ron sipped and watched their movements, almost ballet like, their senses tuned to the heartbeat of the day.
“Good morning, Ron” Sister Bernadette stood in his doorway, filling
it with her large shoulders, her modified habit, her warm dark-eyed smile.
Ron turned towards her, pulled from the reverie of the street, missing the scent of Zoe on him, nervously puffed with the allusions to a future that Robin had suggested and said, “Good Morning Sister Bernadette.”
She waited in his doorway and then Ron invited her with an unopened container of coffee which, to his surprise, she accepted. “Are things better for you now? I mean, since the fire?”
Instantly, Ron saw and felt the flames dancing in back of his eyes. Waking up, feeling their heat, staring into it, pulling away and hollering Fire! “Yes Sister, I seem to be doing better.”
“The girls were all worried about you. You know, they care for you very much.”
“They are quite special aren’t they?”
“Yes, but,” she said smiling. “We are only here to witness how special they are.”
Ron felt genuine warmth emanate from her as she smiled for him. He found himself returning the smile and sharing something with her that cut through everything else. In that instant, he saw the two of them wanting only the best for these young people, willing to make an investment in their success, sadly dedicated to some invisible future of potential.
Driving without a license, and in the teeth-grinding grasp of an epileptic seizure, Alfredo Mora crashed the front of his car into the solid brick corner of their building. His head snapped forward and banged on the hard plastic steering wheel. Blood sprayed from his nose. He was chewing his tongue and drooling. His sister, Gina, was thrown against the passenger side door, screaming.
Alarmed dismay jumped like an electric arc between Bernadette and Ron and then they were on their feet and out the door, just in time to see the now stalled car roll back towards the street. Bernadette ran towards Gina and pulled the door open and gathered the girl into her strong and freshly laundered arms. Ron sprinted to the driver’s side. Alfredo was bent over the wheel but as the car rolled back so did he, mouth open, eyes fluttering, tongue lolling out of the corner of his mouth.
Ron yanked the door open and slid his hands into Alfredo’s armpits, pulling him out of the car. He rested him down against the ground and then someone brought him some kind of cloth and he propped it under Alfredo’s neck. Bernadette ordered, “Put wood between his teeth, and make sure he doesn’t swallow his tongue.”
Ron reached into his mouth and tried to find the tongue. Teeth bit into the back of his hand, wincing fingers probing for the tongue, bringing his head up and bending his shoulders forward. Then Alfredo spit out a stream of bile and Ron saw that his tongue was sticking out as the phlegm slashed against him. The squirrels disappeared with the sound of the siren and as Ron held him up not thinking of what he should do next. People arrived and Ron was moved away.
The North Ward Citizens Group ran a private ambulance service and as soon as they got the call from the school, a detail had been dispatched. They had arrived within five minutes. Although they had the reputation of being a racist group, their ambulance served the neighborhood, irrespective of color. Founded by Anthony Imperiale, a loud- mouthed, ex-marine who extolled the value of all things Italian, the group had gained a sort of national attention during the Newark riots, when Tony’s boys trained in Branch Brook Park and according to lots of rumors, did a lot more than train. All of the members were recruited personally by Imperiale and were, again according to rumor, at least half Italian.
Ron had once met Tony at one of his step-father’s hangouts. He had been appalled when the gavonne had called Martin King “Martin Coon.” His stepfather had grabbed Ron hard by the shoulder when Ron had said, “Now how does talking shit like that do anyone any good?”
Tony did not seem to recognize Ron as he and another man laid out a stretcher and lifted the still twitching Alfredo into the back of the ambulance. Then a patrol car arrived and Ron went back into the school and to the bathroom so that he could try to clean up and get ready for the day.
For the first time since he’d begin teaching, Ron was out the door with the bell. He drove back to the apartment and called Zoe. She was out. He left a message hearing the word Freedom sing in his ears. Then he dialed Robin.
Her mother answered the phone. Her voice was a bit shaky but had a lilt that bore some resemblance to the way that Robin spoke. “Yes, Ron, she is here. She’s been antsy waiting to hear from you all day and now she has thrown herself onto the bed because I didn’t give her the phone right away.”
Ron could not picture this. It was at odds with the cool exterior view with which Robin presented to him these days, but the idea of it still made his heart flutter. Maybe it was true. Maybe his instincts about her had been correct. Maybe having a relationship with Zoe was gonna royally fuck up any chance that he and Robin had of getting back together. Ron said, “Just ask her if she would like to drive down and pick her up now, if you could Mrs. Pavel.”
Then Robin was on the phone and her voice had that cool soft lilt and Ron closed his eyes at the sound of it. “Are you coming down?”
“Where do you need to go?”
“I don’t need to go anywhere. I thought that maybe we could just spend a little time together.”
Ron flew down the parkway. His radio was blasting Deacon Blue. He wanted to be there instantly. He felt fit and a little edgy. He was pleased with his appearance. Maybe that would have an effect on her, but he doubted it. When he got to her mother’s house, she said, “Would you mind taking me food shopping?”
They wandered up and down the aisles of the supermarket, him pushing the cart, she holding a list. She said, “My mother is crazy.”
“That’s not news,” said Ron before he thought about it.
She looked at him strangely and said, “So this teaching thing has really got you, huh?”
“It’s special. I close the door and it’s a different world and nothing except for what I do with them matters.”
“Where are you going to live?”
“I don’t know. Not anywhere expensive based on what they are paying me. But I did get a second job.”
“Doing what?”
“Tutoring.”
“Doesn’t it feel as if it has you trapped a little?”
“Not so much as some other things,” said Ron.
Then they unloaded the groceries and checked out. Working as they always did, without need for the “you do this and I’ll do that” conversation. Anticipating each other, in control of an immediate goal, like a scene on a stage or the making of a meal, but no longer with the in and out intimacy of people who had sex.
In the car, she said, “Have you been going to Rahway?”
“Not so much, it’s not like it used to be there either,” said Ron. “I don’t ever just go there.”
She laughed. “Are you ever invited?”
Ron blushed. “Not so much, no.”
In back of his eyes, he saw her and in his ears he heard her words. “You’re not a real person, you know. You just made yourself up and it’s all fantasy and acting.” Ron winced. He tried to blink the words and image away but he couldn’t move it. He had believed her. Did he still believe her?
He extended his right hand and she took it. Her fingers against his palm, inclining her head and rubbing the backs of his fingers against her cheek, she said, “We’ve made such a mess of this.”
Ron just gazed at her. Was it really possible that they had a future? He wanted to speak out but his voice wouldn’t come. Her cheek was smooth and the touch of her fingers intoxicating. He felt himself slipping away and tried to hold on. He tried to hold on, but an image of her needing to be rid of him overtook his vision. He stared at Robin and thought she had tried so hard to be free of him. Did holding his hand feel like a defeat? Did sliding the backs of his fingers over the intimate smoothness of her face constitute surrender? Ron traced the line of her lips and she parted them ever so slightly. He thought of all the nights that she had slept naked next to him in her bed and not allowed him to touch her. Again, he thought of Zoe. And again he tried to push the image away. Zoe defenseless. Zoe vulnerable. Zoe in need of him. Robin’s lips at the ends of his fingers. Tracing her lips. Entranced by the fire in her eyes. The stubborn fragility of her cheekbone.
Ron said, “I love teaching my students.”
She didn’t answer.

Chapter 24
Ron went through Friday as if he was in a fog. It surprised him and it frightened him. Nothing had distracted him from his students until now. Thoughts of Zoe never entered his head when he was teaching. The fire had distracted him but not when he was teaching. And now, in less than two days, Robin had him hearing her voice and seeing her face in back of his eyes almost non-stop.
He tried calling Zoe when he got back to his apartment. To his surprise she answered the phone. She almost squealed when she heard his voice. “I’ve been thinking about you almost non-stop,” she said. “We have to get an answering machine.”
“I’ve been thinking a lot about you too,” said Ron, trying to tell himself that it was an obligatory thing to say.”When are you coming home?”
“I thought I would stay her through the holiday,” said Zoe. “They make a big deal about it here.”
At first it didn’t register with Ron. What holiday? Did she mean Christmas that was a month away? Could she really mean that? Then it dawned on him. Thanksgiving was this Thursday. She meant Thanksgiving! “Whatever you need to do,” said Ron. “Are you running?”
“Yes, every day and riding my bicycle and swimming and feeling great except that I miss you so much. I want to be with you. I want to live in the country with you and make babies and raise chickens for the eggs and plant a garden.” He didn’t respond and there was a pause and then she asked, “Do you want to come up and pick me up like we used to and bring me back home and ravish me?” She lowered her voice when she said this last part.
“I really do,” said Ron. “But I have this thing at my mother’s house in preparation for the holiday and I have so much school work to do because it is a short week next week and I assigned all these essay tests that I want to grade and get back to the kids before the break.”
She seemed crestfallen, and just said, “Oh.”
The guilt spread through him like dysentery in a refugee camp. He felt himself begin to sweat and cramp. He wanted to get off the phone. He wanted to call Robin. Then he realized that the sound of her voice had given him an erection and he wanted to fuck her. But who was “her”?
“Look, suppose I drive up now and we take a ride somewhere and at least get to spend some time together.”
Her voice instantly brightened again. She said “OK, when are you coming?”
“I just want to change my clothes,” said Ron.

As soon as he hung him, he dialed Robin’s number. She answered on the first ring and before he could give her the excuse that he had invented about having to do something at the school that night, she said, “Can we get together tomorrow? Some of my mother’s friends are coming over and I promised her that I would spend a little time with her, but if you aren’t busy, I would really like to see you tomorrow or maybe later tonight.”
Almost involuntarily Ron found himself saying, “What time later?”
“Whatever works best for you. Drive down sometime after 10.”
“That works,” said Ron. “I have this thing tonight at school.”
“You’re going to be exhausted,” she said. “Maybe we should wait until tomorrow.”
“Why don’t I call you when I’m done,” said Ron.
There was that unmistakable lilting laughter that communicated to him that she knew that he wanted to see her and that she was pleased that he wanted to see her. Then she said, “No, I’m being selfish. Call me in the morning.”
Ron wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed.
When Zoe got into the car she kissed him with incredible hunger. And then she whispered into his ear, “Please just take me home and rip off my clothes and do wicked things to me.” Then she reached down below the steering wheel and opened his pants. She stroked him and then said coyly. “Will you leave it out all the way home?” A droplet of clear liquid oozed out of the head of his cock and she said, “You have missed me.”

Chapter 25

The next morning, Ron drove down to see Robin. He had driven Zoe home about 11o’clock the night before and was exhausted by the time that he called Robin. They had agreed that he would drive down the next morning. But when he woke up, lying in his and Zoe’s bed, Zoe not there but the scent of her lingering on their sheets and on his body and in his brain, he decided that it was time for the difficult conversation.
As he showered, he tried to formulate what he wanted to say. The question really was “why had she done that to him?” Why had she utterly destroyed him that way and left him feeling so empty and then continued to torment him? What had he done to her? The answer came to him with stunning clarity as the water sprayed over his face. He had refused to leave New Jersey with her. He had dumped their cats on her. He had slept with other women while they were together. He had refused to stop smoking pot and staying stoned most of the time. He had told her that he was less interested in being romantic than she was. He had let her work a full time job while he lived off this scam or that scam.
True, he had always paid for his share of things. True, they had agreed to have other people in their lives. True, he had joined her in Minneapolis when his assistantship was up. True that he was completely straight when he was with her out there. True that she knew that it was supposed to be a fresh start away from their families, away from their friends where the two of them could just create a life for each other. True that he was now much more romantic that she seemed to be.
Ron tried to juggle the competing truths. Were they a wash? Did it just mean that between them they had beat the shit out of whatever it was that they once had and that now it no longer existed?
He had never been deliberately cruel to her. That was the thing that he could not shake. She had set out to break him into little pieces and when he was broken, she had enjoyed seeing him try to piece himself back together. That was the real question. Why had she been so deliberately cruel? If they had any chance at anything, he needed to have that resolved in his head.
He would do it carefully. Robin had a way of reducing him, making him feel silly and stupid. He thought about how she did it. She used, he tried to think of a phrase, reductive simplicity! That was it! Ron smiled, pleased that he had come up with a way to put it into words.
Robin met him at the door. She looked radiant and for that moment all of his resolve vanished into her beautiful face, the smile that was there for him and only for him. The way that she that she took his hand and slid it around her waist, as she kissed him so gently and molded her body to him. Then she said, “My mother is sleeping, can we just make a break for it?”
Ron smiled and said, “I have an idea. Let’s get in the car and drive to the ocean.”
She was thrilled with the plan and said, “I’ll get my camera.”
As soon as they got into the car, Robin picked up the scent of another woman. Zoe didn’t wear perfume. They hadn’t made love in the car. Robin couldn’t have said what it was that was informing her nostrils but it was there and it was unmistakable. She thought about Minneapolis and whether she could go back.
The ride down the shore was a straight shot down the Garden State Parkway. The road was almost deserted on this Saturday morning.
Robin said, “How was the dance?”
Ron laughed and said, “They love disco and those girls can sure dance. I wish I could dance that way.”
“Did you dance with them?”
“No, they would have lost all respect for me if they had seen me dance, but I did wind up taking two of them home.”
“Is that smart?”
“No, but it was late and their rides didn’t show up.”
That was the scent that she smelled. Robin relaxed. She was still very much in control with no competition about which to worry and then she shook her head to herself. “Competition for what?” she thought.
“Robin, I love seeing you. It feels so good to be spending some time with you but I have to ask you about something and I’m not sure that you want to talk about it.”
“I don’t want to sleep with you,” she said automatically.
Ron stammered and felt flushed. Everything that he had been thinking disappeared from his mind like the lines of an etch-a-sketch that someone had shaken clean. “That wasn’t what I was going to ask.”
“Ok,” she said, “what did you want to ask?”
“I don’t know,” said Ron, and fell silent.
Long moments passed. Ron drove and tried to reformulate his thoughts. How was he going to put it? Was she right? Was it that he was going to work the conversation around to wanting to sleep with her? He didn’t think so. He thought about Zoe and their love-making last night. He thought about how she lay under him on her belly and squeezed her muscles like she wanted to suck the very life out of him through his cock. He thought about the way that he had such incredible control when he slept with her. They would fuck until she orgasmed and then he’d pull himself out of her and let her bring him off. He felt himself hardening.
“Do you want to eat?” said Robin.
They reached the shore town exit and pulled into an International House of Pancakes. The both were grinning. IHOP had been one of their favorite places to go for dinner when they were living together in Verona.
She had pancakes and he ordered an omelet. They emptied the bottomless pitcher of coffee and asked for more. She showed him her camera. They talked about how the ocean would look.
“I need to talk with you about Minneapolis,” Ron blurted.
“What about it?” said Robin, putting her elbows on the table and bringing her hands, in fists now, up under her chin.
Ron tried to ease his way in. “Why do you want to leave?”
“No place is forever,” said Robin.
Ron paused. He let that sink in. Maybe no relationship was forever either. He began again. “Why did things work out the way that they did?”
She met his eyes and said coolly, “Because you left.”
Ron was flabbergasted. What could he possibly say to that? He fell silent and felt defeated. He felt himself drawing into himself, curling into a little ball inside of himself.
Then she said, “Let’s go see the water.”

They walked along the beach in a steady drizzle. The water was calm and the gulls were diving down and making small splashes as they fed. The beach was deserted and the white foam of the small waves licked the sand with the gentle lapping of a soft tongue. Everything was shuttered closed and the breeze blew the rain into their faces. The summertime signs seemed old and lonely and forsaken. Ron wondered if they were like insects that had outlived their season and did not know enough to curl up and die.
Robin sensed the depression that passed over them. These were quiet moments that she no longer loved because they led to conversations that she was not ready to have, like the one over breakfast. Life should be bright and happy and filled with bounty and love. Regrets were just silly and more than that they were a trap from which she was determined to extricate herself. She thought to herself, “I can’t fight his sadness. It’s too strong and besides it is boring.”
Then he seemed to brighten and said, “After the holiday I am diving right into Shakespeare, Macbeth with the seniors and Romeo and Juliet with the 9th graders.”
She smiled and said, “That’s quite a combination.”
“When did you last read them?” he asked.
“Oh, I can’t remember,” she said dismissively. “I’ve been reading new stories. There is so much that is new that I really don’t want to revisit things that are old. Maybe when I am 40 or 50 I will want to go back and look at them.”

Chapter 26
On Sunday, Ron threw himself into his work. He lay across the mattresses and spread out papers and drank coffee and read. And then he was transported. He was back with his students and their essays embraced him like loving arms and he shared his feeling for them through his eyes and through his pen. He could picture each of them now as he read. He could see their faces and saw their hands crafting the essays as he walked up and down the aisles of his classroom.
Andrea wrote, “I can’t say that I enjoyed these stories but I’m glad that I read them.”
Donna wrote, “I feel stupid when I read this stuff because I never see the things in the stories that you do and I don’t think that I ever will.”
Lizette wrote, “These people were corny but not as corny as the Grendel story. I really hated that one.”
Anita wrote, “It helped to have us tell the stories to each other. Maybe they were stories that were meant to be told instead of being read because it was really interesting to hear them but really boring to read them.”
Judy wrote, I don’t agree with the Wife of Bath. I don’t think that women wish to have dominion over men. I think they want men to treat them like people. I think they still want that.”
Ron read the last one again with large smile on her face. She got it! That is what the literature is for. It is to help people to think about the world and themselves in the world.
Yvonne wrote, “I understand why they hated Jews, I hate them too.” Ron groaned as he read that one. “They got what they deserved for killing Jesus.”
Ron wondered if he had the right to address those kinds of prejudices. Was his goal to teach them about the language or to change the way that they thought. Well, the two did not have to be mutually exclusive Could he show her that he hated that attitude and not have her think that he hated her for having that attitude?
The phone rang and it was Zoe and she sounded vibrant and filled him with her electricity. “Are you working?’
“Yes, I’ve been at it for hours.”
“Have you thought about me?”
“Yes.”
He wondered if a woman really deserved to hear the truth when she asked a question like that. He hadn’t thought of her once. He thought about Robin and their conversation and their plans for tomorrow evening. He had thought about his students. But he hadn’t thought about her. Did that mean that he didn’t love her?
“Do you want to see me?”
Ron winced. “I can’t drive up there today Zoe, I really have too much work to get done before tomorrow.”
Zoe giggled. “With my sisters at home there are plenty of cars around. I could just drive down to see you.”
“That would be great,” said Ron. “Why don’t you leave in about an hour? That way I will be completely ready for a break when you get here.”
When they hung up, he thought. “Zoe is like a wet dream and I thought of nothing but her until I got Robin’s letter. And since Robin has been here, I haven’t thought of her at all, except how to keep her a secret from Robin. But Robin doesn’t make me happy and Zoe does. Does that mean that I don’t want to be happy? Shouldn’t I be thinking about the girl who does make me happy? But would that make me a real phony if I tried to tell myself what I should be thinking about? Too many questions without answers!” Ron tried to think about Zoe and automatically found himself squeezing his cock. He never touched himself when he thought about Robin. He wondered if that had always been true and what it meant if it was true. Then he turned back to the papers.
Rosa wrote, “All these people were greedy and their stories talk about how bad greed is. Did they know they were being bad when they were greedy?”
Una wrote, “I want to read stories that are true. Why are all the stories that we read made up?”
Ron wrote back to each of them like they were having a conversation. He knew that sometimes what he scrawled was illegible but they would just ask him what he had written and it would give him a chance to say what he had said to that particular girl to the whole class. Illegible handwriting could be a tool, it occurred to him. Unless they didn’t ask what it meant. In that case they probably wouldn’t have wanted to read what he had written anyway.

Chapter 27
That Monday Ron sensed a new feeling in his classes; it was the air of expectation. They had not had a holiday since school began and with the brief exception of Halloween, it had all been business and their teachers had driven them to start to create an atmosphere of hard work. No one had driven them harder than Ron, but he was probably the least aware of it. He was having fun. He was learning to teach and it never occurred to him one time that he was assigning pages each and every night and that they were writing on average two essays a week.
He was surprised when Irene Emanuel asked him to stop at her office and to bring his grade book with him. He had tried very hard to be neat with the book, but there had been a large number of transfers. Most of these had happened during the first weeks of class. Irene Emanuel had a keen ear and she had heard the girls talking about how much they loved his class. She had also questioned some of the older girls about what went on in his room.
“He works us like slaves, Sister, but he makes it seem like fun. I wind up doing twice as much work for him as I do for my other teachers, but it’s not because I am afraid of him.”
“Then why, Andrea, do you think it is that you work so hard for him?”
“I don’t want to hurt him, Sister.”
Irene Emanuel looked at her with some sense of surprise. “What do you mean?”
“When some of us didn’t do our homework, he was hurt. We could see it on his face. It depressed him and made him sad. And we want to make him happy, because the class is so much fun when he is happy.”
Irene Emanuel thought that either this man was a genius or the recipient of dumb luck to have stumbled into that situation. She had spent enough time talking with him to be pretty sure that he was no genius.
They sat together in her office and Ron handed her the grade book. She looked at it and hid the shock that she felt at seeing 20 graded entries for each student. She wondered what he was grading them on. She said, “The assignments are numbered, Mr. Tuck, how do you remember what the numbers represent?”
“At the back of the book Sister, there is a list of the assignments for each class with the numbers next to them.”
She scanned the back of the book. She felt her mouth open when she saw how many of the assignments were essays. Ron searched her face while she scanned his book. He looked for some clue that would let him know if she was pleased with his work or if he was about to be fired. He couldn’t take it if they were going to fire him. If he had to leave his students and be a failure to them, everything that he said to them would be lost. They would just be the words of some loser guy who claimed to know what was right but was just full of shit like everyone else.
“Mr. Tuck, I rarely say this, and I cannot actually remember having said it before, but you need to slow down. It’s a long way until June and you do not wish to exhaust yourself and your students before you even get to the winter.”
Ron breathed a sigh of relief. If he knew anything at all about the Catholics in general and these nuns in particular it was that they would never fire him for working too hard.
When he got home from school he changed his clothes quickly and was out the door before the call came from Zoe. She listened to the phone ring in the empty apartment and thought about just surprising him and driving down. After all it was her apartment too, even if she didn’t pay any of the rent. Why did she feel that she always had to call first? But she let the phone ring and ring and then hung up and went into the bathroom so that she could vomit up her lunch before it turned to fat.
Robin looked very tense when she answered the door. Ron could see it immediately. “Is something wrong?”
She shook her head and her eyes got this faraway look in them. Her high cheekbones seemed more hollow than usual and she said the words while she stared at a closed door. “She locked herself in there and she has been drinking all morning. It reminds me of why it is so bad for me around here.”
“It’s because you are living with her,” he said.
“That’s part of it. I thought I would be staying with you and then I wouldn’t have to see any of this.”
Ron felt a freezing wash of guilt pass over him and she saw it too. She knew what it was. He was feeling the need to protect her. She didn’t want him to protect her. She didn’t want anyone to protect her.
They walked to the corner store and bought two containers of coffee and then they sat in his car and drank them. Ron tried to brighten the mood. He grinned his best dimpled grin and said, “Do you remember what our holidays used to be like?”
Robin sipped and smiled, and then she laughed. “They were awful, Ron. Between your father and mother and my father and mother and Rahway, we ate five meals and went home feeling sick and wanting to die.”
Ron said, “And our mothers would time each of our visits to see who we spent more time with.”
“That was your mother,” said Robin. “God, how that woman hates me.”
“She doesn’t hate you as much as she was frightened by the way that I feel about you. She thought we were going to get married.”
he thought pierced into Robin’s brain instantly. There had been a time when she had thought so too. Before all the pot and before the arguments about how he made his money and before he had forced her to have Hank live with them. She supposed that she could still have him marry her, but then how would she ever see the world? Ron was staying in New Jersey. He was a local guy. He had limited expectations for what he believed was possible. He would tie her up and hold her back and eventually she would wind up knocked up, poor and living with a man who reminded her too much of her father. It was only one small step from that to her becoming her mother and that was not going to be her life! She felt her resolve grow stronger. Ron watched her face harden and wondered what he had done wrong.

Chapter 28

On Tuesday, Robin told Ron that she was going back to Minneapolis after the holiday. She told him on the phone. She didn’t want to see his face when he heard the words, but she saw it in her mind’s eye anyway. She asked him if there was anything special that he wanted to do with her before she left.
“When are you coming back?”
“I don’t know.”
“What about over Christmas?”
“That’s too soon,” she said. “I won’t be able to afford it.”
Ron blurted, “I don’t want you to go.”
“That’s my home now Ron and besides you have a lot going on here. You have your students and you need to find a place to live. And I think I will be better off out there.”
“What’s so great about Minneapolis?”
“You thought it was beautiful when you were here. Maybe you’ll come back and visit me again.”
Ron felt himself freeze on the other end of the phone. Go back there! She really expected him to go back there? The last time it almost killed him to be there.
She heard the silence on the other end of the line. Then she said in a small voice, “What’s so great about living here?”
“It’s our home.”
“It’s your home.” Now she wondered if she should have told him at all until the last minute. He would spend the next two days sulking about it and be no fun at all. Why couldn’t he just learn to accept things as they were? Why did he always have to try to change everything until it was the way that he wanted it?
They drove into New York City. Ron told her that the school had given them an extra half day off. The rumor was that they wanted to save the money on heat but no one cared. At the end of the day on Tuesday, Irene Emanuel came on the loudspeaker and announced that Father Jones had decided that everyone could use the extra time as a reward for their hard work and so the girls could help their mothers prepare for the holiday feast. They were also reminded that there would be extra masses said on Thursday and that there was no better way of showing thanks and appreciation than to come to God’s house to start the holiday.
The city was alive with traffic and holiday lights and an air of the frenzied festivities. Ron was pleased to see that the backstreet where he was always able to find a place to park was still relatively undiscovered. He side his Chevy neatly into a place and then they walked around the block to her old school.
Before she’d left for Minneapolis, Robin was on scholarship to an acting school. He had picked her up from school the four nights a week that classes were held and they had walked these streets together often and knew all of the cafes.
Ron thought that the West Village was nothing like the East Village. Things seemed cleaner and more expensive. They slid into a booth at a café on West 4th Street. They stared out the window and Robin remembered how much she loved The City and how she would someday come back and live here. Then he began quoting lines from the Leonard Melfi play Birdbath.
It was a play that they had done on stage together. And the lines made her laugh and he was laughing too and then he took her hands and said, “I really don’t want you to go.”
He noticed that she didn’t pull her hands back when she said, “I know.”
He decided to plunge on. “Suppose we got married?”
Now she did pull her hands back. “Ron, we aren’t even lovers anymore and besides, I’m seeing someone.”
Ron face crumpled like a squashed carton. He lit a cigarette. His hands were shaking. The place seemed very hot and noisy. He looked at his reflection in the glass. He stared at the table. He tried to look anywhere but at her. He desperately wanted not to cry. Finally, he asked, “Do you love him?”
She laughed lightheartedly. “I don’t think so.”
Then he got very quiet. All he could see was images of Robin and her faceless, nameless lover. She stood on her toes to kiss him. Her hands hurried his hips as they made love. Her special smiles were all reserved for him. It was for him that she brought home presents. It was to him that she told her secret thoughts. She told him how she counted in colors. She sang Broadway tunes for him. He could see her now. Her voice gentle and high as she sang, “I would die, I would die, I would strangle myself with my tie. If ever you said good-bye, then I’d die.” He remembered when she has sung that for him and now he did wear a tie every day.
Robin quietly kicked herself for the way that she had handled it. Why hadn’t she seen it coming? Why had she told him that she was going back? Why had she ever mentioned Richard?
“Ron, don’t you see how much baggage we have?” she asked quietly.
“I see but I don’t understand why we can’t make it different.”
When he dropped her off, she leaned over and kissed him. It was a long and tender kiss. He felt her arms go around his neck and felt her breasts push against his chest and he tried hard not to over-react and so he didn’t react at all.
“Will you call me tomorrow?” she asked.
“Sure,” said Ron and then she was gone. He drove down towards Rahway and when he passed the house he saw that all the lights were on and that there were cars in the driveway. He slowed down but he didn’t stop. He drove back up the parkway to his apartment and when he walked in the door the phone was ringing. It was Zoe.
Ron loved many things about Zoe but right now chief among them was that she never asked where he had been. He was there now and that was all that she seemed to care about.
“I can’t wait till Friday,” said Zoe. “I miss sleeping with you and drawing you and doing the things that we do.”
“It’s good that you’re getting to see your sisters and your parents. How are things going up there?”
“Heidi really wants to meet you. She says that you sound neato.”
“Neato,” repeated Ron. “Well, tell Heidi that’s the very first time that I have been told that I am neato. And what has your older sister had to say?”
“She just says to have fun with you and to be careful to not let you break my heart. But I don’t care. You can break my heart if you need to break it.”
All at once Ron felt tender and guilty. She was so incredibly vulnerable. She deserved at least some modicum of loyalty.
“On Saturday, can we go and pick out a stone?”
“Sure,” said Ron. “Should we be stoned to pick out a stone?”
He waited for Zoe to laugh but she answered seriously. “I think it would help if we were. We would caress the surfaces with more sensitivity and feel if there were interior cracks or faults.”
Ron smiled. Maybe this was the girl for him. Then she solidified the feeling saying softly, “I’ve been so horny. I’m wet all the time. I can’t believe how much I have missed sleeping with you.”
After the call, Ron looked through his albums. They had salvaged much more from his burnt out shell of an apartment than he thought would have been possible, and Zoe had brought down her stereo. He put an old Dylan album on the turntable and grinned to himself as he placed the needle in just the right spot. Dylan intoned, “If you’re travelling in the North Country fair, where the winds hit heavy on the borderline. Remember me to the one who lives there. She once was a true love of mine.”
Immediately tears sprang to his eyes. He needed to smoke a joint. He always needed more than one and so he rolled his customary 3 joints and lay back and listened to the songs roll over him. Then he shifted to Jackson Browne’s first album and dropped the needle at the start of Jamaica. He lay his head back and thought, there they were in a nutshell. Robin the girl from the north county, and Zoe the beautiful Captain’s daughter from Jamaica.
The taste of the pot was fine. He felt it swirl into him with a welcoming haze and the soft glow of the interior light that illuminated his brain when he was high. But then “My Opening Farewell” found its way into his mind and he saw Robin standing in front of that open window. He wondered if it would be easier if he was the one who was going and not the one who had been left behind.
When he slept that night he had one of his two recurring dreams. He could almost feel himself groan in his sleep when the dream started. It was by far the one that scared him the most. In the other dream, he was waiting in a car and then he was shot and in a hospital bed while people gathered around him. He was not in pain in the dream but he could not move and then he felt himself getting better and stronger and would find himself in the car again waiting to be shot. That was the easier dream, but this one scared him so completely.
He was in the basement of his mother’s house. And he was digging up the concrete floor. He was digging up a body that he had buried there. The body was wrapped in plastic and he could not see who it was but the fear that rushed through him caused his heart to race and made him break out into a sweat in his sleep. He could not remember killing someone. But there was this body and he was sure that he had put it there and now he was trying to get it out before someone discovered it. He pounded on the concrete and felt it crack and then break into huge chunks. He swung the sledge hammer down hard and watched sparks and dust and small shards of stone break off. And then he could see the plastic and the sight woke him up.
He sat up shaking in the darkness. He could never really kill anyone, could he? The answer did not come from inside of him. Was the silence an indictment? Had he really done it and repressed it? Would he be found out as the murderer that he was and thrown into some dank hole and be forgotten? Had he really ended a life? No, he tried to scream to himself. He could not have done that, he would never do that.
Why would he bury the body there? Right in front of the washing machine and the dryer. How had he repaved the floor? George would surely have noticed. He would have been caught a long time ago if it had really happened. But he kept dreaming it and the dreams came at the most unexpected of times. A body wrapped in heavy plastic beneath a concrete floor in his mother’s basement and he was responsible for it being there. He was the only one who knew that it was there. Ron tried to tell himself that he read too much Edgar Allen Poe.

Chapter 29
Ron woke up and saw that there were still two and half joints left in the ashtray. Maybe he was slipping. The dream left him troubled as it always did. He made coffee and kept seeing glimpses of the floor in his head.
His phone was ringing.
“Ronald, this is your mother.”
For a moment Ron was stunned. Had they found the body? Is that why she was calling? “Hi mom,” he said almost shakily.
“Why aren’t you working?”
“They gave us the half day off.”
“I just had an interesting phone call. It was Robin. It seems that she thinks that you are living here.”
A new fear gripped Ron. “What did you tell her?”
“I didn’t tell her anything. Just that you weren’t here.”
“That’s good,” sighed Ron.
“I really don’t want to see you mixed up with that girl again, Ronald. She isn’t any good for you.”
“I know Mom.”
“And I really don’t want to be involved in your lies.”
“I know Mom.”
“Your father was a liar and I thought that I had taught you better than that.”
“You did Mom.”
“Well it doesn’t really seem that I did. Anyway, she asked that you call her.”
“OK.”
“Are you going to call her?”
“Yes,” he said quietly.
“Why? she said. “So that she can break your heart again?”
“No Mom,” he said with a slight tone of exasperation creeping into his voice.
“I always thought that you were so smart. Why do you have to be so stupid about this?”
Ron didn’t say anything.
She went on. “But I suppose you are going to do whatever you want to do. You always have. You won’t care how it hurts me or anyone else to see you the way that she makes you.” Ron felt his head hang and he began pacing as he listened to her. “Well, I don’t suppose that there is any chance that you would have the time to take your mother to the cemetery today.”
“I really had plans, Mom.”
“What, to mope around your apartment and sulk about Robin?”
Then a new thought seemed to strike her. “Where’s the other girl? The little mousey one.”
“She isn’t mousey.”
“When she squints through those glasses she is mousey.”
“She’s with her parents for the holiday. If you really need me to take you to the graves…” his voice trailed off.
“Oh no, I’m not about to beg you to go and see your grandmother and my mother and Uncle Mike and the Aunt that you professed to have so much love for.” She paused and then said. “How many times have you visited your Aunt’s grave?”
“I don’t know Mom.”
“When was the last time that you were there?”
“I don’t remember”
“Such a fine memory and he can’t remember the last time he went to the cemetery. I suppose it will be the same way with me, won’t it? You’ll never visit my grave”
Ron had had enough and then he said out of nowhere, “Do you think that there’s a body buried in the basement?”
“What!” he voice was incredulous. “What kind of a thing is that to say to a person? Do I think there’s a body buried in the basement? George will you listen to this?” she called out. “Ronald wants to know if we have a body buried in the basement.”
“Go and do whatever things that you have to do Ronald. What time will you be here tomorrow?”
“Whatever time you want me there, Mom.”
“You’re not bringing Robin are you?”
“No, Mom I’m not.”
When he hung up the phone, he called Robin immediately. She answered on the second ring.
“It’s Ron, my mom said that you called.”
“Yes, she was surely happy to hear my voice.”
Ron didn’t answer for a long time. “You know how our parents are. None of them, with the exception of my father, seems to like the one of us for the other.”
“That’s not really true Ron. My mom likes you very much.”
“Anyway,” said Ron. “What’s up?”
“ Are you still mad about last night?”
“I wasn’t mad,” he said. “I was hurt. Why do you always think that I’m mad when you’ve hurt me?”
“I don’t want to argue, Ron. I called to tell you that I’m going back on Saturday and I was wondering if you could take me to the air
port?”
“I don’t think I can. I have something that I promised to do with a friend.”
She was silent. She was not at all used to Ron saying no to her. Then she said, “We’re even going to lose our friendship because I won’t fuck you aren’t we?”
For the first time in Ron could not remember how long, he felt himself seething with anger at Robin. His had gripped the phone tightly. “Yeah Robin, fucking you is what I’m all about.”
“I didn’t say that. But the truth is Ron, that if I were fucking you, you wouldn’t be mad at all.”
Ron’s voice with almost a hiss when he spoke. “I asked you to marry me last night and we haven’t made love in years now. And you still think that it’s all about me sleeping with you? It doesn’t matter what I say or do for you. You still think it’s all about that.”
Robin seemed to recoil on the phone. Ron could sense the look on her face. He could see the way that her jaw line squared. He could see the way that her forehead furrowed. He could sense the way she tilted her head so that he blond hair hung down over her face. “If it’s going to be like this, we shouldn’t see each other anymore.”
Ron caught himself before he uttered the word “fine.” He kept it locked inside of his brain. “Do you want me to drive down and pick you up?”
“Not if we are going to fight.”
“We won’t fight,” he said.
“Then I would love to see you,” she answered.
Ron drove down the parkway wondering why it was that he found himself so helpless around her. Was it because that she was the first woman that he really had loved? Was it because she was the first woman that really had hurt him? In fact she had devastated him. He had needed to have people put him back together and in some ways he felt that he would never be the same. He thought about a Fitzgerald essay. Was he like “a cracked plate” that had been glued back together and which people would never really trust because it could always fall apart? Was he so damaged that he would never again feel really whole? Was it like his knees? He remembered lying in the hospital bed after that first surgery and realizing that he would never be the same again. Was this like that? Were affairs of the heart very much like what happened to damaged limbs? They could be put back together but they would never have that “full throated ease” or feel that unrestrained joy again.
He reached her mother’s apartment and stood at the door. He needed answers to these questions but he was pretty sure that the answers were not going to come from a conversation with Robin. They didn’t have those tender conversations any more. It was then that the realization hit him that he could not rely on her.
When she opened the door she put her arms around his neck and kissed him. It was a lover’s kiss. She molded her body to him and he swore that he could feel her hips moving against him. She said, “I didn’t think that you’d come.”
Ron felt like a dog who had been given a treat. He wondered if he should wag his tail in the hopes of another. Robin felt his immediate reaction when she pressed against him. Feeling his hardness, she was reassured.

Chapter 30

Of all the holidays on the calendar Thanksgiving was his favorite. It was the only one that had not been tainted over the years by his changing beliefs. He had lost his feel for Christmas and Easter when he had started to question his Christianity. The Viet Nam war had cost him the 4th of July. He had never really loved Halloween or New Years. As far as Ron was concerned the year began in September anyway. Summer was the conclusion of the year. But Thanksgiving had always remained.
He liked the idea of being thankful. He loved the feast. He loved the football games. He loved the way that Marjorie had always respected the spirit of the holiday by inviting people to their house who had nowhere else to go. Aunt Dotty had taught him that Thanksgiving was a holiday that began in Massachusetts and that it always reminded her that she was actually a New England woman by birth.
That Thursday morning he showered and dressed happily. He wanted to call his father and wish him a good holiday, but that was another casualty of Viet Nam. When he started spouting his radical politics and Ron’s half brother and sister had begun to listen to his thoughts, Ron’s father had told him that he wasn’t welcome there anymore. That was the last real conversation that he and his Dad had. That had been over five years now.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Ronald,” said his mother. They kissed quickly. She had started setting the holiday table which started in the dining room and stretched into their living room. George was galloping around the house setting up a bar. He looked excited but glum. “I don’t know who you think is going to drink all that alcohol,” said Marjorie.
George stopped what he was doing. “It’s a holiday. People are allowed to have a drink on the holiday, Marge.”
“I don’t see why they need to,” said Marjorie. She curled her lips and crinkled her nose and shook her head slightly as if she was throwing off a bad odor.
“Who all is coming?” said Ron.
“Reverend Cooly and his wife and Reverend Pascal and his friend,” said Marjorie happily. “And of course your Aunt Mina. I asked the tenants upstairs, but they have someplace to go.”
“Yeah,” said George. “She wanted to take out an ad in the paper but the town already has a soup kitchen.”
“Maybe you should start drinking now,” said Marjorie. “At least then you’ll be able to talk when the company gets here.”
George shook his head. “What would I say to these people?”
“Of course, if it’s not about cards, or booze, or crime, or the price of vegetables, what would you have to contribute? Why do you think I depend on Ronald so much? At least he knows how to carry on a conversation.”
Ron tried to change the mood. “If they are anything like the nuns in the convent George, they’ll go through quite a few bottles of everything.”
George laughed and returned to his preparations.
Marjorie straightened and put her hand on her hip and gave Ron a look of betrayal. “They aren’t Catholics who live all shut away from everything,” she said. She paused and looked over at George and then back at Ron. “Can we please just have a nice dinner? Is that really too much to ask from the both of you?”
Ron moved into the kitchen. The aromas were outstanding. The roasting turkey filled the house and the oven made everything so warm that George had opened the windows. Ron loved having the windows open in a warm room on a cold day. It was extravagant but the feel of the breeze reminded him of warm weather. Chipper came over and wagged his tail and Ron crouched down to pet him. “I’m gonna take the dog for a walk,” he said.
He leashed Chipper and they went out the back door and through the aluminum gate and down the street. Chipper never got taken for a walk unless Ron was there and the excitement of new smells and freedom gave him a prance to his step. They walked across Bloomfield Avenue and down to the glen, where Ron took the leash off and let Chipper roam. It was their secret that he did this. George would have been horrified that he was going to get into trouble for having a dog off of a leash and Marjorie would have been worried that he was going to run away and get hit by a car again.
Ron talked to the dog as they walked. “It doesn’t seem the same now that Aunt Dottie is gone, does it Chip?”
The dog stopped at the mention of her name. He raised his head and looked around for a few sad seconds and not seeing her, returned to his olfactory cornucopia. Ron smiled and then felt the dried leaves crunch under his feet like the spirits of the dead.
He wondered if there was an afterlife. The resounding no in his brain was painful. It was so much easier to think of his aunt and his grandmother someplace happy and beyond pain. He wondered if that was where the idea of a heaven came from. There had to be some reward for being good. Otherwise, why didn’t people just spend their lives doing what they wanted to do? Wasn’t that the whole purpose of hell, to keep people in line? It wasn’t enough to say that a person would live on in the hearts of others. What kind of real comfort was that if there was nothing about it which a person could actually enjoy? They reached the end of the Glen and Ron leashed Chipper and started back across the street.
Ron held the leash so that it just slacked slightly across the dog’s back, just enough for him to keep his pace and not feel the jerk of confinement. He loved Chipper. It was true that George had announced that it was his dog and then failed to housebreak him and slapped him in the mouth far too many times, so that Chipper had developed that self defensive urge to bite. But the one time that he had bitten Ron, he had with some strange instinct, crouched down on the floor and held his hand up to Chipper’s mouth and said pleadingly, “no.” That formed a strong pact. Chipper never bit him again and Ron never ever slapped the dog. They turned up the asphalt driveway and through the metal gate and the leash was off, Chipper romped for a few seconds and then came wagging up the backstairs and into the house.
Glimpsing down through the lower windows into the basement and flashed on how he had stayed down there with Chipper when George had taken to chaining the dog there because he could not stop him from urinating in the house. Ron would ask each night if Chipper was allowed out of the basement and George would say, “Not tonight.” Ron would nod and take his plate from the table and walk downstairs to share his dinner with the dag and sit by him. This move, of course, had driven Marjorie totally insane and she would peck at George about her son eating in the basement until George would inevitably throw up his hands and say, “Do whatever you want.” They moved passed the pantry and up into the kitchen where Ron saw his father, sitting with Marjorie and George, having a holiday drink.
“Hello, Ronald,” said his father with slick gentleness that did not withhold a hint of judgment.
Ron looked up and saw at once that his mother looked younger and sat with a fresh glass of cider in front of her and seems to be glowing. George was sitting back. Ron was not sure what George was seeing.”Hello Dad.”
Ron felt like he was instantly transported back to the age of fourteen or even younger, back to that time in his life when he worshipped his father and everything that his father did. His dad was now sitting in front of a cut crystal glass into which George had poured two fingers of Scotch over two ice cubes. He had also made himself one.

“Come and sit at the table, Ronald,” said Marjorie. Ron felt himself moving and sitting. Chipper followed and sat by his side with a look of moral support. “Now, it’s time for the two of you to stop your foolishness and just make up,” said Marjorie.
Now the heat in the room was making Ron sweat, but he resented the way that his mother had put him on the spot and with of all people, his father. “What would you like us to make up, Mom?”
“There’s no reason to be shitty,” said Marjorie.
Ron met his father’s blue eyes with a steady look from his own hazel eyes. He felt the fluttering inside that he always felt when he looked at his father. “It’s good to see you Dad. I hope everything is going well.”
“I hear that you have a job teaching,” said Harry. And then unable to help himself, added “So I guess that you finally finished school.”
Ron eyes flashed a look of defiance. “I may go back. You can never learn enough, you know.”
Harry turned to Marjorie, “Twenty-five years old and still in school.”
And then his eyes panned back to Ron. “You can’t learn everything from books, Ronald.”
“Thanks Dad.”
“Now the two of you just stop it right now.” Marjorie could see her plan swirling around the toilet bowl and just about ready to be flushed.
“How are Carol and Tim?” said Ron, referencing the two children that his father had from his second marriage, the two children that Ron had been told to stay away from.
“They are great. Timmy is playing basketball at Bloomfield High School and Carol graduated from East Orange Catholic last year and is learning to be a lab technician.”
Ron smiled. “That’s great Dad. Tell them that I said, hello.” Ron stopped himself before he added something about unless you think it’s too dangerous for them to hear my name mentioned.
“Why don’t you tell then yourself?” said Harry.
“And just how am I supposed to do that, Dad?”
“You’re welcome at the house anytime.”
“Since when?” said Ron.
“I never said that you couldn’t come there, Ron. I said that I didn’t want you filling their heads with your crazy ideas.” Ron knew that was a lie but it didn’t matter to him.
“Yeah, I know. Thinking that the war was a tragedy and that Nixon was a monster were really crazy ideas. Almost as crazy as thinking that black people were people, huh Dad?”
“Do the two of you always have to be like this?” said Marjorie with desperation in her voice. She looked at Ron and pleaded with her eyes, tried to reach that place where he knew how important this was to her. Bur Ron was unreachable now. He and his father were locked into each other with a gaze that was unbreakable.
“If you had seen the things that I have seen, Ronald, you would understand why I feel the way that I do.”
Ron knew that his father was in and out of some of the seediest bars in Newark New Jersey, a city whose very name struck fear into the minds of some suburban people. He had to admit, he had not seen the things that his father had seen. “Poverty and discrimination make people do very strange things Dad. It’s not like everything became great when the Civil War was over, you know?”
“I’m not one of your students, Ron.” said his father with a steely timbre in his voice.
“No Dad, my students are mostly Black and Hispanic.”
“Bunch of animals,” said George, trying to show solidarity with Harry.
Anger flashed across Ron’s face. “You know what I have found George? The Hispanic families are very much like the Italian ones. They love their culture. They take care of their kids. They resent anyone who is not the same as they are and they like loud meals. And to top it all off they are Catholic.”
George reddened. To his way of thinking he had just been called a spic. Harry could see this wasn’t going the way that Marjorie had said that it would. “Well I guess that I better get going. Ronald, you are welcome to come over whenever you want. Carol and Tim would love to see you.”
“Really?” said Ron. “Where do they think I’ve been?’
Harry didn’t answer but stood and put on his coat. Marjorie automatically stood up to. So did George. Ron sat there. He really didn’t want his father to go, but what could he do about it now?
Marjorie walked Harry to the door and when she came back her face was set into a hard mask. She walked into the kitchen where Ron was petting Chipper and waiting for what he knew was coming. “Why are you such a bastard?”
Ron didn’t answer.
“Your father is a proud man. Do you think that it was easy for him to come here and apologize to you?”
“Did I miss the apology?”
“Him coming here was an apology. He knows that he’s made some mistakes. But he is a good man and he is your father!”
“Makes you wonder about nature and nurture doesn’t it?”
“I’m not as smart as you are, you little bastard, so I guess I’m going to have to ask you to explain that to me.”
“What it means is, Mom, can you imagine what it would have been like if he had stuck around to raise me?”
Marjorie was taken aback. That was not what she had expected him to say. Harry would have been very hard on Ron and she knew how free he was with his hands. She regretted a lot of things about her failed marriage with Harry, but seeing Ron and then trying to imagine how he would have turned out with even more of Harry’s influence on him was not one of them, even if he did need a good clout in the head once in a while. She knew that Harry would have been jealous of his brain.

Chapter 31
Dinner was sumptuous. It began with an antipasto. There were paper thin slices of prosciutto wrapped around small pieces of fresh melon that George had ordered from Florida. There were black and green olives and a bowl of cold shrimp. There was wet mozzarella and Swiss cheese and artichoke hearts and cold red beets. But before they began to eat, Marjorie asked Reverend Cooley to say grace.
The Coolys and the Pascals had recently returned from Africa. Reverend Cooly was a tall man who was totally bald on the top of his head but sported slicked back sides with his remaining hair. He wore silver framed glasses and Ron noticed that he had very large hands when everyone bowed their heads to pray. His wife had curly hair that was kept short. Ron thought that it looked like a bird’s nest on top of her head. Reverend Cooly wore a brown and orange plaid sports jacket that looked festive in a garish sort of way. His wife, who was only introduced as Mrs. Cooly had a patient smile glued to her face and Ron noticed that it never left. He thought that it was the kind of smile that could be described as long suffering.
Dominick Pascal was a big man, which is a polite way of saying that he was obese. Ron counted three chins. His wife Sela was very thin. Dominick was wearing a blue suit with a little American flag lapel pin that Ron noticed immediately. He wished that he had an American flag shirt and that he had worn it to piss them off.
It occurred to Ron somewhere early in the meal that these people did not particularly like Marjorie and George and that they were there as an act of Christian brotherhood. It was something about the way that they pronounced “antipasto” and keep remarking on how unusual it was to start a Thanksgiving meal with such an exotic dish.
Marjorie was oblivious to it all. She wanted to know about what it was like in Africa. “I can tell you this Marjorie, you would never get such a fine meal as this anywhere in Africa.”
Ron looked up. “Really? You were over the entire continent?”
“Quite a bit of it,” said Dominick. “Quite a bit of it over the last six years.”
“What was it like in Egypt?” said Ron.
“We were never really up North” said Dominick. “Egypt and Africa are really two different places.”
“They are?” said Ron.
Rev. Cooley said, “Mr. Pascal is speaking culturally rather than geographically, Ron.”
Ron nodded. “So except for Egypt then is it really all the same?’
“Oh no! There are widespread differences,” said Cooley.
Mrs. Cooley added, “Some of the coastal states like South Africa are truly beautiful.”
Ron shot her a glance. “Too bad about Steve Bilko then wasn’t it?”
George laughed heartily, now on his 3rd Manhattan and said, “Now there was a really funny man. Was his name really Bilko?”
“Do you mean Phil Silvers?” said Dominick.
“Steve Bilko just had his brains beaten out for wanting the freedom to organize the true people of South Africa,” said Ron. “He was in prison and they beat him on his head until he was dead.”
“That poor man,” said Mrs. Cooley.
George reddened and drank. Marjorie got up and cleared the dishes for the next course. Ron got up to help her. In the kitchen she whispered to Ron, “Please be nice. Please do this for me.”
Ron nodded and said that he would try.
The next course featured the roasted turkey and the stuffing that Marjorie had made for the first time outside of the bird. There was a bowl of creamed pearl onions and a long dish of candied yams. There was a large bowl of yellow turnip. Then Marjorie walked out with two more bowls. One held string beans and the other was filed with broccoli. This year they were also having fresh cranberry sauce, something that Ron had never tasted before. The table filled up under the growing eyes of those seated around it. Ron could have sworn that he actually saw Dominick lick his lips. He was proud of the table that his mother and George set. George was actually an excellent carver of meat and so the turkey’s carcass was neatly stripped. Ron thought for a moment about the way that he had hacked up a bird in the past and wound up actually pulled the legs and wings off with his hands and exposed ripped out pieces that made it look as if some predator had attacked the game with its jaws and claws.
Reverend Cooley said, “Well this is a magnificent looking table.”
The guests all looked from one to the other smiling and nodding their heads. There was a respectful moment of quiet and then the murmurs of “Oh yes, I would love some of that” that came as the plates were passed around the table. As they began to settle down to their plates and eat, Cooley said, “Your mother tells me that you are a teacher, Ron.”
Ron finished chewing and swallowed and said, “This is my first year at it. I hope to be a good teacher.”
“Lord willing, I’m sure that you will be,” said Cooley. “What did you do previously?”
“I spent some time in a jail in Paterson and before that in a center for the mentally ill in Cranford,” said Ron. He was instantly sorry that he had mentioned the jail. He saw the look of pain wash across Marjorie’s face. He knew that it made her think about her long searched for, and never found, father.
“Some of our greatest minds have spent time in both of those places, Ronald. No reason to be ashamed,” said Mrs. Cooley. It caused Ron to grin.
“I don’t think that the young man meant that he was incarcerated in either of those places, Mother,” said Reverend Cooley. “I think that he was telling us that he worked there.”
Mrs. Cooley bit her lip and said, “Oh I am sorry,” and momentarily put down her knife and fork. Ron saw Marjorie glare at the woman. He wondered what his Aunt Dotty would have said if she had been here. “Please do forgive me, Ronald.”
“No offense taken, Mrs…” Ron paused and feigned a look of confusion. “What is your first name?”
The Cooleys exchanged a look of quick tension. And the Reverend Colley said pointedly, “Mrs. Cooley’s Christian name is Gladys.”
Ron ignored the signal. “No offense taken, Gladys.”
The Cooleys exchanged the look again. George asked if anyone wanted more wine or cider. Dominick was hunched over his plate and seemed to be shoveling the food into his mouth with the precision of a back hoe. Sela Pascal picked at her food demurely, occasionally deigning to lift a half filled fork to her mouth and tentatively placing it to her lips before opening the cavity just the slightest bit to place it inside. She then chewed thoroughly and touched her napkin to her violated lips just after she swallowed.
“What do you teach, Ronald?”
“English,” said Ron.
“So you are a man of letters,” said Gladys Cooley.
“Rather than numbers, yes,” said Ron.
“What do you do for a living, Mr. Bombasco?” said Reverend Cooley.
George had a large helping of turkey in his mouth and held up his hand while he chewed, asking her to wait. Hurriedly he chewed and swallowed and then blurted, “I’m a printer.”
“What is it that your company prints, George?” said Dominick, raising his head up for the first time, his face grown red and his cheeks swollen from exertion.
“Local papers and the Foodtown circular,” said George, happy to be on firm footing. He did a man’s job and he did it well. It was a time honored profession. He didn’t spend his time in bars with games or in classrooms with little girls.
“What do you do, Dominick?” said Ron.
“Sela and I have dedicated ourselves to spreading the word of God.”
Ron nodded. “Does it pay well?”
An electric look of tension passed around the table at the impudence of the question. Reverend Cooley spoke. “The rewards are manifest, Ronald.”
Ron had just done some reading about the ways that Missionaries had helped to rape Hawaii. He knew that his mother had wanted to be a missionary when she was young. He also knew that for her it had been a deep and sincere desire to make the world like the world she envisioned that Jesus would have wanted.
“How do you do that in 1977?” said Ron. He shrugged. “I mean, I imagine that everyone has heard about it by now.”
“Many are they that listen and do not hear,” pronounced Cooley.
People were now reaching out for additional food, all except for Sela whose plate was still more than half full. Ron took additional dressing and ladled some of the surprisingly good fresh cranberry sauce onto his plate. Marjorie took additional candied yams. Dominick went for a refill of everything. Even the Cooleys took more turkey and potatoes.
“What I mean is,” said Ron, “what exactly do you do?”
“Well, with all of the European countries giving up and all this talk of individual States and Countries, there is a movement back to old heathen ways in Africa and we try to combat that.”
“And how do you do that?” said Ron. He found himself now genuinely interested.
“For one, we work on old legends and songs, the things that these people believe because they really don’t know any better. We sometimes take the melodies of old songs and rewrite the stories, providing an enlightened look at the world.”
“You change their history?” said Ron.
“They really don’t know too much about history, Ronald.”
“How do you know that?”
Cooley seemed to ignore the question. “They have folk songs and tales that they tell each other. And we inject the Divine presence into them.”
Ron put down his fork. “So basically you steal their history the same way that slave owners stole the language of African slaves in America.”
“We don’t think of it as stealing, more that we are giving them gifts.”
“Suppose they don’t want your gifts?”
“We also provide food and clothing and medicine.”
“Well, that’s good,” said Ron. “Do they get the medicine if they don’t sing the songs the way that you want them to?”
“Marjorie, I must say that this is the most delicious meal that we have had since returning home,” said Gladys Cooley.
After the pies and the coffee and the fruit and the nuts, the men went to watch a football game and the women congregated in the kitchen.
Ron saw that the Miami Dolphins were drubbing the St Louis Cardinals. He had always rooted for the Cardinals because he liked their quarterback, but Miami was just too good and the game was not competitive.
Football didn’t live in him the way that it used to. He knew that he would never play again, not even in a game of two-handed touch. The men were sprawled with their bellies sticking up like large amphibious creatures sunning themselves in front of the light of the TV instead of being on some rocks watching the sea roll in.
He looked to the kitchen. There was a constant clatter of pots, pans and dishes as the women honored a time old custom of not leaving each other with a mess to clean. Ron would have preferred being in there, but he knew that his presence would ruin Marjorie’s being the center of attention. They would all feel compelled to make a fuss over him being there,
or in the cases of these other two women perhaps express their discomfort with him not acting like one of the men.

Chapter 32
Moths fly to the light and batter themselves against the glass that keeps them away. Flowers stay open to the sun, oblivious as to whether or not it is burning them. Ron wondered if he was like those things as he drove down the parkway. His plan was to pick up Robin and ask her if she wanted to go to Rahway for the traditional Thanksgiving gathering. He had called Zoe, but her family had not yet had dinner and she was sure that it would be at least midday on Friday before she would be able to get out of there. She was excited that he had called her at home. “I’ve been thinking about it and I know now more than ever before that I love you, Ron. I think about you all the time and I have been drawing you from memory. I know that I want to have babies with you.”
Ron blushed on the other end of the line. He did not tell her that he loved her just then. He had never told her that he loved her. He had never told her that he wanted to have babies with her. Robin had always made it clear that she didn’t want children and this had appealed to Ron. He thought that world should learn how to take care of the people that were already here before creating a bunch of new ones. He didn’t need the trophy babies to assure himself. He’d told Robin that he would call her the next day and drive up to get her.
He wanted to sit in front of the fire in the living room at Rahway and talk. He wanted to feel Robin sitting next to him and to talk to her afterwards about what people had said and get her perspective. He loved Rahway. He loved it, as much as he loved Robin, she would have said that he loved it more. But both Robin and Rahway had rejected him and there he was trying to crawl back like a dog that had been kicked away from the fire. He wanted to know what he could do so. That he wasn’t rejected. He wanted to be who they wanted him to be so that they would love him as much as he loved them.
Sure they just would have said that he was supposed to be himself. Ron laughed out loud in the empty car at this thought. People were always telling him to be himself, except that when he was himself, they always sent him away. It occurred to Ron just then that he was probably more himself with his students than he was with anyone else. They didn’t send him away. They embraced him. They wanted more and more of him. Sometimes they wanted too much of him, like when they asked him if he ever tried LSD or Marijuana. Ron had given them the evasive answer, “I always wanted to be in control of myself.” And part of that was true. It was what he disliked about tripping. But he didn’t feel that he lost control when he smoked pot. He felt that it helped to focus him. To bring him to that zoned in place where nothing distracted him from what was right in front of him.
“Why on earth would you possibly want to go there?” said Robin. She was looking at him with an incredulous smirk on her face. “Did they invite us to go there?”
“It’s a standing invitation,” said Ron. “Thanksgiving night at Rahway. A lot of people will just show up. Warren and Laureen expect it.”
“They aren’t expecting you and me, Ron. I guarantee you that.”
Ron felt himself slump.
“Maybe you should just go, if that’s what you really want to do.”
Ron felt that she was testing him. That phrase, “if that’s what you really want to do” was one that he’d heard before. If he said yes, she would feel that he was choosing them over her again. If he said no, she would think that he was still weak and that she could manipulate him anyway that she wanted to pull or push him. It had been a bad idea and now he was stuck with it. “I thought that maybe you’d enjoy seeing some of those people,” said Ron. “We haven’t really seen anyone since you came home. But maybe you’d rather go to a movie.”
They went to see Annie Hall. Robin had thought that a good comedy would be just the right thing. Ron had not particularly liked Woody Allen and thought that it was going to be a silly, slapstick kind of story, but he agreed. He sat there fighting back tears through almost the entire film. It was a story about Robin and him. Is this why she had wanted to go to see it? The theater was dark and crowded and she held his hand as they watched. Once she had looked at him and saw the tears rolling down his face and quickly looked away. It was sad in a silly kind of way, she thought. When the story came to the part where Woody rewrote the ending of their relationship, Robin wondered if Ron would do that with her. But he never talked about his writing anymore. It was like he had left that part of him. He was no longer the young and aspiring poet that would get up in front of crowds and read his material. Had she done that to him? Had she taken that away from him? More than likely it was all the pot that he had smoked that had done it. She wasn’t going to be blamed for that too.
Ron made sure that his face was dry by the time the houselights came up and they walked out of the movie house. “If you’d like to go to Rahway we can,” she said.
“No,” said Ron. “You were right. We didn’t have an invitation. It was an old idea.”
He was very quiet. They got into the car and waited as the de-icer cleared one of the early nighttime frosts from the windshield. He lit a cigarette. She had stopped smoking. People were lining up to see the 10 o’clock show. Ron looked at the couples and wondered if they knew that they were doomed. They didn’t kiss goodnight. They hugged.
“My father is going to take me to the airport,” she said.
“I’m sorry that I couldn’t help you,” said Ron, “but I had this commitment.”
“You don’t need to explain,” said Robin. She walked off thinking that she hated it when he got morose.

Chapter 33

Ron drove up to fetch Zoe from her house about noon the next day. This time she did not come bounding out as he pulled up. He turned the car off and walked up to the door. When he rang the bell, Zoe’s mother answered.
Donna Savron was a short woman with shoulder length brown hair. She was round and full and had a sense of the voluptuous about her. She did not smile as she extended her hand towards Ron and said, “Well, it’s nice to finally get to meet you. Usually Zoe just runs out of the house. She sits here by the window and watches for your car and then she is gone. We have been wondering if there was something so strange about you that she doesn’t want to give us the chance to get a look at you.”
Ron didn’t know what to say to that. He took her hand and found it warm and dry. He looked down at it and saw traces of paint smeared on her fingers. He smiled into her face and said, “I hope that you had a good holiday.”
The woman seemed surprised at the comment and took at step back. She turned to the side so that Ron could see the room. “Come in for a few moments, Ron. I’d like you to meet my husband.”
Paul Savron was seated in an easy chair in his study. The TV was not playing. Dark framed glasses were laying closed on top of a book that was resting in his lap. Ron tried to get a look at the title. He read ETHICAL PERSPECTIVES ON BUSINESS AND SOCIETY and immediately lost interest. He stuck out his hand and said, “Ron Tuck, nice to meet you.”
Savron looked at his hand and then up to Ron’s face. It seemed to Ron that he took his hand reluctantly and shook it. Ron thought that he had felt cold and a bit weak. “Glad to finally meet you,” said Savron.
Ron thought that both of them said that with a hint of accusation in their voices. He wondered where Zoe was. It wasn’t like her to keep him waiting like this. “What is it that you do for a living Ron?”
“I’m a teacher,” said Ron.
“Yes,” said Savron. He nodded his white haired head slowly. “In a Catholic girls’ school, isn’t that right?
“Yes,” said Ron.
“In Newark, isn’t that right?”
“Yes,” said Ron.
“Is that what you intend to do?” said Savron.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” Ron answered.
It was then that Zoe burst into the room. She did not run to Ron and put her arms around him. She stayed in the doorway smiling and nervous. She looked between her father and Ron.
“Come in Zoe,” said Savron. Ron felt like he was giving her permission to enter the room and that she had been standing there waiting for it. “Ron and I have just been getting to know each other.”
“What is it that you do Paul?” said Ron.
Ron watched as Savron absorbed the question. Then, still without answering he looked at Zoe. With his eyes still on his daughter, he said “I’m an account executive for Standard Brands.”
Ron crossed the room to Zoe and took her into his arms and kissed her. Zoe molded her body into him for the kiss and then seemed to stiffen and pull back.
“I was on the phone with Laureen,” she said. “They want us to go down there for dinner tonight.”
In the car, when they got into the corner, Zoe reached over and put her hand between his legs. She squeezed him with one hand and she waved goodbye to the house with the other. Ron could see her smiling and her sisters waving down from one of the upstairs rooms. They were waving and smiling too.
Zoe said, “I thought you handled that really well.”
“Handled what?” said Ron.
“My father,” said Zoe.
“I was only there for a few minutes,” Ron said.
“Wasn’t that enough?” she answered.
Her fingers were caressing between his legs and he was as hard as heated wood. “You better stop that or it’s gonna happen right in my pants, sad Ron. “I’m really horny.”
Zoe giggled. “I’m glad that you are. I’d be worried if you weren’t.”
“They do know that we are living together, don’t they?” said Ron.
“My mother does.”
“What about your father?”
“We haven’t talked about it.”
Ron looked at her and did not understand. “What do you mean? Where does he think that you sleep at night?”
“We haven’t talked about it,” she said again and shrugged. “I suppose my mom has told him.
When they got back to their apartment, Zoe knelt down and undid his belt, but instead of unzipping his pants, she pulled the belt from around his waist. “I want you to punish me for running away so that I learn to not do it again,” she said. The she turned on all fours unbuttoned her jeans and slid them down to her thighs and held up her bare ass for him and waited.
Ron wasn’t sure that he wanted to whip her with his belt. But there she was and she was waiting. It was what she expected of him. She folded her hands over the back of her head and said, “Please don’t hurt me too much.”

Chapter 34

Zoe was having trouble sitting as they drove down to Rahway. Ron was smiling. That afternoon, between their repeated sessions of frenzied love-making, he told her that Robin has been back for a visit. She became frightened. “Did she take you to bed with her?”
“No.”
“Did she ask you to?”
“No,” said Ron. “She’s seeing someone.”
“Would you have fucked her?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I would have understood,” said Zoe. “I know how much you love her.”
“How do you know that?” Ron was more than amazed at her reaction. He was expecting tears and recriminations. He was almost unable to believe her reaction.
“Ron, I knew that she was coming. That’s why I ran away.”
Ron wanted to ask how she knew, but something inside of him said that he was better off to just let it go and for the first time that he could remember, he did. Zoe was squirming on the seat next to him but he could tell that she was happy. She had her sketch pad and her pastels with her. She told him that she was looking forward to a chance to do some drawings of Rahway.
The house was brightly lit. Cars filled the gravel driveway and Ron had to back out again and park on the street, so that he didn’t block anyone in. They went up the drive and to the back door. The bells over the door jingled as they entered. Neil Diamond’s Longfellow Serenade was playing on the stereo. They walked into the kitchen and there was Kelly, a very pretty girl with impossibly long red hair. It hung straight and meticulously manicured down to her waist. Ron knew her well. They had been Warren’s students together. Kelly hadn’t liked him since he had dumped one of her girlfriends and the girl, despondent over Ron being the first man to fuck her, had tried to kill herself. Ron always felt tense around Kelly but he smiled and said, “Hi Kelly. I’d like you to meet Zoe.”
Zoe stood there in her jeans holding her pad and pastels and Kelly looked over at her without really acknowledging Ron and said, “Hi. I’m just trying to figure out how this over works. I’ve never seen one this old before.”
Zoe put her things down on the counter and said, “Let me help.”
And then the two of them were kneeling down and looking inside and turning knobs. Ron stared for an instant at the way that Kelly’s hair and Zoe’s hair intertwined and then he walked down the single step into the living room.
The white washed fireplace was blazing and pine branches had been laid across the top of the split flue mantle. There were six people seated on cushions drawn up close to the flames in a semi-circle, all turned in and facing the burning wood. All of their heads seemed to swivel at the same time.
Warren called out, “Hey Ron, how are you?” in his unmistakable drawl.
Laureen’s eyes flashed dark in the flames when she saw him. “Hi Ron, happy holidays.”
Julian T. Willy said with his unmistakable sarcasm. “Well, now the evening will surely get more interesting.”
April’s smile was soft and radiant and she stood when she saw Ron and came to him and hugged him to her. “It’s been such a long time since I’ve seen you. It’s really good to see you.”
Ron embraced her with delight and surprise. He held her at arm’s length and said. “You look great April. It’s good to see you as well.”
“Come sit by the fire,” said Warren. “We have just been talking about the year gone by.”
“Did you bring Chris, or is someone else marching in your bimbo parade these days?” said Julian, who was now openly gay and never passed up a chance to make some sexual reference to Ron and Chris’s friendship.
Laureen laughed and said, “Julian, make some attempt to be civil.”
Julian, with a flourish threw his scarf around his neck and over his shoulder, “What? I can’t have fun with the entertainment? Please tell me that it is why you invited him, Warren and that it was not some misplaced notion of a contribution to the conversation other than that of comic relief.”
Laureen laughed again and said, “Julian you are so funny when you are drunk.”
“Zoe is in the kitchen with Kelly,” he said.
“The boardwalk portrait painter?” said Julian.
Laureen slapped him playfully and stood up to go and greet Zoe in the kitchen.
Ron sat down cross-legged opposite Warren and Julian. April curled in next to him. “No,” said Ron. “I didn’t bring Chris, but I have his number if you want to give him a call and see if he still loves you, Julian.”
“Be nice,” said Warren. “Now, you were about to tell us what you thought was the most important thing that happened this year, Julian”
“The most intriguing event of the year has been the death of Nadezhda Kashina” said Julian.
Ron had no idea who he was talking about. Warren and April seemed to know. “Who is that?”
“Someone far beyond your ability to comprehend,” said Julian.
Warren drawled, “And what event has your imagination Ron?”
Ron thought that Warren had no idea who he was anymore but played the I’m current on Events of the Day game “I’d say that it was what Sadat has done,” said Ron.
Warren smiled. “I thought that you would have said Carter’s pardon.”
“I think it’s been a dull year,” said April.
Kelly and Zoe and Laureen walked into the living room and announced that the oven was hopeless, but that they had things under control. Warren asked if they wanted him to take a look at it, but Kelly assured him that it was fine and sat between his legs and kissed him. Zoe put her hands on Ron’s shoulders and then knelt alongside of him to avoid sitting on the wooden floor. Everyone said hello to Zoe. Ron was tense and thought that if Julian made one insulting crack about her that he could easily strangle him in his scarf.
“For me,” said Warren, “the death of Gary Gilmore is symbolic. It displays an entirely new level of marketing death that is dangerous for our culture.”
“As if we weren’t already marketing death,” said Ron.
“The work of Vicente Aleixandre,” said Laureen.
“You really do like him, don’t you?” said Warren.
“He’s amazing,” said Laureen.
Again, Ron did not know who they were talking about. He would ask Laureen about him later, outside of Julian’s earshot.
“What do you think is the most significant event this year, Kelly?”
Kelly moved her head from side to side to make her incredible long hair shimmer and then she said smiling, “Being with you.”
Everyone laughed and Kelly blushed. Warren reached over her shoulder and squeezed her right breast. “That’s deflecting the question.”
“Warren, you fool, the woman just said that she loved you. Take it with a simple smile and treat her well,” said Laureen.
Everyone laughed again and Kelly slid down to rest her head on Warren’s lap. Then Warren turned his gaze on Zoe. “And what would be your answer?”
“The light reflecting off of a lake that I saw in New York State. The way that the colors blended into the water and made it seem like a large diamond.”
“Costume jewelry,” said Julian.
“What was it really for you Julian, the bath houses?” asked Ron.
Julian stiffened. “I go to the bath houses as a political statement.”
Laureen laughed. “Not at all for all the naked bodies, I know.”
Ron stared at the fire. He hadn’t done it when he had first walked into the room. The immediacy and emotional reaction to the people there had held his attention. But now the fire was reaching for him again and he was giving himself to it. The flames waved to him like another old friend. The fire smiled at him. In a wicked kind of way, the fire laughed at him. Ron held the gaze of the flames. The sounds of the people’s voices faded. The fire wanted to talk to him, to tell him something, but he had to blot out the distractions first. He was being pulled closer to the flames; he felt the heat on his face. The fire was chanting. “Mine, mine.”
He felt Zoe take his hand and squeeze it but he didn’t respond. He wanted to dance with the fire. He wanted to help the fire claim what she owned. And then there was Zoe’s voice in his ear. “Ron, are you alright?”
He looked away from the flames and into her face. She was staring at him and brushing his hair with her fingers. The rest of the people in the room were looking at him. He looked back into Zoe’s face and the fire was dancing on her glasses waving to him and laughing. Ron tried to laugh but it came out like a grunt. “I guess I just zoned out there for a little while.”
Julian’s eyes were filled with glee. Kelly was staring at him with a distant curiosity. April hadn’t looked at him since Zoe had come into the room. Warren drew in on his pipe and Ron saw the embers glow.
Laureen laughed and said, “I asked you if you had seen Robin.”
“Oh,” said Ron. “Yes, I saw her. She’s doing well. She’s learning to make paper.”
At dinner, Warren returned to the earlier topics. He wanted his guests to think about what they had chosen as significant events from the perspective of whether those events were going to change the lives of the people seated around the oval shaped, oak table. He looked at each one of them. In his opinion, only Kelly and Zoe had brought up events that were truly significant. Of course he did not mention his references to Gary Gilmore, but he was getting to it. “What I’m working at here,” said Warren, “is to come to an understanding of why this avant garde painter or this Nobel Prize winning author are important to you personally. What significance will the Sadat visit really have? I can understand why someone would think that a relationship is important. Or why someone would think that a particular experience was important.” He gave Zoe a smile of acknowledgement. “But why these other things?”
Laureen giggled again. “Of course Warren is conveniently leaving out his personal interest in Gary Gilmore.”
“Not at all,” said Lashly pointedly. “My interest is in the way that the culture responded to the execution. I’m trying to discover why this is a culture that has found itself distracted by the macabre. And that is of some importance to me, both personally and as a member of the culture.”
Julian T. Willy stood. “Well on that happy note, I do think that I will be going.” The announcement startled the table. They were in the middle of the meal.
Laureen and Kelly both said, “Julian stay,” in a harmony that if no one knew better would have sounded rehearsed and almost like the chorus of a song. But Julian was on his feet. He kissed Laureen and Kelly on the cheek. Thanked Warren for inviting him over.
But Lashly wasn’t ready to see him go. “I can understand you feeling uncomfortable with this conversation, Julian. But it’s not going where you think that it is.”
Julian smiled and brought his heels together with an audible click. He looked down at Warren and said, “What I think is that I graduated from college some time ago.”
“I don’t think that you really want to leave,” said Warren.
Julian walked in long, stiff legged strides to the door with his arms held straight down and immobile. Putting on his jacket and saying, “Ho, ho, ho,” he was gone. The bells over the door jingled as an after-effect.
Ron watched and thought there was something admirable about Julian’s actions. He had always been a fan of fast exits.
Warren clasped his hands together and leaned forward on the table. “He was not ready to have this conversation. My guess is that he felt too exposed.”
“Maybe it was us, Warren. Julian hasn’t been around for a long time and I’m sure that it wasn’t easy for him to come here tonight,” said Laureen. “He doesn’t love this place the way that we do. It holds some bad memories for him.”
Ron spoke up. “We all have some bad memories to deal with Laureen. It’s how we handle them that makes the difference.”
“Not everyone is as hard as you are Ron,” said Warren. “Laureen is right. I pushed him too hard. “
Ron wondered what the hell that they were talking about. No one had pushed Julian at all from what he could see. It seemed to Ron that he just didn’t want to spend another evening as Warren’s student. Then Ron wondered what he was doing there. He had his own students now and he was certain that he wasn’t going to ever sleep with any of them or pry into their personal lives for his own satisfaction the way that Warren did. But maybe they all wanted him to pry into their lives. Maybe they all thought that he had some of the answers about themselves that they were yet to discover. Maybe Warren saw them all as lab rats. Maybe he saw himself as giving everything that he had in his life to his students. He was surely not shy about taking some things back. The truth was that every one of them around the table, with the possible exception of Zoe, knew exactly what the story was with this guy, especially Ron.
“What happened to you a while back in there?” said Warren looking at Ron. “You looked like you were in some kind of a trance? Have you been smoking or taking something?”
“No, I just caught up staring at the fire,” said Ron.
“You’re sure that was it?”
“Yeah, it’s the first time that I have been around an open fire since the apartment burned up.”
Laureen said, “I think that Ron has a whole lot on his mind these days.”
The dinner table was lit by candles after Kelly and Zoe cleared the dishes. April and Laureen watched them but Ron got up and helped. They carried dishes down the galley style kitchen to the sink and then returned for more. Zoe managed to brush against Ron each time that they passed each other. Kelly never looked at him and seemed a bit annoyed by his nearness.
Then they all settled back to the table and Ron lit a cigarette.
Warren said, “So how’s the teaching going?”
“I never expected to love it this much, Warren. I didn’t understand how I would feel responsible for them.”
“You have to let that go,” said Warren. “You aren’t responsible for them and you can’t teach them anything that they aren’t ready to learn.”
“They need to learn to read and write. They are ready for that and that’s what I’m concentrating on. It’s interesting to see their language skills develop. And I do believe that it will help them immensely in their lives to be able to read and write well.”
“Only if they want it to help them,” said Warren.
Laureen said, “And how are the nuns?” She giggled after asking the question.
April’s eyes got bigger in the light. “You are working at a Catholic school? With nuns?”
“I know, “said Ron. “ I know. But they’re just people, ya know. Mostly they are very good people.”
“And what do they think of you?” said April.
“I don’t know,” said Ron.
“They are going to put him in charge of discipline,” said Zoe.
Laureen was in mid swallow of a glass of diet pepsi and began to choke and laugh at the same time. The soda went up her nose and she held a napkin to her face and choked while she turned red and laughed. Ron laughed too and Warren smiled.
April said, “I just can’t picture you around nuns.”
Zoe said, “Ron is the most sexual person that I ever met. Do you think that they pick up on that?”
Before they left, April said, “Will you call me? I really have missed talking with you.” Ron said that he would.
As they drove home, Zoe snuggled into him and said, “It’s exciting to be there.”
Ron smiled. “Why did you find it exciting?”
“I don’t know. It made me feel like I was at the center of things. And when Warren asked me questions at the table, it was embarrassing but at the same time it made me feel important. Like I was speaking and what I had to say mattered.”
“I know what you mean,” said Ron.
“You and Warren are a lot alike.”
Ron felt himself tense when she said that. “Why do you think that?”
“You’re both very strong and very smart. And you both know how to get what you want. Why doesn’t Kelly like you?”
“It’s a long story. I used to date one of her friends”
“She told me to be careful of you.”
“That was nice of her.”
“I didn’t care what she said. I told her that I thought you and Warren are alike and she agreed but then said ‘not in a good way though.’”
Ron felt himself getting angry. Julian had been right.

Chapter 35

Saturday morning was unbelievably cold and sunny. The wind blew the car as they drove passed the new football stadium on Route 3 as they made their way into New York City. They drove into a place called Sculpture Supply. Zoe was effervescent. She was bouncing up and down on the seat of the car before they even went into the place. Ron was thrilled to see her so happy and delighted.
“The sculpture is already in the stone,” she told him as they wandered down the aisles that were like nothing Ron had ever seen before. There were heavy wooden racks and placed on them were pieces of rock. There were no labels, no prices. The understanding was that if you were shopping there, you knew what you were doing. Ron listened to her carefully as she spoke but he didn’t look at her. His eyes were drawn to the rocks. He ran his hands over them. He stared at them from different angles. Zoe craned her neck to look at them from the top. “I love to work with marble. I think it is my favorite thing.”
“More than painting?”
“Yes,” she said dreamily, “much more than painting.”
And then she stopped and stood very still. She was looking at a piece of white alabaster. It lay on its side and was rough all around. She rubbed her hands on her thighs before she touched it. Ron stood back from her and watched. She called someone over and they talked about the stone.
It was alabaster. It weighed 48 pounds. She could take it with her. She could afford it. Then Zoe began to cry. Ron looked at her with astonishment. Why was she crying? What had just happened?
“Zoe, is something wrong?”
She had her fist clenched tightly to her mouth and Ron could see that she was biting herself. Her body was trembling. “Everything is wrong,” she said. “Everything.”
“What do you mean?”
“What am I doing here?” she said. She looked at him as if it was his fault that they were in this place. “Why did you bring me here?”
Zoe, you asked me to bring you here.”
“But why did you?” She stepped back from the stone and looked at him accusingly and then she turned on her heel and headed for the door. Ron stood there feeling completely helpless and confused. He felt the eyes of other people in the shop looking at him. There was the feeling of accusation that was coming from them. Then he started after her and caught up with her on the street alongside the car. He reached out and took her shoulders and turned her to him. Her face was scrunched and red. Tears were streaming down her cheeks and had pooled up in back of her glasses. Ron could see the light refracting on the tears in back of the lenses.
“I don’t understand,” he said.
“That stone is beautiful. It is perfect and I have no place to work on it. I don’t have the right tools to work on it. I need more training to be able to do what I want to do with it and I am stuck here. I need a studio and all I have is a pad and pastels.”
“But didn’t you know all that before we came here?”
She slapped his face hard. He felt his neck snap when she hit him. And then she was turning and walking down to the street. The wind blew her hair to the side. Ron stood there motionless. He could not recall ever being slapped in the face before. Maybe he should just get into the car and drive away. He couldn’t do that! And then he was jogging down the sidewalk after her. She heard him and saw him and then bolted. She was running full speed and Ron knew instantly that there was no way that he could catch her. He stopped running and watched as she reached the corner and then turned to the left and was gone.
He went back to the car and got in and turned on the engine. He was shivering. He was angry. He shoved his hands into his pockets and sat there thinking that he had given up the chance to take Robin to the airport for this.
A long time passed and then he got out of the car and looked around to see if he could spot her. He did not see her wedged into a doorway with her head in her hands and her shoulders shaking from the uncontrollable crying that wracked through her body. She told herself that she was being stupid. She told herself to get up and go to the car but she couldn’t seem to move. She waited for his car to pull out and leave but it didn’t. He turned off the engine and sat there smoking a cigarette. Why was he waiting for her? Why wasn’t he just smart enough to see what she was and just leave?
She got up slowly and walked to the car. She opened the door and got in. She stared at him and waited. Without looking at her, he started the engine and began to drive back home.
She kept staring at him, waiting for him to scream at her. They went into the tunnel and when they were in the semi darkness and she could not see the face that had not taken its eyes from the road, she asked, “Why didn’t you just leave me there?”
Still without looking at her, he said, “I was frightened for you.”
Ron felt like he had crossed the border back from some alien land when the car shot out of the tunnel. Jersey reassured him. He knew the rules.
When they got back to the apartment, she said, “Will you just take me to bed?
Ron said, “No.”
He opened his book bag and spread papers out on his desk and began to work. She sat in a chair in the kitchen and watched him.
End of Part 1

Chapter 36

Ron was sound asleep in bed when the phone rang. He heard it as if in a dream and then it grew louder and her sat up in bed and fumbled for it. His voice was thick with sleep. “Hello.”
“Good morning Ron,” said the crisply starched voice of Sister Irene Emanuel. “The school is closed today because of the snow. Enjoy your holiday.”
“Thank you, Sister.”
He put the phone back into its cradle and looked around the dark room. He rolled on his side and stretched up to look out the window. He could see nothing but a white sheet of snowy ice that stuck to the plane of glass in the darkness. He heard the muffled whisper of wind. He threw the covers off and got out of bed naked. He walked into the living room of his three room apartment and went to the bay windows that looked out onto Glenwood Avenue. The sight stopped him. Everything was buried under a blanket of snow and the wind was blowing the small flakes down in a slant that made everything look askew.
He smiled and padded back to his warm empty bed and crawled under the covers and pulled them up to his chin and closed his eyes.
Two hours later he woke up again and saw that there was light outside. The telephone was ringing again and Ron rubbed his face and reached for it. “Hello.”
He could hear breathing on the other end of the line but there was no answer. He repeated, “Hello.” Still there was no answer and he knew why. “Zoe, it’s ok. You can talk to me. It’s ok.”
Still there was nothing but silence and the breathing. He waited several minutes and then said, “If you aren’t going to speak, I’ll just hang up.”
He heard the receiver click and lay back down staring up at the ceiling. It had been this way since she left and went to Boston. Once a week, sometimes more, the phone calls. Sometimes, she actually was able to speak, but then she just began to cry and tell him how much she missed him and before he could answer, there would be that click.
They had been living together for months before he really figured out about her eating disorder. He didn’t even know what bulimia was then. But he took the approach of trying to understand and being careful not to have any food in the house. He took her out to eat every single night and stayed with her after they came home, sometimes following her trips to the bath room with his own and looking for the tell-tale smells of either vomit or air freshener. It came to a head the night that he had forgotten about a half-gallon of ice cream that Quimpy had brought over and woke up in the middle of the night to find her frying it and then pouring it into a bottle and gulping it down until she could make herself sick.
Ron closed his eyes. It was then that he told her that he would never consider having a baby with her while she was like this. After that, she talked about art school more and more. Her father had convinced her that she could not get student loans because of his income. Ron had showed her how to get around that, and then she left him to go to an art school.
Ron opened his eyes again. He didn’t want to think about her anymore. He knew that if he kept thinking about her, it would come back to him how she had fucked Quimpy, and he would get angry and feel betrayed all over again.
Ron got out of bed and dressed in warm layers. He really didn’t own a winter coat so he made up for it with two sweaters and his warmest jacket. He did have boots and wore two pairs of socks under them. His feet felt huge as he trudged through the snow to the corner luncheonette.
He never kept coffee in the house, or that much food at all. No one had been out to shovel their sidewalks and the one black walk required him to lift his feet high and feel a bit off balance.
The sidewalk in front of the luncheonette had been cleared and the lights from inside pulsed out through the windows. The snow blew into his face and melted on his lips and found its way into his mouth.
He stamped his feet when he entered. The counter man looked up and recognized him and nodded. “What a fuckin’ mess this is,” he said.
Ron nodded. “Half expected you guys to be closed.”
The guy pointed up the ceiling. “It’s an easy commute.”
Ron got two containers of coffee and a buttered roll. He bought a quarter of a pound of chicken roll and a quarter of Swiss, figuring that he wouldn’t be going out again anytime soon with the way that this storm looked. He trudged back out into the snow, holding one container in each hand, the roll stuffed into his shirt with the deli food tucked under his belt. The walk back was precipitous and Ron was sure that he was either going to fall or drop one of the containers. About half way back he felt the deli food slide down below his belt. “Fuck,” he growled as he felt it inch lower with each step that he took. Still more than a half-block away and already feeling the package slip down to his upper thigh. Trying to bend his body forward gripping the coffee containers in each hand and feeling it slip lower and lower; the deli meat now just above his knee.
Ron stopped and looked around and saw no place to set the containers down so that he could adjust. He bent lower and tried to press his elbow against the escaping package. Finally trying to cradle the second container against his chest, Ron reached down and grabbed the package through his pants. The pressure of his arm was too much and the lid popped off and the coffee spilled out against his jacket. Ron watched with dismay as it gurgled out over his glove, at first very hot and then swiftly cooling. Finally he just let it drop into the snow. He watched the brown circle spread out. He clutched the package and trudged the rest of the way back to his apartment feeling defeated.
Ron ate his roll and drank his remaining coffee sitting in front of his bay windows watching the snow come down. He liked watching the spectacle. His eyes watched the cars coming slowly down the street, some carrying absurd roofs filled with mounting snow and some completely cleared. He heard the click of chains as a bus rolled passed his windows. He felt like this was time in a bubble. His work was done for his next class. His papers were all graded. He knew what he wanted to do for the next couple of weeks.
It was then that a thought flashed in his mind. “Suppose I wrote the truth.” The idea stunned him for a moment, but it didn’t go away. Suppose he did write the truth? What difference would it make? He stared over at his typewriter and the pile of paper that rested, well stacked and empty, next to it. It was then that he saw the plow truck push the snow against his car and the other cars that were on that side of the street. The snow was icy and caked and dirty when it slid against his car and all but obliterated the sight of his wheels and parts of the front and rear fenders. “Shit!” he said aloud.
Wrapped in a scarf and with more layers of clothing on and slogging in his boots, Ron reached the car. His shovel was in the trunk so he held his arm against the top of trunk and tried to sweep the snow off. He got about halfway when the weight of it stopped his progress and ice made its way under his glove and up under his sleeve. He lifted his arm and shook it to get the ice out and this motion sent his glove into the snow. Ron looked down at the glove with a helpless feeling. Snow was already working its way into the fingers. He bent over and picked it up with his bare hand. His fingers were already turning red. The glove was wet and cold on his hand. This time he used his other hand to sweep and made it to the end before the ice and snow went up his other sleeve. “Motherfucker!” he said under his breath. Then he reached with his trembling and now bare fingers for his keys. He got them out and tried to insert the key into the lock. It was frozen solid. He made a fist and slapped the lock. Then he put his gloves back on and tried to punch the ice off. Both of his hands were cold and stinging and going numb and the lock wasn’t budging.
Sullenly, Ron trudged back across the street and up the stairs into the kitchen. When the ice on the underside of his boots contacted the linoleum of his lichen floor, his feet went up into the air and he came down flat on the floor. He lay there a moment in panic and checked his knees. They were ok. He exhaled a long sigh of relief and slowly got up, clinging to the side of the sink as his boots began to slide again. He bent down and took them off and hurled them at his door.
Ron ran the water until it was very hot and then filled an aluminum pot. He knocked the ice off of his boots in the tub. He put them back on and carried the pot of hot water down the stairs but he had forgotten to use a lid and the water sloshed out over his gloved hands and down his pants leg. It burned and he opened his mouth into an oval of pain. By the time he got across the street, almost a third of the water was wasted but he thought he still had enough. He poured it on the lock and watched it steam the ice away. They key went in easily now.
Ron liked to dig and he was good at it. He bent his back into it and found a rhythm and then he was able to open the car door and get inside and start it up. The exhaust made a black circle of soot by the tail pipe as Ron dug and listened to the car engine hum. An hour or so later, he was ready to give it a try.
He felt exaltation when the car nosed its way out onto the street. And then he backed it in again. He gathered his now very cold aluminum pot and put the shovel in the back seat and went back up to his warm apartment, feeling a sense of accomplishment. Ron piled his wet icy clothes in a corner of the kitchen, put on clean, warm, dry clothes. He sat down at his desk and rubbed his hands together and looked back out admiringly at his work, just as the snow plow came back down the street and pushed a fresh load against the side of his newly re-encased transportation.
He laughed to himself. It really was absurd. Then he sat down at his typewriter and began to write. Where to start was easy. Lashly’s class. What class? It just came out in a stream. Ron felt his hands flying over the keys and then he looked up and it was dark. How long had he been doing that? He was hungry. It was still snowing.
Ron went into the kitchen and took out the lunchmeat. He had no bread, but he did have some mayo. He rolled the chicken breast and the cheese into cylinders after coating the insides with mayo and went back into the front room to read what he had written. He was appalled. The truth was that he could not write a sentence without having at least three typos and two misspelled words. He wanted to take out his red pen and put an F on every page, but set about to correcting the errors with a dictionary opened up beside the stack of fifteen pages that he has written. When he was finished he felt sick to his stomach. Whatever made him think that he could write anything? What was the matter with him? Of course his poetry was shit. Because he didn’t know the language!
Ron ate silently and sulked, staring at the red marks that he had made like they were accusations. Then he heard a feint tapping at his door. He walked through the rooms and opened the door. No one was there, but on his mat was a small plate of macaroni and sauce. He looked down at it, both wincing and smiling at the same time. It was the old woman who lived next door to him. She was forever leaving him scraps like he was a pet. But Ron chose to see them as gifts. He never told her what he ate and what he flushed down the toilet. He always washed her dish and knocked politely on her door the next day and thanked her for being so kind to him and told her that she didn’t have to do that. She never really answered and when Ron looked at her face, he saw someone who did not understand what he had been saying. He was unsure if she was hard of hearing or did not understand English.
But this time he was hungry and without thinking about it he just ate the food. It tasted good. It was cold but tasted good. He was just finishing when his phone began to ring.
“Ron the school will be closed until Monday. Enjoy your weekend and stay warm.”
“Thank you Sister Irene. I’ll see you on Monday.”
It was Thursday night and his bubble had just gotten much bigger. He felt a rush of freedom surge through him as he walked back through the rooms. He turned on his stereo and Bob Dylan’s voice sang “Changing of the Guard.” He cranked it up and rolled a joint. He filled a large glass with water and sat back down at the typewriter. The music was distracting him. He tuned the volume down, but still the power of Dylan’s words broke through and he found himself thinking about them as he tried to write. It was no good. He got up and found one of his Bill Evan albums and slipped it on. No voice, no words and now the piano was helping. It could give him a rhythm that he could write to. It was like his soundtrack. It kept the thoughts arranged in his head. The side was long finished before he realized that it wasn’t playing anymore.
Ron turned the record over and then watered his plants. They were healthy and wild and they loved him back when he loved them. The music drew him back to the desk. It was Zoe’s desk. She had wanted it back. He had said that he would give it to her when she made some effort to pay back some of the money that she had borrowed from him. He had felt like an asshole doing that, but enough was enough. It’s not like she ever used the desk and of all the dozens and dozens of drawings that she had made of him, she had given him none. He wondered why she had done that. She would just have destroyed them anyway. He loved the way that he looked through her eyes. What had Julian called her? A boardwalk portrait painter. Julian was an ass. Yeah, maybe he was, but he hadn’t stolen her desk.

Chapter 37
Ron was asleep in his clothes when the phone rang. It was 3am. He knew immediately.
“Hi Ron, I know I’ve woken you.”
“Hi Robin. It’s ok. I don’t have work tomorrow. I figured you didn’t. I was talking to my Dad earlier and he said that it was snowing like hell. How are you?”
Ron tried to think. How long had it been since he’d heard from her, six months. She must be working at a bar again and just getting home from work. “I’m ok. I’m snowed in but it’s warm here.”
“Are you alone?”
“Yes.”
“Can we talk for a while?”
“Sure.”
“I’m struggling with a decision Ron and I wanted to hear your voice. My boyfriend Keith wants me to move in with him.”
Ron was silent. He felt his hand tighten on the phone. Well there went the rest of this night’s sleep. “Do you love him?”
“Yes, I think I do.”
Ron felt tears start to run out of his eyes. “Well, that will help,” he said, hoping that she could not hear it in his voice.
“It didn’t help us much did it?”
“I guess not.”
“I never thought that I would be able to live with anyone but you. But I have been seeing him for a while now and it seems like the next step.”
“I think you’ll be fine Robin.”
“He reminds me of you, but he’s different.”
Ron wasn’t going to take the bait. He held the phone away from his mouth and tried to clear his throat so that his voice didn’t sound heavy. Then he tried to be light. “Well, concentrate on the differences,” he said.
“How’s the teaching going?”
“It gets better all the time. I know the girls now. I know the school. I make fewer mistakes. I feel confident when I stand up in front of them.”
She was silent for a while. Then she said, “Maybe I should come for a visit.”
Ron almost choked out a sob. “You could stay here.”
“I think that I would like that.”
“When do you want to come?”
“In a couple of weeks. Before I do anything.”
Ron said that he would pick her up at the airport and she said that she would call him with the information and then she was gone.
He sat up turned on the lights and went back to his typewriter. Maybe, just maybe if he could recreate how he was when she fell in love with him, she would fall in love with him all over again. Either that or at least it would be as if he had never met her. He wrote until he looked up and saw light coming through his windows. Then he went back to bed and was asleep almost immediately.

Chapter 38
The energy in the school that Monday morning was amped up to a degree that was startling. Many of the girls had been locked away in the houses since before the snow had started to fall, and they descended on the school with a burst of energy that was throbbing and palpable. They had tired of their mothers and siblings. They embraced the school like it was freedom itself.
Ron was overjoyed to see them and he smiled so much that his face hurt. He had gotten there early. Last year’s experience had taught him that while part of the lot would be plowed out for the teachers’ cars, that there would be a premium on spaces. Street parking was non-existent. Where there were spaces, chairs and boards had been pulled out to fill them until those people who dug the space out returned. It was an unwritten law of the city during snow. You cleared the space out and you owned it until the snow was gone. And if someone was foolish enough to move your chair, it was license to do whatever you wished in retaliation against the disrespectful car.
Last year’s seniors were gone, but they had been replaced by another group that looked strangely younger to Ron. His 9th graders were now world wise sophomores who had gotten through their second fall. Many of them had signed up for one of the two electives that he was teaching: public speaking and creative writing. Some of them had taken both classes. Ron was not teaching Reading anymore and still taught Ninth grade and Twelfth grade English along with his electives.
His public speaking class was the first of the day and today he was going to introduce them to Extemporaneous Speeches. He had gone to the store that Sunday and bought five copies of the Star Ledger and five copies of the New York Times. The idea was that they would have 15 minutes to read, research, and then speak from their notes on a topic that he selected. The night before, he spent time scanning the papers and circling articles that were short enough for them to accomplish the task. Almost immediately, he abandoned much of the Times. The articles were just too long for what he had in mind. But another idea occurred to him and he had also circled pictures with long captions, thinking that they could just as easily work from those. But first he wanted to know how they were.
“So, how have the last four days been for you?” he asked at the very start of class.
The answer was loud and responsorial, “Boring,” they said in unison. Then all of them laughed and Ron laughed with them.
“Didn’t anyone do anything that was interesting?” said Ron.
Elena said, “You don’t really want us to tell you about that stuff, do you Mr. Tuck?” Her dark eyes were dancing and her lips were curled into a tempting smile. There was a wave of giggles.
Ron made his exaggerated look of mock exasperation. “No Elena, not that stuff.”
Sandy said, “Well I ate so much that wasn’t sure that my uniform was going to fit.”
Ron laughed. “I wound up living on chicken roll and Swiss cheese until Saturday because I didn’t have food in my house and just about every place was closed.”
There was a scattering of “Ewws” about his diet. Then Sonia said, “Don’t you have anyone to cook for you, Mr. Tuck?”
Ron blushed and the girls laughed merrily. Some of the girls thought that they would be happy to cook for him while Ron explained the assignment. “Speeches will be short. Only two minutes each. Those of you that don’t get to go today, will go tomorrow. I put all your names into this basket, he held up a small wicker basket that he had found in his closet, left by the previous teacher in the classroom. So, it will be random who goes when.”
He watched them as they worked. Some were trying to write out their speeches and Ron corrected them and said in a whisper, “You don’t have time for that. Just take notes. I’ll show you what to do.” They smiled up at him and he knew that they trusted him and he felt his chest swell with pride at their trust. Fifteen minutes became twenty as Ron paced up and down the aisles. They were all working hard and he decided to let it go until he got the sense that they were mostly ready. It was not their fault if he had underestimated the amount of time that it was going to take them.
Finally, about twenty-five minutes in, he said, “OK, times up. Put down your pens, fold the newspapers and lay them aside.” He heard their groans but knew that he wasn’t rushing them too much. He let another minute go by. “Now,” he said, “let’s see who goes first.”
Their eyes followed his hand as he reached unto the basket. He opened the slip of rolled up paper dramatically. “Angela Peronne.”
There was a burst of laughter. Maria said, “She’s absent, Mr. Tuck. You forgot to take attendance.”
Ron laughed and quickly went in back of his desk and took attendance, saying, “See I was so happy to see you, that I lost my head there.”
“Tammy Padilla, are you here?” Ron knew that she was and the tall girl with blonde streaks in her hair raised her hand. “Ok Tammy, up here in back of the podium.”
“I have to do it up there,” she said hoping that maybe if he forgot to take attendance, other things might have changed as well.
Ron moved to the side of the room, his face growing serious. The girls saw the shift and Tammy wiggled out of her desk and went to the front of the room.
“Now,” said Ron. “Remember your posture, feet shoulder width apart, back straight, eyes on us, just glance down at your cards when you need them. Voice nice and loud, speak slowly.
“The Shah of Iran has left his country,” said Tammy.
Sister Irene Emanuel’s voice broke in over the loudspeaker. “May I have your attention please?” Her voice was crisp but Ron detected a bit of tension in it. “Due to circumstances beyond our control, we are going to have to close the school for the rest of the day. Girls you are to go to your lockers and collect your things. Anyone who needs to call home, is to go to the convent where we will provide you with a phone and local calling privileges.”
The girls looked disappointed but they quickly got up and left. Ron felt disappointment as well. He had missed being with them and his mind had already raced ahead to his next classes and what they would be like. He gathered his books and slid them into the green canvas shoulder bag that he carried and walked over to the principal’s office.
Irene Emanuel looked distracted and rushed. She was in the hall in front of the office and shooing the girls out the door. “Is there anything that I can do to help, Sister”
She looked up at him almost not recognizing him at first. Then she smiled and said, “Please make sure the other building is cleared, Mr. Tuck and then if you could let me know.”
Ron crossed back into his building and looked around the first floor. Then he went to the girls’ room and knocked and waited. And then he opened the door and went inside. It was empty and well-manicured. He felt uneasy about being in there and quickly backed out and shut the door. He climbed the steps to the second floor. It was deserted. He came back down and saw that he was the only one in the building and then crossed back over the courtyard to her office. There was a circle of nuns and teachers standing around her. He caught her eye and said, “All cleared out Sister.”
She nodded and said. “We have a gas leak that has been determined to be dangerous. We will all be leaving this area at once. You can expect that school will be in session tomorrow unless you hear differently. Mr. Tuck, would you be willing to stay behind with me for a few moments?”
“Of course, Sister.”
He answered her without thinking. Sister Margaret Evette said, “Does this mean that we can’t work in our classrooms?”
The look of annoyance that passed over Irene Emanuel’s face was unmistakable. “Sister, for the safety of everyone concerned, we would be better served to clear the area.”
Margaret Evette nodded in an uncomprehending way. She wanted to go back to her class and be a model of vigilance. People started leaving the hallway. Ron heard Doris tell Marsha that she was getting as far away from this dump as she could. Marsha nodded and they both waddled towards their cars. Irene Emanuel reached out and touched Ron’s shoulder. “Thank you for your help,” she said.
Ron answered, “You’d better be leaving too Sister.”
Irene Emanuel nodded. “I am as soon as I am sure that we have everyone out of here.”
“Do you want me to run upstairs and check around?”
“No, Ron. I’ll take care of it.”
Ron walked out the door and thought that it was funny that no one had mentioned smelling gas. He made his way along the shoveled paths to his car and then he saw Sister Bernadette standing over by the Rectory. She was pacing, which was unusual for her. He large shoulders were straight and square and her black shawl was gripped around them. “You ok, Bernadette?” She had told him to drop the “Sister” unless they were in front of other people by the end of the first year.
“What did she tell them was wrong?”
“Gas leak, but the funny thing is that I don’t smell anything.”
“You would have by the end of the day,” said Bernadette with her sarcastic humor that she only showed to certain friends and some of her older students.
“I found a body in the basement,” said Bernadette. “Father Jones decided that we should clear the school before calling the police. He was worried that the idea of a body might worry some of the parents. Now,” she said pointedly, “he seems to have gone out and I have to wait here for him before I call the cops, which I am going to do for about two more minutes before I just make the call. I mean how could the old fool go out when he knew there was a body in the basement?”
Ron searched her face and wanted to comfort her. He had never heard her talk disparagingly of the priest before. He knew that she must be genuinely distressed and admired her. He wasn’t sure that he would be able to hold it together this well if he had just found a body. “I’ll wait with you.”
She smiled at him. It was a loving smile and Ron had seen it flash across her face before when they were helping some kid together or when he made a joke while they were talking over morning coffee, which they had together when he got in early. A couple of times he thought that he had seen desire in that smile, but he dismissed that idea, telling himself that he was completely nuts.
It was then that Father Jones opened the door of the Rectory and seeing Ron standing there with her frowned. “You’d better go,” she said quietly. She started towards the Rectory door. Ron wanted to go with her but held back. It wasn’t his place and he knew it. Jones watched the nun and knew that she had told him the truth. He had told Irene to not have her say anything and he kept her waiting while he was on the phone with the bishop making sure that he was doing the right thing.
Ron got into his car and drove around the city. The streets were all cleared and the snow that was shoveled to the sides rose in high piles that blocked the view of the sidewalks. After a few minutes, he circled back towards the school. There was a collection of police cars in the parking lot and a large red city ambulance. All had their lights flashing.
Ron wanted to stop and to offer some assistance but he knew that at this point his presence would just be an embarrassment to people that he had come to truly like. So he drove up Heller Parkway and through the park and out of the city of Newark and into the Bellville Silver Lake district.
The stores and sidewalks were clean here. There were sanitation trucks that were gathering the snow and leaving the streets completely free. Ron smirked and thought to himself that nothing was too good for Silver Lake. The legend was that it was the place where the connected guys had their parents installed. The shops had the best meats and produce. It was rare that you ever heard anyone who was not speaking Italian when you were in these stores. The legend was also that if you were black you could drive through the area but that you were not allowed to walk the streets or shop in any of the stores.
What was he doing back here? Bodies in the basement, restricted neighborhoods and priests that lied. Hadn’t he seen all of this before and decided that it was not going to be part of his life? Hadn’t he decided that these people were so clannish in the way that they saw the world that he would always be an outsider? The thoughts flooded him in torrents and he wanted to go back home and write again. But he drove his car up to his Mom’s new ceramics shop on Bloomfield Avenue just outside of Newark.
Ron found a place to park about a block and a half up the Avenue. He was in front of a liquor store a safe spot. He stuck his hands into his pockets and walked down the street. People were coming out today. They looked like nocturnal creatures who were wincing at the sight and feel of sunlight. The reflection off the snow made the glare worse and they squinted and shuffled with uneasy steps.
Only Marjorie and her new partner Lois, who had somehow gotten the nickname Bumpy, were in the shop. Marjorie was stunned but happy to see him. “Ronald,” she smiled “is everything ok? Did something happen at work?”
“We got sent home,” he said.
“Did you lose your job? Did something happen? Did they fire you?”
Ron was surprised at the remarks. “No Mom, the only one who has ever fired me was you.” It was true. He was in college and working at her employment agency. Things were starting to get rough in her business and she called in an expert to tell her how she could cut her overhead. The guy had looked at her business and cash flow and recommended that she let one of her agents go. There wasn’t enough of an outside business to support all three agents now. Marjorie was bringing in the bulk of the referrals with her contacts at local banks and she was really paying about a quarter of the salaries of the others out of her share. Ron was working part time, cold canvassing for new leads and his efforts were producing some listings but when the man said that somebody had to go, Marjorie decided that her son was the most expendable. She knew that he could get another part time job and these other people were feeding their families from what they made at the agency. So, she fired him that afternoon, no notice. Ron had been pissed at the time but the benefits of throwing it up over the years had already eclipsed what she was paying him.
“Do you always need to bring that up?” she said.
“They sent us home,” said Ron. “They said it was a gas leak but Sister Bernadette told me that they found a body in the basement.”
“Again with the bodies in the basement?” she said. “What is this fixation that you have about bodies in the basement? Do you think that you need to talk to someone about this? It really is getting to be too much.”
Ron laughed and remembered his dream and the way that he had told her about it. He thought that it really was funny that he hadn’t made the connection. The truth was that there wasn’t a connection, as he saw it. It was a coincidence.
Bumpy was carrying in a batch of new molds and Ron was impressed at the way that the short, stocky woman was able to heft the weight. She really was as strong as a man.
“I haven’t seen you in a while and I didn’t expect to have the afternoon off.”
“I’m glad that you came Ronald. I’ve been waiting to call you.” She paused and sat down close to him and lit a cigarette. She was smoking Virginia Lights these days and every time Ron saw the package he couldn’t help but hear the jingle and the line, “You’ve come a long way baby.”
She drew in on the cigarette and said, “George moved out.”
Ron was stunned. The idea of George or his mother or his father going anywhere had never even slightly occurred to him. “What do you mean?”
“I mean he moved out. He’s living with another woman and he wants a divorce.” Ron watched as her faced tightened and saw the tears that filled her eyes. “I’m not sure what I’m going to do. Thank God for Lois or I think I would go out of my mind.”
Ron sat there feeling stunned. George had left? What was gonna happen to his Mom?

Chapter 39

Ron’s seniors sat in front of him with expectant faces. He had taken attendance. He had explained that because of the lost day yesterday that it was necessary to get right to work.
“Macbeth is one of Shakespeare’s strangest plays. It was written after the death of Queen Elizabeth and Willie was doing a few things. Mainly he was kissing up to his new King, but at the same time he was instructing him on how to be a king. Now that is a delicate thing to do and you will see his genius in doing it.
People in the theater are frightened of this play. The legend is that it’s bad luck to mention the name in a theater and so they always refer to it as The Scottish Play. There are all kinds of stories of bad things happening, people being killed during performances, theaters burning down. Lots of weird stuff and then, of course, there are the witches.” Ron stopped and looked at their faces. He was checking to make sure that none of them had drifted. “What is the word in Spanish for witch?”
“Bruja,” they said in a chorus.
“And what does it mean to be a witch?”
“Sometimes it just means an old woman,” said Connie Gonzalez.
“I think it means a sorceress,” said Imelda Cruz.
“Both of those things are true in this case. But it also means a servant of the devil. Witches were a big thing in Shakespeare’s time. The King, his name was James, actually wrote a book about how to identify witches.”
“Sometimes it means a prostitute,” said Barbara Rodriguez.
Ron noticed that his Spanish students were the only ones responding and realized that he had to get the other girls involved again. It was a tough balancing act to meet the needs of some students in this school without alienating others. “Well, in the English tradition, it doesn’t really mean that. And besides, these women were so ugly that they would have had to pay men.”
The girls giggled nervously and Ron wondered if he should have said that but he went on. “Ok so he’s kissing up to the King and he is also writing a great play about ambition and obsession. Now the language is going to be difficult, but I’ll help you through it and last year many of the girls told me that this was their favorite book for the year. So let’s get started. I want notebooks out there are going to be lots and lots of notes. But right now, just listen.”
Dutifully they looked up at him. It amazed Ron to see their faces and he felt this incredible surge of power and responsibility. He wondered for at least the one hundredth time how Lashly could have ever allowed himself to become sexually intimate with his students. It just wasn’t even close to fair.
He started dramatically. “Now there is this war, a civil war. I’ll explain later why it was being fought. But one of the main guys on Macbeth’s side went over to the enemy and convinced this guy Norway to attack Scotland. And some of the Scottish troops fought with the traitor. Now our guy Macbeth, we’ll call him Mac.” There were more giggles. Ron liked to call Shakespeare Willy and to shorten or give slang names to the characters. He felt that it made the play more accessible. The other teachers in the English department had scoffed disdainfully when he mentioned the idea at a department meeting. “So Mac sees the traitor and wades across the battlefield killing people as he goes.”
Ron mimicked Mac, wading into the class shoving the desks with the girls still in them back until he made a path for himself.
“Mac’s like a superhero,” said Connie.
“Yes, he is. He’s a very brave and forceful fighter.” Ron fixed his eyes on Imelda, who was sitting in the last row. He pushed his way towards her, making a mess of the configuration of the room. Finally, he stopped in front of her desk. “Then Mac takes his sword and unseams him from the nave to the chops,” said Ron, quoting from the play. “Which means he sliced him open,” he turned to the class and pointed to his navel, and then traced a line up his chest to his throat, “from here to here. Then he cuts off the traitor’s head and holds it up on the end of his sword and lets up a loud whoop.” Again Ron mimicked Macbeth’s action and whooped, just as he saw Irene Emanuel at his door.
The principal entered the room and the girls sat up very straight and tried to look studious in the mess of a classroom. Some went so far as to open their books and to look down. She looked at them for a long moment and then let her eyes take in the disarray of the room and then she finally settled her gaze on Ron.
Ron grinned at her and said triumphantly and with an absurd confidence and enthusiasm, “Come in Sister, we are just starting Shakespeare.”
“Let’s do hope the building survives the play, Mr. Tuck. May I see you for a moment?”
“Yes Sister. Straighten out the desks, girls and start to look at the first scene. I’ll be right back and remember, notebooks out.”
Ron went to the door with the nun. She smiled at him and said, “Please don’t get them all worked up so that the rest of the day is spent talking about what Mr. Tuck said or did in their other classes again.”
Ron lowered his head in mock penance and said, “No Sister I won’t, but the language is hard for them and if I don’t get them hooked into it early, I think it will really be a tough go.”
“Well, I’m happy that I don’t have to follow your act, Mr. Tuck,” she said with her pursed lips, but by now he knew her well enough to be able to tell that she wasn’t really upset. “There’s a meeting of the faculty council after school and after a very short meeting of the whole faculty to discuss what happened yesterday. Do not discuss any rumors with the girls today until I have had a chance to meet with the faculty and then we’ll have the council meeting afterwards.”
“Yes Sister.”
After classes the faculty congregated in the convent. Students who normally stayed for after school activities were told to report to the cafeteria, where two of the nuns were assigned to supervise them. Not too many of the girls attended. Most took the opportunity to crowd into the corner store where Ron still got his coffee twice a day. Those who went to the cafeteria either disliked the luncheonette or were forbidden to go there by parents, whose punishments made it not worth the risk.
Ron took a few drags on a cigarette as he walked the outside route to the convent. When he rang the bell, an elder sister who no longer taught but spent her days with housekeeping and cooking answered. “Yes?” she said warily.
“I’m here for the faculty meeting,” said Ron.
“Are you from the police?” asked the nun her face was pudgy and her steel rimmed glasses continued to regard him with suspicion.
“No, Sister, I’m a teacher at the high school.”
She sniffed the smoke that was radiating from him and challenged him. “At this high school?”
“Yes Sister. My name is Ron Tuck.”
She scrunched her face into a sneer, stepped back from the door and opened it wider. “Oh,” she said. As he walked passed her, she caught the odor of cigarette smoke on him, and she shook her head in disgust.
“As all of you know, we had an unfortunate incident that occurred yesterday. I know that I told you there was a gas leak and for that I apologize, but that stretch of the truth was necessary. It seems that a man, a street person really, we used to call them hobos when I was younger, was found to have met the lord in our basement. We have all prayed for the repose of his soul and I invite you to join me now in doing so again.” She led them through an Our Father and 3 Hail Marys. “May his soul and all the souls of the faithfully departed through the mercy of God rest in peace”
Ron felt like they were all doing penance for the dead guy. When the prayers were finished, Irene Emanuel continued. “Now I know there have been lots of rumors swirling about and most of them are utter foolishness. There was no foul play that occurred on our school grounds and it is important that we get that message out when we are asked. It is also important that we do not let this unfortunate incident distract us from the business at hand, and so it is my hope that after today we will hear no more about it. However, people being the way that they are, if you are asked by parents or by students and they have further questions, please direct their calls to me. They should not be calling the rectory or anywhere else to engage in their quest for details.” She enlarged her eyes and pursed her lips with the word “details” elongating it and pausing both before or after it to ensure the fact that her meaning was very clear. “Now, unless there are any other questions, many of us have students waiting and I suggest that we resume our duties.” After this last line she smiled and stood adding, “I wish to thank you all for your anticipated cooperation.”
Clearly questions were not being encouraged. But Doris who had been at the school longer than Irene Emanuel and did not have a particularly high opinion of her since the nun had stopped giving her the last period of the day off and allowing her to leave school early, raised her hand.
“I would like to know if the school is safe,” said Doris loudly.
“Of course, we are safe,” said Irene Emanuel with look of mock shock and real condescension on her face.
“Well how did the bum get into the basement?” persisted Doris.
“Father is checking into that and we are having the maintenance man and two of the church deacons checking all of the locks on doors and windows to make sure that this can’t ever happen again.
Doris turned to Marsha and muttered sarcastically, “Oh, now I feel safe.”
Irene Emanuel heard her as did most of the people in the room. But Irene just chose to ignore the quip and made note that Doris would never have a late afternoon prep again. The meeting adjourned and people either left for the day or made their way back over to the school.
The girl who was to be seen by the faculty council that afternoon was not given the option of leaving and coming back or of going to the cafeteria. She was seated in one of the hard back chairs in the principal’s office with her secretary as visible evidence of her misdeeds. Ron knew the girl very well. Her name was Immaculada Santiago and she had been in his reading class the year before. He liked the girl but knew that she was an airhead who had minimal interest in reading writing or, Ron would have suspected, any of her other classes. She had a boyfriend. She was there marking time until she got married. She had had her “Fifteens” coming out party in the fall and soon after she had formally began dating her brother’s best friend. Ron knew why she was there. The girl was excessively late to school and to her classes. The end of each class required a trip to the lavatory where she primped and studied herself in the mirror. Re-combed her hair, washed her hands and put on hand lotion to make sure that she did not chap. This was her second visit to the council. The first had come after she had amassed her initial ten lates. If the teachers had marked her to the minute, that would have taken less than a week, but most let it go saying that was just how Immaculada was. Now she had amassed twenty lates and it was required that a parent join her for this second appearance before the faculty council. Her mother sat next to her staring at her shoes and wondering how long this nonsense would take.
The faculty council met in the lay teachers’ lunch room. On the days when these meetings were held, there was a note attached to the inside of the front door by Irene Emanuel reminding the teachers that there was going to be a meeting that afternoon in the room and that it should be in “presentable condition.” This year’s council consisted of Ron, Sister Bernadette, Marsha and Irene Emanuel. Bernadette and Ron conspired as often as they could to keep the girls out of trouble and Irene Emanuel knew that it had been a mistake to allow Bernadette to serve on the committee. But she had volunteered and garnered support and although Irene Emanuel, who could have blocked her appointment with the choir rehearsals as an excuse, had allowed things to move forward. Ron had been given the job as chairperson of the committee, an election that both startled him and most of the rest of the faculty, who were sure now that the school was going to ruin. The truth was that Irene Emanuel ran the committee and every other committee in the school and she could, if she chose, overrule the council’s decisions as the principal’s discretion, but she did like the appearance of democracy.
They sat around the round table and Ron read through the card that had the dates of Immaculada’s unexcused latenesses on them. Then he read the additional excused latenesses and did some quick math in his head.
“Immaculada,” he said gently, “you are late almost half of the days that school is in session. Can you tell us what’s wrong?”
Mrs. Santiago shot Immaculada a feigned look of anger and then moved her hair to the side and stared out the window and tapped her long manicured fingernails on the leather purse that she held on her lap. The girl put her head down and muttered, “I don’t know. I will try harder,” looking up after the last statement with the absurd hope that her promise would be enough. It was what her mother had told her to say.
But Bernadette was having none of it. “Are you unable to get out of bed early enough?”
“Immaculada was almost indignant. “No Sister, I get up every morning at 5:30.”
Irene Emanuel said simply. “School begins at 8 am.”
Bernadette looked at Mrs. Santiago. “What time does she leave the house?”
The mother and the girl exchanged a worried look. The mother set her jaw and said, “I’m not really sure, Sister Bernadette.”
But Bernadette already knew where she was going with this. She had seen it before. “Do you come straight to school when you leave the house?”
Immaculada stared straight down like she wanted to burn a hole into the floor. “No Sister.”
“Do you go to your boyfriend’s house?”
Her face was so flushed and her voice was barely a whisper. “Yes, Sister.” Then she began to cry. Ron felt sorry and was moved by the sight of the tears rolling down the girl’s rouged cheeks. The women were not.
Bernadette now sat back. She had heard what she expected to hear. She knew that the girl was going to her boyfriend’s house to make his bed and to help his mother and learn to cook his meals in the way that he was accustomed to having them prepared. She knew that this happened with full knowledge and probably the support of Mrs. Santiago. It was all a matter of priorities.
Irene Emanuel directed herself to Immaculada. “Do you understand that a continuation of this behavior can result in you being asked to leave this school?”
The girl was sobbing now. “Yes Sister.”
Then Ron spoke up. “Does your father know about this?”
The girl abruptly stopped crying. The look of fear that blazed onto Mrs. Santaigo’s face was evident. The tension in the room became immediately thick.
The older woman leaned forward and looked at Ron. “Please, Mister. Please don’t say that you are going to tell him.”
Now everyone was uncomfortable. Irene Emanuel broke the silence. “I don’t think that there will be any reason to involve anyone else as long as this behavior is corrected. However, this Saturday and next Saturday morning, Immaculada, we’ll see you at the convent at 8 am so that you can work off the time that you owe us.”
The principal escorted the mother and daughter out of the room. They both looked as if they had been tortured. Bernadette leaned over and whispered to Ron. “He’d beat both of them for shaming him.”

Chapter 40
Ron’s tutoring appointments were sporadic. The process was involved. He would get a call from the Learning Disabilities Testing Coordinator or the LDTC as she was known and then he would go in and meet with her to get his assignment. The length of time that the students were on what was called “bedside instruction” varied depending upon their injury or condition. In the winter months, he would wind up tutoring every afternoon and sometimes all day on Saturdays. The money was nice. It was far more than he was being paid at the school but there was a catch. Ron was not certified and Quimpy had made arrangements for this lack of credentials never to be mentioned. It was Quimpy whose job it was to keep a record of the certificates and so Ron’s was never mentioned. The plan was that if he was ever asked that he would admit that he had lied and Quimpy would say that he thought that his secretary had kept them all on file and would have mentioned it to him if there was a problem.
Mostly Ron was given the kids who had been excluded from school because they had drug problems. The Superintendent’s strategy was just to keep those kids on bedside indefinitely. But this afternoon’s case was different. Ron was ushered into the office of the school’s psychiatrist and sat with him and the LDTC.
Charles Rothstein had been doing the job of school psychiatrist for about twenty years. He was a thin man with a very short gray beard and closely cropped hair. He spoke with a New York accent that Ron placed somewhere like Brooklyn. Charley began by asking Ron about his other two cases.
“So how are the fuck-ups doing?”
Ron smiled and shook his head. “Well they show up most of the time, but the only work that gets done, gets done while I am there with them. They don’t really believe in homework.”
“If they understood what school was about in the first place they wouldn’t be in this situation would they, Ron?”
“I don’t know,” said Ron. “They aren’t bad kids. They’re just, like you said, fuckups.”
Charlie nodded and teased, “And that’s why Quimpy recommended you for them. He figured that if anyone would understand how to work with fucked up kids that it would be you.”
“Yeah, said Ron. “I’m not sure how to take that, but thanks.”
“If they give you too much shit, just remind them that this is their only chance of getting any credit for the year and to have a new start next year. You’ve got them over a barrel and don’t hesitate to use it if you have to.”
“I know.”
“Now, James Devin is a whole different matter. This kid is seriously fucked up. He’s a normal sixteen year old kid who is going through his father’s drawer one day looking for rubbers or who knows what, and he finds a picture of the old man dressed like a woman and sucking some guy’s dick.”
Ron involuntarily glanced over at the LDTC but her face was an inscrutable mask.
“How did the kid take it?” said Ron.
“Not very fucking well at all,” said Charlie with a bitter laugh. “He locked himself in his basement and he hasn’t come out since.”
“Oh Jesus,” said Ron.
“Now I’m trying to get him some good shrink help but we don’t make house calls and the kid refuses to come out. If we can’t get him some education, the boss wants to move on him for being an incorrigible truant and have him turned over to the courts. Which, I believe, will complete the job of totally screwing the kid.”
“Ok,” said Ron thoughtfully. “What do you want me to do?”
“Teach the little fucker.”
Ron laughed, but Charlie was no longer smiling. “I have spoken to his teachers and everyone is going to be cooperative here. Just give us something that we can use to say that the kid did some work and they will pass him. If that doesn’t work, I’ll have you made the teacher of record and you can give him his grades.”
Natalie, the LDTC, spoke for the first time. “We don’t think that it will come to that and we have seen some of the work that you have been able to do with kids that wouldn’t do anything for other tutors.”
“I’ll do my best,” said Ron.
“Just do enough to get it done,” said Charlie. “I think this is a temporary condition and if we can help this kid enough to get him into counseling by the summer time, I think he’s got a chance.”
“Where’s the father now?”
Natalie said, ”That’s the other thing, when James found the pictures, he brought them to his mother who had no idea,” at this point she dramatically rolled her eyes, “and she threw the father out. They are getting a divorce.”
Charlie broke in, “So now on top of everything else, the kid thinks that he was responsible for ruining his family.”
“I can understand that,” said Ron. “My parents are divorced.”
“But not cause your father sucked dick and had pictures taken of himself doing it,” said Charlie.
They gave Ron a pile of books and assignments and a phone number and then he left the office and walked out through the line of cubicles thinking about how much more professional this school looked than his did.
He drove back into Clifton’s border section with Paterson and rang the bell for his other tutoring appointment. Dennis Mooney was caught selling pot at the school. Ron had been working with him for about a month. Dennis was a blonde kid with a bad complexion and poor hygiene. Ron didn’t particularly like going to the house because it smelled bad and he always felt like itchy when he left. He rang the doorbell and heard movement inside, then Dennis’s face behind a curtain. Dennis said from the other side of the door, “I can’t do it today.”
“Come on Dennis,” you know what they said about missed appointments. They have to pay me anyway.”
“No offense Mr. Tuck, but I really don’t give a fuck.”
Ron shook his head. “Ok Dennis, see you next time.”
Ron got back into his car and drove home. He thought to himself that he shouldn’t care. He was getting paid. The school was just covering its ass because they didn’t want Dennis in the building. And Dennis didn’t give a fuck. Why should he? But images of a bleak future for the kid haunted Ron all the way back home. He stopped off at a new Chinese restaurant that had just opened up down the street from him and ordered some hit spiced shredded beef with carrots. He sat at the desk in his front room and ate the food out of the container while he reread Macbeth and thought about the next day’s classes.

Chapter 41

“Motif is a literary term that means,” Ron turned to write on the chalkboard as he spoke, “a repeating theme or image that gathers significance as it is repeated.” He wasn’t sure that was the dictionary definition but he knew that it wasn’t far from being the truth. “Shakespeare uses lots of motifs in Macbeth. One is clothing. The way that people’s clothes are described as fitting them and the way that people’s lives are described with images of clothing is one of the motifs. Mac says, ‘Why do you dress in borrowed robes?’ when the witches first call him the Thane of Cawdor. Now what are some of the motifs that use clothing that we use today?”
Connie raised her hand. Smiling she said, “That girl dresses like a slut.”
The girls laughed their nervous laughter when one of them made a reference to sex. Ron stopped as if he had been frozen by the comment. “Now that’s not exactly what I had in mind.” The girls laughed again.
Barbra raised her hand. “Is it like when we call the nuns penguins?”
She said it in a hushed voice and the class was quiet after she said it.
Ron smiled a big grin. “That’s it exactly! Now that image is considered a bit insulting, but that is exactly what I am talking about. What do we learn about people from their clothes?”
Immelda said, “Whether or not they have any taste.”
The girls were in a comfort zone again and laughed merrily.
“Whether or not they have money,” said Barbara.
“Sometimes,” said Ron, “but people make lots of mistakes by judging others based on their clothes, don’t they?”
The girls nodded but Ron knew that they didn’t believe him. He knew that they judged everyone by the appearance that person made, maybe more than any one single thing.
Connie had a devilish look on her face. “What about the way that you dress, Mr. Tuck?”
Ron paused dramatically. He stood close to the girl’s desk and said with feigned sternness that they knew by now was not actually real, “And what about the way that I dress?”
More giggles.
Connie was silent as if his nearness had taken away her courage but Immelda, who Ron had cast as the traitor, said. “It is kind of corny.” Then she added quickly. “I’m not saying that you are corny, Mr. Tuck but the way that you dress is.”
Ron smiled. “And what is so corny about it?”
Carmella said. “A pale green leisure suit, Mr. Tuck. Are you really asking us what is corny about that?”
The girls cracked up. They laughed really hard and Ron laughed with them. Then he said, “Well Carmella, the truth is that I didn’t have anything to really wear when I got this job. I spent my life living in jeans t-shirts and work shirts. So when I got hired here, my stepfather gave me some clothes.” Then he repeated. “Borrowed robes. What does that mean?”
Connie said, “What do you call it… hand downs.”
“The phrase is hand-me-downs and that is exactly right. So what does it mean?”
Connie said, “Is Mac insulted because he thinks that they are saying that he is poor?”
“Not exactly,” said Ron, “but you’re on the right track.”
Then Barbara’s face lit up. Without raising her hand she said, “Why are you saying that I’m something that I am not.”
“Perfect!” exclaimed Ron and he smiled triumphantly at the girl.
Barbara continued, “Cause you aren’t corny even if you look like you are.” And then everyone, including Ron, laughed too.

That afternoon Ron drove up to meet James Devin. He was a tall kid and very pale. His hair was dark and curly and piled up on his head. He answered the door promptly and called up to his mother saying that the tutor was here. She answered with an OK, but Ron was a bit surprised that she didn’t come downstairs to meet him. He made a mental note to stop upstairs and say good-bye to her unless she came down during the lesson. For some reason, Ron expected him to be disheveled but his shirt was neatly pressed and so were his jeans. They even had creases. Then Ron looked down and saw that James was wearing purple flip-flops and that his toenails were painted black. He made a mental note. It was the kind of detail that Charlie would want to know.
The young man’s voice was very soft. He caught Ron up on where he was in each of his classes and slowly Ron reviewed each of the assignments that the teachers had provided. He was annoyed when James told him twice that he had already done the assignment that had been given to Ron.
“We did that before I stopped attending,” James said in a voice that Ron thought seemed dignified.
“OK,” said Ron. “I’ll work on getting you new assignments but in the meantime do this.” Ron looked ahead in both the history and English books and assigned the next story or chapter along with the study guide questions that accompanied it. It was a boring approach and Ron knew it, but it was also what the teachers wanted to see. Ron had the feeling that it was also what they did in their classes. He knew that when he talked to the kid about the chapters or stories that it was then that there might be an opportunity for some learning to take place.
About forty-five minutes into the review of where James was with his studies, Mrs. Devin came down the stairs. She was shockingly pretty. Ron smiled and stood up but James just sat back and seemed to shrink.
“I’m Sheila Devin,” she said extending her hand.
Ron took her hand and found it warm and dry and soft. He introduced himself. And they both remained standing while Ron reviewed the rules of Home Instruction. She nodded from time to time and said that there would be no problem for her to be home for each of his visits. Ron scheduled him for two days during the week and a Saturday appointment. James seemed to grow smaller and smaller as the conversation continued. When Mrs. Devin left, James had actually brought his knees up to his chest and turned on his side facing away from Ron. One flip-flop was dangling off the end of his foot. He did not respond to Ron’s first question.
Finally he said in a voice that was barely audible, “Did they tell you why I am at home?”
“They told me that you had trouble leaving the house.”
“That’s a joke,” said the boy.
“What do you mean?”
“I never leave the house. I never leave the basement.”
“You will,” said Ron.
“Sure,” said James. “I will.”
Ron tried to turn the conversation back to history but James didn’t respond. Ron said, “Why don’t we call it a day. You have plenty of work to do.”
“Will you come back or am I too much of a freak?”
“I don’t think you’re a freak at all,” said Ron.
“Yeah, right,” said James his voice trailing off.
He did not get up to see Ron out the door.
When Ron drove back to his house, he checked his mailbox as he normally did. He was surprised to see that he had mail. Usually when his checks came from tutoring, he knew to be expecting them, but he had just gotten that check last week. This was a postcard and Ron was half expecting that it was some advertisement until he recognized the handwriting on the other side.
Ron,
I won’t be coming to visit. I have decided to move in with Keith. Good luck.
Robin
He turned the card back over to the front and saw that it was a picture of the Guthrie Theater. He turned it to the back and reread it. He walked up his stairs heavily and found a small plate in front of his door with four cookies that were wrapped in a napkin . He opened the door and went in and threw the cookies and the postcard into the garbage.
He walked into the front room and then walked back out to the kitchen. He just couldn’t face being alone in the apartment right then. He dropped the book-bag that was still slung over his shoulder onto his kitchen table, locked his door and went back down the stairs.
He turned on his car and began to drive not sure where he was going. Then he was on the Parkway and heading south. At first he thought that he was going to drive to Rahway, but quickly he knew that was a silly idea. He thought about how he developed an attachment to people and places and how once the people were gone, he revisited the places hoping for the same feeling to still be there. He found that it was people and place and time and when all three did not come together, then it was different.
He got off the parkway at Elizabeth and drove down to Cherry Street where he and Robin had lived in their last apartment in New Jersey together. His car rolled passed the place slowly and he looked and saw a weird familiarity combined with an emptiness that reassured him of his earlier thoughts: people and places and time. Now the place just had ghosts. The car continued down the street and went passed his old apartment. An image of the fire sprang up in back of his eyes and seemed to be calling to him. He continued down the street and turned off onto a main street and realized why he had come here.
The French Maid was a go-go bar. Ron had not been able to afford to go to it when he lived in Elizabeth but now he had extra money from tutoring and he could not remember the last time that he had been with a girl. He wanted to sit in the dark with some wine and stare at them gyrating on the stage and imagine that they were twisting and wiggling for him as he listened to the loud bar songs.
He walked into the club and the music almost blew him back out the door. It blared painfully loud. The room was filled with a haze of smoke and spotlights burned down on the rectangular stage. There was a pole on each end of the stage and 3 girls wearing G-strings and tiny bras were twisting and turning to the incredibly loud sound. Ron slid into bar chair and almost immediately a barmaid in French Maid t-shirt was in front of him putting down a cocktail napkin. She was chewing gum and had short dark hair.
“What can I get you, honey?”
“Some white wine please,” said Ron.
She was gone in a wink and back with a large tumbler that was filled to the brim with white wine. Ron laid a twenty dollar bill down on the bar and it too disappeared almost before it hit the wood. When she returned with his change it was all in single dollars.
Ron sipped and sat back to watch. Slowly his eyes and ears adjusted. He drank from the glass again. One of the dancers was in front of him and shimmying her hips back and forth and smiling down at him. Ron watched her and grinned back. She stayed on the ends of his eyes for about ten seconds and then she strutted away proudly and took up position in front of another guy. Ron watched as the guy stared at her and then saw the man take a dollar bill and hold it out. The dancer sat on the bar floor and then hopped down and held her breasts out to the dollar bill. The guy slipped it between them and the girl squeezed them closed on it and then hopped back up on the stage. Ron thought, so that’s how it’s done. The girl stood in front of the man who had given her the dollar and then turned and bent over and looked at him from between her spread legs. She waved to the guy and then moved away, strutting and moving her eyes down the bar. As Ron watched, he saw a pattern develop. Two of the girls would dance against the poles and on the stage but the 3rd girl would walk along the bar and deftly pull the skimpy bra to the sides revealing her nipples to the men who would then slide the bill towards her. She would clasp it in her fingers and then squeeze her breasts alongside them as she moved on to the next man. A girl could get called down for a tip, but then she went right back up on stage until it was her turn in the rotation to work the bar. Not every guy would tip her and as she moved along the bar she would smile and wiggle and watch to see if the man’s hand moved towards his money. If it did not she would toss her head to the side like she was discarding him and move to the next patron.
The bar walk signaled the end of her set and then she would disappear and a new girl would come out and begin to work a pole walk the stage and one of the other girls would come down from the stage and begin to work the bar. It was continuous.
Ron waited nervously as he saw the girl coming to his side of the bar and beginning to make her way from one stack of bills to the other. He reached out dutifully and folded his bill lengthwise and when the redhead was in front of him and standing straight and wiggling her shoulders and making her breasts shake back and forth, he extended his arm. The bill projected out from his fingers and poked her in the chest as she leaned towards him. She clasped and smiled for him. He had been awkward and didn’t get a chance to feel her smooth breasts slide along his fingers. He would do better next time. The hour went by in a comfortable haze of light and sound and wine.

Chapter 42

Ron’s technique for doing the play was one that he’d thought out. He had tried having the students read the play out loud in class, assigning each of them a role. But the language was too difficult and the girls had struggled with it and not enjoyed the experience. That was when he went to the Bloomfield Public Library and found that they had recordings of all of Shakespeare’s plays. From then on, he played the recording while he and the girls followed along and listened to the actors read their parts as they were meant to be heard. He would frequently stop the recording to discuss what they had just read and listened to. But today he had a new approach to start with.
“How many of you have heard of Bruce Springsteen?” he asked at the start of the class. A few scattered hands went up into the air and Ron saw immediately that they were not the hands of the Spanish speaking girls. “I want you to listen to these words,” he said. Then immediately he changed his mind and turned to the blackboard and wrote as it scribbled, printing in large block letters that pressed hard into the chalkboard and reciting as he wrote.
“All men want to be rich and rich men want to be king and a king ain’t satisfied until he controls everything.” Then he turned back to them and let the words sink in. Then he repeated it slowly and underlined each word as he spoke. What do you think of that?” he said.
“I don’t think that all men want to be rich,” said Patricia Nieves.
“You don’t?” said Ron.
“I think some men want to be rich but some people just want to be happy. If they can be rich and happy, that’s great. But they would not want to be rich and unhappy.”
Ron stopped. He smiled. “That was an incredibly insightful thing of you to say.”
The girl beamed and wiggled in her chair for him.
“But,” said Barbara, don’t most people think that being rich is what will make them happy?”
Ron smiled again. This was going to be a good day. The girls washed away all thoughts of the previous night like they were bugs that were stuck on his windshield and they had an incredibly powerful squeegee and just slid them away like easy stains on glass.
“Once you get on that bandwagon though, it might be hard to stop,” said Ron. “Mac was happy. He was loyal. He was living comfortably. Why did he need more?’
“Cause his wife was a witch with a b,” said Imelda.
Ron wondered if she had made the reference to calling Lady Macbeth a witch on purpose or if she had just stumbled into it. Then a thought hit him and it silenced him. “Let’s listen for a moment,” he said and started the play.
It didn’t matter if it was on purpose. How many thoughts had he stumbled into? They were still his thoughts. Afterwards he would reflect upon them and think ‘damn, how did I think of that?’ but he had grown to accept that it was what happened to him while he was being Mr. Tuck in front of his classroom. Maybe it was the same for them. And then the refrain, ‘Time and place and people’ went through his mind again and he stopped the recording perfectly at the end of the scene.

Chapter 43
When Ron got home that afternoon, he heard his phone ringing as he climbed the stairs. By the time he had gotten inside the door it had stopped. He put down his bag and took off his coat and then it started ringing again.
“Hello.”
“Ronald,” said a low and husky voice. “This is Lois.”
Ron’s brow furrowed. “Yes,” he said tentatively.
“Your mother is in the hospital. She’s had a heart attack.”
A cold rush like ice water flushed through his body and then he felt his face starting to get hot. “Where is she?”
“Mountainside.”
“I’m on my way.”
He drove like traffic signals and speed limits didn’t matter. He had one thought and it pounded in his head. Get there! Get there! He parked his car in the Emergency Room parking area and ran into the hospital. He had forgotten his jacket but didn’t feel the cold. His face was flushed and his eyes were darting in one direction after the other. He went to the desk.
“I just heard that my mother has had a heart attack,” he said breathlessly to the matronly woman with white hair who sat in back of the desk.
“What is the patient’s name?” she said without showing any kind of emotion. Ron hated her instantly.
“Marjorie Bombasco,” said Ron, biting the words off and showing his teeth.
The woman leafed through the pages of a notebook and then the phone rang and she stopped to answer it. Ron gripped the counter hard, his fingers turning white. Then he saw Lois standing at the other end of the hall and started running towards her. People’s heads turned as he raced by. The security officer started to move in his direction but Ron had already reached Lois and stopped.
“They’re bringing her upstairs,” Lois said. She was fighting back tears and losing the battle.
“What do they say? Who is the doctor?”
Ron felt a hand on his shoulder and whirled on the security guard.
“What?” he said. His fists clenched.
The guard looked passed him to Lois. “Is everything ok, Ma’am?”
Ron shrugged his shoulder away from the grip.
“His mother just had a heart attack,” said Lois.
The guard nodded and took a step back away from Ron. “You have to calm down, Sir. You aren’t going to do your mother or yourself any good by getting all riled up.”
Ron tried to get hold of himself. He nodded. “OK, OK,” he said.
“Ronald, she wants me to go home and get her some things. She is very scared. I told her that you would be here.”
Ron looked around as if he could find his mother in one of these rooms. Everything was moving very fast.
“Sir,” said the security guard. “Just take a moment before you run upstairs. You look pretty upset and you don’t want your mom to be frightened by the sight of you.”
Ron took a long deep breath and forced himself to relax and to breathe. Then he said, “She couldn’t possibly be any more frightened than she is right now.”
The Cardiac Care Unit or CCU was for intense care. Ron found Marjorie lying on her back, the hospital bed raised in the back, staring at the machines that depicted the regularity of her heartbeat, her blood pressure and a number of other things that Ron did not understand. She looked up at him with the face of a frightened little girl, her eyes wide with wonder and terror. She did not smile when she saw him but tears started rolling down her cheeks. “Bruzzer,” she said, “look what happened to me.”
“How did this happen, Mom?”
“I don’t know. I was at the ceramics shop. I have been so nervous lately I had this pain in my chest and I told Bumpy that I thought that I needed to go to the hospital.” She stopped and looked into his face. “I don’t like it here. I want to go home.”
“I know,” said Ron, sitting down on a chair next to the bed, “but we can’t do that right now. You need to be here, but I’ll stay with you.” He reached out and took her left hand. She squeezed his fingers weakly.
“I don’t want to be like this,” she said and a sob came out of her chest.
It frightened Ron. His mother’s fears were always her worst enemy. And hospitals were one of her nightmares. “But Mom, it’s important to be smart right now. I know how upset you are. You know that I know.”
She looked at him and nodded in understanding. He had been her partner when she went through the hardest times of her adult life. Maybe he had only been a boy for most of them, but they had forced him to accept certain responsibilities and roles and she had grown to trust him and she needed someone to trust right now and he was one of the only people in the world who filled the bill.
“Do you know the name of the doctor who is treating you?”
She shook her head. “When we left the store, we couldn’t get the car out. It was blocked in by people who had double parked. We blew the horn over and over but no one came out. You know how that neighborhood is.”
Ron nodded and cursed the neighborhood silently. The loudmouthed jerks who parked wherever they wanted because some Uncle or Cousin knew somebody who would make everything right if there was ever any trouble.
“Finally, someone came out and by then the pain was so bad. It hurt so much, Bruzzer.” She began to sob again.
Ron squeezed her fingers and said, “OK, I understand.”
“ When we finally did get out, we drove to Dr. Gunders office and he saw me right away but he said that he thought that I was having a heart attack and that I should get to the hospital.”
Ron snorted. “He didn’t call an ambulance?”
“No ambulance,” she said shaking her head from side to side on the pillow and then she caught sight of the monitors again and just stared at them.
Ron understood immediately. The doctor had wanted to get an ambulance but she hot gotten so upset that he thought it was worse to upset her in the condition that she was in. So he had told her to drive to the hospital. To Ron’s way of thinking, he should have gone along with her, but he knew that was expecting too much.
“When I got here, they took me right away and now I’m here.”
“And this is a good place for you to be. It’s a good hospital and they have good doctors. It isn’t Clara Mass, where you can get on the staff by being somebody’s whatever.”
Marjorie nodded.
Dr. Jacob Gutberg appeared in the doorway and looked at Ron and then at Marjorie. He was a short bald man with dark glasses a white coat and a pocket protector from which stuck a number a single slender silver pen. He moved to Marjorie and said softly, “How are you feeling?”
Marjorie smiled and took a breath. She tried to laugh. “I’m very scared, doctor.”
“I can understand that Mrs. Bombasco but we’re going to get you all better and on your feet in no time as long as you are able to do as we say.”
“I just want to go home, doctor.”
“I’m afraid that isn’t possible right now. You know that you have had an episode. We think that it might have been a heart attack. What a heart attack means is that a little piece of your heart stopped working. The rest of your heart took over and right now your heart is working fairly well considering what it has been through, but we are going to keep you in this unit for the next few days to monitor you and to make sure that you heart is doing what it should be doing to heal itself.”
“And then I can go home?”
“Then we can begin to talk about what treatment options we have, Mrs. Bombasco. This is a serious situation and the hospital and I would not be doing our jobs correctly if we sent you home right now. It would not be in your best interest.”
Marjorie nodded. The tears began rolling down her cheeks again. Ron looked at her and then over at the doctor. They made eye contact.
“Are you a relative?”
Marjorie spoke before Ron was able to say anything. “This is my son, Ronald.”
“Good to meet you Ronald. I’m doctor Gutberg. I was on duty when your Mom came in. Do you know if she has a cardiologist?”
“No,” said Ron, “just a regular doctor.”
Jacob Gutberg raised his eyebrows. “Well she is going to need a cardiologist now. Mrs. Bombasco, we’ve given you something for the pain but maybe we should give you a sedative to help to calm you.”
“I don’t want to lose control.”
The doctor smiled. “You won’t lose control of anything. You will just feel more relaxed. Being frightened will more likely cause you to lose control than being calm.”
Ron liked the doctor’s approach. He was straightforward and at the same time soothing.
“Have you ever taken tranquilizers?”
“I took Librium 10 for a long time, but not recently,” said Marjorie.
“Ok, that’s an old drug. We will give you something very much the same only a bit more up to date.”
When the doctor stepped out into the hallway, Ron followed him.
“How is she, doctor?”
“It’s too soon to tell but what I said about the next couple of days is important. Sometimes one of these attacks is followed by a second one. When she gets through the next 48 hours, I will be more confident.”
“Could she die?”
“There are, as I’m sure that you know, fatalities connected with heart attacks. We have to just wait and see.”
Ron stayed with her and they talked about familiar topics and told old stories. The time that she had wanted to go down to the shore and had started getting nervous before they even got on the parkway and how he talked to her and soothed her and talked her exit by exit, telling her that she could turn off again in just a couple of miles if she needed to but that she was doing so well and that she could get there. How he told her that she could do it and that after a while that she had believed him and heard nothing but his voice as he kept it up. Kept talking to her mile after mile, telling her how brave she was and how much he loved her. Marjorie smiled and closed her eyes and pretended that she was in the car with him again. He held her hand and then he told the stories about how he used to meet her after work every night. She asked him to tell her about some of the movies that they saw together.
“I remember that you used to get great movie passes and we would go to Woolworths and buy sandwiches and sneak them into the movies. I remember that when we saw West Side Story we sat in the front row of the balcony. We ate our sandwiches and watched the huge screen and the way that the movie started with the helicopter and the different buildings and then the playground and the guy snapping his fingers.”
She squeezed his hand. “You’ve got some memory.”
“Those were very happy times,” said Ron. “But we were so poor, Mom. We weren’t even sure that we could make the rent on the apartment and here we were going to the movies.”
“We were poor but we had fun and we enjoyed each other’s company so much. I wanted to be with you more than I wanted to be with anyone in the world. I never treated you like a little boy. Who could treat you like a little boy with that brain and that vocabulary?”
Ron laughed and patted her hand. “My brain didn’t make me older, Mom.”
“But it made it feel like you were older. I could talk to you about anything and you understood.”
It was dark by the time that Lois came back with her things. Ron had watched as she picked at her dinner and made faces at the taste of everything. Lois went through the list of the things that she had gotten for Marjorie.
Then Lois said, “George was at the house.”
Ron’s face hardened. “Did you tell him?”
Lois nodded. “Yes, he said that he hoped that you felt better.”
Marjorie began to weep again. Ron said, “That’s not going to help anything Mom.”
Marjorie said, “Why does have to be such a cold hearted bastard?”
Lois said, “That just what he is, that’s all.”
Ron said quietly, “Listen Mom, it’s getting late. I have to go and you should rest. I’ll be back in the morning.”
“What about work?” said Marjorie.
“I’m gonna take the day off. I haven’t taken a sick day since I started there.”
“Don’t get into trouble Bruzzer.”
“There won’t be any trouble,” said Ron.
He kissed her goodnight. Lois said that she was going to stay with her until they made her leave. Ron nodded.

Chapter 44
Ron saw George’s car parked in front of the house and let himself in with his key. He found George standing in the bathroom shaving. He had a suit laid out and had just taken a shower.
George came out of the bathroom with shaving cream still on his face. He saw Ron and said, “Oh… How’s your mother?”
“You really are a miserable piece of shit aren’t you,” said Ron.
“Don’t start with me, Ronald.”
“Don’t start with you?” Ron moved towards him. “Don’t start with you? My mother is lying in the cardiac care unit and you really don’t give a fuck at all, do you?”
George went back into the bathroom. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”
“You coldhearted, worthless fuck. The doctor isn’t even sure that she is gonna live!”
George stopped shaving. “I didn’t know it was that serious.”
Ron sprang for him and George backed into the bathroom and shut the door. Ron pounded against it. He beat his fists on it. “You were a worthless piece of shit when she met you. If it hadn’t been for her, you’d still be in debt to the goddamned bookies. She should have let one of them put a fucking bullet in you instead of paying off your gambling debts.”
George snarled and threw the door open. He shoved Ron back against the kitchen table. Ron picked a chair and swung it at him. George held up his arm and screamed as it hit him. And then he went into his pocket and pulled out a knife. Ron stopped and stared at it. Then he scrambled towards the kitchen drawer and George yelled.
“Open that drawer and I’ll put this right in your back.”
Ron whirled on him and saw that George had moved after him. He stared at the blade of the knife and then into George’s face. It was bloated red with rage. His arm and face were bleeding from where the chair had caught him.
“Just go out and fuck your whore, you pitiful excuse for a man.”
“Get the hell out of here right now, before I lose my temper,” said George. “Go on. Get out! And leave your key.”
“Fuck you,” said Ron. “It’s my mother’s house. You never would have been able to get it without her and you left.”
“Get out,” snarled George.

Ron was breathing hard when he got back into his car. He knew that he was enraged when he went there, but the level of his own violence surprised him. He drove across Ridgewood Avenue and turned down Bay Street and then onto the street where his father lived. The street looked unfamiliar in some way and then Ron realized that it had been made a one way. He parked in front of his father’s house, went to the door and rang the bell. He was nervous. He was always on edge between the times that he rang that bell and the time that the door opened .He was not sure that he understood why. Because he had not been around his father. He did not know what kind of car that he drove or whether he was home. There was a car parked in the driveway, but it looked too old to be something that his father would be driving.
Harry Tuck smiled when he saw his son standing on the porch. Maybe the visit to Marjorie’s house had been worthwhile. Ron did not return the smile. He held out his hand and realized for the first time that his knuckles were bleeding. Harry shook his hand without mentioning the blood.
“Dad, I know that I should have called first, but I really needed to see you.”
“You don’t have to call,” said Harry. Then he looked over his shoulder and said, “Betty look whose here.”
Betty Tuck gave Ron a look that he knew was her attempt at a smile but it came onto her face like a grimace. “Hello Ronald. Come on in. Would you like some coffee?”
“Maybe some other time,” said Ron. He wanted to be polite, but he did not want a social gathering and he needed to talk to his father alone.
“Alrighty,” she said.
Harry was a clever man and he knew that his son had been raised to be polite. It worried him that he has refused the cup of coffee. “Why don’t we go out onto the back porch?” he said.
Betty made herself scarce. She went down into the basement to fold clothes that had just come out of the dryer. She figured that Ron needed money and she hoped that it wasn’t a lot because the truth was that things were pretty tight with them right now.
When they settled on the back porch, Ron said, “My mother’s had a heart attack. She’s at Mountainside Hospital.”
“Holy Shit,” said Harry. “When did that happen?”
“Today,” said Ron. “I just left her. She is the cardiac Care Unit.”
“What are they saying?”
The doctor said that he won’t really know if she is out of the woods until tomorrow or the next day. He called it a myocardial infarction. I don’t know what that means.”
“Me either,”said Harry.
“Dad, George left her. He is moving out to live with some woman.”
Harry was only really surprised that it had taken this long. He knew how difficult living with Marjorie was. Her phobias, her drive, her desire to always have more were not the kind of traits that a man usually signed on for. He shook his head. “I just don’t know what to say, Ronald.”
“I need a favor,” said Ron. He looked into his father’s eyes. “You know the kind of effect that you have on her. You always make her feel like a woman.”
“I don’t know about that,” said Harry. “You’re mother and I go back a long ways and it’s been a very long time since there was anything like that between us.”
“I do know about that,” said Ron. “She’s scared and she looks lost and she needs me, I understand that, but it would help me and her if you could drop in to see her while she is there. Let her know that one of the men in her life cares about her.”
“George might think that’s pretty strange,” said Harry.
“George doesn’t give a shit, Dad. He wasn’t even going up there to see her.”
Harry gestured. “Is that what happened to your hand?”
Ron brought the knuckles to his mouth and sucked them. “Yeah, I shouldn’t have lost my temper.”
Harry scanned his son’s face and was quietly pleased to see that there were no marks on him. “I’ll get there tomorrow. But let’s keep this between us.”
Ron nodded. “Thank you. Thank you very much.”
Harry let him out the back door and Ron hurried to the car, not wanting to see his brother or his sister right now.
Ron stopped to get a pizza on the way home and thought about what he still had to do. He wasn’t sure how to call in sick. He had never done it before. He hadn’t paid enough attention to it when he got the stacks of papers that they handed out on opening day, but he knew where he kept the papers.
Eating a slice of pizza, sitting on his bed, Ron dialed the convent. It was almost 9 o’clock in the evening and he had debated whether or not it was too late.
On the fourth ring, a hushed voice said, “Hello.”
Ron was taken aback. He thought that there would be some kind of official greeting, some way that was all their own that nuns answered the phone. “May I speak to Sister Irene Emanuel?” he said.
The voice took an immediate tone. ‘And who shall I say is calling her at this hour?”
“My name is Ron Tuck. I’m a teacher at the high school.”
“At this high school?”
Ron thought, why do they keep asking me that? Then he said, “Yes Sister.”
The tone continued. “Just a moment, I’ll see if she is still awake.”
Two or three long moments passed. Ron finished his first slice and bit into another. Then he heard Irene Emanuel’s unmistakable voice. ‘How can I help you, Mr. Tuck?”
“Sister, I’m sorry to disturb you. I think that I lost track of time.”
“Yes.”
Ron waited for her to say more but there was just silence. ‘I won’t be coming in tomorrow, Sister.”
“Oh? And why is that?”
“My mother, Sister she’s had a heart attack. I’m going to have to be at the hospital.”
Then the tone changed immediately. “Ron, I’m so sorry. Is there anything that we can do?”
“No Sister, I’m sorry for calling so late. If you could just remember her in your prayers,” he blurted. He wasn’t even sure where that had come from.
“Of course we will Ron, and if there is anything else that you need us to do, please don’t hesitate to call.”

Chapter 45

By the next night Ron was feeling better about his mother. His father had come to visit, as he said that he would, that afternoon. Ron was right about the effect that it had on her. She brightened and did not cry while he was there. He even made her laugh. Harry never mentioned that Ron had come to see him. In the hallway, they shook hands again and Harry said that he would try to stop by most days. The hospital was very close and Ron suspected that Harry would keep these visits to himself. He was rarely at home and Betty was even more rarely given the privilege of knowing where he was.
Later that afternoon, the doctor stopped by and said that everything was holding steady and that there was no immediate reason for alarm. Jacob Gutberg had agreed to become her cardiologist under one condition: she had to stop smoking cigarettes.
“We’ll see about a treatment program to help you with that bad habit once we get you out of here. It isn’t an issue right now. There is no way that you could smoke in the hospital.”
Ron flashed back on his Aunt Dotty and how the two of them had snuck her out of her oxygen tent and down to the solarium for a cigarette after one of her heart attacks.
“I’m going to schedule you for a cardiac catheterization next week,” said Dr. Gutberg.
“What’s that?” said Marjorie.
“We run a very, very thin wire into your femoral artery and up to your heart. There is a camera on the end of it. It gives us an opportunity to see any blockages that you might have.”
“Will I be awake?”
“No, we’ll give you a light general anesthetic. The procedure will only take about fifteen minutes.”
“I can’t do it,” said Marjorie.
“There really isn’t anything to be frightened of, Mrs. Bombasco. Early next week, you and I can sit down and I will explain it all to you in detail and you can ask as many questions as you want.”
“Doctor, I don’t think that I can do it.”
“We’ll talk about that next week. Just remember that it is the best treatment option that we have to make sure that we are doing everything that we should be doing to help you get well.”
It took Ron an hour to calm her back down. He did it the same way that he confronted her agoraphobia. He talked with her using a soft voice and not being at all confrontational. He assured her that if she was not able to do it that there would be other things that they could do.
“What he’s talking about isn’t a treatment, Mom. It’s diagnostic and I’m sure that there are other tests that they can do that do not involve putting you out or giving you any needles.”
She held up the arm to which the heparin lock was attached. “Look at how black and blue I am already,” she said pitifully.
After he left the hospital, Ron headed straight for the French Maid. It was just getting dark as he got there and the place was almost empty. The girls worked shifts than ran from 12pm-6 pm and from 4 pm -10 pm and from 8 pm -2am. The middle shift was the least desirable because it started fast with the after work crowd and then sometimes was just slow and painful until the last couple of sets when it picked up. But by that time, the girls had been dancing in high heel shoes for a long time and they were really tired. Most of the girls tooted speed or cocaine to keep their energy level up, but eventually their feet just ached and throbbed so much that they did floor work. This entailed lying down on the floor and spreading their legs for the patrons, but at least it got them off their feet and usually it resulted in good tips.
Ron entered to the sound of Fly Like an Eagle and found a good seat. Because of the shape of the stage and the bar that ringed it, some seats were further away than others. There was also a raised perimeter area in the back with tables and chairs, but it had been empty both times Ron went to the place.
The guy who spun the records also acted as an announcer and he introduced each girl as she came out to begin her set. “And let’s welcome to your favorite and mine, Emerald.”
There was no applause. There were, at times, hoots from the some of the guys. When Ron looked up to get his first view of Emerald, his mouth dropped open. She looked just like Robin. She was slender with long straight blonde hair. She had a thin face and high cheekbones. Her breasts weren’t as big as Robin’s but she had the same legs and the same beautiful ass. Ron couldn’t take his eyes off of her. She walked across the stage with an easy rolling glide. She was wearing a tiny red skirt and a red pumps and an wisp like red bra that she could get away with because she was small breasted and did not to worry about them popping out. About two minutes into her set, Ron held up his first dollar. She looked at him and gave him a smile and sat down on the stage and swung her legs over the side and came over to him. She teased her nipples with her fingers as she stood in front of him and Ron watched as they hardened for him. He decided to give her two dollars. Five minutes later, he gave her two more and this time she removed her tiny red skirt and laid it next to him on the bar. The G-string was minuscule. By the end of her set Ron had given her $8. She walked over to him when she was finished and said, “May I have my skirt back?”
Ron looked down at it and saw that it had been sitting on the bar next to him the whole time. He had not taken his eyes off her long enough to even look at it. The girls sometimes perfumed their skirts and the men would sniff them while they watched the girls. “Yeah, of course,” he said quickly.
She rested her fingertips on his arm and looked into his eyes. Ron could see why she had chosen the name emerald. Her eyes were a deep green. “Thank you for being so generous,” she said and then she was gone.
Ron ordered another glass of wine and waited for her to come back. He watched the other girls disinterestedly. He checked to see how much money he had brought along with him. He had $30 plus what was on the bar. That meant that he had over $40. He could afford to stay there. When Emerald came back out, she had changed into a glittery white outfit but still was wearing the red pumps. She stood in front of him and then turned and bent over and shifted from one leg to the other. Ron’s eyes were glued to the way that her ass moved as she shifted her weight. Then he saw that she was looking at him from between her legs. He held up two more dollars and she smiled and wriggled off the stage to get it. “Will you have a drink with me when you are finished?” he said.
“This is my last set, sweetie, but tomorrow afternoon I’ll be at the Hitching Post in Paterson.”
Ron was disappointed but when she said where she would be, it had almost sounded like a date, an invitation. “OK,” he smiled. “I’ll see you there.”
She gave him a curious crooked little grin and pressed his hand against her small breasts when she took the money.

Chapter 46
The hospital was different on Saturday mornings. There were more visitors but fewer staff. There were fewer doctors around and fewer call downs for testing. The doctors tended to make their rounds early in the day, before visiting hours began. Ron wondered if part of the reason was so that they could also avoid family members who not only wanted assurances and promises but firm timetables. The monitors alongside Marjorie’s bed were kept permanently covered now. When Doctor Gutberg came in he did not even look at them. He told Marjorie that if all went well that he would have her moved to a regular room on Monday morning. She had told him again that she did not think that she could go through with the test that he wanted to do and asked what other tests were available. He was disappointed but saw that she was stubborn about this and told her about an echocardiogram. After Marjorie was told that nothing was going to be stuck into her and that she would not have to be anesthetized, she agreed to have the test. The doctor scheduled it for Monday with the plan that if proved to be non-substantial that he would simply have her moved from the testing area to a regular room. He had figured out that this was a very nervous patient who had a history of emotional instability and now he tried to factor that into his decisions, but it annoyed him that such a silly thing was going to get in the way of him treating this patient in the way that he knew was best.
Ron spent the morning with her and they played gin rummy and watched TV and talked.
Ron asked, “Have you heard from George?”
“He sent a card,” she said. “He wrote that hopes that I get better soon and that he is staying away because he doesn’t want to upset me.”
“Why doesn’t he realize that his staying away is upsetting you?”
“I don’t love him,” said Marjorie. “I’m not sure that I ever loved him and I feel very guilty about that.”
Ron nodded.
“I just knew that I had to get you out of Newark. That’s why I married him.”
Ron winced. It wasn’t the first time that he’d been told that. “I don’t know Mom.”
Marjorie bit her lip. “I’m worried about health insurance now. What if he wants a divorce? What will I do? I’m not going to be able to work for a while and my kind of job does not come with healthcare. And I would never be able to afford the house without him and I just can’t imagine having to go back into an apartment.”
“Has he mentioned anything about wanting a divorce?”
“Not really, but you know George. I’ll find out when he files the papers.”
“The only thing that we should be thinking about right now is getting you well,” said Ron.
Marjorie put down the cards. “I’m just going to close my eyes for a little while,” she said. “I don’t sleep at night. I get too frightened when it’s dark.”
Ron read the newspaper that he’d brought for her and watched her sleep. After about an hour he saw Lois in the doorway and held his finger up to his lips, hoping that she would stay still but she had already began to talk.
“How is she feeling?” said Lois.
Marjorie’s eyes blinked open and Ron shot Lois a look that said why couldn’t you just be still? Lois ignored him. She moved to the bed and took his mother’s hand. Marjorie smiled and said, “I just had a wonderful nap.”
Ron said that he was going to go and his mother nodded.
“Will you come back tomorrow?”
Ron had planned on stopping back later that day but said that he would be there.
“Do you think that you could stop at the bakery and bring some jelly donuts?”
Ron said, “Mom, that isn’t a good idea.”
Lois opened the bag that she had brought with her and said, “Look what I have.” It was an old fashioned donut from Dunkin Donuts and a container of coffee.
Ron thought that it was good that she was hungry but was horrified that Lois had brought coffee and donuts to a woman who had just had a heart attack.
Marjorie’s face lit up and she sat up in bed. “I’m so hungry. The food that they bring me is terrible. I can’t smoke but to have a good cup of coffee. Did you get it with half and half?”
Lois smiled. “Just the way that you like it.”
Ron’s face tightened as he watched her open the donut bag and put the coffee down on the tray. He struggled to not say anything.
It was just then that one of the nurses walked in to take her temperature. She spied the coffee and donut. “I hope that you aren’t eating that, Mrs. Bombasco.”
Marjorie looked up with her hands outstretched and her face took on the appearance of a little girl who had been caught doing something wrong. “I was just going to have this coffee and donut.”
The nurse gave her a look that Ron was sure would have made Irene Emanuel proud. “You are on a strict diet and you know that. No coffee and no donuts. If you’re hungry I can get you some Jell-O.”
Almost involuntarily Marjorie stuck out her tongue both at the nurse and at the thought of Jell-O. “I’ll keep this at the desk,” said the nurse, gathering the bag and the container. Ron watched his mother’s face sink. “Your visitor can take it with her when she leaves.”

Ron drove down Valley Road towards Paterson. He knew the city from his visits to Quimpy, but he didn’t know a place called The Hitching Post there. As he drove, he conjured up images of Emerald and then right at the end of Valley Road as if by design there it was. When he got out of the car he realized that he already had an erection. He adjusted himself and walked into the bar.
This place was not at all like The French Maid. It looked a bit dingy. There was a bar that was pretty standard looking rectangular with stacks of glasses and bottle in the center island. Off to the left was an area that had a small gate around it. The area was square and about twelve feet by twelve feet. In front of the gate was a scattering of tables and chairs. Ron looked around while his eyes adjusted to the light. There were two bartenders and about fifteen customers at the bar. Seated at the tables were another eight men. The only women in the bar were the dancers. Ron watched as a guy walked passed him holding two drinks and camped out at one of the tables. He moved towards the bar, decided that was not a place to order white wine and asked for a bottle of beer. His change came back with the standard arrangement of three singles, a five and a ten. He moved to one of the vacant tables. It was in the second row and after a moment he casually slid closer to one of the empty tables that bordered the gate. He dancer was a chubby brunette whose act consisted of squeezing her breasts together and then shaking them back and forth against her arms.
Then he saw Emerald. She came out of the ladies room that also doubled as the dancers’ changing area and moved towards the side of the gate. She opened it and stepped in just as the other girl was gathering her boa and skirt and moving out. He thought that Emerald looked tired. She wasn’t wearing make-up and in the better light, Ron could see that she had freckles. He liked the scrubbed clean look on her. She also seemed a little thinner to him than she had the night before. When the next song began she moved with an easy glide. Ron tried to catch her eye but she still had not looked in his direction.
When he held up his first dollar bill, she looked towards him and flashed a smile that Ron took as recognition. He smiled back and extended his arm. She took the tip and folded it under the waistband of her G-string so that she was wearing it like a pelt at her belt. She turned and gave him a little wiggle and then resumed dancing. For the most part she was being ignored.
When he gave her the next dollar he said, “At least you don’t have to climb down from the stage.”
She didn’t respond at first as if she hadn’t heard him or his comment just hadn’t registered. Then he saw the recognition light up her face. “Oh, it’s you,” she said.
Ron wasn’t sure but after that she seemed to dance more and more for him than she did for the other guys. She got a single dollar here and there and for each one she turned and gave her ass that cute little wiggle. Ron grinned broadly as he watched her. When he gave her the fifth tip, this time two dollars, she turned away and bent over until her palms were flat on the floor and then carefully she raised one leg and hooked the heel into the top of the gate’s rail so that she was almost completely exposed to him. Then she bent her knee so that she started to slide herself back towards his face. When she stopped the thin fabric of the G-string was so close to him that he could see a label’s imprint on the other side. She moved herself forwards and back. Ron felt his face flush red hot. He stared at the line that her pussy made against the fabric. Then she straightened herself and moved back into her set.
When it was over, she stood close to him at the rail and said, “I’ll be at the other side of the bar.”
Ron’s beer was now gone. Normally he didn’t drink beer, but after what Emerald had done, he found himself very thirsty. He had gulped the rest of the bottle down like it was soda.
He got up and moved to the rear of the room and stood against the wall. He stayed there and hardly watched the brunette squeeze and shake her breasts. His eyes glued to the ladies room door. The sight of her crotch still throbbed in his brain.
She came out five minutes later, still wearing the same outfit that she had worn in, the white sparkly one from the night before. He moved to a chair at the empty side of the bar and sat down. When she came over, the bartender did as well.
She slid in next to him and Ron felt her brush her knees along his thigh. The fronts of his pants were tented out. She ordered a white wine and Ron asked for another beer.
“I’m happy to see you again,” he said.
She looked down and then back up at his face. “Yeah, you seem happy about it.”
Ron blushed. She watched him blush and thought it was cute. “I really didn’t expect you to show up here today,” she said.
“I told you that I would find the place. I didn’t know that it existed.”
Emerald looked into his eyes and then formed a smirk. “Yeah, if I believed every guy that said that he was going to come see me dance, I’d be even more of a fool than I am, wouldn’t I?”
Ron sat there smiling and said, “Do I look like every guy?”
She leaned close and whispered into his ear, “They mostly don’t get hard this fast.”
And then she reached between his legs and squeezed. Ron thought that he was going to explode right there. He had the beer bottle up to his lips and almost bit into it. Then she got up and said, “Time for me to dance.”
Ron sat there wondering what he should do. He didn’t have enough money to sit there all day. He didn’t have enough money to invite her out to dinner. He thought she would not appreciate a trip back to his three room cold water flat. His second beer was empty and now he was feeling the effects of them. There was only one thing to do and he resolved himself. He got up quietly and left.
He scolded himself on the way home. What was wrong with him? It was a world based on money and how could he have been so stupid to think that he could have the vices of that world. He didn’t like to drink and now he felt drunk. He didn’t have money to waste and now he had spent more in the last two days that he usually spent in a week.
Tutoring! The word blared in his mind like a trumpet. He had forgotten his tutoring appointments. “Fuck!” he screamed and hit the steering wheel. The car swerved and for a second he felt like he was losing control of it. Then it straightened out and he looked into each of his mirrors paranoid that he was going to see flashing lights. Two miles and a two turns later he felt himself settling down. He had intentionally turned off the road that he was on and then turned again to make sure that no one had seen anything in back of him. He was in Montclair, where he had not had the best luck with the cops.
“How could I forget tutoring?” he said aloud in the empty car. Technically his appointments had been in the morning and technically he had been with his mother while he was supposed to be tutoring. So technically he could call and use her heart attack as an excuse. That thought made him sick to his stomach. He would have remembered about the appointments if he hadn’t gone out on Friday night. It was the go-go bar, but he couldn’t tell anyone that. He was having a hard time telling himself that. Even he wanted to spit on himself for being such a cock driven asshole. What was he doing going to a go-go bar while his mother was in the hospital?
When Ron got home he called the Mooney Residence and explained what happened. Then he called the Devin residence. Mrs. Devin was curt when he apologized for missing the appointment.
“My son waited for you all day. After a while it was pathetic to see him keep going to the doorway and moving the curtain aside to look out.”
“I’m sorry,” said Ron. “I had an emergency.”
“I’d like to know what was so important that you could not find the time to call. I’d like to know so that when I call the school I can explain why I don’t wish to have you back here and why I think that you pumping my son up with confidence and then letting him down was mean and careless and hurtful.”
“I was at the hospital,” said Ron. “My mother has had a heart attack.”
He heard Mrs. Devin gasp on the other end of the line. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
“I do try to remember that my students are in a fragile way, Mrs. Devin, but I admit I was not thinking about James and it didn’t occur to me until I was driving home.” In his head he added, from the go-go bar.
Afterwards, he collapsed back down onto his bed and slept for hours.

Chapter 47

“Up until the time that Macbeth kills Duncan, has he done anything wrong?” Ron started his class on Monday morning with a feeling of rededication. Maybe he had stumbled but he would pick himself up and get back on track.
“I don’t really like him. He only thinks about himself,” said Barbara.
Ron looked at their smooth expectant faces and smiled. They smiled back.
Sonia raised her hand. “Are you feeling better, Mr. Tuck?”
“I wasn’t really sick, Sonia. My mom had a heart attack and was taken to the hospital.”
The girls’ faces in unison turned to instant concern. “Is she going to be Ok?” said Barbara.
“I hope so. I think so. We’ll know more after today.” He was so tired of saying that she had a heart attack. Part of him still wanted it to be a bad dream. “Macbeth is deeply troubled about killing Duncan and maybe this is a good time to stop for a second and do a little history.” Ron moved to the chalkboard. “The real Macbeth lived in the 11th Century. By rights, when the king died, Macbeth had the best chance of succeeding him to be king. But Duncan named his son Malcolm as his successor. Now this was a break from tradition. And it caused a conflict and Macbeth did kill Duncan, but not at his house. In reality, Macbeth was not a bad guy. He was seen as a good prince. But for all the world, since Shakespeare, he has been viewed as a horrible monster. The point is the power of literature is greater than the power of an army. Who remembers that Macbeth was a good guy? Nobody does and nobody cares. They don’t care because the Macbeth that Shakespeare created was more interesting than history.”
The girls looked confused and Ron sensed that he had made a mistake. He had spent weeks building up Shakespeare and now he had taken him down a peg.
“Why did Shakespeare lie?” asked Barbara.
Ron paced and rolled his chalk between his fingers. “Why do any of us lie?”
Ron stopped and looked at them. “Anybody here never told a lie?”
No one’s hand went up and Ron waited. “Ok, so think of a time when you lied and ask yourself why did you do it?”
Connie turned to her friend Barbara and then raised her hand. “To save my….” She stopped and giggled. “To stay out of trouble,” she said grinning to Barbara more.
“That’s why Shakespeare did it,” said Ron. “He wanted to stay out of trouble with the new king. But it was more than that. He wanted to tell a good story and to tell a good story, sometimes the facts get twisted. Sometimes we exaggerate. Sometimes we attribute the thoughts of others to ourselves to make us look good in a story that we are telling.”
Imelda’s almond shaped eyes glittered as she said, “Do you do that, Mr. Tuck?”
Ron enlarged his eyes in mock shock. “Me? I wouldn’t know how to lie to you guys. You’d catch me anyway.”
The class laughed and Ron started the tape of the play. He hoped that he had salvaged a little bit of the damage that he had done to Willie.
That night after tutoring and the hospital Ron drove home happy and tired. The test had gone pretty well and no real blockages had been seen. However Dr. Gutberg cautioned that this was not the most reliable test and told Marjorie again that he really needed to do the cardiac catheterization. But Marjorie was feeling less tired and was now in a regular room. Ron felt better about things with the shrouded machines and screens removed, as if it was their presence that announced ominous possibilities.
Tutoring had been smooth. Dennis Mooney had even showed up and had done some work. Ron had gotten new assignments for James Devin and the kid was responding to the tutoring and his desire to please Ron.
Ron stopped for some Chinese food and got coral shrimp which he ate out of the container sitting in his front room and reading papers and listening to music. It was strange to him that when he read, he blotted the sound out but liked the soundtrack in the background. He had learned to be alone again after Zoe had gone to art school. At first it had been difficult. He had grown used to her presence. He loved the daily sex and the games that they played. Now he was relegated to masturbation, but his house was his own and each evening he felt like he returned to a cocoon and was replenished.
Occasionally it occurred to Ron that no one ever called him. There were the crazy silent phone calls from Zoe but they didn’t count. Chris never called. Quimpy never called. Warren had never called him once. Ron wondered if these people were truly his friends. Didn’t friends have an interest in you? Weren’t they curious to see how you were doing? Maybe he was guilty of the same thing. He had never called April after she had asked him to contact her because she did not have his new number. Ron wondered if the reason that he never called April was that he was pretty certain that he would not be able to sleep with her. He tried to think if there were any girls that he didn’t want to sleep with that he had ever phoned. The answer jolted him. There was only one, Laureen. He had thought of her as his friend, but he had written those songs about and depicted her in a cruel and insulting way. He had made her look horrible. And then there was the trouble in Rahway. No wonder that they weren’t friends any longer.
His apartment had warmed up by the time that he finished dinner. He was too tired to read anymore. He had just lain down on his bed and turned on the TV when the phone rang.
“Ron, it’s Bernadette.”
Ron was startled and smiled. “Hi, what’s up?”
“I don’t know when they are going to announce it, but Irene Emanuel is leaving at the end of the week.”
“Leaving for where?”
“She’s been sent to South America.”
“At this time of year?”
“I know. It’s very odd and everything is hush hush. Rita won’t even talk to me about it and she tells me everything.”
Ron had always assumed that Irene Emanuel was the Mother Superior in the convent. She just seemed to be in charge of things wherever she was. He had found out at the end of last year that the Mother Superior was a tall business teacher named Sister Rita Julia. Rita Julia had never had a conversation with Ron but she always had smiled for him.
“I don’t know what to say,” said Ron. “I’m going to miss her. She’s taught me a whole lot.”
“Well, you know that she was never really happy here.”
Ron hadn’t known that. It was something that had never occurred to him. “Who is replacing her?”
There was a pause and in a whisper Bernadette said, “Sister Donna Maria.” There was a tone of disgust in her voice. “She’s a dangerous woman. She believes in things that have been out of date for a long time. We’re going to have our hands full on the faculty council.”
“We’ll be fine,” said Ron, not knowing what he was in for.
“Can you come in early tomorrow? We can have coffee and talk more about this.”
“Absolutely,” said Ron.
Ron put down the phone and lay back to watch Monday night football and was quickly asleep. He woke at some point in the middle of the night and turned the snow off the screen and then immediately fell back to sleep.

The next morning he waited for Bernadette to come for coffee but she didn’t show up. She walked in just a few minutes before class began and when their eyes met she put a finger to her lips and shook her head almost imperceptibly. The stood together in the hallway as was their custom when the classes changed. Talking like a convict out of the side of her mouth, she said, “I think someone overheard me on the phone last night. Don’t say anything to anyone.”
The week rolled by with the sameness that winter has: white to gray to black. Macbeth killed Duncan and then he killed Banquo. Marjorie grew stronger and started walking to the bathroom on her own. Harry stopped at the hospital every couple of days and Marjorie never failed to mention it to Ron when he did. Lois started living at Marjorie’s house to take care of Chipper. It seemed to Ron that Lois avoided him when he was coming to the hospital.
On Friday afternoon at the very end of the school day, Irene Emanuel came onto the PA system.
“Good afternoon ladies, Sisters, teachers. As some of you know, I have been at Our Lady of The Forlorn for almost six years. It has been my privilege to be your principal and to watch you grow and teach and come to a deeper understanding of God. After today I will be leaving the school. I am very excited about my new assignment in Chile. It is one for which I have waited a very long time. As you may know, it is the end of summer in Chile and I will be taking on the responsibilities of principal at Our Lady of Heavenly Treasures High School in Santiago. I hope that I have done good service to you while I have been here and I will miss some of you very much. Thank you for your kindnesses to me and for the good work that you are doing. This is our good-bye and I would ask that none of you come to the principal’s office after school as I will have already left and my replacement is not due to arrive until tomorrow. I trust that you will show her the same respect that you have always afforded me. Please remember me in your prayers as you will always be remembered in mine.”
Then she was gone and a few seconds later the bell rang to signal the end of the day. Ron’s students left quickly. He sat down at his desk and had the sensation that he was going to cry. It was then that he realized how much he had loved and respected Irene Emanuel. He thought about his earliest mentor. His Aunt Dottie was long deceased now, but Ron had seen a similarity between them that he had never put together before. It was like he shared a secret with them and that secret had somehow given them confidence in him. He wished that he knew what the secret was. Ron stood up, packed his books and locked his door. He looked across the hall at Bernadette’s classroom but it was already locked and dark. He walked across the courtyard and into the other building. The principal’s outer office was lit up but her door was closed and no one was around. For the first time the school seemed dreary.

Chapter 48

Ron ate his dinner sitting alongside Marjorie’s bed. He’d stopped in the hospital cafeteria to get a couple of sandwiches so as not to make Marjorie feel badly about what she had to eat. He noticed that as he unwrapped his food that Marjorie had not even taken the tin cover off of her meal.
“Aren’t you hungry, Mom?”
His mother’s face had guilt written all over it. Ron looked over into the waste basket and saw a grease stained bag and some oily waxed paper that had been crumpled. Then he looked back up to his mother. She followed his eyes and her face hardened.
“Don’t say anything please. I was so hungry and Lois was kind enough to bring me something.”
Ron shook his head. “What did she bring you?”
Marjorie’s face lit up. “An eggplant parm from the Town Tavern. They make the best sandwiches.”
“Great,” said Ron with a disgusted look on his face. “Is she too stupid to realize how dangerous that is for you right now?”
“Don’t be a bastard, Ronald. She was just doing me a favor.”
“I just want you to get out of here and be healthy.”
Her face changed back from combative mother to little girl. “One nice sandwich isn’t going to hurt anything and it made me feel better.”
“OK,” said Ron. “I’m not going to lecture you. But promise me that you won’t have her mule that crap in here for you every day, please?”
Marjorie said in a small, guilty voice, “I won’t.”
He unwrapped his sandwich and began eating. “What did Dr. Gutberg say today?”
“He kept on about that other test. You know who he reminds me of, don’t you?”
Ron looked at her with a lack of comprehension. He said nothing but just kept chewing.
“You are smart enough to have been a doctor.”
Ron rolled his eyes. “Well it’s too late for that now.”
Marjorie’s face returned to her look of resolve. “You could do anything that you wanted to do, anything that you set your mind to doing.”
Ron grinned. “Well obviously you are feeling better. Did my father stop by?”
Marjorie shook her head, “Not today.” But the question seemed to trigger a new topic that was brewing inside of her. “Have you heard anything from the other one?”
Ron knew “the other one” was code for Robin. “No Mom, that’s over.”
“What about the mouse?”
Ron laughed in spite of himself. “She isn’t a mouse.”
“Well, have you heard from her?”
Ron thought about the silent phone calls. “Not really.”
“She’s a nice girl Ronald. She just isn’t for you.”
“Why?”
Marjorie tilted her head to the side. “She’s a little girl who needs someone to take care of her and that’s not what you want.”
Ron wondered if it was what he wanted.
“When are you going to start seeing a nice girl?”
Ron grinned at her. “When I find one.”
“There are lots of nice girls who come in the ceramics shop.”
“Yeah,” Ron said sarcastically, “that would be perfect for me.”
“You thought the mouse was artistic.”
“Could you please stop calling her a mouse?”
“I think there are some lovely girls who come in there,” said Marjorie. “They might even be smart enough for you, if you gave one a chance.”
“Do you want me to start talking about the eggplant parm again?” said Ron with a tone of warning.

When Ron left the hospital, he drove down to the French Maid. It had been a solid week of tutoring and he had gotten paid that day. For some reason his father’s words echoed in his ears about the difference between Blacks and Whites was that white guys didn’t take their paychecks and got to the bars and blow them on Friday nights.

The place was packed and Ron slid into a seat at the far corner of the bar. He ordered his wine and lit a cigarette. There were three girls on the stage and the tall short haired brunette caught his eye. Ron was quite sure that he had never seen anything like her in his life. She had the ability to wrap her ankles in back of her head and she would hold that position and stroke between her legs along the slit of her pussy until her lips puffed and the patrons could see her labial lips outlined against the thin fabric. The move drew noise from the usually very quiet crowd. They whistled and their encouragement seemed to excite her to continue. She began to push the fabric inside of herself with her fingertips. Ron gawked.
When she walked the bar a few minutes later, he gave her two dollars and said, “You were something to see.”
She stroked the side of his face with her fingertips and said, “You’re cute.”
A few minutes later she was standing next to him holding a drink and said, “Want to give a girl a place to sit?”
Ron quickly stood up and offered her his chair. She looked at him quizzically. “Don’t you want me on your lap?”
Ron blushed. One of the guys next to him chuckled and said, “You can sit on my lap, sugar.”
Ron sat back down on the barstool and she straddled his knee. He could feel the heat from between her legs through the fabric of his pants. It aroused him and she could feel him hardening.
“So what do you do for a living?”
“I’m a teacher.”
She looked at him cautiously. “And what do you teach?”
“English.”
“I always loved to read. If things had worked out differently, I wanted to go to college.”
“You’re young,” said Ron.
“I have a kid,” she said. “It’s not going to happen for me.”
“You never know,” said Ron. “Things have a funny way of working out.”
“You married?”
“No, I’m not. I live alone in a little three room apartment that is not much at all.” Ron was embarrassed when he told her this, but to his surprise she smiled.
“Some lucky girl is gonna scoop you right up,” she said.
Ron laughed. “Yeah, I’m a real catch.”
As the night went on she danced and Ron tipped her while she danced and then without him asking or buying her a drink, she came back to him. Ron looked forward to her sets ending. He felt himself getting drunk but it felt so good to have a girl that he was not really buying want to sit with him.
“So where are you from?” asked Ron.
“Long Island,” said the dancer, who he now knew went by the name Julie.
“That’s a long ride home.”
“Well, I probably won’t go home tonight. I am working early tomorrow and I’ll stay around here.” After she said this she smiled into his eyes. Ron saw the twinkle of a question in her large mascara rimmed eyes and smiled.
During her next set, she seemed to be dancing only for him. She crawled on the stage for him. She turned herself into a pretzel for him. She bent over, looked at him through her legs and smiled and waved at him. Ron felt the room throbbing with sound that seemed to vibrate from the walls and the stage. After her set she went into the dancer’s dressing room and then came out with her small valise wearing street clothes and a jacket. The jacket was form fitting leather. She was wearing tight jeans and a pale blue shirt. She stood next to him and pressed against him. “It was nice to meet you.”
Ron spoke automatically. “Can I give you a ride somewhere?”
Julie grinned widely and said, “I was hoping that you would ask.”
In his car, Ron said, “Where do you want to go?”
Julie gave him her best teasing grin and said, “Where do you live?”
“Bloomfield.”
“I don’t know where that is,” said Julie.
Shrugging, Ron told her that it was about twenty minutes up the highway.
“Isn’t that a long ways to drive for a club?”
Ron nodded. “I used to live around here. I like this club. Where are you working tomorrow?”
“Some place called High Heels. It’s in Paramus.”
“Well,” said Ron, “where do you want me to take you?”
She didn’t answer. She stared at him in the dark car and Ron turned the key, started the engine and drove towards his house.
“This isn’t something that I do all the time,” Julie said. “But you are so nice and easy to talk to that you just charmed the pants right off of me.”
Ron slid her arm along the back of the bench seat and she curled herself into him and brought up her knees and closed her eyes. Very soon she was asleep in the cradle of his arm as he drove home hoping that he had not committed some really stupid blunder.
He showed her the bathroom and she took a very long shower. She came out wrapped in a towel. Ron was lying on the bed. The stereo was playing jazz, Bill Evans piano and Miles Davis on trumpet with John Coltrane on sax for the Kind of Blue album that had become a classic. He was still dressed and lying on top of the bed covers.
“Will you be nice to me?” she said in a soft voice as she lay down next to him. “I don’t want it rough tonight, just easy and sweet, ok?”
She snuggled into him and began to undo his pants and then his zipper and then she had his cock out and was massaging it. Ron was more than ready and his penis stood up for her straight and hard and very hot. She covered him with her mouth and said, “You don’t have to do nothing baby. Just relax and enjoy.”
She moved her mouth up and down on him and Ron slid his fingers through her short hair. He had never been with a girl who had short hair before. When she began to massage his prostate Ron bucked his hips hard. He had never felt anything like that before and it was overwhelming. She felt him expand and lifted her face away and moved on his cock like it was a pump. She didn’t have to wait long. Having watched her all night and now the scent of her and then feel of her naked and in his bed along with that incredibly wonderful and wicked things that she was doing in back of his scrotum and right below his anus made his shoot like an uncorked bottle of champagne. Afterwards she grinned at him and said, “That was healthy.”
Ron wasn’t able to speak. He felt his body purring.
“It must be so difficult for you guys to sit there and watch us do what we do and not have any way to relieve the pressure.”
Later she produced a condom from her purse and handed it to Ron. “Now,” she said, “you’ll be able to take your time.”
Ron wanted her to get into that pretzel position but he was afraid to ask about it. The night was going so well and he didn’t want to remind her of how they had met. He did take his time and she showed him how much she appreciated it. She did things with her abdominal muscles that were incredible. She could make her hard lean belly flutter against him while he was inside of her. She could squeeze him so tightly with her legs that he was sure that he would have had trouble pulling out of her. The last thing he wanted to do was pull out of her.
This time Ron had remembered to call his tutoring appointments. He changed them till the afternoon and they spent the morning in his bed naked and drinking coffee and exploring each other’s bodies. Then he drove her to Paramus.
“Thanks for letting me stay,” Julie said.
“Do you want to give me your number?” asked Ron.
“Why?” she said.
“So I can call you.
“Why would you call me?” said Julie.
Ron looked at her and felt flustered. Julie took his hands, turned towards him and smiled.
“ You are very nice. I have a kid. I have a boyfriend who helps me to take care of my kid. Let’s see this for what it was. I was hot for you and you wanted me too. Now, we go our separate ways.”
Ron felt a mixture of disappointment and relief. He knew that she was right. He just never expected her to say it.

Chapter 49

On Monday after noon the staff gathered in one of the classrooms for their first getting to know you meeting with Sister Donna Maria. Ron got there a little late because at first he went to the convent but when no one answered the door he made his way back to the high school main office. He saw a hand written sign on the principal’s office that directed him to where the faculty meeting was being held. Ron wondered why the new principal hadn’t come over the PA to either introduce herself to the students that day or to tell the faculty where the meeting was going to be. He had spent a good part of the day telling students that he didn’t know when they asked him questions about what the new principal was like. When he arrived at the classroom, he saw that all of the nuns were seated on one side of the room and the lay teachers were on the other side of the room. Ron slid into desk towards the back of the room. Sister Vincent Salvatore turned around to him and held up a 4”by6” index card that had her name written on it and which had been creased down the middle so that it would stand up. “We have assigned seats,” she said happily.
Lifting his head, Ron saw that there was an index card on an empty desk in the first row, on the lay faculty’s side of the room and moved towards it. Sure enough, there was his name printed in block letters: Mr. Ronald Tuck, 2nd year, English. He slid down into the chair and looked up at the nun who was standing with her eyes closed and swaying slightly back and forth in front of the room. Ron saw that her lips were silently moving.
The physical appearance that she made could not have been more different from Irene Emanuel. Irene was tall and stately. Donna Maria was short and plump. Irene Emanuel moved with a flowing grace. Donna Maria shuffled. Irene Emanuel’s skin was very white and it seemed to Ron almost powdered. Donna Maria had a reddish splotches at her cheeks and on her forehead.
As the faculty watched, Donna Maria lifted her crucifix from her chest and pressed it into her splotchy forehead as her eyes remained closed and she continued to silently mumble. Ron looked at her in bewilderment and then his eyes sought out Bernadette who was staring daggers at her new principal. When she felt Ron’s eyes on her she gave him a quick eye roll and went back to her stare.
“I want to thank the Lord Jesus, the blessed Mother, our Holy Father, all of the saints and those dedicated souls in heaven who have brought me to be with you.” Ron felt his stomach begin to flip. “When I first learned of my mission here, I fell right to my knees and prayed that I would be worthy of the honor that was being bestowed upon me, an honor and a challenge to help bring the young ladies of this parish closer to God. To help keep them turned away from the devil’s temptations in this world and to perhaps even send the most worthy to the mother house as novitiates.” Ron felt his stomach flip again. What the hell was she talking about?
“I have prayed over the weekend so that I could appear here confident of my choices.” Silently, Ron wondered if perhaps someone else could have prayed for her to have gotten into some debilitating and non-fatal accident on the way there. “As you can see, I have assigned each of you a seat and given you a name card. Please remember to bring your name cards to each of our faculty meetings. We will have those meetings in a designated classroom every two weeks for the remainder of the year, so that I can become more familiar with each of you and the good work that you are doing. The host teacher will be told a couple of days in advance so that she can have her classroom prepared for visitors. That way,” she clapped her hands together with enthusiasm, “we can all see the pretty decorations that you have hung up and perhaps get ideas from each other. The convent is the home and refuge of the sisters and it did not seem right to me to continue to have the faculty meetings there. However, on special occasions, I am hopeful that we can all meet and pray together in the convent.” Ron took a mental snapshot of his room. Except for the Lincoln portrait and a skeleton that he had hung at his door at Halloween and never taken down, there were no decorations.
Then she stopped suddenly. “Does anyone have a question?”
Ron wondered what anyone could possibly ask about other than if she was out of her fucking mind. He looked around and to his shock there were two hands in the air.
Vincent Salvatore said, “I would just like to say how happy we are to have you here and to ask if perhaps I could possibly help choosing the rooms for the meetings?”
Donna Maria clasped her hands at the side of her left ear and said, “Of course you can help, Sister. I am going to need everyone’s help.”
Ron was almost shocked to see that Doris had her hand in the air. “I’d just like to volunteer to bake some cookies for the next meeting.” His mouth fell open.
“Of course you can and I hope that others volunteer for other meetings.”
Now Ron was seriously nauseous. He put his head down and closed his eyes. Donna Maria saw this gesture and assumed that Ron was praying. She moved towards him with a shuffling burst of evangelic fervor and places fingertip on his desk. “I ask for guidance all day long as well, Mr. Ron.”
Ron looked up into her eyes and said slowly and he hoped without obvious sarcasm, “I’m sure that you do, Sister Donna.”
She smiled and said, “Sister Donna Maria, please.”
Then she shuffled back and said, “For now, everything else will stay as it is. Change will come slowly but it will surely come.”

As they left the classroom, Ron felt a hand on his shoulder. Sister Rita Julia smiled and said, “Ron, can we walk together?”
“Of course, Sister.”
“Irene Emanuel thought the world of you Ron and told more than once that you had the makings of a great teacher. At first I disagreed with her and thought that you were misplaced, but I have come to see that she was right. Sister Donna Maria has a good heart. Give her a chance to show it to you.”
“I’ll try, Sister.”
“I know that you spoke to Irene Emanuel often about teaching. Although we have not been close, I’d like to tell you that my door is always open to you.”
“Thank you, Sister. I would like to get to know you better.”
“Sister Donna Maria has asked me to take her place on the Faculty Council for the rest of this year, so I am sure that we will, Ron.”

The next day Sister Donna Marie appeared with a bag of Cheese Doodles. She made her way along the corridor offering a Cheese Doodle to each of the girls who passed her in the hallway. For each Doodle that she gave out she also ate one. For those that lingered, there were what Sister Donna Marie called a golden moment where they clasped hands and she crushed the Doodle bag between them and they closed their eyes together and gave silent praise to the Lord and to the Virgin. Some of the girls watched agape. Others seemed to enjoy the contact and ate their Cheese Doodle like a host.
Unfortunately, Sister Donna Marie also had the habit of kissing the girl tenderly on the cheek after they concluded their worshipful reverie and this left a slight orange mark from the Cheese Doodle. By noontime, Ron’s sophomores pointed out the girls who had been “Doodled” by Sister Donna Mary, forever to be known among them now as Sister Cheesy.
In the hall at the end of the day, Bernadette said to Ron in her side-mouth way of speaking that she always used with him now. “It’s going to become a circus here.”
“Let’s just make sure they don’t put us in the cages,” said Ron.

Chapter 50
“George came to see me.”
Marjorie was sitting up in bed. She was able to shower now and she had done combed in hair the way that she liked it and she was wearing her own pajamas.
“That took long enough,” said Ron.
“He wants to come back home. He said that he misses being there and that he’s given up the woman.”
“What happened? She get sick?”
Marjorie’s face looked shocked. “How did you know?”
Ron felt his fists tighten. “You’ve got to be kidding. I was just being sarcastic.”
“Ronald what am I supposed to do? It’s his home and his money. He works very hard.”
Looking at his mother tenderly, Ron saw that she was trying to make the very best of things. She was stuck and feeling more vulnerable that perhaps she had ever felt in her life. Harry was good for a visit or two but he had made his own life and this was Marjorie’s life. “Whatever you want to do, Mom. I’ll be as supportive as I can be.”
Marjorie looked at her son and Ron realized that something that he did not like was coming. She had that look. He had seen it before and he recognized it. “He wants you to apologize to him.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know,” she said shaking her head. “I guess the two of you argued after I got sick.”
Ron was literally speechless. He didn’t want to upset her. He wanted her to get well. He didn’t want to live with her. That was a trap from which he would never be able to escape. “OK, let me think about it,” was all that he finally could manage.
When he got home, he felt dejected and exhausted. He had wanted to ask his mother if George had apologized to her. He had wanted to flat refuse to do anything but kick George in the balls the next time that he saw him. None of that would have been productive. Dr. Gutberg had explained that stress was one of Marjorie’s biggest dangers and Ron was determined not to up the stress level. Maybe he would take the approach that George took. He would do nothing and buy time. It was going to be at least two weeks until his mother came back home. He at least had that long to figure out what to do. Inwardly, Ron shrugged to himself. Maybe he should just say he was sorry. They would both know that he didn’t mean it. What difference would it make? Why did he so rebel at the thought of it?
The phone rang. Charlie Rothstein’s voice was gravelly.
“Ronnie, Charlie Rothstein. What’s the soonest that you can get up to my office tomorrow?”
“What’s wrong Charlie?”
“The Devin family is dead. Seems the father came home, shot the mother, shot the kid and then shot himself.”
“Holy Shit!”
“You were there yesterday, right?”
“Yeah late afternoon, let me check.” Ron opened his book bag turned to his log sheet. “In the afternoon from 3:30 to a little after 5pm.”
“That was lucky,” said Rothstein. “You missed the old man by less than an hour. Anyway, the cops want to talk to you. Looks like you were the last person to see them alive.”
“Fuck!” said Ron.
“It’s even more fucked up than that. I’ll tell you more tomorrow. The Superintendent wants to meet with you and me and Quimpy before you go to see the cops.”
Ron felt an instant of panic. “Ok.”
“You aren’t in any trouble. Don’t be worried. The Sup just wants to have an idea of the big picture before you talk to the cops. Any way that you could make it a little earlier?”
“I’ll do my best,” said Ron.
“Well we’ll be waiting on you so the sooner that you can get here the better. Good night kid.”

Chapter 51

The Superintendent’s office was wood paneled and had an Indian Design carpet over the institutional carpeting that lined all the offices. Ron had thought of calling Quimpy before the meeting but decided against it. Things between them were not the same since Zoe. Ron had left work at the bell for one of the first times that he could remember. He had cancelled his appointment with Dennis Mooney and driven straight up to the school. He managed to get there by 3:15 and was proud of himself.
There was a large mahogany desk in the middle of the room, a brown leather couch against one of the walls and three leather backed chairs arranged in front of the desk. There was a portrait on the wall over the Superintendent’s head of John F Kennedy.
Bob O’Neil was a large man with prematurely white hair and a red nose. He did not stand when Ron and Charlie came into the room and at first he did not speak. Quimpy was sitting on the couch with one leg crossed over his knee and his arm extended along the back of the couch. There was a yellow legal pad on his lap and a pen in his hand. Ron blinked for a second. The appearance that Quimpy made here was so much different than the one that he made at his apartment or at the bowling alley.
Charlie ushered Ron to the middle seat and sat on the window side of him. Quimpy did not stand up and fill in the other seat and he did not greet Ron.
“Alright Charlie, how did all this mess start and what is our involvement?”
“None that I can see,” said Charlie. “Everybody here knows the story with the kid. No sense of going over that again. Ron here had been tutoring him for about a month.”
O’Neil turned his gaze to Ron. “Kid ever talk to you about his father?”
“Not directly,” said Ron. “He talked to me about feeling like a weirdo and not wanting to ever go back to the school and not wanting to ever go out of his house.”
O’Neil gave no sign as to whether Ron’s answer had been satisfactory. “Was the mother always there when you met the kid?”
“She was always in the house. She never came down into the basement, which is where we worked. We always had a brief conversation before I left.”
What about?” said O’Neil.
“Just how Jim was doing. Lately she asked about my mom. I had to cancel an appointment when my mom had a heart attack and she was angry about the cancellation until she found out why.”
Ron knew that it was the first time Quimpy had heard about his mom. He saw it register on his face. They had been friends of sorts with him bringing back blankets from Mexico that his mother had bought, and they had talked about selling them from her ceramics shop and making a good profit.
O’Neil just moved to the next question. “Did she ever mention her husband?”
“No, never.”
“Did she ever mention the school at all?”
“Not really.”
“Don’t give me not really,” said O’Neil. “Did she mention the school or not?”
Ron looked into Bob O’Neil’s eyes and thought a moment and it came to him that this was only about the school’s exposure. Should the school have known anything? Had he been told anything that he should have relayed to the school? “I don’t recall her ever mentioning the school.”
O’Neil looked over at Quimpy and smiled. “You said this one would understand.”
Charlie broke in. “It’s not that we don’t give a shit about James Devin” he said to Ron, “but there’s nothing that we can do for him now and this is a big story in the papers.”
O’Neil pointed his finger at Ron. “Which you aren’t talking to. In fact you aren’t talking to anyone outside this room other than the cops. After your interview with the police,” O’Neil looked at Charlie and then at Quimpy, “which one of you should he call?”
“He can call me,” said Quimpy. “Charlie, you’re busy tonight right?”
Charlie nodded. “Yeah, we can talk in the morning.”
“Alright,” said O’Neil. “Call him,” pointing at Quimpy. Keep your answers short and to the point. Don’t offer any information that might be considered personal about James Devin and certainly nothing that you might have been told about his father. If you are uncomfortable for any reason, conclude the interview and tell the police that you would like to have the school’s attorney with you when you resume.”
“Why would I need a lawyer?” said Ron. He felt color drain from his face. His heart began beating faster. He wondered if there was something else about this that he wasn’t being told.
“I have no fucking idea,” said Bob O’Neil. “Did you ever talk to anyone about James Devin?”
“Only Charlie and Quimpy.” Ron decided that mentioning his mother would not make them happy and would serve no useful purpose.
“OK,” said O’Neil. “Anyone have any questions?”
Quimpy and Charlie shook their heads. Ron was silent but he wanted to ask questions. He would wait until he talked with Quimpy. He looked at Quimpy. “Should I call you tonight?”
“Yeah,” said Quimpy. “You still have the number, right?”
Ron nodded.

The police station was smaller than he expected it to be. He didn’t know that it was one of five satellite stations they were at the far ends of the city with the main station centrally located. Ron was ushered to the shared desk of Detectives Humbolt and Garvey.
“Thanks for coming in,” Ned Garvey.
Ron nodded. He didn’t realize that he had a choice.
“What exactly was your relationship to the Devin family?” said Garvey.
Humbolt sat off to his partner’s right with a pad and a pencil. Garvey did not take his eyes off of the interviewee. Ron instantly wondered if they knew that he smoked pot. He could not help himself. He felt his chest tighten a little bit and then he said, “I’m James Devin’s tutor.”
“Did they hire you?”
“No, I was assigned by the school district to provide bedside instruction.”
Humbolt’s eyebrows went up as he wrote. “And what exactly is bedside,” he emphasized the word, “instruction?” said Garvey.
“When a student is going to miss more than two weeks of school, he is assigned a home instructor.”
“Who assigned you?”
“Charlie Rothstein.”
“And who is Charlie Rothstein?”
“He’s the school psychologist.”
Humbolt wrote furiously and after each answer Garvey paused to make sure that his partner was getting everything. “Why wasn’t James Devin in school?”
“My understanding was that he was school phobic,” said Ron. “But I think he generally didn’t leave his house at all.”
“And why was that?” said Garvey.
Ron’s head started to whirl. What should he say? “He and I didn’t talk about that.”
“Did you talk about it with anyone else?” said Garvey.
Ron scolded himself. He should not have said anything about him not leaving the house. He heard O’Neil’s voice in his head saying keep your answers short. Don’t volunteer anything. Instantly his mind flashed on Jackie Gleason from the Honeymooners wailing, “I’m a blabbermouth. A big blabbermouth.”
“When I was assigned, I was told that he had family issues and that he was going to be with me for the rest of the year and that the school was hoping to get him counseling.”
He was fucked. He knew it. Counseling for what would have naturally been the next question and Ron almost started to answer it figuring fuck them why should he get himself in trouble over this.
But Garvey said, “OK, let’s get to the day of the shooting. What time did you arrive?”
“About 3:30.”
“Was that your normal arrival time?”
“Yes.”
“And how long were you scheduled to stay?”
“Until 5:30.”
The Detectives exchanged a look. Garvey said, “Do you remember whether there was a car in the driveway?”
Ron closed his eyes and tried to picture it. He saw himself park on the street in front and walk up to the side of the house through the driveway. There was no car. “No, I remember there was no car because I walked up the driveway to the side door.”
“Why didn’t you use the front door?”
“The side door was closest to the basement and that was where James was.”
“How did you know that he was in the basement?”
“That’s where he always was. That’s where we worked.”
“Who answered the door?”
“James did.”
“Did he look unusual in any way?”
“What do you mean?” said Ron. His mind flashed on the black toenails.
“Anything out of the ordinary?”
Ron shrugged. “Not that I noticed.
“Was Mrs. Devin there?”
“Yes, she was in the kitchen. She called down to me.”
“Do you remember what she was wearing?
“I didn’t actually see her. I heard her voice.”
“Was Mr. Devin there?”
“I never met Mr. Devin. I don’t think that he lived there.”
Ron almost bit his lip when he added that. Gleason again moaning, “A big blabbermouth!”
Garvey leaned forward. “Why didn’t he live there?”
“I don’t know.”
“How did you know that he didn’t live there?”
“James told me.”
“But he didn’t say why?”
“No, he just said that his father didn’t live there anymore.”
“And you never met Mr. Devin?”
“No,” Ron could feel himself sweating now. He thought Jesus if I had actually done anything wrong, I’d be confessing.
“Did you ever talk to him on the phone?”
“No.”
“And you said that you stayed until 5:30?”
“I finished up a little early, maybe 5:15.”
“And then you left?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see, Mrs. Devin before you left”
“ No and that was unusual. Usually she wanted to know how James was doing and asked me to talk with her before I left, but that day when I called up that I was leaving there was no answer, so I just left.”
The two detectives looked at each other and nodded. “Thanks for coming in Ron. If we have any other questions, we will need your name address and phone number so that we can contact you.”
Ron felt queasy giving them the address but he didn’t have a choice and he reminded himself that he hadn’t done anything wrong. He felt a rush of relief when he got back into the car. He wondered if he had looked nervous.

“Quimpy, it’s Ron.”
“Hey man, what’s happening?”
“I just got home from the police station.”
“Yeah?”
“I think it went well. I was nervous a few times but they didn’t ask the really hard questions.”
“What really hard questions? You didn’t shoot them did you?”
Ron felt slapped in the face. “No, but they didn’t ask what I had been told about Devin’s father or who told me. That seemed to be what O’Neil was worried about.”
“Yeah, there were privacy issues. Charlie got his ass chewed out for sharing what he had shared with you, but as long as you got through it without having to bring that shit up, everything is cool.”
“Do you need the chapter and verse of what they did ask?”
“Nah, they just asked who was there, what did they say, what did they look like, did you notice anything, right?”
“That was pretty much it.”
“Who interviewed you?”
“Two cops, one named Humbolt, the other Garvey.”
“Yeah Humbolt is a dumb shit but Garvey is a prick. Did they tell you anything?”
“Not a damn thing.”
“They are in out of their league with this. My bet is that it gets turned over to the county prosecutor before the week is out, but I don’t think anyone is going to need to talk to you again.”
Ron felt a surge of relief at those words. “OK, then I can just move on and forget about it?”
“Pretty much. You’re golden with Bob for not fucking this up. I’d say that you have a job for as long as you want it.”
“Does he know about my certification issues?”
There was a pause. Then Quimpy said slowly. “There are no issues, right?”
“Right.”
You hear from Zoe?”
Ron felt his whole body stiffen again. Quimpy had some fucking nerve even bringing her name up. “Since when?”
There was kind of a stumbling stammer on the other end of the phone. “You know, since she left.”
“She’s called a couple of times.”
Again there was silence. Ron wanted to say something cutting but he felt a loyalty to Quimpy and the way that Quimpy had stuck his neck out to help him get the job. He didn’t believe that it should have extended to him fucking Zoe but there was really nothing more to be said about that.
“Well man, catch you through the week.”
“Yeah,” said Ron. “Absolutely.” He had no intention of having Quimpy catch him ever again.

Chapter 52
Ron ate his Chinese food and listened to Joni Mitchell’s music. He felt himself finally calming down. He stared out the window at the dark street and the blackened snow that was now just dirty ice and slush.
When the phone rang again, he moved to it with the order of spiced eggplant still in his hand.
“Hello.”
“How are you?” drawled Warren Lashly.
Involuntarily Ron felt his heart quicken. Warren never called him. Something must be wrong. He wasn’t sure that he could take too much more pressure today.
“I’m fine Warren, what’s up?”
“You still working at teaching those little girls?”
“Yup, still working at it.”
“I know this is gonna sound a little strange, but April’s been wanting to see you and she asked me if I could give you a call. She’s been sick. She’s been very sick actually and she needs something from you.”
Ron said, “OK,” and paused.
“Well, she’s here right now and what she asked me to do was to call you and see if you had any pot. She’s been very nauseous.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“I’ll let her tell you that. Is there any way that you can drive some down here tonight?”
“Sure Warren, I can do that for her. Now you aren’t gonna have me busted for bringing any pot to Rahway are you?”
It was a reference to the way that Warren had dissolved the partnership between Chris and him, the partnership that had begun Rahway. It was a move that forever had tagged Warren with the nickname of The Sheriff. Ron, of course, would never have turned Warren down about anything and he knew it. He would be forever grateful for what Warren had done for him with teaching, with helping him to get well after Robin, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t break his balls a bit.
“There’s no need for that,” said Warren.
The “that” was left ambiguous and Ron decided not to pursue it. “I can be there in about an hour.
“We’ll see you then,” said Warren and then the phone clicked dead.
Ron glanced at the clock. It was 7:30 on a school night but he knew that he was going to do it.
Kelly answered the backdoor and smiled brightly as if Ron was one of her best friends. She bent into him and kissed his cheek. Ron felt her breasts press against her his chest and it caused him to twitch in his pants Sometimes he hated his cock. It left him with absolutely no dignity. His eyes watched Kelly’s ass as she led him through the kitchen and down the one step into the sunken living room.
Laureen, April and Warren were seated by the fire. Ron recognized the Brahms Requiem that was playing softly on the stereo. April smiled when he walked in and stood. Ron almost gasped at the sight of her. She had always been thin, but now she was cadaverous and she wore a red checked bandana on her head that promised that there was not much underneath it. She came to him and put her arms around his neck and kissed him. Her body felt like nothing but bones and there was a stale smell on her breath that Ron recognized from Zoe. April had been vomiting. She took his hand and led him to the group after she whispered. “Thank you so much for coming down like this.”
Ron sat on a pillow, keeping his back to the fire. He opened his jacket and took it off and let it slide down in back of him as he reached into one of the pockets and took out a small bag of pot and some rolling papers. He handed them to April, who blushed without color and said, “I don’t know how to do it.”
Warren cackled. “Well, Ron can sure help you with that if not with a lot of other things too.”
Laureen giggled and said, “Warren, you’d better be nice or Kelly won’t sleep with you tonight.”
Kelly giggled and Warren smirked the smiles of someone very sure of himself.
Ron’s eyes danced at Laureen’s quip. He said, “Guess there’s not much that you can hold over me, huh Laureen?”
“That’s just one of her phone calls to Robin away,” said Warren.
Ron smiled. “I don’t think so.” Then he smiled to himself. He really had not felt anything at the mention of her name.
Laureen said, “Well thank god for that. It was becoming tedious.”
Everyone laughed and Ron found that he could laugh as well. He stood and pulled an album cover from the shelf, opened it and then opened the bag of pot and began to roll a joint. Looking down at the composer he said, “Richard Wagner, do you think he’ll mind?”
“He’s seen a lot worse,” quipped Laureen.
Ron laughed again and looked into her dark eyes. “I really have missed you, he said.
Laureen stiffened as if his statement had reminded her of something uncomfortable.
“I spent the afternoon in the police station,” said Ron. “One of my students was shot to death by his father.”
Everyone was silent as Ron cleaned the pot and rolled the joint. Laureen said, “Well, that was a real conversation stopper.” She got up and moved into the kitchen to get something to drink.
Sitting with the album cover spread open on his lap, Ron rolled joint after joint until there were 10 in a neatly stacked row and the bag was empty. The talk moved from the college to what was happening in New York’s museums. Ron half- listened. Then he looked up and saw that the group was staring at him.
“What?”
“How did you learn to do that so quickly and so well?” said April.
“Lots of practice,” said Ron.
“Too much for his own good,” said Warren.
“Well it’s a lifesaver for me tonight,” said April and lit the joint. She inhaled deeply and passed it to Ron who shook his head no.
“I’ve got to get going,” he said. “I have to be in early.”
“Ron Tuck refused a joint. Will wonders never cease?” said Laureen.
Ron slid his arms back into his jacket and met Laureen’s eyes. They were dark and dancing. He thought for an instant that they were actually quite beautiful. “I was thinking the other day about whether there was ever a woman that I went to visit and called on the phone who I did not also wish to fuck. Yours was the only name that came to my mind.”
Laureen laughed. “I’m not sure whether that’s a compliment or an insult.”
Ron stood up. “I meant it in the most complimentary way.”
“Why did the kid’s father shoot him?” said Warren.
“I don’t know. I only know that I was the last one to see him alive before he was killed.”
He half turned to April. “Anytime I can help you out just give me a call.”
“Which probably means that he wants to fuck you,” laughed Laureen.

Chapter 53
“The test on Acts 1 and 2 will consist of twenty significant quotes from the play. You will receive one point for accurately identifying the speaker. One point for explaining any literary devices that are in the quote and you will earn three points for explaining its significance to the story and setting the context in which it was said.”
The groans were loud. Two of the girls flipped their books closed like they were giving up. “How are we supposed to remember every word of the play?” said Barbara. “We aren’t like you. We don’t have it all memorized.”
Ron smiled his best dimpled grin but they weren’t buying it. “Listen,” he said gently, would I ask you to do something that you couldn’t do?”
“Yes,” they responded in a responsorial that Ron thought was too spontaneous to not be heartfelt.
“OK, what impossible things have I asked you do?”
“You want us to memorize this stupid play,” said Connie.
“You make me write until my hand is cramped into a claw, “said Sonia. She accented her compliant by twisting her hand into a claw and holding it up for the class. Everyone, including Ron, laughed.
“Every time I think that I have finally figured out what you want, you announce that you are raising the bar. Sometimes I want to pick up the bar and beat you over the head with it, Mr. Tuck,” said Julie.
There was dead silence. Everyone thought that she had gone over the line. They had never seen Mr. Tuck write a discipline referral but half of them were sure that this was gonna be the first one. The story was that he had never written one and all the girls so wanted that to be the truth.
“Learning is hard,” he said gently. “But you girls are better than you think that you are. Let me show you.” He turned and walked to the book. He seemed to open it at random and said. Who said, “Why do you dress me in borrowed robes?”
“That’s easy,” said Barbara. “Mac said it to the witches when they called him the Thane of Cawdor.”
Ron smiled. He was gonna get them. “And what is the literary device?”
“It’s imagery,” said Rose. “And that other thing.”
Connie said, “Mo’teef” she said in the funny and exaggerated way that he had taught them to remember it and they all laughed.
“And what is a motif?”
“Repeating something until it gets more important,” said Connie quickly.
Ron closed the book and smiled at them. ”See you know more than you think that you do. This isn’t gonna be hard.”
“Let’s do more,” said Julie, whose plan was to write all of them down.
“Good,” said Ron. “Everyone’s notebook out.”
They sped through the next 10 quotes almost flawlessly. They didn’t really know it but Ron was taking them directly from the test. They knew the stuff cold.

Ron was used to the wall of noise and light that slapped him when he entered The French Maid. He made his way to the best available seat and put a $20 on the bar.
“Welcome back, honey,” said the gum cracking bartender.
He grinned. “White wine, please.”
She smiled and gave her hips a little strutting wiggle when she went to get it. He had been there enough times to be clocked by the bartenders. This one wasn’t married and the dancers hadn’t said anything about him trying to tweak a nipple or saying anything really perverse to them when they danced for him.
When he saw Emerald, he felt his heart begin to pound. He had been half looking for her since the day that he had skipped out of The Hitching Post without another word. He was wondering if she would act annoyed with him or whether she would recognize him at all. After all, how many guys had slipped her dollar bills since Ron last saw her? How many guys had come to the next club where she was dancing? How many guys had just left her working without a good-bye or another word?
He didn’t want the answers to any of these questions. He wanted the fantasy of her. He wanted to watch her bend over for him and smile at him from between her legs. He wanted to watch her crawl for him and squint and tell himself that it was Robin crawling and that he was punishing her by making her do this until he was ready to take her back.
She was wearing an outfit that he hadn’t seen before. It was thin and white and he could see the outline of her nipples and the swell of her labial lips and the whisper of the crevice between her cheeks. He sat back and gazed at her. He was pretty sure that she hadn’t noticed or recognized him until she stood right in front of him on the stage and using her hands like blinders on the sides of a horse’s head displayed the entirety of her breasts for him and smiled.
Ron extended his dollar, creased lengthwise and sticking out straight. She grinned and came down from the stage to get it. She opened herself again and pressed the backs of his fingers against her chest as she took it.
“Thank you for coming to see me the other day.”
“I’m sorry that I couldn’t stay longer,” said Ron.
“It’s a crappy place,” she answered. “I don’t think I’ll be dancing there anymore.”
Then still holding the dollar, she climbed back up onto the stage. She turned and spread her legs wide. She took the dollar and scratched it up the back of her left thigh and then the back of her right thigh and then sliding the end of it up and down right along the thinly clad slit of her pussy. Then she stood and turned to face him and folded it in half and slipped it down the front of her sheer G-string. She gave it a pat and moved away. For the rest of the set, Ron could see the outline of it pressed against her. It made him very hard.
When she worked the bar, he gave her another two dollars and said, “That was a very sexy thing that you did before.”
He expected her to say something smart-assed or maybe nothing at all, but instead she said, “I did that just for you.”
When she came out of the dressing room she came over to his chair and said, “I promised a guy over there that I would sit with him, so if you are still here, I’ll see you after my next set.”
Ron’s face registered disappointment and she smiled. He felt a jealous rush and then told himself that he was being ridiculous. He sat back against the bar chair and watched and sipped wine and thought about Zoe. There was something about her that he missed. It was the way that she made him feel handsome.
He had always been told that he was a good-looking guy, but he had never really believed it. Where he had grown up, the standard for “good looking” had been a short thin guy with dark hair and an olive skinned complexion. Ron was none of that. He stood just under six feet tall and was broad shouldered. He had light brown hair that turned shades of blonde in the summertime. He had a round face. Instead of full, sensual lips, his lips were thin. When he wasn’t running he tended to develop a bit of a gut. He didn’t have one now, but that was because he hardly ate two meals a day. He wondered if all self-concepts were formed in childhood.
The girl dancing in front of him was doing pole work. He watched as she held herself upside down on the pole and opened her legs very wide. Ron stared at her pussy. He loved the sight of a woman’s vagina. He loved to touch it, to kiss it, and to fuck it. The way that it closed around him when he entered it was almost indescribable. And then Emerald was standing at his shoulder again.
“I’ve got a few minutes before I have to go back up,” she said.
“Could I see you sometime?” said Ron. “I mean not here, really see just you.”
He felt her stiffen and she looked into his hazel eyes. “Do you really think that would be a good idea?”
“Yes,” said Ron. “I really do. I’ve thought about you a lot. It would be great to be able to sit at a table with you and just talk and eat or drink or something.”
“And then what would you think when you saw me here, bent over for some other guy who was waving money at me?”
“I don’t know.”
“I do. You’d hate it and you’d hate me for doing it even though it’s my job.”
“I don’t think that I would.”
“I know that you would. I do much better as a fantasy than I do as a girlfriend.”
“I’ve had people say that about me too,” said Ron. “That I’m not real and that I can’t be a real person.”
“You’re real. You’re too real.” She slid off the stool that was next to Ron. “I’ve got to dance. “I think that you should just see me here and be nice to me and then I can be nice to you too and nothing will get complicated.”
When she walked away Ron could not help but stare at her ass and way that the bottom parts of her cheeks jiggled. “Maybe I like things complicated,” he said to himself.

Chapter 54

The anticipation of the test caused the girls to be nervous and to perspire. Ron could smell it in the classroom as he walked back and forth across front of the room passing out the test. They started reading and writing instantly. Their heads were down and their mouths moved as they silently said the words to themselves and then repeated the words again. Some of the girls just began writing furiously from the moment that they got their tests. Some took a moment to read over them. One or two just stared straight ahead like they had been found guilty and were awaiting sentencing, but eventually they were all working. He liked to watch them work. It was like they were emptying their brains for him, telling him everything that they knew. They were talking to him on the tests. They were writing for him. He knew that this was the illusion that he had created and that really they were writing for themselves. Eventually they would make the transfer and be able to write for anyone. What difference did it make if they felt that they were doing it for him right now? It occurred to Ron that school was practice life. Silently he wondered if they would ever get the chance to use these skills after they left school.
He announced the incrementally decreasing amounts of time left in the class. As the end grew closer, the girls began to sweat more and write faster. Ron watched them with pride and fascination. He had been a good standardized test taker in high school and in college but he did not do as well on teacher created tests. Either he had not read or studied the material or he found himself distracted by some tangential path that his brain decided to take. In college, he had been accused of doing this purposefully. He learned that even if he was not aware that he was doing it intentionally, his professors did not accept the notion that unconscious action was something for which he should not be held accountable. Invariably though, he would write a paper of make a presentation or offer a unique perspective on a piece that caused more than one teacher to excuse his test taking distractibility.
When the bell rang, the girls groaned. None of them had turned in their tests. He had made it too long. They looked up at him with a simultaneously accusatory and plaintiff stare.
“I can see that it was too long,” he said. “I’ll work something out.” They were not happy with him when they reluctantly gave up their tests and went on to the next class. He had already decided what he would do. He would give them the tests back the next day. This was a mixed bag solution. It did penalize those who crammed, but at the same time it rewarded those who had truly learned the material or those who were interested enough to go to the book that night and see what it was that they had missed. He would not tell them of his solution. He would spring it on them. He smiled when he pictured the way that they would groan and pout.

Chapter 55
As Easter approached Ron felt very hopeful. His mother was home now and Lois was spending more and more time in Glen Ridge. George had moved back in and there seemed to be a silent, if angry truce between Marjorie and him. Ron tried his best to avoid George altogether. On the evenings that he knew George was working late, he would stop by after tutoring, or the other nights he would call.
The days were getting longer and the weather was turning mild. On some days Ron could get away with just wearing his sports jacket and some evening he would get home before it was dark.
The English Department at the school consisted of four teachers. There was Sister Ruth Dolores, the department chairperson, who was a thin brown-haired nun with dark rimmed glasses and a close to the vest voice that never rose much about a whisper. There were two lay teachers, Emily Spinoza and Holly Risotto. The one was a newly married girl from the neighborhood who talked to her kids about how much she wanted to get pregnant as she did about grammar. The other, Holly, was a tall, somewhat overweight woman with reddish blonde hair and tinted glasses. She also taught drama. And then there was Ron.
The department rarely met and Ron saw little of his department colleagues who were all located in the other building. To commemorate the coming of the most sacred day of the year, Sister Donna Maria announced that the meeting would be held in the convent to celebrate the mystery of Christ Risen.
They gathered on the Tuesday before Good Friday and the day before the last day of school prior to the beginning of the holiday. By now, Ron had noticed that his vacations were longer than those of the public school teachers. He had also figured out that it was another way that the school kept the loyalty of its students and faculty. They got more vacations.
Before the meeting, Bernadette, drew Ron aside and said, “Keep an eye on Holly. We had to cover one of her classes this morning. She has been in with Donna Maria praying for most of the morning.”
He gave her a look that said that he did not understand the import of what she was saying. She just put her finger to her lips, gave her head an almost imperceptible shake and used her eyes to direct his attention to Sister Cheesy.
Donna Maria was giving Holly a warm and benevolent smile. The teachers were filing in. Ron had lost his place card soon after the first meeting and had not seen the need to bring it again, but many of the teachers dutifully placed them on their laps and some of the more enterprising had found a way to attach it to their blouse collars.
“Christ has died, Christ has risen, Christ will come again,” said Donna Maria as a sign that the gathering was to come to order.
The faculty came to silence. Except for Holly who threw back her head and opening her mouth wide with her glasses askew on her face, screamed, “I see Him.”
Heads turned. Mouths opened. Donna Maria frowned.
Holly turned to the crucifix on the wall and looked up with a radiance of torment on her face. “He’s coming into me. He wants me.”
Sister Donna Maria moved to her and placed both of her hands on the crown of Holly’s head in an effort to soothe her. “He wants all of us,” she said rapturously and lifted her eyes upward and then closed them and began to whisper prayer.
“It hurts!” screamed Holly. “He’s coming into me.”
Bernadette rolled her eyes but her face showed concern and anger. Doris got up and moved next to Holly. This last statement caused Donna Maria to back up a step or two as if she had been repulsed by the unbridled electricity of what she heard.
The next scream was a wordless cry of anguish. It was feral and shrill. Ron was stunned. He waited for someone to escort Holly from the room or to call an ambulance but no one moved. The scream echoed in the room and when Ron looked at the faces of his colleagues he saw that they were swiveling between Holly and the crucifix.
Incredibly, Donna Maria tried to continue the meeting. “As we prepare students for these coming days, remember that our first consideration is…”
“He’s naked and he wants me,” yowled Holly. She began to pull at the collar of her white button down shirt and the top two buttons popped off and bounced across the top of the table that was in front of her.
Now two of the nuns jumped to their feet and Donna Maria said, “Sisters, please help Miss Risotto.”
When they took her by the elbows and tried to help her to stand, she looked at them wild-eyed. “He doesn’t want you. He wants me.” she said in tortured accusation. She stood and faced the faculty. “Can’t you see how he wants me?” She rolled her hips in grotesque invitation at the crucifix.
Ron looked around for Rita Julia, but the Mother Superior was not in the room. And then to his shock, Bernadette stood quietly and left. She must be calling the police or the hospital, thought Ron.
But now Holly was walking towards him, flanked by the two nuns, Ruth Dolores and Alma Mercedes.
Holly stopped in front of Ron. “Can you help me?”
“I don’t know how,” said Ron trying to meet her eyes. He sensed the sincerity of her pain and looked at her with a mixture of compassion, fear and revulsion.
“Please,” she said, lowering her head and crying. “Please take me out of here.”
Ron felt a rush a cold desperation wash through him like ice water. “Holly,” he said gently. “We need to get you some help.”
She cried harder. Her shoulders were shaking like a trembling dead leaf that clung to spring branch that was trying to get rid of its excess baggage to make room for new growth.
Abruptly, Doris stood up. “I’ll go with you,’ she said to Ron.
Ron felt himself go pale. They couldn’t be serious. This woman needed a hospital and a strait jacket and they wanted him to take her home.
“Please,” blubbered Holly and she began to get down onto her knees. The nuns held her up. Ron looked for Donna Maria, but she had shrunken into the corner of the room and was not looking at them.
Then Donna Maria rose out of her corner and walked towards them. “Mr. Tuck, you may be excused from the rest of the meeting so that you can take Miss Risotto home. She needs to rest.” Then she turned to Holly. “Please take tomorrow off, Miss Risotto. I will see that your classes are covered and then you will have the entire vacation to get your strength back.”
Holly’s shoulders trembled and she did not look up to meet Sister Donna Maria’s gaze. Muffled moans worked their way out of her mouth and nostrils along with mucus and drool. Her eyeliner had run in dark streaks down her cheeks and give her the appearance of a crying clown. Doris held her hand and Ron could see that Holly was squeezing it so tightly that her fingers were white. Tears that were blackened from the makeup under her leaking eyes dripped down onto her white shirt and left wet, black trails.
Doris spoke to Sister Donna Maria. “I’ll help him with her and make sure that she is alright.
The three of them made a slow, carefully watched procession from the convent’s meeting room and towards the front door. Holly looked up at a statue of the Blessed Virgin and wailed again. The sound pierced the silence of the convent like a muffled blade.
When they got to the car, Doris helped Holly into the front seat. Ron went and around to the driver’s side and flicked the lever that allowed the seat to move forward so that Doris could access the rear seat, but Doris didn’t get in. She looked at Ron with a defensive glare.
“My husband will be expecting me. I’m having a crowd for dinner on Good Friday.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. You said that you would help.”
“This is as far as I go,” said Doris and without waiting for a reply turned her back to the car and quickly waddled away.
“You’ve been a big help,” said Ron.
He clicked the seat forward and slid in. Holly was holding her head and staring out the side window.
“Where do you live, Holly?”
“Bellville.”
Ron started the car. “Where in Belleville?”
“On Little Street. Upstairs from a family.” She began to cry again.
Ron put the car into gear and began to drive. He knew approximately where Little Street was and so he headed up towards the park thinking that he could save lights and time by winding along a road the rimmed the outskirts of the park.
After a few blocks, Holly said, “I have dreams about you.” Ron didn’t answer. “In the dreams I’m wearing a uniform and you are scolding me.” Ron began to perspire in the cold car. “You tell me that I am a bad girl but it feels good when you say it. Do you know why?”
Ron said, “Holly, do you have a doctor?”
“No.”
“Maybe I should take you to the hospital.”
Immediately, she turned to him and said, “No. no please. No hospital. I’ll do anything that you want me to do. I’ll be anything that you want me to be, but please no hospital.” Her voice was rising in desperation and Ron could see that the only way that he would get her into the hospital would be with the help of the police. He did not want to do that. “The girls are all in love with you,” she said as if she was revealing a dark secret. We talk about you all the time.” This idea was incomprehensible to Ron, but somehow the thought of their minds being entrusted to Holly made him angry. What kind of a role model was she for the nuns to put in front of his students? How could Irene Emanuel have hired this woman?
They came out of the park on Heller Parkway and Ron headed towards Silver Lake. Holly screamed like a siren. “No railroad tracks! No railroad tracks! No, no, I can’t ride over the crosses on the railroad tracks!”
Ron pulled the car to the side of the road. If he just drove ahead and crossed the tracks he could get her to Claara Maas Hospital within a couple of minutes, but then he felt guilty. He would just be dumping her like unwanted furniture on the street. He couldn’t do that. It would make him no better than Doris.
“OK,” he said. “No railroad tracks.” His brain began to run through the possible permutations. There were railroad tracks that separated Bellville from Newark with every route that his mind saw. He clicked in one route after another and the he saw it. Where Broadway became Washington Street there was an overpass. He could drive under the railroad tracks. He turned the car around.
he was silent as the streets passed and then in a very small, little girl voice she asked, “Where are you taking me?”
“I know a place where there is an underpass,” he said.
In the same small voice, she asked coyly, “Do you wear underpants?” Ron didn’t answer. “Sometimes, I don’t,” she said like she was confessing.
The image was not one that Ron chose to picture, but it set off a chain reaction in his brain that asked the question, “Would I be this anxious to drop her off if I thought she was pretty?” The fact that he even asked himself the question filled Ron with self-disgust.
“I could be your geisha and you could tell me to do anything and I would do it for you,” she said.
“Holly, you really need to see a doctor.”
Her voice shifted and became deep and almost menacing. “Why? Is it because I am a woman who is strong enough to say what it is that she really wants? Is that why you are pushing me away?”
“No, “said Ron quickly. He didn’t want to set her off again and they were coming up to the trestle now and he felt that if he just got under the railroad tracks that somehow things would be better.
“The girls told me that you don’t have a girlfriend when I asked them about you.”
Ron wanted to strangle his students. He wondered if they had fueled her fantasies. If they had used her vulnerability to get out of doing work or because they thought that she was amusing. For a moment he was very angry with them. He vowed to not tell them anything else about his life.
Now they were on Washington Avenue and heading north. It was then that she seemed to gather herself and began to calmly provide him with directions. Ron was hopeful. Maybe this episode was passing and he could just drop her off.
When they pulled up in front of her house, she said “Would you like to come in for some tea or a drink?”
“I don’t think so,” said Ron.
She began to cry quietly. “You think I’m disgusting and pathetic, don’t you?”
“No, I don’t,” said Ron. “I think that maybe you have been working too hard and need to get some rest and maybe see a doctor.”
“I don’t need a doctor. I need a man who isn’t afraid.” Then she opened the car door and said, “Thank you for getting me home, Mr. Tuck.”
Ron watched as she walked up to the house, took her keys out of her purse, opened the door and disappeared inside. As he pulled away her felt a twinge of concern but it was overcome by a huge wave of relief. Why did all the crazy women want him?

End of part 2

Chapter 56

The sun was strong and the air was humid. The sky was a high pale blue. At ten o’clock in the morning the temperature was already at 90 degrees. Ron’s breath was an easy flow as he ran around the cinder path track. He was starting his third mile and his feet were lightly slapping down on the track. His legs felt strong and his arms were swinging in an easy and free motion. As he circled the backstop of the baseball part of the quarter mile oval, two kids who had started playing just after he arrived waved to him. Ron felt that easy smile on his face as he leaned into the curve and started down the sundrenched, longer straightaway of the oval. He could hear birds and he could smell the cut grass. The oval was moving quickly in front of his eyes. His breathing was his speedometer; it told him when he needed to slow his pace or when he could let himself loose.
His longest run had been seven miles, but he wasn’t after that today. He had read that the maximum cardio vascular benefit was reached after a three mile run and made the decision that only once or maybe twice a week he would push himself to run until his legs began to feel wobbly. It pleased him that it was never his breathing that caused him to stop. All those years of smoking cigarettes and pot and now his body was turned on like a smooth running machine with fragile tire rods. It was true that most of the people that ran his kind of daily distance did not use a track, but his knees liked the soft, even surface and the round and round repetition of the oval took him along the bleachers that separated the field from the back yard of his mother’s house. It felt like home.
Now he was at two and half miles and it pleased him that he wasn’t thinking. He felt both totally in and out of his body at the same time. His shadow extended out in front of him and Ron stared at it as he ran. With a lap and a half to go, he picked up the pace and waited to see how much of a kick he had left. His breathing quickened and his arms pumped harder. He churned his legs. The only question now was when he was going to begin his sprint. With a half a lap left, he kicked it up another notch. Not quite all out yet and he could feel the more rapid intake of his breaths, but his mind was on his legs. He would shut it down if there was any wobble to his strides but he was hoping to be able to push. With 120 yards to go, he let it rip and felt himself flying down the track. He could not feel his feet striking the ground. He pumped and urged himself with the internal chant of “faster.”
When he crossed the finish line, he saw a burly man sitting in the stands watching him. The man smiled and waved. Ron jogged and walked in a two hundred yard loop that brought him back to the stands where the man was sitting.
“If you had been in that kind of shape when you played for me, you would have been an all-state guard,” said Max Kresge.
“I was too stupid to know that I had to be in shape to play football then,” said Ron, grinning with the sublime euphoria of the endorphin rush.
“Yup, it showed.”
Ron laughed and peeled the heavy, wet sweat-stained t-shirt over his head and off of his body. Despite the heat, it had made him feel chilled but now the sun was warming him and he extended one leg up straight onto the lowest bench on the bleachers and began to stretch his hamstrings.
“How are the knees?”
“They feel good, coach, maybe the best they have ever felt. How are you doing?”
“Not bad for an old man that got kicked to the curb,” said Kresge in that gravelly voice. He was a thick man with a gut and a barrel chest. He must be pushing seventy now and was still a formidable presence.
Ron switched legs. “Did I ever tell you that I became a teacher?”
Kresge chortled. “That just convinces me that football players really are dumb shits.” Kresge did not ask what he was teaching. “You ever see any of the guys that you played with?”
“Not since I graduated,” said Ron. “I’m not big on the reunion thing and besides they weren’t the happiest days of my life.”
“I remember that.”
As a kid coming from Newark, Ron had not exactly fit into the Glen Ridge social set. The one place where he had always been able to make friends had been the football field, but the team had already been successful before he got there. They had lost a single game the year that he transferred, when he was still considered ineligible because he had come from a parochial school, and the loss had stuck in the town’s craw. They were supposed to win every game. When Ron got to play as senior, they did go undefeated, but he was a peripheral player who could hit like a truck but had bad knees and no speed.
“This town never knew I was a Jew until they decided that it was time for me to go, then I became the money grubbing kike who didn’t know when it was time to quit.”
“I didn’t know that coach. Do you still come to the games?”
“Screw that,” said Kresge. “I go down to Florida right after the first frost. Plenty of good football down there.”
Ron sat down on the bleachers and pulled on a dry t-shirt. He loved that a medium hung loose over his stomach. “I’m in charge of discipline too,” he exaggerated.
“Ronnie, you got to learn. That’s the worst fucking job in the school. Don’t let them make you believe that it’s an honor.”
Ron nodded and wondered how this man who had been a wall of strength had cracked into such bitter pieces. “I love the kids and the classroom.” He did not mention that it was all girls.
Max Kresge looked at him from behind his sunglasses and baseball cap. He had tried to tell the kid but the dumb son-of –a-bitch had never been fast on the uptake.

Ron stashed his wet t-shirt on the front seat of his car and climbed the steps to his mother’s house. He went around back and entered through the unlocked door. Lois and his mother were sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee.
“Ronald, look how you’re sweating!” said Marjorie.
“I was just running, Mom.”
“In this heat? You’ll have a stroke.”
“It feels good.”
“There’s some Crystal Lite in the refrigerator. Pour a glass and sit down and cool off. My god, you’re dripping on the floor.”
Ron poured a glass of the stuff and carried the pitcher to the table.
“How are you feeling?” he said.
“It takes me a while to get moving in the morning but then I’m good,” she said. She lit a Virginia Slim. Lois lit a Virginia Slim.
‘You look really healthy,” said Lois. “I make your mother have a nice slow cup of coffee before we go anywhere on days like today.”
“I’m glad that you came, Ronald. There’s something that I want to talk with you about. I want you to come to the ceramics shop on Thursday night.”
“I have a tutoring appointment.”
“At night?”
“I have to go when the parents are at home.” This was technically the truth although Ron didn’t really have an appointment on Thursday.
“There’s a nice girl that I want you to meet. Her name is Denise Delatorre.
“Mom.”
“She’s a very pretty girl with a cute shape and a lovely mother.”
“That’s the first thing that I look for in a girl, Mom. Always have.” Ron nodded in mockery. “Within the first few minutes, I always ask about her mother.”
Lois laughed in spite of the situation but then withered as Marjorie glared at her. “If you aren’t going to help, the least that you can do is not encourage his shitiness.”
Marjorie decided on another tact. “Robin dumped you and the mouse moved away. What are you going to do? You gonna sit around that tenement of an apartment and play music and feel sorry for yourself?”
Ron bit. “That’s not what I do, Mom. You know that’s not what I do. You know how many hours I work.”
Marjorie knew that she had him now. “And who helped you to get that job?”
Ron shoulders sagged. “You did.”
“And you fought me about that but when you trusted me it all worked out, didn’t it?”
He nodded.
“It was me that sent your resume to that school, wasn’t it? You were stuck working in the jail where they slashed your tires and beat you up.”
“No one beat me up.”
“You came home filed with bruises, didn’t you?”
“Do we really have to do this? You want me to come and meet the girl, right? Even though I haven’t dated an Italian girl since I was fifteen years old. Even though there is nothing about a girl who goes to a ceramics shop with her mother that could possibly be of even the slightest bit of interest to me.”
“The mouse was artistic.”
“She’s a painter and a sculptor. Doing ceramics isn’t quite the same thing, Mom.”
Lois raised her eyebrows and thought about interjecting that she loved to paint and loved to do ceramics. She decided that she would rather say that to Marjorie after Ron left. She could make it sound like she was on Marjorie’s side.
“Oh, I forgot. You’re too good for anybody who would come to a ceramics shop, anybody that your mother might possibly like.”
There was just no way out without just refusing. Ron felt locked neatly into a corner. He tried his ace in the hole. “Have you heard from my father?”
“Yes, he called. I guess that now that you don’t need his help anymore that he is also not good enough for you to visit.” She paused strategically. “I see things differently since the heart attack, Ronald. I don’t know how much more time have left and I would like to see you settled before anything else happens to me. Who is going to care enough about what happens to you after I’m not here anymore?”
Ron closed his eyes. She had him. There was no way out. Now if he refused, it would be a much bigger problem than he was ready for. “What time on Thursday?”
Marjorie lit another Virginia Slim. “Don’t do me any favors, Ronald.”
Ron shrugged. “OK.”
“Find another girl who breaks your heart or throws up on you.”
Ron winced. He should have known better than to have shared that with her, but she was so vulnerable and he had let his guard down. “Do you want me to come to meet her?”
“The class is from seven o’clock until eight-thirty. Do what you want.”
“I’ll be there.”
“She’s a nice girl with a good job in a bank. Who knows if she would even look twice at you, even though she would be a jerk not to.”
Ron stood up. “I said that I would come.”
Marjorie eyed him again. “Have you stopped eating again?”
“No, Mom. I eat.”
Lois said. “A man with a flat stomach like that always looks good, Margie.” Now Lois looked at him trying to make peace. “You’re as flat as a washboard.”
Ron smiled.

Chapter 57
The ceramics shop was right on Bloomfield Avenue just one block out of Newark. Ron knew that this small distance was important to his mother. Somehow, she would have seen it as a failure if she had returned to work in Newark for any reason, but that shop had a Bloomfield address and that made all the difference to her. Lois, who had also been a lifelong resident of Newark and a neighborhood fixture didn’t care or see it that way, but she was glad to accommodate her partner.
It was a storefront that was located between a meat market and a liquor store and that made parking difficult, but Marjorie had worked out a deal with a bank a short block down the street and in exchange for giving free classes to any of their employees, her clients were allowed to park in the bank once they had secured cards that read The Ceramic Kitchen and placed them on the driver’s side of their front windshield. Marjorie carefully monitored the distribution of cards and chastised Lois every time one of her family members or friends used a card to park with convenience. Lois took the verbal punishment, but surreptitiously continued to distribute the cards while cautioning their recipients to not “say anything.”
Ron did not have a card and so he circled the block several times before he was lucky enough to catch someone pulling out and parked on the street. The shop itself consisted of a large, open workspace with long banquet style tables and folding chairs. There were heavy wooden shelves along two walls of the room and it was here that the customers marked and stored their unfinished pieces. At the front of the store was another large, lighted case that contained finished pieces that Marjorie and Lois had completed and which were for sale. They were also the demonstration models, showing what could be accomplished when someone was proficient in the craft. Christmas trees with embedded lights, lamps, large dolls and platters along with various other kind of dust-catching bric-a-brac decorated every square inch of the front shelves. Wedding favors were becoming a new favorite and Marjorie had large books that she could use to encourage people to take advantage of what she referred to as the personal touch. The smaller back room held two kilns and a supply of newly casted pieces. Marjorie and Lois had not yet purchased the molds that they would need to really turn a profit. It was also here that a large collection of paints and brushes and water dishes were stored. A small bathroom was off the side of the back room and Marjorie had taken pains to make sure that it was neat, decorated and cleaned every day. She did not do the cleaning herself anymore, but Lois was glad to oblige.
There were a dozen women seated around the tables when Ron came through the front door. Marjorie was smoking a Virginia Slim with a half painted clown in front of her.
“Ronald,” she called out. “What a nice surprise.”
Ron smiled and moved to his Mom and kissed her on the cheek. “Hi Mom.” He knew from her greeting that he was supposed to play along about him coming there casually.
“Everyone,” announced Marjorie, “this is my son Ronald.” Marjorie beamed as Ron flashed his best dimpled grin at the women. Marjorie began her introductions. “This is Mrs. Porcelli, and Mrs. Triano and Mrs. Rolandelli and Mrs. Scafetti and Mrs. DelaTorre and her daughter Denise.” Marjorie went on and on until she had introduced Ron to everyone in the shop. Ron tried to keep the smile on his face but it got plastered there and then begin to hurt and cause his face to ache until he was sure that his smile had turned into a grimace. He tried giving each of the women a new smile commensurate with her name and that seemed to help. He noticed Mrs. Delatorre nudge Denise and the girl stood up and went to into the back room to use the bathroom.
Ron’s gaze took her in quickly. She was about 5’6” and had a set of gorgeous breasts and a firm and round rear that moved with an easy sway as she walked in front of him and then disappeared into the back room. She was wearing snug brown slacks and tan flowered blouse that was color matched to her pants. Her hair was a deep lustrous brown and bounced on her shoulders as she moved.
“Ronald drives down to the shore and picks up new pieces for us every weekend.” The ladies smiled and nodded.
Mrs. Delatorre nodded and said, “What do you do for a living, Ronald?”
“He’s a teacher,” said Marjorie. Ron felt himself start to bristle but took a long slow breath, inhaling from his nostrils and then exhaling from his mouth in an easy way that he hoped was not noticeable.
“In the summer time, I mostly tutor,” he said.
“It must be very nice to have the summers off,” said Mrs. Rolandelli. “I think that you know my son, Butchie.”
“Sure,” said Ron. “I remember Butchie Rolandelli from the old neighborhood. How’s he doing?”
“He’s a fireman. He’s married and has two children.”
“Wow,” said Ron. “That’s great. Give him my best.”
“Look at the time already,” said Marjorie. “The hour and a half just flies, doesn’t it?”
“It always does when you are among friends and are out of the house,” said Mrs. Triano.
Everyone laughed softly and then they began to clean off their tables and put their pieces back on the shelves.
Denise came out of the back room and moved towards Ron and his mother. She flashed her sparklingly white teeth in a warm smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Ron.” She extended her hand and Ron took it. It was slightly damp from the bathroom sink and she squeezed his hand lightly as they completed their introduction. Ron looked into her face and it was warm and welcoming with a sparkle in her eyes that told him that she was also playing along.
“So what are you working on?” said Ron.
“Oh, let me show you,” she said.
She moved to her place at the table making sure that Ron got a good look at her from behind. Ron followed and found himself attracted to the way that she moved and seemed so easy with him.
“It’s a group of bluebirds in a tree,” she said as she picked it up from under the base and held it up for him.
“It looks like a lot of work,” said Ron, not sure what else to say about the tree and the birds that perched on its branches.
She shrugged and grinned. “It’s for my grandmother. She loves birds.”
“Maybe you should buy her a parakeet,” said Ron.
Denise giggled and said, “I don’t think she would like a real bird. They make noise and my grandfather likes the house quiet.”
Ron wondered how much longer he was gonna have to stay before he could flee this place. He nodded.
“You know how the old people are,” she said. She leaned into him and said softly. “Thank you for not saying how ugly it is.”
Ron was slightly startled by this. “It’s just different from me.”
“Me too,” confided Denise, “but my Nana would do anything for me and it’s the least that I can do for her.”
Ron liked this and smiled for her. “I can understand that. I was the same way with my Aunt Dottie.
“There’s the real smile,” she said. “So much better than the other one.”
Ron felt himself blush. This girl wasn’t dumb. “I guess you’re going home with your Mom now,” he said.
“Yes, I get up very early during the week, but tomorrow is Friday, thank God.”
“When are you driving down the shore, Ronald?” called Marjorie from the other side of the room. “Mrs. Porcelli wants to order a piece and I’m hoping we can have it for her by Monday.”
“I’ll go down on Saturday afternoon after I get done with my appointments,” said Ron.
Then on an impulse he turned to Denise. “Want to take a ride down with me on Saturday?”
“Well it is Thursday night and I think that I’m supposed to say that I’m busy, but I’m really not doing anything and I would love to go.”
She gave Ron her phone number and Ron told her that he would call when he was done on Saturday and she could tell him where she lived.
“That will be exciting,” she said. “I love the ocean.”
That night Ron called Chris Calvin. Although months went by during the school year when they did not speak to each other, during the summer it was different. Chris had just passed the New Jersey Bar exam and was now a full-fledged lawyer. Although he was still living on East 6th Street, the reasons for his residence in Manhattan were dwindling. He had graduated from NYU. He had graduated from New York Law. Much of the tuition for both institutions had come from the dealing of pot, which he had not done in over a year now. He still liked to see Ron but it was time for Chris to begin his serious life and that meant making connections. Ron really wasn’t going to be of any help in that regard and Chris knew that the two of them would no doubt drift further and further apart until they saw each other once or twice a year, if that. Chris thought Ron was bright but he was still hopelessly idealistic and did not want to do what it would take to be able to enjoy the finer things in life. That was what Chris wanted. The first step in the plan was someone with whom he could start a family, a woman that he could see himself with for a long time. He wanted a woman who was interested in having children and he was pretty sure that he had found her.
Hope Stafford was a pretty woman. She was divorced and had a little girl but she was young and strong and healthy. What’s more she came from a socially secure family and had been a debutante. Chris liked this very much. She had good genes. She knew how to conduct herself and she could show Chris things that he needed to know and tell him things that he needed to do. It never occurred to Chris that the money would not follow but what he knew he needed was a good foundation upon which he could build.
“Hey Chris, its Ron. How ya doin?”
“Good,” said Chris. “What are you up to?”
“I was thinking of driving in, maybe play a little music and hang for a while.”
“That would be cool,” said Chris. “I was thinking that I could use a day off tomorrow.”
Ron laughed. “Alright. How is the supply situation?”
“Low but easily rectified.” said Chris.
When Ron got there, Chris called “dial-a-dime.” He had been turned on to it while he was at New York Law. A quick call with an address that was on the customer list and within a half hour, someone appeared on the street in front of your apartment with a quarter ounce. The cost was $20 and the quality was good.
They sat cross-legged on the floor of his tiny apartment while Ron cleaned and rolled and Chris selected some music. He always had music that Ron hadn’t heard and Ron usually found it good although he tended to want to return to his favorites after he listened to the new stuff. More and more Chris was finding that it was the only time that he listened to this music and it occurred to him more than once that Ron seemed trapped in it and willing to listen to it over and over. Ron was different since Robin. He seemed more interested in reliving old experiences than he was in having new ones. Chris hoped that it was a phase from which he would emerge before it became too boring to continue to tolerate. Ron had even started writing a book about their days at college. Nostalgia was not all that attractive.
Mose Allison was cooing the song “Everybody’s Crying Mercy” as they smoked the first of the three joints that Ron had rolled.
“I met a girl,” said Chris.
“Alright!” said Ron triumphantly. “What’s her name?”
“Hope.”
“And is there?”
Chris grinned. “I think there might be.”
“What does she look like?”
“Well, why don’t you hang till tomorrow morning and you can see for yourself and maybe give us a ride back over to Jersey.”
“I can do that,” said Ron. “So, what does she look like?”
“Strawberry blonde hair, sweet face I’d say about 5’5” and well- constructed.”
Ron was nodding and smiling and sucking on the joint. He passed it to Chris. The smoke was filling his brain and giving the apartment a comfortable easy feel. The warm, humid air now seemed to have the whisper of a breeze. The pillows felt soft. Ron felt himself climbing up the music on spirals of smoke. His head was starting the feel good. His body was relaxing. He sucked in very hard when the joint came back to him and then he began to cough and choke. The lack of air made his head buzz and he closed his eyes and rode the spasmodic coughs until he could breathe again and when he reopened his eyes, he was in an even better place. “Damn, dial-a- dime. That was good!”
Chris giggled. “Iron lung still going strong,” he said. He sat back still somewhat amazed that Ron immediately lit the second joint. “You are amazing.”
“What?” laughed Ron. “We’re almost there but it’s like the big leagues. It’s hard to get there but you have to work even harder to stay at that level.”
Chris lay back against the pillows and smoked the second joint with Ron. They passed it between them over a large Italian pasta bowl that Chris used to collect his seeds and stems. He was always able to eke out another joint if he needed it, unless Ron stayed around too long.
“You heard from The Sheriff?” said Chris.
“Not in a while, but I heard from April that he asked Laureen to move out.”
“Of course,” laughed Chris in his imitation Southern drawl. “There was only so much that he could do for her.”
They both laughed. The idea of Warren “doing it for ya” was shorthand for him wanting you around only as long as he found the situation amusing and then finding some excuse as to why it would be in everybody’s best interest if that person left Rahway, which Warren would explain was not really that person’s home but his home. And now it was time for that person to move onto something new.
After the second joint, Ron immediately lit the third. Chris reached for his guitar and told Ron to go ahead. He lay back and sucked it like a sweet nipple while Chris played his version of “Long Black Veil.” His voice was low and the rhythm of his guitar was right on the melody. When he forgot some of the words as he inevitably did, he would pause before starting again. It always amazed Ron that he could start and stop the melody that way and always seem to go right back into the feeling of the song. They did best when Ron sang and Chris played. It allowed Chris to just concentrate on the guitar and there weren’t a lot of songs to which Ron did not know all the words. His singing was awful but at least it kept him involved.
Ron thought that Hope Stafford was perfect for Chris. They seemed like two pieces of a soon to be joined puzzle. His thick, dark hair and her light flowing crop with wisps that occasionally dangled down in front of her eyes and caused her to raise her fingers and push them away as if there was something that she did not want to miss passing in front of her gaze. They both giggled contagiously. She seemed to strike these natural poses for him, and he seemed to delight in watching her. They spoke to each other tenderly and she would run her fingers along his shoulders for no apparent reason except for the joy of touching him, and he would sit very still for it like a cat that wanted to purr.
She smiled for Ron and kissed him on the cheek and pressed her breasts into his chest when she did it. Ron did not find himself aroused by it, but he was pleased at what the promise of her meant for his friend. In the few seconds that they had alone, he smiled at Chris and said, “She’s got my vote.”
Chris smiled at Ron as if what he had said mattered and nodded enthusiastically. By now Ron had figured out that when Chris had a woman that his tendency was to disappear with her into a cocoon that did not extend to his friends. So Ron knew that he wouldn’t be seeing a lot of Chris, but it really didn’t matter that much. The school year would be starting in just a couple of weeks.

Chapter 58
Ron finished tutoring a little before 2 pm on Saturday. He drove down to his mother’s car and traded his two door for Lois’s hatch back Nissan. The hatch and the collapsible back seat gave him enough room for the plaster casted pieces that he would load into the back and the excellent springs on the new car made the ride smooth enough so that he didn’t have to worry about breakage.
Denise gave him very precise directions to her family’s house in the Forest Hills section. It was one of the only remaining upscale sections left in Newark and Ron pulled into a driveway that was short and elevated up to a modern looking home with a statue of the Blessed Virgin outside in front of the house. The statue was clad in blue and Ron felt queasy when he looked at it. He wondered if his teaching at the Catholic school had perhaps given Denise and her mother the wrong idea.
Denise was wearing a matching shorts and top set that was blue and covered in daisies. Her white strapped sandals also had daisies on the crossing strap.
When she got into the car, Ron said with a grin. “You’re looking fresh.”
She held out up her right foot and fingered the plastic flower. “As a daisy, right?”
“That’s what I was thinking,” said Ron.
“Well, a girl’s got to be coordinated.”
“Why?”
“Because, Ronald,” she said with a teasing grin, “when I look good on the outside it helps me to feel good on the inside.”
“I never thought about it.”
“You’re a guy. Most guys don’t think about it that way.”
“I used to,” said Ron. “When I was a kid and worked for Ripley Clothes, I did the whole bit. I wore the high rolls and I had a leather and a suede from Cooper Leather. I sent everything that I wore to the cleaners.”
“What happened?” she asked with sincerity and a serious gaze.
“Well, we moved for one thing.”
She put her arm lightly on his shoulder and said, “You can take the boy out of Newark but you can never really take the Newark out of the boy. That’s what I think anyway.”
There was something about the boy girl thing that she kept doing that Ron was finding disconcerting. It was like she had this manual in her head about the way that things were supposed to be. “Do you really believe all that?”
“I don’t know if I believe all of it. I know that if I was walking down the street with a guy like you that I would feel safe. I don’t think that part of you is changeable.”
Ron thought about that. Robin had always said that she felt very safe with him. Zoe had said that he wanted to protect her. Maybe she had something.
“I think college changed me,” said Ron.
“Was it a good change?”
“Yeah,” said Ron. “I think I would have gone crazy without it. Not that I’m not fairly fucked up now, but I mean really crazy.”
“Do you always use that language?” she said quickly.
“What language?”
“You know. That word.”
Ron laughed. “We used it all the time in Newark.”
“But not on a first date,” said Denise.
They were on the Parkway heading south and Ron wished that he could turn to look into her eyes but he was going too fast for that. “One of the things that I learned in college was that there is no such thing as a bad word, Denise.”
“My Dad says that college people think too much.”
All at once Ron felt like he was with a being from another planet. It was Planet Pasta where everyone had statues of saints and never shit where they ate. It was the world of frozen behaviors where people acted out the same melodramas over and over. He felt superior. But then again, didn’t she want him to feel superior? Wasn’t that one of the rules on Planet Pasta?
Ron turned on the radio. “What kind of music do you like?” he asked.
“I like all kinds but mostly I like the oldies,” said Denise.
Of course you do, thought Ron.
Then Denise added, “But Sinatra is still the best.”
This last comment threw Ron into confusion. In his heart he loved Sinatra, but he kept this passion well hidden from his friends. They would never understand and the one time he had talked with Chris about it, he had made a dismissive face and said “Strings make me sick.”
“I was raised on Sinatra,” said Ron.
“Me too,” said Denise.
Then Ron said very quietly, “His politics suck.”
“I don’t know what his politics are,” she said. “But what have they got to do with his music?”
“I like music that is sung by the people who wrote it. It makes me think that it is really what they feel and think.”
“How do you know that it isn’t what he feels and thinks?”
“It could be,” said Ron. He felt some inner confusion and turmoil that he didn’t want to feel. It dismissed it all saying, “It’s my mother’s music. It’s World War 2 music. It’s over. It’s music for a different time.”
“Whose music do you like to listen to?”
“Bob Dylan, Joni Mitchell, Jackson Browne, Leonard Cohen.” Ron recited from his internal pantheon.
“I’ve heard of Bob Dylan but I don’t know the rest of those people.”
“Joni and Jackson are kind of the California sound.”
“Like the Beach Boys?” said Denise. “I like their music.”
“Not quite like the Beach Boys,” said Ron patiently. Internally he was feeling guilty about rolling his eyes when he said it. He couldn’t help but remember the hours that he spent playing Help Me Ronda and I Get Around and he even liked the Sloop John B. but that wasn’t serious music, not the way that his music was serious.
“Ron, do you think that you’re a snob?”
Ron laughed and said, “I think that I probably am and I worked hard to get this way.”
“Why did you do that?”
Ron thought for a moment. Somewhere deep inside of himself a voice said that it was because he wanted to be accepted, but he dismissed that response with a cynical voice that said he should never disclose anything like that on a first date. Quietly he said, “Because I didn’t want to be second rate and backward anymore.”
He saw her wince and felt her recoil as surely as if he had slapped her in the face. He felt the need to continue. “When I got to college, I realized just how ignorant and ill prepared I was and made a promise to myself that I could be better.”
She touched his shoulder again and said, “I admire your drive.”
Street Fighting Man came on the radio and Ron prayed that she would not ask him if he thought that Mick Jaggar really believed in his heart the things that he was singing about.
The ceramics warehouse was a large, dusty hanger that looked like it used to house much larger equipment. The unpainted, unfired pieces were stored on long low shelves that stretched along all of the walks and made aisles in the center of the structure. Ron had a shopping list and a flat bed, two tiered trolley on which he would carefully place each piece after inspecting it for cracks or chips. It was definitely a buyer beware situation and Ron had learned to inspect each piece with a careful eye. Denise walked in back of him and he could feel her eyes on him as he lifted the pieces up and ran his finger gently across the surfaces and the bases of the soon to be ceramic projects. He felt responsible for this phase of the business and both Lois and his mother would praise his eye and the care that he used to make sure that they only got those things that they could sell.
When they passed by the eagles and the owls, Ron grinned teasingly and said, “I can see these in your future.”
Denise started to say that she liked the owls but then she stopped herself when she saw the slight smirk and twinkle in his eyes. She would have to learn when he was teasing her or else she would never feel like she had firm footing. Maybe she should let him enjoy teasing her. Maybe he would like that. It was kind of exciting that she wasn’t sure what he was thinking, but it also made her nervous. She supposed guys needed to be a little bit arrogant. It was who they were. But it was better when their egos were more transparent, like when he stared at her body with that lust filled look, but he hadn’t looked at her that way once since they had come into the warehouse.
Denise moved in front of him and bent over at the waist for apiece on one of the lowest shelves. She smiled to herself when she felt his eyes on her. There it was. He was still interested. She lifted a pumpkin up and said, “Do you like Halloween?”
“Not so much,” said Ron.
After they checked out and he loaded the pieces into the hatchback, he said, “Would you like to walk by the ocean?”
She took his hand and said, “I would love that.”
She watched as he took off his shoes and socks. She frowned when she saw the bear claws that he had for toenails but didn’t say anything about them. She slipped off her sandals and they walked along the sand. Ron had his shoes in one hand with the socks stuffed inside of them, and she held her sandals and felt his hand slide around her waist and rest low on her hip. His hand was a little bit too low on her hip and she tried to raise it up to her waist, but compromised by moving closer so that her hip pressed against his as they walked.
Ron could not help but think of Robin and the way that the two of them had always fallen into a perfect rhythm when they walked. He grew quiet and stared at the water.
Denise said, “I know that I’m changing my ideas about things, but the changes don’t happen overnight and, with work and all, it’s real easy to get into a pattern.”
“Do you think that your patterns are good for you?”
“I never thought about it. They just are there and I go along with them.”
“You can’t change if you go along,” said Ron. Then he stopped in the middle of the beach and kissed her.
She had wanted him to kiss her. She felt her heart speed up at the feel of his lips on hers but then he was opening his mouth and his hand was sliding lower on her hip and squeezing her behind. She stiffened and broke the kiss off and stepped back. “Ron, I just met you.” She saw the disappointment on his face. He looked like her father did when her mother said that they were having chicken for dinner. “I liked kissing you,” she said in a conciliatory tone.
“Let’s go back to the car,” said Ron.
She wanted him to say something else. She wanted him to ask her one of his hard questions that would make her think and she could feel like she was learning, but he wasn’t saying anything. The kiss was hanging over them like a dark cloud that wasn’t doing anything but blocking the sun. “Don’t be mad at me,” she said.
When he started the car, Ron said, “When I was seventeen I went out with this girl named Patty. I really liked Patty. I thought she was one of the prettiest girls I had ever seen”
Denise was happy that he was talking but why was he talking about an old girlfriend? That wasn’t exactly the conversation that she was hoping to have.
“Anyway, you remind me of Patty. She had rules too.”
“Everyone has rules, Ron.”
“That’s true,” said Ron. His jaw tightened and she saw those high cheekbones, and the way that they gave a hollow to his cheeks and seemed to darken his eyes. “My rule is not to make a game out of intimacy.”
Ron knew, of course, that this wasn’t true. He just liked different kinds of games, and the idea that on the second date that he got to squeeze her tits and maybe by date five she might brush her hand over his cock was his idea of a gigantic waste of time. She would kiss him passionately before the night was over but anytime he went to touch one of the hotspots on her body, her “good girl” would kick in and she would stop him. What was he doing here? He was truly a moonlight mile further down the road than this.
“It’s not that it’s a game. It’s what I feel comfortable doing.”
Ron smiled at her but there was sadness in his smile. “I know,” he said. “I’m sorry that I offended you.”
“I wasn’t offended,” she protested. Now she was confused. He was making her feel like she was a silly kid and she didn’t like the feeling. “I guess that I’m just a traditional girl.”
“I gave that up a long time ago,” said Ron. “I think it would be pretty impossible for me to go back to it.

Chapter 59
It had been almost a year since Ron had spoken with Warren and he needed a conversation. He wasn’t sure why he was still going back for these talks but from time to time he would feel the need and then he would make the inevitable phone call or drive down to the college and meet with his former professor and mentor.
It was a strange relationship that they had. Warren was often not particularly nice to Ron but he was always willing to see him. The conversation would be on Ron’s dime as Warren called it, at least it would start that way, but it usually transformed itself into something else. Sometimes Ron would have a specific agenda and sometimes it would be an ambiguous feeling that would sort itself out once they began to talk. The last time he had seen Warren he almost laughed out loud. Warren had dyed his hair and permed it so that it was curly. He was still rail thin and had a boyish never look older face and body.
He made the call early in the evening.
“Warren, it’s Ron.”
“How are you?” Warren drawled.
“I’m doing pretty well. How are you?”
“I couldn’t be better. I’m just back from Greece and getting ready for classes to start here in a couple of weeks.”
“I was thinking of taking a ride down.”
“That would be fine. We’re gonna be having dinner about nine here and you’re welcome to join us.”
“I’ll see you then.”
“See you when I see you,” said Warren.
Rahway was in its late summer ripeness of green and humidity. Neither of them lived with air conditioning and so the heat was not something that they ever thought about. The screened windows were all opened a sweet evening cross breeze moved the air in the rooms. They sat in the living room in front of the dormant fire place. Warren had a glass of wine. Ron was drinking seltzer.
“You’re looking very fit,” said Warren.
“I’ve been working at it.”
“What else have you been working at?”
It was always like that between them. They needed a project. Warren had admired Ron’s strength when they put a new kitchen floor into Rahway together. He had heard about that side of Ron before but he had never seen it in action until that day. It was the only time that Ron could remember Warren letting him take the lead on a project and his eyes were drawn to the floor each time he passed over it.
“It’s my 4th year of teaching and the first group of students that I started with is going to graduate. I feel very close to them. I’m thinking of opening myself up to them in ways that I have never done before and I wanted your advice.”
“That depends on what you mean by opening yourself up?”
“I’m going to give them my home phone number and tell them that I’m there for them whenever they need me.”
“You want to be careful about that,” said Warren with a smile. “Students can drain you dry. They will never get enough of you and you’ll find that you can’t get rid of them when it’s time to move on.”
“Tell me what you mean,” said Ron.
“I mean that their needs can leave you with nothing left for yourself. Students don’t understand boundaries unless you provide them with a distinct set of rules. But the real question is why you think this is necessary.”
“This is a special group of kids. They have a chance to exceed everyone’s expectations for them, but some of them don’t know yet what they are capable of achieving.”
“That may be true but why do you feel the need?”
“I’m not sure. Why did you feel the need to do it with us?”
“I was interested in pushing the boundaries of how people lived and learned. You guys were hungry for something more and don’t forget I was done teaching classes to all of you before Chris and I started this place.”
“You ever think about Chris?”
“I think about him often and I still love him dearly. I believe that I saved his life although I am sure that he would not agree.”
Ron laughed and lit a cigarette. “No, I’m sure that he wouldn’t.”
“My relationship with Chris was an attempt at true partnership. It was a mutual trust that both of us eventually violated.
“I suppose that’s true.” Ron sat back and thought about that.
“You didn’t come here to talk with me about Chris,” said Warren. “Have you heard from Robin?”
“Not since she wrote and told me that she was moving in with another guy.”
“Do you think that she still had a hold on you?”
“I don’t know.” Ron was totally sure that he had not come here to talk about Robin. He had noticed that not one meeting between them went by that he did not mention her name. He wondered again, as he had countless times before, if Robin had ever slept with him.
“Would you say no to her if she wanted to give the relationship another try?”
“No, I’d jump at the chance.”
“That’s honest. Would you give up teaching if that’s what it took?”
“No, I would never give up teaching. I’m sure of that.”
“Teaching really is what saved you,” said Warren. “Is this desire to open yourself up more fully to your students a way of replacing what it is that you wish that you had with Robin?”
Ron didn’t know what to say. It was a profound insight and aside from the idea that it left him feeling weak and cast his devotion to his students in a self-serving light, he could not dispute it.
“She touched my spirit in a way that no one else ever has.”
“What she did was put your spirit in a chokehold from which you have still not escaped.”
“I don’t think that she even realizes that.”
“The question is whether or not you realize it.”
Ron tried to change the subject. “You know, I use some of the techniques that you used in the classroom.”
“We all borrow from each other. Sometimes we out and out steal from each other. I’m getting a little hungry here and I think that it’s time to wake Janine up.”
Ron smiled. He liked Janine. She was Warren’s other woman. When Kelly wasn’t around there was always Janine. She was a tall dark-haired beauty that Chris had loved and wanted to run away with. She had turned him down and stayed with Warren, although she had slept with him whenever Warren was up in Boston visiting Kelly. Ron knew that it had broken Chris’s heart. Warren had encouraged the two of them to sleep together and Ron believed, although he had never asked Chris that the three of them, maybe with the addition of a fourth person—a female— had all slept together.
Janine kissed Ron and hugged him. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you, Ron. How have you been?”
“I’m well,” said Ron smiling. “You look terrific.”
Janine struck a pose in front of Warren and said, “See! I look terrific.”
Warren drawled. “Ron hasn’t seen you without your clothes on. You’re getting too thin.”
Dinner was just the three of them. Warren sat near the window in his accustomed spot and Janine sat in the middle. Ron placed himself in the place that he would always consider Chris’s chair. They ate salad and steak. Ron wondered if Warren was eating steak every night as he did when they had the communal dinners.
Warren looked at Janine. “Did you ever want to sleep with Ron?”
She looked embarrassed by the question and didn’t answer. Ron felt himself tense at the question. What kind of a thing was that to ask the girl?
“Come on,” said Warren. “Did you ever want to sleep with him?”
Janine did not look at Ron. Quietly she said, “No.”
“Why not?”
Ron was silent and remembered why he sometimes hated Warren.
Janine said, “Warren please stop. Please don’t do this.”
“He needs to hear it. Tell him.”
Very quietly she said, “He belongs to Robin.”
Warren smiled at Ron, who had stopped eating. Janine continued. “It’s the only time that I ever saw him sit up straight.”
Ron realized that he was slumping and fought the urge to sit up straight.
Warren wasn’t finished. “Zoe never had a chance, did she?”
“I felt sorry for Zoe from the first time that I ever saw the two of them together.”
Warren sat back. “That’s why your students can give you something rare and meaningful, but you better know what you’re doing before you go and open yourself up to them. You better be really certain that you know what it is that you have to offer them”

Chapter 60
At the faculty meeting that began the 1980-81 school year, Ron was introduced to the two new male teachers that would be joining the staff. Anthony Mancuso and Arnold Needlehaus were as different as night and day. Mancuso was a very young, dark haired, olive-skinned Italian kid that Ron could see the girls going completely gaga over. Needlehaus was an older gentleman with grayish white hair and a short closely cropped beard. Instinctively Ron felt that something was not quite right about this man. He was effusive and smooth, and Ron thought a bit too old to be more than a one year guy here, using the school as some kind of way station.
Sister Donna Maria introduced them both to Ron saying that he was one of the faculty leaders and that they should address any questions that they had about assimilating to the school to him. Anthony looked scared and Andrew appeared to be smug. Both new teachers stood in front of him waiting for him to say something.
“The girls are great but they will watch everything that you say and do, even more than students normally would. They’ll take note of everything that you wear, and they will watch you all the time and talk to each other about you. Just relax into it and you’ll be fine. They have hungry minds and open hearts. If I can be of any help, just let me know.”
“What do the nuns expect?” said Needlehaus.
“Mostly that we do our job and do it well.”
“Do they check lesson plans?”
“No they don’t, but it’s a good idea to have them for your own purposes.”
“I’ll probably just break out some old ones and get by using them. I retired from public school teaching last year and I don’t imagine that this will be significantly different. It really is all the same, isn’t it?”
Ron said, “I suppose you can look at it that way.” Ron turned his gaze to Anthony. “You know the girls are gonna think of you as quite a hunk, right?”
The kid blushed visibly and said, “Is there something that I can do about that?”
“You can use it to your advantage but make sure that you create a professional distance,” said Ron. As he said it he thought that it was the exact opposite from what he intended to do.
Again, Ron was in charge of the faculty council but this time it was explained at the faculty meeting that all of the lay teachers and nuns would submit their discipline referrals to him and he would keep the records of who needed to appear because of an excess of demerits. Donna Maria explained that discipline referrals should only be used after teachers had utilized their personal, in class, discipline. Ron noted, with disappointment, that Bernadette was not a member of the faculty council and would be in charge of both the choir and first Friday Mass preparations, and the family life units that all of the girls would now be required to take. Ron saw Holly Risotto across the room, but she stayed away and did not look at him. They had not spoken since the day that he drove her home. She had appeared after Easter vacation as if nothing had happened, and Ron had been cautioned by Bernadette that it would be better for her and for him if he did not mention the absurdity of her being back in the school. She told Ron that she would keep an eye on Holly, and make sure that she did not do any harm to herself or to the girls.
After lunch Ron wandered over to Bernadette’s classroom. She smiled when she saw him. There was an awkward moment when they almost hugged, but they both laughed and shook hands instead.
“Did you have a good summer, Ron?”
“I did,” said Ron, “but I’m glad to be back. What about you?”
“I got to spend some time back home in Philadelphia and it was good to see my family. For a while, I wasn’t sure that I wanted to come back.”
“Did you have a choice?”
She raised her eyebrow. “We always have choices, Ron. You must be excited. These are your girls.”
Ron felt the smile spread across his face. “Yes, they are. I want this year to be special for them.”
“So what are you teaching?”
“Senior English, Public Speaking, Creative Writing, Shakespeare Seminar, Sociology and Economics.”
“So you are still gonna work yourself silly?”
“Is there any other way?”
“Probably not for you, no. Ron, what about your life? Do you have a girlfriend yet?”
“No one special.”
“You aren’t getting any younger, Ron. What are you thinking about?”
“I suppose that I’m not thinking about it at all.”
“I don’t believe that,” said Bernadette. “Whoever she was, Ron, she was a fool for not wanting you.”
“I don’t know, Bernadette. Maybe it was me who was the fool.”

The next day the girls arrived and Ron spent the first hour of the morning smiling and hugging them. He felt himself swelling with pride as he saw how they were growing up, about how the lights in their eyes were strong and bright and breathtakingly beautiful.
One of the improvements that Sister Donna Marie had instituted was a full school meeting that began the year. They would all meet, and then there was a much modified schedule where the girls would report to each of their classes for 10 minutes.
As each of the faculty was introduced, the girls applauded. Even for the teachers that they hated, there was polite applause. The new teachers got the benefit of the doubt and received an enthusiastic welcome, particularly Anthony Mancuso who got a few whistles that required Donna Maria to remind the girls that they were ladies. When Ron was introduced, the gym erupted in cheers. Some girls stood and cheered loudly and clapped and chanted “Tuck, Tuck, Tuck.”
Never in his life had Ron been greeted in even a vaguely similar way. His cheeks burned with blush. He felt the wave of sound carry him up like he was surfing. He tried to make them stop but they kept cheering. He took his seat on the stage and Sister Donna Maria said, “I’m glad that I saved him for last. I’d hate to be the person that had to follow that.”
Ron kept his head down. He could not look at them because tears were threatening to brim out of his eyes. He loved them and they loved him back. He was convinced now more than ever before. This year he would give them everything that he had to give.
There were two senior English classes that met the first two periods of the day. When they sat in the old room with the high creaky windows and the squeaky floor with just the crucifix and the portrait of Lincoln as decorations, Ron stood in back of his ever present podium with the class list. He called the roll and with each name a familiar face and story acknowledged him and there was an exchanged smile. It amazed them all how friendly the atmosphere in the class was and how happy they all were to be there. Ron could not stop smiling. The growth that had occurred over the summer, together with the potential that he saw, amazed him.

“I am really happy to see all of you. For the last couple of weeks, I have been anxious for the summer to be over and to get this started. We are going to have a great year. I’m going to drive you hard and it won’t always be easy, but you all know that we will have a lot of fun too and I hope that you think that it will be worth it.”
Vicky DelMarco raised her thin long arm into the air and turned her palm towards him. “Mr. Tuck, what did you do to yourself over the summer? You look almost hot and you aren’t dressing as corny as you usually dress. Are you in love Mr. Tuck?” Ron laughed and came out from behind the podium. Vicky turned to look at the rest of the class for support. “See what I mean? Look at him. Wow, Mr. Tuck.”
Giving her his very best dimpled grin and moving to stand right in front of her desk, Ron said, “I am in love Vicky.” He took a step back. “I’m in love with all of you.” They burst out laughing and he laughed with him. Vicky made a show of fanning herself with her hands. “Didn’t you want me to look good for you?”
Vicky was now playing along completely. “But you know that I have enough trouble concentrating as it is.” She turned to the class and made a hysterical face and rolled her Spanish eyes.
Ron lowered his voice to a whisper then he said loudly enough to project to the whole of the room. “But it will make me so sad if you don’t concentrate. You know how selfish I am Vicky. I want all of your attention all of the time.”
Now Vicky struck her own pose and said with fluttering eyes. “You couldn’t handle all of my attention, Mr. Tuck. I’d wear you out.”
The class laughed hard and the two or three girls who were new to the school sat with their mouths hanging open. This was not the type of classroom that they had ever been in before. This was not the type of classroom that they had ever even heard of before.
“Let’s find out,” said Ron. He turned to the chalkboard, took a breath and did it. There it was his phone number on the board. “I am here for all of you. This is my home phone number. I will give you as much energy as I have. That is my promise. What I want is the very same thing from you. I want as much energy as you have to give.”
The bell rang and the girls left as soon as it did. Ron saw that some of them wrote down the number. Vicky wrote it on the palm of her hand and showed it to him on the way out saying, “Now I can’t wash my hand all day.”
The atmosphere in the Shakespeare seminar was different. He knew all of them and, for the most part, he had invited all of them to join this special class.
Elena Gonzalez, maybe his best student, who he had challenged since freshman year when he had called her “Frowsy” because her shirt used to come out of her skirt and her hair was a wild and beautiful dark tangle. She hadn’t known what the word meant, but had looked it up that night and come into him the next day and stamped her foot in front of him and said that he had insulted her. But she had smiled before she turned away, and that had been the beginning of a challenging relationship where he pushed her and she pushed him back to push her more. Elena was now the class president and a spokesperson for student and Puerto Rican rights.
Ron looked from her to Elizabeth Holland, a paper thin waif looking blonde who had been too timid to speak to him for the first half of 9th grade. She was always immaculately groomed and often quiet, but there was an angular quality about her and a drive that said she intended to prove herself not only to Ron and to the rest of her classmates but to her very strict mother and the rest of the world. She didn’t always like Ron’s teasing because she sometimes took it seriously and when she found out that it was a tease she would blush furiously and quietly steam and shoot daggers at him with her blue eyes.
She sat next to Donna Seaford who reveled in correcting Ron. She was a short girl with very black skin. Ron had once made the mistake of referring to her as an African American. She and her twin sister Deborah, who was very much her opposite, took a dual delight in telling him, with more than a little indignity, that they were Cuban, not Black.
In back of them sat Judith Wunderlan who had the face and body of a pixie. She was a bright girl who did her work and did not like to be pushed. She also did not like to ever shut up, and the two or three episodes that she had with Ron was when she had insisted on taking during class. She maintained that she was always talking about what was going on in the class, but Ron had contended that she could not talk and listen at the same time. Judith had maintained that she could.
This year Judith had vowed to sit next to Veronica Petrelli in as many classes as she could. Veronica was a good friend but very conscientious and quiet. Judith was hoping that her influence would be good for her. That was what she was saying publically, but privately she was hoping to bring Veronica more out of her shell and besides a quiet girl seldom interrupted her steady stream of chatter.
Paula Sandal felt the most insecure in this class. She had not been invited to join and she already had Tuck in three other classes. She was being “Fully Tucked” as Elena put it. Ron had spoken to her privately at the end of last year and asked her if she thought that she was overdoing it. She had answered resolutely that she had no other life and that if he could stand to have her in this many classes that she wanted to be there. Now it was here and what seemed like a good idea back then was intimidating her today. He was different and yet the same in each class. She listened and hoped that she could keep her head down here and excel in the creative writing class.
One of the other girls who had not been invited to join the Shakespeare class was Samantha Santorini. She had been dubbed as a party girl in 10th grade when she had a boyfriend who was twenty-one years old. Sister Bernadette had found out about it and tried to talk some sense into the girl. When Samantha had scoffed at the notion, Bernadette had cautioned her that boys that age would want her to “go all the way.”
Samantha had informed Bernadette that it was not only guys that age that expected the girls “to give it up” and that she had other ways of keeping them happy. Bernadette had been angry with her and cautioned some of the other girls to not follow Samantha’s example, and a war of wills had begun between the two of them. Ron, of course, was totally unaware of this. Samantha had taken this class to show Bernadette and the rest of the school that she had more than her looks going for her. She wanted them to know that she also had a brain. She was, as she liked to refer to herself, “a gift wrapped package.”
“We’re going to read eighteen plays this year,” began Ron. “Basically it’s going to be a play every two weeks, with some taking a little less time and some taking a little more. We won’t be doing Romeo and Juliet or Macbeth because you have already done those plays.”
Donna Seaford said, without raising her hand, “So this is the class where you try to kill us.”
“You could look at it that way, Donna, but what it really is the class where I show you what the pace at a good college is like.”
Then Ron showed them how serious he was by passing out a syllabus that had dates and titles of plays and testing dates mapped out for the entire year. The girls were shocked into silence by the enormity of what he had given them.
“Nope,” said Veronica. “Donna is right. This is where you kill us.”
At the end of the day, Ron felt himself filled with the energy that the girls had given him. He had no tutoring appointments because, at the beginning of the year, he usually didn’t have any students to tutor. His summer students had gone back to classes or made new arrangements. Ron drove back to his apartment and quickly changed into his running clothes and was on the track just as the football players were filling in for their afterschool practice up in Glen Ridge.
He got his first mile and a half in before they started their stretching. He saw the coaches looking at him strangely as he circled down to the field house at the end of the second mile.
Excuse me, Sir,” said one of the coaches who was wearing than traditional light gray shorts and maroon t-shirt and baseball cap.
Ron slowed and came over to him. He was annoyed at having to break his stride. “Yes?”
“Can I ask what you are doing here?”
Ron shrugged. “This is where I always run.”
“I haven’t see you here before.”
“Usually I run in the mornings, but I’m back to school as well,” said Ron. “My family lives right over there.” Ron gestured to the back of the bleachers.
“You wouldn’t be scouting us for another team, would you Sir?”
“Not at all,” said Ron. He was flattered by the accusation. “I’d never do anything to hurt the Ridgers. Class of ’67. I played for the team. My name is Ron Tuck.”
Then he saw one of the assistant coaches who looked vaguely familiar. The head coach motioned the assistant over. “Richie you were class of ’67 right?” Richard Westin nodded. “You remember a Ron Tuck?”
“Sure, I remember Tuck. Hello Ron, you still wearing your leather jacket and shades?”
Ron grimaced and shook his hand. “Not so much anymore, Richie.”
Richie grinned at the head coach. “Ron’s alright. He sure ain’t no scout.”
“Just stay to the outside of the track when the team gets going, Mr. Tuck. Sorry to interrupt your workout.”
Ron heard Richie say to the other coaches as he started back into his run. “He wouldn’t know what he was seeing anyway.” The other coaches laughed and Ron felt his ears burn. It made him remember how inadequate they had always made him feel at this school. For the first time, he began to think about whether he really would enjoy coaching football.

Chapter 61

“Shakespeare is mostly a mystery. Some people think that he is a miracle. I mean here is Willy, this guy with a basic education, who winds up being able to crawl inside the minds of Kings, of Generals, of young women, of peasants. He seemed to have the ability to think like anyone that he chose to understand and explore. On top of that, he had a huge vocabulary. Additionally, he wrote great poetry. As luck would have it, he did all of this in English and we get to study him.”
Ron raised his eyebrows and looked at the class. Again he felt a wave of sheer joy at having the chance to work with them. “We’re going to begin with a light hearted play that can also be a little confusing. It is called Midsummer’s Night’s Dream. So our first question.” He turned to the board and wrote, “What causes people to fall in love?”
He turned back to look at them. “Come on ladies, I have 20 beautiful and intelligent young women sitting in front of me. What causes you to fall in love?”
Donna Seaford smiled with her thought and then raised her hand. “I’m pretty sure that I have never been in love, Mr. Tuck. What about you? What causes you to fall in love?”
The girls giggled. Ron felt himself flush. He thought well Donna isn’t wasting any time either. Ron thought about how to answer. He wanted to be very honest. “I think it starts with attraction and I think attraction is initially physical. Then there is compatibility. But what I think causes me to fall in love is when my imagination is touched.”
Some of the girls grinned and nodded. Others looked down. “OK, now you.”
Elena raised her hand. “I’m with Donna. I don’t think that I have ever been in love either and I’m not sure that I want to be in love. From what I’ve seen it makes people stupid.”
More Laughter. Ron grinned.
Samantha Santorini raised her hand. “I don’t know what causes it, but I know how it feels. It feels as if the world is right there in that other person, and no one else or nothing else matters. It makes you feel like your life is special. It makes you feel like no one else has ever understood you before.”
Ron nodded thoughtfully. “Those are great descriptions. But we still haven’t gotten to the question. What causes it? Is it magic?”
“I think it’s a chemical reaction,” said Judith Wunderlan. “I think that we have chemicals in our bodies that respond to certain people.”
“There is a school of thought that agrees with you Judith,” said Ron.
“This is going to sound silly,” said Veronica Petrelli, “but I think that it’s the people in heaven who look out for us and steer us towards certain people.”
“Why do you think that?”
“It’s what my grand-mother told me. She said that we fall in love because people in heaven want us to be happy, and that love gives us the chance to be really happy.”
Some of the girls smiled at Veronica and others looked down. Ron watched them trying to gauge where he would go next. “That would be kind of magical wouldn’t it?”
People nodded.
“So what happens when people fall out of love?” said Donna. “Do the chemicals wear off, or are the people in heaven fickle?”
“Another good question,” said Ron. “Let’s see what Shakespeare had to say about it.”
He moved to the tape player and began the play. He told them that they should have notebooks out and write down any questions that came to them during the scene and that he would try to get to everyone’s questions at the end of each scene. He also told them to write down the parts that confused them and that they would look at those sections together. The girls followed along in their books as the tape played. Ron read the play again along with the tape and his students.
At the end of the first scene, he clicked off the tape. He looked at them for a long second. “Questions?”
“Why do parents act that way?” said Elizabeth Holland. “Why do they feel that it is necessary to decide who marries who?”
“In those times, daughters were considered the property of their fathers,” said Ron. “Marriage had economic consequences.”
Elena said, “Not just in those times, Mr. Tuck.” Some of the girls nodded sagely and Ron joined them.
“And, additionally we have the problem that Helena loves Demetrius but he does not love her but loves her friend Hermia. What does Helena say about that?”
Elena said, “Basically she is saying what does she have that I haven’t got?”
“Exactly,” said Ron. “Sort of what Sam was saying earlier. That it doesn’t matter what anyone else in the world thinks. In this case Helena was saying, who cares if I am pretty if he doesn’t think so?”
Tonight you are to finish reading at least the first act of the play. We will talk about it again tomorrow.” Ron finished just as the bell rang.
The next day Ron asked, “How did the reading go?” He was not surprised by the tentative silence that greeted his question. He thought about what he should do. “OK, there is confusion. Am I right?”
Heads bobbed. Veronica said, “I don’t think we’re ever going to be able to understand this stuff.” Ron gave her a disbelieving look. She caught the expression. “I mean it, Mr. Tuck. I read the first two acts last night and I was more confused when I finished than I was when I started. And I didn’t do my math, which is a big mistake that I’m gonna pay for.”
Ron nodded. “Ok, it’s important to do the homework for the rest of your classes. I agree. Save the reading until last. I trust that you will make a sincere effort to do it.”
Veronica smiled. “You don’t have to say that. That was my fault. I should know enough to do my homework, but you make him sound so interesting and important that I just wanted to get right to it, and I got carried away.”
“That happens to me too, Veronica,” said Ron. “It’s a lot easier to grade your papers than it is to grade some of my other classes. But you guys are also the most time consuming. So, I save what I love most till last, like dessert.”
Now they were grinning at him. He had told them again that he loved them and they basked in his smile.
“But I don’t believe this stuff is too hard for you. You got Romeo and Juliet. You got Macbeth. You’ll get this. Those two plays are really way harder than this one is.” Ron turned to the board. “We’ve got two different worlds going on at the same time. The worlds kind of mirror each other. The characters of the fairy world are ones that you really know.”
Donna said, “I’m pretty sure that I never met anybody named Puck, Mr. Tuck. Then she grinned. Puck and Tuck rhyme. Are you really Puck, Mr. Tuck?” She laughed as she emphasized the rhyme.
Ron grinned at her and gave her his dimples. “Sometimes I am, Donna. “Do I ever trick you?”
Donna smiled broadly. “I’m here, right?”
Ron laughed and said, “Yes, you are and some of you may think that I tricked you. Like the way that I tricked you into being the good writers that you are today.”
“You tortured us into that,” said Elena.
Ron was having trouble not laughing again, but it was time to be serious and to turn this into something else. “Ever lose your keys and then find them in the same spot that you looked at ten times before?”
“I do that all the time with my purse,” said Paula. Some of the other girls laughed and nodded.
“That’s Puck, playing with you. When you stub your toe and nothing is damaged but you wind up hopping around and limping for a few minutes, that’s Puck.”
Samantha raised her hand. “So if I say ‘Oh Puck!’ I won’t get into trouble? I can tell them that my English teacher said it was OK?”
Now the girls really were laughing. Ron rolled his eyes. “Just make sure that you emphasize the P, Samantha. But seriously, Puck is a trickster and he works for Oberon who is the King of the Fairies. These are not witches like in Macbeth. They don’t think fair is foul et cetera, but they do like to have fun.”
Ron drew two circles that touched each other. In one circle he put in the world of the fairies and in the other he placed the human world. “Both worlds depend on each other and when they interact, things get funny. Don’t try to read too deeply into this play. Take it for what it is. It’s a dream. It’s sexy. It’s funny. Don’t try too much to understand it with the exception of a few lines that I will point out to you.”
For the next thirty minutes Ron walked them through the plot and had them create character descriptions. When the class was coming to an end he said, “I had this teacher in college who made us write a comment on the side board before the class began. Not everyone had to write, but unless there were a certain number of comments, he would not start the class. He did it because it gave him a place to start, a way to understand what the class was thinking. We’re going to do that too. We will need five comments to start the class, but anyone who makes a good comment will get a point on her next test.”
As the bell rang Samantha said, “See you are a real Puck, Mr. Tuck.”
Ron watched them leave and they looked content. He stopped Veronica on the way out. “I meant what I said about the reading.”
She blushed and put her head down. “I lied. I got up early and did my math, Mr. Tuck.
Ron smiled. “Good for you. I still meant what I said.”
Paula Sandal was hanging back, and so Ron waited until the classroom was empty. He had lunch after this class and he didn’t expect any company. “I really don’t think that I’m smart enough to be here, Mr. Tuck.”
“Why do you say that?”
She shifted uneasily. “First of all, look at my grades and look at the grades of the other girls in here. I don’t measure up. And secondly, you didn’t invite me the way that you invited them.”
“So, show me that I was wrong to not invite you.”
“That’s just it. I don’t think that you were wrong. You know me really well, and if you didn’t think that I could do it, you are probably right.”
Ron looked into her eyes and lied to her. “I didn’t invite you because you had me for so many other classes, and I thought that you would get bored.”
“Really?” she said and smiled for him. “I’m not bored. I’m scared.”
“Let me ask you a question,” said Ron. “If you don’t get an A will it be the end of the world?”
“I don’t care about that. I just don’t want to be the dumb kid.”
“You could never be that,” said Ron. “Do you think that I would allow that to happen?”
“You can’t make me smart, Mr. Tuck. I know that you think that you can do anything, but you can’t make me smart.”
Ron tightened his mouth into a smile and nodded. Then he said, “You’re gonna be fine.”
When she left, he wondered if he was doing the right thing. She didn’t have the grades and she was not as obviously quick. What she did have was desire. Quietly, he hoped that he was not making a mistake by not encouraging her to change classes now, when it was early enough to not be an issue.

Chapter 62
That night Ron got home after his run and made a dish of spinach pasta. Sitting at his writing table, he looked over the end of the play as he ate. He wondered exactly how far he could take them, how much he could push them so that they would realize their potential. He wanted them to stretch without breaking, and he knew that they would try to stretch until they broke in order to please him. The weight of the responsibility caused his shoulders to slump. Soon it would be time for them to start applying to colleges, and he wanted them to shoot for the stars.
A nagging voice belittled his desire. How would he know what they needed for a good school? Hadn’t he worked himself to illness at the one really good school that he attended? Didn’t he have to drop out of Drew University and take a year off before he finished up at William Paterson? For some of them, William Paterson would be like shooting for the stars, but he wanted better for them. They were going to be better prepared than he had been. Lashly had come from good colleges and Lashly had trained him. Maybe that was enough. They could go further than he had gone because they would start with a better foundation than he had. He needed to push the doubts from his mind. Suppose some of them did fail to make it and some of them did make it? Wouldn’t that be good enough? Sure, for the girls that succeeded it would be enough for them, and he could tell himself that the others would do ok at state schools or at junior colleges. Hadn’t he done ok at a junior college?
He saw their faces in his mind. Elena was a star. She was going further than he could imagine. So was Donna. He had nothing to worry about there. Veronica had a great work ethic and was bright. No need to worry about her. Elizabeth Holland was another story. She needed to make it, or she would break like a porcelain doll that was dropped from a shelf. She might be able to be pasted back together but the tell-tale signs of the breakage would always be there. Should he push her or go easy? Didn’t he owe it to her to push her if she wanted to be pushed? Wasn’t it really her choice? Wasn’t it any of their choices?
There was the voice again. This time it was saying that it was easy for him to say that because it relieved him of any of the responsibility of his influence on them. Samantha Satorini was pretty enough and smart enough so that she had a great chance to be a success, but was it his place to factor her looks into it?
Ron realized that he had stopped eating. The pasta was cold. He stared out his front windows into the September evening. One by one he saw their faces again and the evaluation continued. What did they want? Sure they wanted him to be proud of them, but that wasn’t what they wanted from their lives.
At first he didn’t hear the knock on his door. When it came again, it was louder, less timid. Ron got up and walked through the railroad rooms expecting to find a plate of leftovers at his feet, but opened the door to see Zoe standing there and smiling for him.
Ron stepped back to let her in. “Zoe, I’m surprised to see you. I thought that you’d be at school.”
“Hi Ron,” she said quietly. ‘No, I don’t leave for another ten days.”
He moved to kiss her and at first she stiffened and then she kissed him as gently as he kissed her. They could both feel the stir of passion in back of the kiss.
“Ron, I want to take some of my things back.”
“What things?”
“The writing desk, the bookcase and Nightscape,” she said biting her lip.
Ron felt his face harden. “Zoe, you gave me those things. You said that you had no money and knew that I was paying for everything and that I could have those things instead.”
She sat down on the bed. “I know, but now I want them back.”
Ron said, “I had Nightscape framed. It’s the only piece that I have of yours. You wouldn’t let me keep anything else, even though I was the model for a lot of it.”
“I didn’t want you to have anything else.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s my art, not yours.”
“I know that it’s yours.”
“Then give it to me.”
“It’s a lithograph. I had it framed. You have other copies.”
“I don’t want anyone to have my things.”
Ron felt himself getting angry. For the time that they had lived together he had basically supported her. Her father, who had a lot more than Ron, hadn’t helped at all. But if she wanted it, and it made a difference to her, then maybe he should just give it to her. “I really love the piece, Zoe. Can’t I just have it?”
“Can I stay here with you?”
“Why do you want to do that?”
“I miss sleeping with you. Do you have a girlfriend?
“No.”
“Are you seeing Robin?”
“No.”
“Do you want to sleep with me?”
“Yes. You know that I do.”
“Will you agree to give me what I want?”
Ron stared hard at her. Was she really saying what he thought that she was saying? She started to meet his gaze and then turned away.
“ You can do anything that you want to do to me for a week, if you give me my things.”
“Zoe, why are you doing this? I really cared for you.”
“You didn’t love me. You always loved Robin, or the memory of Robin.”
“That’s not true. When I was with you, I was with you, not her.”
“Was it where you wanted to be, Ron? Was I ever the one that you wanted to be with?”
“Yes.”
She looked at him with the flare of her own anger now. “You’re not telling the truth. If I was the one that you wanted, you would have never let me go. You would have come up there after me, the way that you went to Minnesota after her.”
Ron didn’t say anything. He felt dumbstruck. All this time, he had told himself that it was her craziness that drove them apart. Now she was saying something very different.
“When I called you and didn’t say anything,” she continued, “all I wanted to hear was you saying that you loved me. You never said it once.”
“You think that I never loved you?” said Ron.
“No, I know that you never loved me. I even slept with Quimpy to make you jealous. Quimpy of all people! Did you think that I wanted him?”
“I didn’t know what to think.”
“You were angrier at his betrayal than you were at mine, because it was him that you loved.”
Ron was silent. Zoe’s chin quivered slightly. They sat on the bed staring at each other. Time passed.
Ron said, “Do you want something to drink?”
“What have you got?”
“There’s soda and some old bottles of beer that someone left when they came here.”
“I’ll take a beer,’ she said.
Ron started to get up and go to get it. She stopped him. “No, let me.” She slipped out of her white cut offs and walked into the kitchen in her panties and her top. She came back carrying two of them and handed one to Ron. He took it and set it down without drinking.
“You’re comfortable here. I can feel it. How’s the teaching going?”
“It’s great,” said Ron.
“You’re still at the same school?”
“Yes.”
“And all the girls still think you’re great?”
Ron blushed. “We get along well.”
She took a long swallow on the beer and wiped her mouth with her arm. “If I got up and left, you wouldn’t try to stop me, would you?”
Ron literally hung his head. “Probably not.”
Then she put her shorts back on and left as silently and as magically as she had arrived, and he knew that he would never see her again.

Chapter 63
When he finished grading the papers, he had a mixed reaction. The grammar was good. Their knowledge of the play was excellent. Their essay organization was fine. Those were the good points. Their conclusions were lousy. Most of them were using what Ron called summary conclusions, where they just restated their major ideas. In some cases they used the topic sentences from their previous paragraphs. He knew it was the system that Sister Anna Lourdes taught them. It was a system and Ron could not quibble that they needed a system, but now it was time to move beyond that and use the conclusions to actually say something. He thought about how he was going to explain this, and jotted down some quick notes. That was really a pretty easy fix. The ones who understood it would get it, the ones that did not would still have well organized essays. The second problem was harder. A lot of their ideas were his ideas parroted back. What were they going to do when they no longer had his ideas with which to work? He wanted to share his ideas with them, but he didn’t want those ideas to become their thoughts. His nagging voice chided, if you didn’t make them sound like the gospel of truth according to Ron Tuck maybe they would have their own ideas.
It was true and Ron didn’t like it. He looked over his test questions. He had started with five quotes for which they had to supply speaker, literary devices, and an explanation of content. That was fine. He needed that to reward the girls who read the play carefully. He had given them an essay that also began with a quote. He read over his words, “Using the quote ‘We are the stuff that dreams are made on,’ fully explore the themes of the play, using this quote as a basis for exploration.”
His nagging voice said that it was a clumsy sentence. Ron pictured himself walking into the wall that he sometimes viewed language as being. Too many of the girls had just fed him back his ideas. What he wanted was their ideas. Then a thought struck him. He wrote, “Using what you know of Hermia, Helen, Lysander and Demetrius, predict what their lives will be like in five years. Your answer must include references to the play that shows the basis of your predictions.” He liked it. He would have to give the next test in two parts. The first part would be the quotes, and then they could do the second part with open books. They would need more time. He thought again. He could create a two day test. He could create ten quotes for the first day and the essay would be the second day. He glanced at his syllabus to see what was coming up. It was The Merchant of Venice. That would be perfect.
He lay back on his bed thinking that he was ready for tomorrow. Ron laughed at himself when he thought again and realized that it was Friday night. Some life you’ve got, said the nagging voice.
He looked at the clock again. It was almost 10pm, but it wasn’t too late for The French Maid. Ron smiled and got himself dressed and drove down the parkway. When he got to the club, he found that it was locked shut. He was startled and wondered what had happened. He did know of another place up in Paterson. Quimpy had told him about it when he first mentioned that he was going to go-go bars. Quimpy had said, “If you want to see some really wild stuff, try a juice bar.”
The Nest was tucked away on a side street in South Paterson. It was run by Squirrely, a smallish man with a penchant for repeatedly wincing his glasses back up against her eyes. It was that expression and his quick sudden movements that earned him his name.
When he arrived, he was met at the door and a man sitting behind a glass partition. Ron stood in the small vestibule and reached for his money.
“You a member?” asked Squirrely.
“Not yet,” said Ron.
“Twenty buys you six months membership and two glasses of soda.”
Ron slid the money under the Plexiglas partition and the guy said, “I’ll need to see some ID.”
For a moment Ron panicked. He had always come and gone anonymously. The man saw the hesitation on his face. “We don’t put up with no shit here, kid and if we know who you are you are less likely to cause trouble. We are a private club.”
Ron nodded. It made sense. He reached for his driver’s license, careful to not show his school ID. He slipped the license under the partition.
Squirrely took it, looked up at Ron, and then wrote his name onto the list. Ron was feeling queasy. What was going to happen to the list? It was his name! He waited to see if Squirrely took any of his other information, but the guy slid his license back out under the partition, took his $20 and buzzed him through the locked door.
The bar looked like one that served alcohol except that the barmaid was topless. She wore only a G-string and a small beret on her dark hair. Ron handed her his ticket and she brought him a glass of coke that was mostly ice. She stood in front of him waiting. He looked at her and then down at the ticket. He reached into his pocket and brought out the rest of his money. She squeezed her tits together and leaned over as he slid the dollar between them, go-go style.
Ron settled back with his soda and looked at the place. It was dark, they were all dark. The sound system was not as sophisticated as the one at The French Maid and there was an order of perspiration. The girl who was standing on the stage wore nothing. She was a little plump and had dark roots showing at the base of her blonde hair. She did not smile when she met his eyes. Ron felt instantly uncomfortable.
The music was nondescript. There were six other guys in the place. None of them seemed to be looking at the girl. Her set ended and she walked off and disappeared. She was replaced by a thin Latino girl with jet black hair and a resemblance to at least ten of his students. Ron swallowed hard. This was not what he had expected. This girl was young. She looked almost familiar. This isn’t what he wanted at all. Suppose he ever walked into a place like this, and it was one of his former students? What would he do? Money or not, he had to get out of there. He slid the money back into his pocket and literally bolted out of the door. Heads turned at his quick exit. Squirrely laughed quietly.
Ron was shaking by the time that he got to his car. He felt itchy. He wanted a shower. He jumped in quickly and drove him without turning on the radio, trying not to think.

Chapter 64
“Why do you think that Jewish people have been the object of so much prejudice for so long?”
Ron started the class with this question, and as he expected, the question was met with silence. He waited to see what they would say. Lately, he had learned to become comfortable with silence in the classroom. He knew that his questions weren’t easy, and that they needed time to think if he wanted them to give thoughtful answers. It occurred to him that teachers often did not ask questions that had no right answers because they were uncomfortable with the silence that followed them. He looked into their faces. Since this was the first day of the play there were no comments about last night’s reading on the chalkboard.
“Because they are so different,” said Donna, “and they seem to think that they are better than anyone else.”
Ron waited. He knew that there would be more if he could hold out. He gazed at them. He sensed that it was not that they were confused, but that they were unsure about how they should answer. Finally Elena said, “I don’t think that I have known any Jewish people, personally.”
Ron saw a number of the girls bob their heads up and down in assent. He hadn’t considered this. They didn’t know any Jews. Then an idea struck him. “It is quite possible that Shakespeare did not know any Jewish people either. He was working from stories that he had heard. In some cases, he was working with stereotypes that had been passed down for a long time. Jews had been expelled from England a long time before Shakespeare was born, and the depictions of them were usually those of sub-human monsters, which is why, among other reasons, Shakespeare set the play in Venice. There would have been no Jews in England.”
“Where did they go?” asked Donna.
“They wandered in Europe, not being totally accepted. In some places they were forced to wear strange costumes that would mark them as Jews. In other places, such as Venice, they were not allowed to have citizenship or work at jobs. As a result, they turned to money lending, which is referred to as usury in the play.”
Then he turned to the tape player and switched it on. It was the opening scene. He had them. Not like he had them in some of the more romantic plays, but that was coming and he was satisfied. The thoughts in his head as he watched them follow the words of the actors were about how much he would acquaint them with the Jewish culture. How much would he be allowed to say? Would he be allowed to say that it was really the Italians that killed Christ? That in his head it had been one of the great bait and switches of all time to have made the Jews the scapegoats? It didn’t matter. The fact was that they were going to meet their first Jew. Ron wished hard that Shakespeare’s description was not so much of a stereotype, but he wanted to make sure that his audience got it. He wanted them to hate Shylock so that he could, in some ways, redeem him. Shakespeare had really boiled it down to two speeches, two monologues. The one “Hath a Jew not eyes…” and the other, the more famous, “the quality of mercy” It really all came down to those two and one of the strongest women he had ever seen on a stage, Portia.
After the first scene ended, he clicked off the tape. “One question that I want you to try to answer at the end of this play is “Why was Antonio sad?” He turned and wrote the question on the chalkboard. The girls all copied the question into their notebooks. They knew him well enough to know that it was from these questions that he would select their essays. The bell rang before Ron wanted it to ring. He said quickly, “Finish the first act for tomorrow and remember it takes five statements on the side board for us to be able to begin class.” There was a groan and he answered it with a smile and then they left.
The next day, Ron began by looking over at the side board. He read: “Why do parents have nothing better to do than meddle in their kids’ lives?” It was signed by Debbie. The next read, “How can she spend the rest of her life with someone based on the results of a game?” That was signed by Donna. The next read, “I don’t think that it’s fair to force us to read about Jews.” It was unsigned. Ron stared hard at it. It was unsigned for a reason. Of course the girls knew who wrote it and he could force the issue but he decided to let it go. The next read, “What’s the big deal about loaning money for interest?” That was Elena. Veronica had written a quote from the play. “All that glisters is not gold.” Next to it she wrote, “Why did we all learn that it was glitters and what does glisters mean?” It was of course from the second act and it told Ron that Veronica had read ahead. She had probably read the entire play but he would be embarrassing her if he asked. And finally Samantha wrote, “I have no idea why Antonio is sad. He’s rich.”
Ron thought quickly about where to begin and then from seemingly out a nowhere an idea struck him. He turned to the board and quickly drew ten vertical lines. Over each column he placed a number from 1-10. “Now with ten being the highest and one the lowest, tell me how much it matters to you that your parents like the man that you will eventually marry.” He had had some experience with this process and turned to give them a caution. “Now before you lowball the answer, think of this. You are out on a date and the guy you are with tells you that on a scale of 1-10 he would rate your looks a 6.” They laughed. “Would you be offended?”
“I wouldn’t be offended but I would make sure that it was the last time that I went out with him.”
“And why is that?”
“Who wants a guy who does not think that you are beautiful?” she said as if he must be some kind of moron.
“You didn’t do that to your last girlfriend did you Mr. Tuck?” said Donna.
Everyone laughed again. “No, I did not do that. If I thought she was a 6, I wouldn’t be out with her.”
The girls laughed again and Ron laughed with them. As he took the vote, it split the way that he expected that it would. It was based on their mood of the moment. Some said ten and some said one. Samantha asked if there was a category for zero. There were very few in the middle. When he finished the survey, he had 3 tens, 4 nines, 3 eights, 6 twos and 7 ones.
He stared at the results. He circled the 13 low scores. “So are you saying that your family is not important?”
Elena’s hand shot up. “No, I am saying that my family needs to have trust in my decisions. They need to respect what it is that I want for my life.”
Ron nodded again. Donna, who was a 2, said, “I may not get married but if I did, I wouldn’t want my parents choosing my partner.”
“That’s not the question,” said Ron.
Donna smiled. “No you twisted the question around, the way that you always do.”
Everyone laughed again. Ron feigned being aghast at her response. “I do not twist.” They laughed harder.
Samantha said, “You probably won a twisting contest in the olden days.”
Ron needed to move on. He did not want them dwelling on how he might be manipulating them. It would make it much harder to teach them if they did.
“What about my 10’s and 9’s here? Why is what family thinks of your prospective husband so important?”
Surprisingly Veronica raised her hand and said, “I would be lost without my family. I know it may sound weak, but I need them to like the guy that I want to marry.”
“It is not at all weak,” said Ron. He thought about how he responded to his mother’s judgments of his girlfriends. He thought that life would be easier if she had liked them but he also thought that if there was one that she liked that she would push him to marry her.
Elizabeth said, “I want my mother to be proud of who I choose. It would be great if she were proud of something about me.”
Ron let what she said sink in. He did not want to patronize her. He realized that she wanted to express what she had said, and that in some way it had been cathartic for her to be able to say it.
“For all of you who don’t like, women’s liberation, let me say that back in Shakespeare’s time, women were property. A man could actually beat his daughter to death for disobeying him and it would be within his rights.”
“My dad would have loved living back then,” said Elena.
Now Ron ran through the plot and pointed out some quotes that he suggested that the girls remember and understand. They wrote furiously. These quotes they knew would be the batch from which he would select the ones on their test. When he finished, he clicked on the beginning of Act 2.
His eyes turned to Elizabeth while they were reading and he saw that she was holding her head down and fighting back tears.
In the hall at the change of class he said to Bernadette, “What do you know about Elizabeth’s mother?”
“I never met her,” said Bernadette, “but I know that Elizabeth is frightened of her judgment. And I know that there is no man on the scene.”
“She’s a very determined girl,” said Ron.
“I assume that she gets that from her mother,” said Bernadette. “I think that her mother wants better for her and pushes her to excel. At least that’s what it sounds like.”
Ron wondered if he should find a way to meet Elizabeth’s mom.

Chapter 65
Ron waited for the girls to arrive. He was anxious to see them. It occurred to him that he had never had a favorite class before, and he wondered if it was healthy. Although he was active and happy in his other classes, he did not think about them the way that he thought about the Shakespeare class. He worried that he might be short changing his other classes.
His worry vanished when he saw them coming in. Many of them moved straight to the side board and began to write before they even put their books down and before the bell rang that announced the start of the class. They were using their hall time, their free time to talk to each other, to be in his room and write comments about the reading. It made him swell with pride as he watched them.
Samantha wrote, “Portia is cool. I like her.”
Donna wrote, “Jessica is going to be an unhappy girl. This thing with Lorenzo is doomed.”
Elena wrote, “The loan seems to be filled with hatred.”
Elizabeth wrote, “Portia is trapped because if she does not honor her father’s will, she will lose her own honor.”
Helen wrote, “These people give their religions a bad name.”
Ron watched the girls writing and tried hard to not notice the way that their young bottoms jiggled as they wrote so furiously. He looked down into his book. He did not want to look at them that way.
Connie wrote, “I think that Portia and Nerissa are true friends and I hope that nothing bad happens to them.”
Veronica wrote, “I think I know why Antonio is sad.”
Her comment startled Ron. It was a good place to start the class but if would diffuse some of their excitement over Portia. She had spun her spell on them and they were seeing themselves in her place. Shakespeare truly was an incredible genius, thought Ron. How could he conceive of this character? Then he realized that in a world ruled by a queen, it was be easier to think of women as strong.
“Ok,” said Ron. It seems like everyone has gotten through the first two acts. Does anyone have any questions about what is going on?”
Ron waited. No one raised a hand. He turned to Elena. “Summarize for me. What has happened?”
Elena smiled. “Well Bassanio and Portia are going to get to be together. You can just see that coming. But, Bassanio went to Shylock and they agreed on this weird loan, three thousand ducats for three months. Antonio guarantees the loan and Shylock says that he wants a pound of Antonio’s flesh if he can’t pay in time.”
Donna interrupted. “Is that legal?” I mean, can you make a loan for that kind of repayment?”
It was a good question, almost too good. If he really answered her now, he would blow the ending. “The laws were different back then and remember, people also sold themselves into slavery to gain passage to America. Such a thing would not be legal today, but back then it was a common practice.” He looked at Donna. His answer seemed to satisfy her. He turned his gaze back to Elena and the dark eyed girl continued.
“Shylock’s daughter Jessica and Lorenzo want to be together, but they have to sneak around. Oh, and I finally understand about Portia’s father’s game. If these guys make a wrong answer they have to agree on their honor to go away immediately and never marry. That makes the stakes a bit higher. So they have to really want Portia before they even ask to choose. I wish that they did not keep the answers in caskets though. That is very creepy.”
Ron smiled. “They aren’t caskets in the way that we think of the word. They just are small boxes, like jewelry boxes.”
“Oh, “said Elena. “Is there any reason that they can’t just say jewelry boxes?”
“Caskets does make it seem much more serious, doesn’t it?” said Ron. “Ok, how many of you agree with Donna and think that Jessica is making a mistake?”
Ron directed their eyes over to Donna’s comment on the side board. He made a yes and no divide on the chalkboard and had the strange thought that he did it by drawing a cross. That hadn’t occurred to him before. He polled the room quickly. The class was split. The class was split ten agreeing that Jessica was making a mistake and thirteen not agreeing. Ron turned to Donna, “OK, why do you think that she is making a mistake?”
“Because of the way that he talks to her,” said Donna. “He talks down to her all the time. Wait let me find it.” She looked into the book. Ron almost popped a shirt button with the swell of pride in his chest as she went to the text to back up her assertion. She got it. She was way ahead of the curve.
Donna read, “‘Most beautiful pagan, most sweet Jew! if a Christian did not play the knave and get thee, I am much deceived.’ Donna paused. “That’s not the best example, but I always get the feeling that he is talking down to her and treating her as if he is doing her some kind of great favor.”
Ron nodded, “OK.”
“I think that he really loves her and that he doesn’t care if she is a Jew or Christian. I think that he really wants to be with her,” said Helen.
“Does anyone think that she should not go with Lorenzo other than for Donna’s reason?” said Ron.
Veronica raised her hand a little bit timidly, almost as if she was apologizing. “I think that what she does to her father is wrong. I don’t think that Shylock is a nice man but he is her father and she steals from him and she leaves him all alone. She betrays him.” Veronica was gaining strength as she talked. “And I think that it’s bad luck to start a marriage with a betrayal. And she is going to have no family for the rest of her life. These people will always think of her as the Jew’s daughter and if Lorenzo gets tired of her she will have nothing at all.”
Elizabeth shot back. “What does she have now? She’s stuck with a father who treats her like a piece of shit.” Elizabeth’s hand flew up to her mouth and her light skinned face reddened visibly. “I’m sorry, Mr. Tuck,” she said staring up at Ron. “I mean he treats her like crap.”
Ron smiled in a way that let her know that she was not in any trouble. Cursing carried a penalty of five demerits and for a moment Ron was the person in charge of discipline. The class was watching him intently. “I think that we all talk differently when we are not in class. The important thing to do is to understand the difference and Elizabeth corrected herself before anyone had to point it out to her.” He paused and hoped that what he said would sink in. “Now let’s get back to the important stuff. Samantha, why do you think that Portia is cool? And why did you start to like her?”
Samantha grinned. “She’s sarcastic when it comes to guys. She knows what you are like and she can see through your game.”
Ron smiled. “I don’t have any game.”
Like synchronized swimmers, the girls rolled their eyes at the same time. Ron saw it and began to laugh in spite of himself. “Why else do you like her?”
“She knows what’s important to her,” said Samantha.
“Let’s hold that thought,” said Ron. “Samantha, we are going to come back to that comment at the end of the play. If I forget, I want you to remind me.”
Samantha smiled as she basked in the glow of having made a positive contribution. She was thrilled knowing that one of her ideas was an idea that he wanted to save and revisit. It was just then that the bell rang. The class groaned. Ron smiled.
About an hour later, he met Sister Donna Maria in her office to review discipline. After they had settled and gone through a list of girls that were coming before the faculty council, she said, “It isn’t often that I get a complaint about you, Mr. Tuck, but I got one.”
Ron looked up. Her eyes were a watery, placid brown, like wet mold. “What is it, Sister?”
“Are you teaching the children about the Jewish faith?’
Ron laughed, “Not at all, Sister. We are reading The Merchant of Venice in my Shakespeare class.”
“But did you teach them that Christians persecuted Jewish people?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Why would you tell them that?”
“Well,” said Ron. “For one thing it is the truth and for another it is in the play.” Then he thought that this was going in a poor direction. He did not want her prying into the content of the plays. He was instantly and instinctively sure that she was not familiar with Shakespeare. When he had first proposed the idea, her comment had been something to the effect of ‘did he really think that the girls would have any interest in that.’ He decided to take a page out of Shakespeare’s book. “Sister, the Catholic Church is never mentioned. As you know, in England that had The Church of England. I will make sure that the girls understand that.”
Donna Maria smiled placidly. Then her smile turned to a frown. “I have also been informed that you allow the girls to curse in class. Now when I heard that, I didn’t believe it, but I think that since we are talking about it I might as well put all of my cards on the table.”
Ron looked down at the table like he was seeing the Old Maid card with her picture on it. “One time, one girl mistakenly used a crass word. It did not take the name of the Lord in vain or I would have been very upset.”
“What was the word?”
“She said, ‘shit’ and then she immediately apologized and corrected herself.”
Donna Maria sighed. “I guess that we can’t expect too much of these girls considering who they are and when they are from.”
Ron felt his face tighten. He truly did not like this woman and was seeing more and more why Bernadette considered her dangerous. “That’s true, Sister.”
“Who was the girl?” said Donna Maria.
Ron scratched the back of his head. “Gee, I can’t even remember.” Then he paused. “You did put me in charge of these kinds of offenses, Sister.”
“Yes,” said the principal thoughtfully but it is important that I also know who the rabble rousers are.”
Ron squinted as if he was trying to remember what he was really doing was trying to keep himself from saying what he thought, which was that she would consider anyone with a brain and an original thought a troublemaker.

Chapter 66

It wasn’t so much that he dreaded the weekends, as it was that he felt lost during them. Ron sat at his desk, on Friday night, thinking about his life. He felt as if the changes that he was going through were profound. In his mind, he pictured himself walking the halls and grounds of the various college campuses that he had haunted. He had always kept his eyes focused on the girls that he had seen. He had always wanted to meet them. There were never too many girls, even when he had been with Robin or Zoe or anyone else. He felt that was behind him now. He was not going to be looking for a girl, not ever again. He had decided that from now on he would wait to be found rather than look for someone that he wished to find. He had grown tired of the endless desire. It had not served him well. As he thought about it, he realized that anytime something had worked out, it had been by accident, or he had been the one who had been pursued. Hadn’t Robin told him that she had watched him for weeks before she had been able to get his attention? Hadn’t he met Zoe when meeting a girl was the last thing on his mind? Hadn’t his other encounters with women been a series of comical mishaps? It was time for it to stop. What was the saying about staying in one place and letting the world come to you? Ron had gone off looking for the world and each, and every time that he had done that it had worked out badly. Maybe the truth was that he did not like himself well enough to want anyone who wanted him. Maybe what he needed to do was just wait and see what it was that life had in store for him instead of seeing it like a gigantic treasure hunt.
These insights did not make him happy. He saw himself as damaged beyond repair. He was like his knees. Once his speed had been one of his best attributes as an athlete, but it was only when he had learned to accept their damage and stop trying to pretend that he had not been injured that he was able to get himself into the shape that he was in today. He had gone out looking for the perfect job, but it was not until his mother had taken the step that he had resisted and sent out his resume that he had come to Our Lady of the Forlorn. It was not as if he had nothing. He had his teaching and he was sure that it would sustain him for a long time.
It was about 11pm when the phone rang. Ron had been thumbing through his copy of Shakespeare’s plays and lying on his bed. He had no idea who could possibly be calling him.
“Hello.”
A soft, scared voice said, “Mr. Tuck, it is Elena.”
Ron felt a jolt. “Elena, what’s wrong? Can I help you?”
“I need your advice, Mr. Tuck.”
“OK.”
“I am with my boyfriend Junior. He is in the other room and I don’t know what to do.”
“Just tell me what is wrong,” said Ron.
“He wants me to do it and I said that I would and now I’m scared.”
“Why are you scared?”
“I don’t know. I think that I’m just being silly.”
Ron nodded. His mind raced. “If you are scared, then maybe you aren’t ready.”
“What do you mean?”
“There is a lot of pressure on you Elena. You are still very young. There really isn’t a reason to rush.”
“A lot of the girls in class talk about doing it with their boyfriends. I feel like I’m being stupid.”
“Maybe you are being very smart.”
“What do you mean?”
“Doubts are often a good thing, Elena.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I think that you are calling me, because maybe you don’t want to and want me to tell you not to.”
Ron bit his lip. He sounded just like Lashly, telling a student that she didn’t really know what it was that she wanted. One difference a reassuring voice said in his head was that he wasn’t going to have Elena come to his house so that he could show her how to do it.
“You think that is it?”
“I really do, Elena.”
“Then I’m not going to do it.”
“Whether you do or not has to be your decision and it can’t be because Junior will get mad if you don’t, or that the other girls will think that you are strange because you don’t. When you are ready, I promise you that you won’t be calling me or anyone else.”
“Thank you, Mr. Tuck. I think that was really what I needed to hear.”
“Alright Elena. You can call back whenever you need to call.”
“You are wonderful, Mr. Tuck. Why can’t my boyfriend be like you?”
Ron laughed. “Cause he isn’t as old as I am.”
Elena said softly, “He is only three years younger than you are.”
Ron frowned. This was not some eighteen year old guy trying to talk his girlfriend into giving it up. This was a grown man with one of his students. His face hardened. “If there is any problem when you say no, call me and I will come and get you.”
“There won’t be a problem, Mr. Tuck but thank you for looking out for me.”
Then she was gone. Ron hoped that he had said the right things to her. He stared at the ceiling for a long time before he drifted off to sleep.

Chapter 67
On Monday morning, Ron began class by drawing a cross on the board and dividing it, not by yes and no as was his normal way, but with the words ‘love and justice. He did not look at the side board although he knew that there were many comments there. While some students took the weekends off, Ron had learned that his were very diligent at accomplishing their lessons over the weekend. They had confided to him that in many instances that they were not allowed to go out and that they could get out of doing housework by claiming that they had school work which needed to be finished.
“Would you prefer to live in a world that is governed by love or a world that was governed by justice?” he asked.
Ron almost fully expected that the girls would almost unanimously vote for a world where love was in charge and was at a loss to explain when the vote came back evenly split between the two choices. He looked at them very thoughtfully. He circled the group that had voted for justice. “Then you believe that Shylock was treated fairly?”
Donna’s hand shot up like a bolt. Before he could even acknowledge her, she said, “That wasn’t justice! That was prejudice!”
Ron smiled. “What do you mean?”
“Well the judge does not even try to hide the fact that he hates Shylock.”
“That’s true,” said Ron. “But is he impartial?”
“He claims to be but that is a joke. He was looking for any way to overturn the bond.”
“Doesn’t Shylock demand the ‘letter of the law’ and isn’t that what he gets?”
“Yes, but isn’t the purpose of the law to help everyone to be treated fairly?”
“Is it?” said Ron.
“It should be!” countered Donna.
Ron nodded. “You are correct. It should be. I want you to think about your history classes for a moment.” The girls groaned and Ron was shocked at the reaction. “What?”
Elena said, “History is no fun, Mr. Tuck.” She looked at him with her eyes twinkling in the secret that the two of them now shared.
“Haven’t our laws always been a reflection of our prejudices?”
The girls were silent. Elizabeth who had also voted for justice said, “Then there is nothing to trust except love. Is that what you are saying?”
“No,” answered Ron. “Love does not even attempt to be fair. We treat those that we love much differently than we treat anyone else.”
“So what’s the right answer?”
“You tell me,” said Ron. “It’s there. It’s right in the pages.”
Veronica smiled broadly and put her hand up. “The mercy speech by Portia.”
Ron smiled and said, “Let’s look at it together.” Ron read the speech as the girls followed along. He read it slowly. He reread the words, “… in the course of justice, none of us shall see salvation…”
Ron paused to let the words sink in. Then he said, “Why doesn’t Shylock take three times the amount of money that is due him?”
Paula Sandal said, “Because he hates them and he wants to get back at them.”
Ron nodded. “Why else?”
Judith said, “Because of his daughter.”
Ron nodded again. “Why else?” He felt uneasy about saying this because those were the two reasons that he wanted. Sometimes he would push beyond what he expected them or him to know and had this kind of blind faith in the power of the classroom to provide an answer. Victoria didn’t make him wait long.
“He is sticking up for all the Jews.”
Ron smiled. He had not thought of Shylock as seeing himself as a standard bearer but there it was and it seemed to ring true.
Elena said, “Do you think that Shakespeare secretly liked Jews, Mr. Tuck?”
“What I think is that Shakespeare, in his writing, wanted us all to treat each other better. But let me ask you this. How would Shylock know what mercy looked like or felt like? Had anyone shown him mercy? If you were trying to leave this room and every time that you almost got out, I swung down and kicked you in the teeth and knocked you back into the room, wouldn’t you want to beat the hell out of me if you finally did get out?”
Elena said, “So, Portia is asking Shylock to give something that he has never been given.”
“So why does she do that?” said Ron.
Paula said, “Because she wants him to be better.”
Paula had just started volunteering answers and the last thing that Ron wanted to do was to shut her down.
“That is partially true. Why else?”
Donna’s face lit up. She pointed to the love side of the vote. “Because she is in love with Bassanio and wants to get Antonio off.”
Ron was having trouble containing his smile. “Do you think that she really cares about Shylock at all?”
There was a soft chorus of “no” in the room.
Ron returned to the board and looked out at them. In this space he felt that somehow he was inside of the play, moving in it like an observer, almost like a director. He drew another cross. “Does Shylock get what he deserves?”
The vote was swift. There were fifteen who said yes and seven who said no. Ron circled the minority and walked away from the board without saying anything. They knew what it meant.
Veronica said, “He should be punished for what he has done, but they don’t leave him with anything, not even his friends or his religion.”
“That’s true,” said Ron. “If he becomes a Christian, his fellow Jews will think of him as dead.”
“I want to change my vote,” said Judith.
“Ok,” said Ron. “Why?”
“Cause if I don’t, I won’t be any better than they are.”
Other girls said, “I want to change my vote too.”
Ron grinned at Judith. “See you are a real trendsetter.”
She beamed.
“But that doesn’t make Shylock any better of a person, does it? And Shakespeare leaves him this way. In some ways what Shakespeare is saying in his own Christianity is that Shylock had a shot at redemption and turned it down, which is why a lot of critics have said that Antonio is like a Christ figure in the play. You may want to write that down.” Dutifully the girls wrote.
Ron went back to the chalkboard and said, “OK, let’s switch gears here.” He circled those who had voted for the world governed by love. “What happens in the courtroom between Bassanio and Portia?”
Samantha said, “He digs himself into a really deep hole.”
“Why?”
Samantha gave him that look that again displayed disbelief at his inability to understand. “He gives away his ring!”
Ron grinned. “So?”
“Has a girl that you loved ever given you a ring?” said Samantha.
Ron looked down at his finger. There was silver ring with Minnesota jasper in it on the third finger of his left hand. Robin had given it to him when he first moved to Minneapolis, before he knew that she was sleeping with her cousin, before things had gotten really crazy. He dutifully wore the ring every day. He thought of her each time that he slipped it on his finger. “This one,” he said holding up the finger.
“How would she feel if you gave it away to another woman?” said Samantha.
Ron felt his eyes fill up instantly. He fought the reaction. Not here! Not in front of his students. The girls saw his face and the room became very quiet. Ron tried to smile and he shrugged. “I doubt that she would care very much anymore,” he said. The room was very quiet. The floor creaked as Ron moved across it. “But she also would probably not try to trick me into giving it away.” He was trying to get it back, trying to will his mind away from that place and back to his students. He felt himself close a door. For a moment, he heard laughter across the hall. It made him flinch. “OK,” he said. “Now the first thing that Bassanio does is to tell Portia, who he does not know is Portia, that he would give her up if that would help to get Antonio off the hook for the pound of flesh.” Ron read the passage. “The next thing that he does, and Portia has already said that she was going to leave at this point, is to keep asking her if there is anything that he can give her. And that puts it in her head to ask for the ring.”
“Yup,” said Donna. “He’s a dope.”
“Well,” said Ron, “he is not as smart as she is.”
“That’s an understatement,” said Donna. “But I have a question. How could he not know who she was?”
“Because the court was a man’s world and he would never have guessed that a woman could conduct herself in there the way that Portia did.”
“Yup ,” said Elena. “A real dope.”
The bell rang. The class groaned. Ron smiled. “Act 5 is very short so it’s almost like you have a free night, but remember as soon as we finish the play, we have the test.”

Chapter 68
Looking straight at Veronica Ron said, “Ok, why is Antonio sad?”
Veronica grinned and opened her notebook. She turned back a few pages. “I think that he is sad because he does not love his life and he knows that it is the only one that he has and he is dissatisfied with it.”
Ron was struck first by the simplicity of her insight. He nodded slowly and made a cross on the board, labeling it with a Y and an N.
“How many of you agree with Veronica?”
As he took the poll, he realized that he had made a mistake to do it this way. By identifying the statement as belonging to Veronica, the poll became a referendum on her and it wasn’t going to get him anywhere. It was unanimous in favor of agreement. He stopped. There was no place to go with a vote like this unless he took the opposing point of view. He didn’t want to do that. “What is missing in his life?” he said.
Donna grinned as she raised her hand. “I personally think that he is a little bit too sweet on Bassanio.”
There was a scattering of “Ewws” in the classroom. Ron looked at Donna and said, “Why do you think that?”
Donna answered with a strong and confident voice. “Bassanio is the only one that he wants to see before he thinks that he is going to die, for one thing.”
“That is true,” said Ron. “Anyone else have an idea?”
Veronica’s hand went back up into the air. She began speaking as soon as Ron made eye contact with her. “I think that he has taken his life for granted and that it’s only when he is faced with losing it that he realizes that he has another chance. I think that Shakespeare put him through this so that he could learn that his life was important.”
“Why do you believe that he didn’t understand that his life was important?”
Elena chimed in. “The bond. Who makes that kind of deal about a debt? It had to be that he just didn’t care.”
Ron was stunned. He had read this play at least six times and he had never come to these conclusions, but now they looked real and true and he believed them to be accurate insights. “I think that you may all be correct. And I think that I have never had these thoughts about the play before.” He grinned at them proudly and they grinned back at him just as proud of themselves as he was of them.
“OK,” he said. “Let’s move on to the rings and what Portia does back at Belmont.”
Samantha said, “She’s just having fun with him.”
He exaggerated a face of being aghast and in pain. “That was your idea of fun?”
The girls giggled. Elizabeth said, “Mr. Tuck, do you remember back in freshman year when we read The Odyssey?
Ron smiled. “Yes.”
Elizabeth continued, “Didn’t Penelope do the same thing to Ody?”
They laughed remembering the name that he had given them to use because they had trouble saying Odysseus. “What do you mean?
“At the end of the story, when she tests him and tells her maid to bring their bed so that she can sleep with him,” said Elizabeth.
“Both events are very much related. Except of course that Odysseus was gone for 20 years and she wanted to make sure that it was him.”
Elizabeth blushed but held her ground. “She knew it was him. She wanted to make sure that he hadn’t taken her for granted and Portia is doing the same thing here.”
“Wow,” said Ron. “I should just sit down and let you guys teach the class to yourselves.”
Paula looked at him as if he was serious. “We couldn’t do this without you,” she complained.
Ron smiled. “Yes, you can and you’re gonna.”
He spent the rest of the class reviewing and giving them a pool of quotes from which he would choose his questions. He made the pool huge, including at least thirty quotes from which he would choose ten. Even if they just studied those quotes, they would be ready. Then he told them about the new testing formula that he was going to use and he saw them get nervous again. He explained that he did it so that they would have more time to express themselves and feel less pressure. They were not convinced.
Standing with Bernadette, in the hall between classes, he said, “I just had the best class that I have ever had with these kids. They are something special.”
Bernadette’s dark eyes looked into his face. Her expression was worried. “Do you think that you might be putting too much pressure on them?”
“No,” said Ron quickly.
“Are you raising their expectations too high, Ron?”
“Why are you asking that?”
“Because I think that some of these kids are going to fail to live up to your expectations of them and what happens to them then? You get a new batch of kids to teach. What do they get?”
Ron felt slapped. He actually took a step back. “Is that what you think that I’m doing?”
“I’m worried that you might be getting carried away,” she said.
“Have you spoken to them about colleges?”
“A little bit.”
“Did you tell Elena that an Ivy League school would not be out of the question?”
“I didn’t have to tell her. She already knew. But I certainly didn’t discourage her.”
Bernadette rolled her eyes. “Come on, Ron, an Ivy League school? And even with affirmative action, if she did get in, do you think that there would be any way that she could possibly make it in that kind of an environment?”
“Yes, I do.”
Bernadette’s face was hard. “Whose dream is that Ron, yours or hers?” Saying that she turned and went back into her classroom. Ron stood and watched her go feeling very confused. A moment ago he had been riding along on the wave of their learning. He was feeling like he was finally doing some real good and now he felt incredibly insecure. Bernadette had never said anything like that to him before.
At lunch, he walked the streets around the school and smoked cigarettes. The leaves were the spectacular variety of colors that he remembered from his childhood. The light was soft as if filtered through them. He wanted to do what was right. He believed in them. They believed in him. Did they believe in him too much? Did he have unrealistic expectations for them? Was he setting them up for failure? Did he just want to think that he was some kind of magical person who could come back to Newark and change the way that things were? Was he a fool? He thought of the Blake proverb about the fool persisting in his folly and becoming wise. Did the fool become wise by learning that he had been a fool? He did not want his wisdom to come at their expense. He was quite sure that he could never forgive himself that.
At the end of the day, Bernadette appeared in his doorway. He had sleepwalked through his afternoon classes. He could not stop thinking about it. “I was cruel to you,” she said.
He looked up and said, “No, you were telling what you believed. That’s not being cruel.”
“What do you think I was telling you?”
“I think that you were saying that I might be doing this for myself more than I am doing it for them.”
“That’s how I thought it sounded too. I was just upset.”
“About what?”
Bernadette came into the room and closed the door. “I got a letter from Irene Emanuel.”
“How is she doing?”
Bernadette moved deeper into his room. “She was worried about the way that she left and she was worried about you.”
“Me?”
“She said that I should look after you and help you to not burn yourself out.”
“I miss her,” said Ron. “I really wish that I understood why she just had to go like that.”
“If I tell you something you have to promise me that you will never tell anyone under any circumstances.” Ron looked at her quizzically. She paused and waited for him. He nodded. “Do you remember that man whose body they found in the basement just before she left?” Ron nodded again. “Did you know Father Joyce?”
“He baptized me when I converted back when I was 13. I studied with him.”
“Did you like him?”
“No, he was cold and never smiled.”
“You were too old for his taste. Lucky you!”
“What do you mean?”
“Irene Emanuel was poking around in the basement trying to figure out what had happened. She couldn’t stop wondering what this man was doing down there and why he went there to die. She found a bunch of pictures of Father Joyce and the boys from the second grade Indians Club. Some of the boys had no clothes on. It wasn’t a hobo Ron. It was a former student. He went down there to kill himself”
“What?”
Bernadette nodded. “She took the pictures to the Rectory and shortly after that both she and Father Joyce were transferred.”
Ron sat with his mouth hanging open.
“Some things here are never what you think that they are, Ron.”

End of Part 3

Part 4
Chapter 69
Sitting in Quimpy’s living room where there was little heat, Ron watched the NCAA Basketball Championship game with Quimpy and two of his friends, Roger and Eli. He had hung out with Roger before. They were both English teachers, but Roger had grown so depressed at the idea of grading papers that he was developing a nervous condition that caused him to break out into hives whenever he gave his class an assignment. As their football Sundays went on, Ron would see the red splotches begin to gather on Roger’s neck and he would dig at them with his fingernails and grow more sullen. Silently, Ron had hoped that he would never become like this and wondered how Roger could possibly be doing his best for his students when they very thought of reading their words made him sick. Once he had brought a stack of papers with him to read as they watched and Roger had lost the color in his face as he saw Ron begin to shuffle through the pages and read and smile and share a comment that one of his students had written. When he could not take it anymore, Roger said to Quimpy, “If he’s gonna keep doing that, I’m going to go home.”
Quimpy had responded by breaking out one of his special, saved jar of Thai sticks and after a few puffs Ron was too stoned to read anymore and had put the papers away. After that, Ron had little respect for Roger and never mentioned his teaching or his students again. Secretly, he told himself that Roger was just one of those public school teachers who was in for the money and should have been doing something else.
Quimpy had tried to soothe Roger’s disturbed equilibrium. “You know Ron, he’s still just an idealistic fuck up who thinks that someday we are going to have a cultural revolution.” They had both laughed at Ron’s naiveté, and Ron had responded by smoking more of the Thai stick that Quimpy would have thought imaginable.
However, this was the first time that he had met Eli, who was Quimpy’s mentor and hero. Like Warren, Eli was from North Carolina, but unlike Warren, he spoke very slowly and utilized long pauses in his patterns of speech that caused most people to want to interrupt and finish sentences for him. Eli had retired from teaching and had a house on top of a mountain. He was married to one of his former students, who was thirty-five years his junior. He had been a legendary tennis coach. Quimpy had explained to Ron that Eli was a true genius and that it was impossible to understand the way that he truly looked at the world. Ron felt that he had seen this act before.
The game pitted two legendary coaches against each other, Dean Smith from North Carolina and Bobby Knight from Indiana. Smith was a gentleman and Knight was a raving lunatic. Ron was the only one in the room who thought that Indiana was going to win. Eli had been shocked by Ron’s opinion and asked him to explain.
“Smith is a pussy,” said Ron in way that was sure not to endear him to Eli. “He has no killer instinct. Knight will just put his foot on your throat and stomp the life out of you without thinking that it should be any other way. Smith wants to be elegant. He wants to be well thought of. Knight just wants to beat the shit out of his opponents.”
Eli sat back. “That is a rather vivid,” he paused, “interpretation, another pause, “of how to…” he changed his position on the chair “…play a game.”
Ron smiled. Quimpy shook his head with silent grinning laughter.
Roger said, “Dean Smith is a brilliant tactician.”
“For a pussy,” said Ron.
“Quimpy tells me… that you… are a teacher, Ron?”
Roger stiffened. Quimpy said, “Ron teaches in a Catholic School.”
Eli smiled. “Well, that explains a lot, doesn’t it?”
Quimpy and Roger laughed. Eli puffed on his pipe. Ron lit a joint.
It was a Monday night and he was making an exception. He never went out during the week, but since this was pretty much the extent of his social life and the championship game was a big deal, he had decided to come. He was already regretting it. It was late and he wanted to be home and settling in with his papers and thoughts of his next day. But he knew that he had to start going out some of the time.
At the half, Indiana scored on a long shot that put them up 27-26 for their first lead of the game. The halftime show was dedicated to an update on the condition of Ronald Reagan who had been shot the day before. Surgeons had successfully removed a bullet and the President was said to be doing very well.
Quimpy, who actually was an acknowledged intellect on JFK in Dallas, was explaining that he thought that Reagan had been set up by the secret service to teach him a lesson. Quimpy believed that Reagan had somehow pissed the wrong people off and that a bullet in him was scheduled to get his attention and to put him back on track. Eli contended that it was in this case just an ill-mannered lunatic who thought that he knew what was best for the country. Looking over at Ron, he added, “Not unlike…in spirit… the essence of the way that you describe …Bob Knight.”
Ron just said that he didn’t like Reagan but hoped that he would live. “I just don’t want to ever see another American President killed.”
Roger said, “They’re all no good fucks anyway.”
In the second half, Indiana got off to a slow start but then routed North Carolina. Ron felt vindicated. As soon as the game ended, he slipped out and drove home and went to bed as quickly as he could so that he would be ready for his real life in the morning.
Before he left, Eli congratulated him on his analysis and said that it had been a pleasure to meet him. Ron was a little taken aback. He knew that perhaps he hadn’t been fair to Eli. He had been too guarded to take anything that the guy said at face value. He had shaken his hand and said that he had enjoyed meeting him very much. As he lay in bed, trying to go to sleep, he wondered if Rahway had damaged him with respect to meeting new people. They had been so sure that what they were doing was new and exploratory, but now it seemed that they made each other unhappy more than they did anything positive for each other.

Chapter 70
Elena and Veronica sat in Ron’s classroom. The building was emptying out. Each of them was holding a red library book that Ron had gotten for them.
“It’s a lot of work,” he said. “And you both know already that you are getting great grades from me. This isn’t about that.”
“I think it would be fun,” said Veronica.
“You have the harder decision to make,” said Ron. “It’s not going to be easy to play all of these male roles.”
Veronica grinned. “I know I’m a girl, Mr. Tuck. It’s not like you have two guys in front of you and you are asking one of them to play all the female roles.”
Ron smiled. “Two guys would never have the guts to do what I am asking the two of you to try to accomplish.”
“Do you really think that we can do it?” said Elena.
“I’m gonna be honest with you. I’m not sure. I directed one play in college and I acted some back then, but I never tried anything like this before.”
Elena grinned. “We have no scenery, no budget, no stage and most of the teachers in the school thinking that we can’t do it. What’s the problem?”
The three of them shared a conspiratorial grin. But what Elena was saying was true. For the first time, Ron was really out of favor with both the nuns and the other teachers. When the college admissions letters started arriving, the school was at first shocked and then pleased and then distrustful and now resolutely convinced that Ron had somehow conspired to have these girls apply to colleges that were way over their heads. Bernadette and Ron had their most heated argument ever, and now they were barely speaking to each other. It had started because of Elena. Two months earlier she had burst into Ron’s classroom before the day began waving a letter from Princeton. It said that she had been accepted and that the school wanted her to visit and meet with a financial aid counselor to help her to work out a financial package. Bernadette and Ron had been having coffee in his class. Ron was thrilled when he heard the news. He hugged Elena and she said, “I could never have had the guts to do this without your help.”
Ron said, “You have brains and talent and you can do whatever it is that you decide that you want to do.” They were the same words that his mother had always said to him when he was facing a challenge.
Elena turned to Bernadette. “Isn’t it great, Sister?”
“It’s a lovely honor,” said Bernadette with a tight lipped smile.
“They said that I can bring two guests with me. Will you come, Mr. Tuck? My father said that he would come with me.”
Before Ron could answer, Bernadette said, “What about your mother?”
“She doesn’t mind and I really want you to meet my father, Mr. Tuck. My mother will visit lots after I start going there.”
“Elena, I would be really honored to go, but I think Sister is right. It should be someone else from your family.”
“I already told them that I wanted you,” blurted Elena.
“Then it’s me you get,” said Ron smiling. She hugged him and ran off.
Bernadette was very quiet after she left. Then she stood and said, “Are you really sure that you know what you are doing?”
“What do you mean?”
“Rutgers, yes. Montclair State would be better, but I could understand Rutgers. She has a full scholarship to St. Josephs. But you’ve convinced that girl that she can go to Princeton.”
“She can go to Princeton.”
“And how is her family supposed to manage that?”
“I’m thinking that she is going get a full ride.”
“She’s not that bright, Ron. She’s clever and she works hard and she has overcome the cultural disadvantages, but you had to have her shoot for the moon.”
Ron’s face hardened. “Not only her. Wait until the rest of the acceptances come in. Wait until you see the colleges that these girls are going to get into.”
Bernadette made a fist and pounded it down in the air like she was striking an imaginary table. “Getting in is not the point!” She raised her voice. “This is more about you than it is about them. You just refuse to see the realities.”
“You’re right,” Ron shot back, “because their realities suck. They need dreams, and they can make some of those dreams come true.”
“What you really mean to say is that you can make their dreams come true.”
“I can help,” said Ron.
“You did help! But that wasn’t enough for you. You have to think of them as extraordinary because you want to be extraordinary.”
Ron stood with some amount of defiance in his posture. “Maybe we all are, Bernadette.”
That was really the last meaningful conversation that they had. When Veronica got into Rutgers and Elizabeth got into NYU and Donna decided that she would attend Brandeis, Bernadette avoided Ron more and more. They no longer had coffee and even the girls noticed that their two favorite teachers were not as friendly as they had once been. They speculated that Ron and Bernadette had been lovers and that now they had broken up. Bernadette used to speak glowingly of the guy across the hall, but now she never mentioned him. And Ron seemed to never be with her in the mornings anymore.
“Take the play home and read it over. We need to make a decision by the end of the week and then I have to get permission for us to do it.”
The next morning Ron met with Sister Donna Maria and explained his plan. She looked at him with startled eyes. “You want to do a Shakespeare play?”
“Not exactly,” said Ron. “It’s a collection of Shakespeare scenes that have been put together on a theme. It’s called Shakespeare’s World of Love.”
Sister Cheesy got up from behind her desk and began to pace. She tugged at her waistband and then at her headpiece. “I don’t understand your need to do these things, Mr. Tuck.”
“What do you mean, Sister?”
“Your creative writing class is doing a literary magazine is that not right?”
“Yes, but we are doing that as part of the class and I am paying for the paper. It is only costing the school the price of the ink.”
“And now you want to do this?”
“I’m not sure that I see what one thing has got to do with another,” said Ron.
She threw up her hands in exasperation. “Where are we supposed to put this play on? We have no stage.”
“I think that we can do it in the gym.”
She looked at him with disbelieving eyes. “And just who would we put this play on for, Mr. Tuck?”
“I was thinking that we could do it for the other students and maybe the eighth grade kids. It could be good public relations for next year’s incoming class.”
“It could also be a disaster that humiliates everyone involved.”
“Ok, tell you what. We’ll put it together and show it to you and some of the other teachers. If you don’t think it’s good enough, we won’t do it.”
“No, no, that’s not a good idea. Word will get out about what you are doing and then if the students don’t get to see it, we will look like the bad guys.”
“Have you spoken to Miss Scarpelli about using her gym for this activity?”
“No Sister. That would be presumptuous. I came to you first.”
“She looked at him with exasperation. And you would never be presumptuous would you, Ron?”
“Look, I’m trying to do a good thing here. I’m trying to get the kids excited about learning and to show them that it can be fun too.”
“And you aren’t forcing these girls into this?”
“Not at all,” he said. “They are both top students. They don’t need the grades. They are both accepted into colleges.”
“Well I can’t fault your enthusiasm. But why Shakespeare?”
Ron looked at her evenly and said, “Because no one else thinks that they can do it.”
“Have you ever contemplated the sin of Pride, Mr. Tuck?”
“Being proud of these kids is no sin Sister.”
“We have no money to give you for this.”
“I know that.”
“Well,” she threw up her hands in an expression of exhausted defeat. “Get started and let’s see how it goes, if Miss Scarpelli agrees. I’m not commandeering her classroom for this effort.”
Grace Scarpelli was a short woman in her late 20’s with reddish brown closely cropped hair, freckles and a slight twist to her nose that gave her face an unusual contour. Ron didn’t know her at all but was fairly certain that she was gay. They had said hello over the years and once shared a cafeteria duty. She kept to herself and had been there longer than Ron.
Ron made his way over to the gym with some sense of trepidation. She was sitting in her office with the school nurse when he arrived.
“Hi, Grace.”
“Hello, Ron. You don’t often make it down to this part of the school.”
“I know,” said Ron, feeling a blush heat his face. “They keep me pretty busy up on the other end.”
Grace laughed. “I’m sure that they do.”
The nurse stood up. “Well, I’ve got to get back to my office. We can finish this up tomorrow Grace.”
“Hello Mrs. Babio.”
“Hello and goodbye, Mr. Tuck,” said the nurse without smiling.
Ron felt slapped and he was not sure why. He explained to Grace what he wanted to do and watched with delight as she said that she thought that it was a cool idea, and also that she thought that he was crazy for doing it.
“Well that seems to be the popular opinion,” said Ron.
“You know that they all will be watching and waiting for you to fall on your ass so that they can say that they told you so?”
“Yeah, I know,” said Ron. He was a bit startled by her language. But what the hell, it won’t be the first time that I’ve fallen on my ass.”
“When do you want to rehearse?”
“We’re going to come in an hour before school starts.”
Grace Scarpelli chuckled. “You are a glutton for punishment, huh?”
“I guess,” said Ron. He would have agreed with anything that she said right about now.
“You won’t be in my way,” Grace shrugged. “Good luck with it.”
Ron reached out to shake her hand. It was warm and soft and she stood closer to him when he slid his palm into hers. “I appreciate it,” he said.

Chapter 71
Over the next week, they practiced each day for an hour. Veronica had a car and picked Elena up each morning. Ron was always there waiting for them. He measured out a stage area on the floor and marked it off with strips of packing tape. They worked on the number of props that they would need and what props they would pantomime.
The scenes of the play consisted of a scene between Ferdinand and Miranda from The Tempest. Ferdinand had been given the job of moving wood by Miranda’s father, a wizard named Prospero and she had come to watch him work. Next was a scene from Henry the Fifth where Henry attempts to tell the French princess Catherine that he wants her. This scene was complicated by the fact that she did not understand English. Luckily, Elena had taken French and could read the lines very well. Ron marveled at her fluidity, thinking that she now spoke three languages as well as he spoke one. Then there was a scene between Petruchio and Kate from The Taming of the Shrew. The next scene was from Richard the Third when Richard tells the widow of a man that he has killed that he is going to marry her while she is on the way to bury her husband. Finally there was the scene between Othello and Desdemona, where he strangles her.
They would need chairs. They would need a couch. They would pantomime the wood. Each morning they read through the scenes and Ron timed them. There were also five connecting scenes where the two actors would tell the audience what it was that they were going to see.
Elena said, “Mr. Tuck, what are we going to do about costumes?”
Ron was silent and thoughtful.
Veronica said, “I was thinking that I would tape my chest with an ace bandage. You know so that I don’t show.”
Ron smiled and said, “That’s a good idea, Veronica. He didn’t say that she was flat-chested enough so that it would not be necessary. Ron noticed that Grace Scarpelli began arriving and watching some of their rehearsals as she drank her morning coffee.
“Well,” said Ron. “I think that black tights for all the scenes with the actors between the Shakespearian scenes and then we can just add some things to that foundation for the scenes. Do you think that we should give you a moustache or a beard, Veronica?”
She nodded. “I think it would help me to feel less like myself, Mr. Tuck.”
At the end of the week, Ron said, “Ok, we have a feel for this but we can’t really start to act until we memorize the lines. So, let’s try to have the first scene ready to recite on Monday.”
Ron watched as both girls’ mouths fell open. He said, “You didn’t think we were going to use the books on stage, did you?”
The girls couldn’t seem to close their mouths as they shook their heads no. As they were leaving to go to classes, Grace said, “Ron, I need a favor from you now.”
Ron stopped. The girls left the gym. Ron stood there holding is over the shoulder army field pouch that he used as a book bag. “Sure,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
“My older brother is a fund raiser for the Georgetown School of International Law,” she said. “He needs me to go with him tonight to something at the Metropolitan Opera House.” Ron listened. He was baffled. Did she need him to cover some kind of game or dance for her? She watched his confusion and took a breath and said, “Would you go with me?”

The Rise and Fall of the City of Mahagonny was an Opera in English by Bertolt Brecht and Kurt Weill. Ron had never been to an Opera before. As he got dressed he felt, for one of the first times that he could remember, like a pauper. His suit was a hand-me-down from George. It was too big on him. He shoes were scuffed and he owned no shoe polish. He searched for socks that were not threatening to produce holes from their next wearing. He needed a haircut. None of his ties seemed to match the suit.
He tried to avoid the mirror as he tied his default light green tie around his neck. At least it didn’t completely clash with the brown suit and a white shirt always worked. He avoided looking down at his scuffed black shoes that shabbily projected like loaves of bread sticking out of his pockets. He told himself that it was not like this was his idea. He tried to get his hair to stay behind his ears, but the bulk of it only caused his ears to project out more and to his thinking completed his image as Howdy Doody getting ready for church.
The directions to Grace Scarpelli house were easy enough. She lived in Maplewood. It was a huge brick place that must have had fifteen rooms. Grace met him at the door and said she really appreciated him doing this for her. She looked very different than the way that she did in her track suit at school. She wore a low cut blue evening dress and pearls around her neck and at her ears. Without thinking, he slid his arm around her waist as they walked to his car and she turned to him and smiled a freshly scrubbed and warm grin.
Located in Lincoln Center, The Opera House sparkled like a jewel in the early spring evening. Water gushed up in elegant torrents from a round fountain that was set in the middle of an immaculate square. The glass of the Opera House behind the fountain and the soft lights caught caused the water to also appear as if it were a flowing of jewels that was being puddled at the feet of some thirsty, other worldly creature. Ron felt like a dung beetle as he crossed the square.
Harrison Scarpelli and the six contributors to the University’s School of International Law seemed to arrive in the limo as perfectly timed as if it had been arranged by some punctual concierge. Stupidly Ron tried to polish the tops of his shoes on the backs of his calves as they stood waiting.
The entourage met Grace and Ron like a wave of fur and diamonds. Harrison kissed his sister and shook Ron’s hand. Ron was relieved that he had at least remembered to clean his fingernails. Grace seemed relaxed and oblivious to his fidgeting discomfort as they all made their way up low flat stairs that to their table for ten on the Vilar Grand Tier. They were seated in front of an incredibly large painting by Marc Chagall. Ron wondered if they would have time for dinner before the thing started. He turned to Grace and whispered, “Do you think that we’ll be late if we eat?”
She moved her mouth to his ear and whispered back. “They time the meal to the Opera.”
Ron felt like a blackhead. Harrison began the introductions, “This is my sister Grace Scarpelli and her date Ron Tuck. With a slow sweep of his arm he said, Mrs. Witherspoon and her cousin Mrs. Ravel.” The two ladies nodded and smiled. “Mr. and Mrs. Sithe.” Mrs. Sithe smiled but Mr. Sithe seemed to ignore the introduction and was moving his head above theirs as if searching for a waiter. He magically appeared at his side dressed in a white serving jacket and carrying a leather bound wine list. “And now, Mrs. Oglethorpe”
“Everyone please call me Bunny,” said the large silver streaked woman with a diamond clutch bag that she laid casually on the table. Ron glanced at it and wondered how much it would bring in at a pawn shop.
“Last and most certainly not least are two of the University’s oldest and dearest friends, Mrs. Singletary and her mother, Mrs. Gregory Winterhintz.
There were two waiters dressed in white jackets, and they moved around the table taking dinner orders. Other waiters served dinner rolls, using silver tongs and placing one roll on each person’s side dish. Small pats of butter were also placed next to the rolls and then salad dishes with spring greens were given to each person. Ron and Grace each ordered the prime rib entrée.
The early talk was about the weather and what a mild winter it had been. Ron was quiet and tried to listen attentively and smile. Grace was making smooth conversation and Ron noticed that she seemed as at home in this setting as she did in the gym.
Harrison Scarpelli was leading the conversation and warming the table with the confident expertise of a professional who knew how to put everyone at ease, and at the same time make everything seem completely casual. Ron watched him with admiration. He was wearing a gray suit with a light pinstripe and a darker gray tie that was tied in a perfect Windsor knot. His dress shirt sported square silver cuff links that projected at his wrists in perfect length. His hair was razor cut and seemed also perfectly in place. Ron wondered if a man like this ever had feelings that were similar to his. He doubted it. The man was at least twenty years younger than any of the others with the exception of Ron and Grace and it seemed to not matter at all to him or to them.
Finally someone asked, “Where is your family from, Ron?”
In the past, he had always made a point of saying that they were all from Newark, but this time he felt himself saying, “Glen Ridge.”
“Oh yes,” said Mrs. Gregory Winterhintz. “I have friends from Glen Ridge. It’s very small isn’t it?”
“Yes,” said Ron. “I think that adds to its charm actually.”
“Well, of course it does,” said Bunny Oglethorpe.
Then there was a soft chiming of bells and a flickering of lights. It seemed to come on cue, just as they were finishing their salads.
The interior of the Opera house seemed to stretch up into the sky where a large, round, lighted globe of a chandelier looked down on the proceedings like a friendly sun. They were led to their seats, which were located in the President’s box at the center of the Golden Horseshoe. As they sat, Ron noticed that there was more than ample room for their legs. In small pockets in front of each seat were opera glasses. Grace showed him how to open them. The lights dimmed and the opera began.
Ron was immediately struck by the richness of costume and the way that his eyes could not leave the stage. The Opera was one of the few that was in English, but he still could not really make out the words. The singers were incredible and the orchestra was impeccable. Sitting back, he wondered if he could have had this life if he had made different choices. A voice in his head told him that he would not have been able to appreciate it if he had not made the choices that he had made.
The story was easy to follow. Criminals set up this city based on lust and greed and invite others who want to partake in these pleasures to join them. Ron listened to the voice of Jenny Smith, enraptured by the angelic quality that the whore had as she sang about whiskey and pretty boys. As their fortunes rose and fell Ron realized that he had forgotten all about his dinner. At the conclusion of the first act, as the characters waited for an approaching storm that threatened to destroy the city, the house light came up and Ron realized that he was very hungry.
Again, Ron was dazzled by the soft lights on gold and the glittering glass that was everywhere as they moved. It was a very short walk back to their table, but he kept waiting for Julian T. Willy to pop out from behind a white marble column and explain to Ron that the service entrance was in the rear.
They sat at their table and simultaneously waiters lifted stainless steel covers from off of their plates and there was their dinner, hot, perfectly timed to be eaten right now. It surprised Ron that his prime rib was quite ordinary. He had expected something of a heavenly quality that matched the surroundings.
Bunny Oglethorpe was explaining that her niece was going to boarding school in France and that she had gone “hither and yon” searching for the proper attire that was required to fill the girl’s trunk.
“Isn’t it ridiculous that they have lists of what is required?” said Mrs. Singletary. “They treat you as if you are going to send the girl away with plaid shirts and blue jeans.”
Mrs. Winterhintz turned to Ron. “You are in education, aren’t you Ron?”
“Yes, I’m a teacher at a small Catholic school in Newark.”
“Do they enforce a rigid dress code as well?” said Mrs. Oglethorpe.
Ron finished chewing and swallowed. “Our girls wear uniforms.”
“I do expect that would be best for them wouldn’t it?”
“I hadn’t thought about it,” said Ron.
Mrs. Oglethorpe said, “Well, someone has to teach them as well, I suppose.”
“We try our best,” said Grace, coming to his rescue.
Ron had the distinct impression after that that these people, far from being admirable, were cartoon characters. He began picturing Mrs. Oglethorpe is large floppy pink ears, and when he looked at Mrs. Singletary and Winterhintz the Bob Dylan line “Jewels and binoculars hang from the head of the mule” repeated in his head. He began to wonder if she brayed when she had orgasms.
Harrison Scarpelli said, “I would like to recommend that each of us have the chocolate sulfate for dessert. It really is quite good.”
“I’m all for chocolate,” said Mrs. Sithe.
Mr. Sithe looked at his watch. Finally he said, “They do have this well-organized.”
It was his only comment of the evening.
Back in their seats Act 2 began. Again Ron found his eyes drawn to the stage, and again the voices of the singers so astounded him that he wondered why he had never heard opera before. He realized that it just would not sound the same on a record. Then he was struck by the idea that his students needed to actually see one of the plays that they were doing. They didn’t sound the same on the recordings as they would appear in a theater.
In the second scene, a man ate himself to death and he was lauded as a man without fear. Ron wondered if the people in the theater found the message about excess to be quaint. He began to watch their faces with his opera glasses. They looked universally glum and bored. He wondered if this was not a very good performance or if that was their default posture.
As was expected, one of the characters, Jimmy, was in love with the whore Jenny. He sang of his love for her while men waited on line to pay to fuck her. At a boxing match, one man beats another to death. Ron wondered if these people would enjoy the show more if someone was actually beaten to death. The answer came back to him like the thud of a fist. No, they did not like things to be real. They preferred them bloodless and appreciated from a distance with a good view and opera glasses.
As the second act ended, Jim is arrested for not being able to pay his bar bill. He appeals to Jenny for help and she turns him down in a song called “Make your own bed.” More and more, Jenny reminded Ron of Robin. Jim ends the second act chained to a lamppost singing a ballad that pleads for the sun not to rise for the day of his trial. He saw himself as the stupid sap who got in over his head and now had no way out.
As they forked into the waiting sulfates, chocolate scented whooshes of steam came out of them. The fork fills melted in their mouths and Ron watched as the diners smiled to each other and then secretly smacked their lips.
During the third act, Jimmy is convicted and sentenced to death for the crime of being broke. The line, “In the whole human race there is no greater criminal than a man without money,” reverberated in Ron’s head.
Ron turned his glasses on the crowd as they watched. It was the one line that drew smiling nods from the men. Ron was surprised that they had actually been listening closely enough to make it out. He found himself smiling when Jenny testified against Jimmy.
The opera ended, quite simply with Jimmy being hanged. Then there was a postscript about how the city finally tore itself to pieces because of its greed and corruption. Ron thought that was gratuitous.
As the crowd filed out that sat at their table and had coffee. These people would never be caught leaving with the herd. Ron remembered the line, “all that glitters is not gold” but it sure was here.
In his car, Grace took his hand and said, “Thank you so much for doing this. You were fabulous.”
“Did you like those people?” said Ron.
“Oh god no, but that table gave Harrison about $50,000 tonight.”
“Why did he want you there?”
“There was a cancellation and it is not considered good form to have an empty seat at the table.” said Grace.
Ron wondered if that was why no one had bothered to say good night to them. After all, they were just props.
He kissed Grace good night and she pressed herself to him. Ron did not harden but knew that he would if she worked at it hard enough. Was it access to this kind of life that we wanted for his students and for himself? He didn’t want it but some of them would, and they should have the right to choose.

As Ron drove home thinking about the evening that had passed, Robin sat curled in her reading chair with a pad on her lap. It was to be her last night in this apartment that had taught her how to be alone and she wanted closure. She had not lived with anyone except for Ron, and the assorted people that he had run in and out of their lives, for eight years.
“Dear Ron,” she looked at the page crumpled it and threw it away and began again. “Ron, you wanted to know why I wouldn’t marry you and I did not want the argument of trying to explain it to you, but it stays on my mind and I want to be free of it. So, here goes. I don’t trust you. I don’t believe that you would have ever been faithful to me. I do believe that there is a good chance that you will become an addict. I never really cared about your teaching or the joy that it gave you and that just showed me that I really was not in love with you anymore. I don’t think that you are a bad person, but I do believe that you are lost and damaged and will never be whole. I believe that you will spend the rest of your life in New Jersey, and that is not what I wanted. It never used to be what you wanted either. I knew that after you asked me to marry you that we could never be friends, but the idea of being your wife made me cringe. I know that you think that you love me, but what you loved isn’t there for you anymore. I tried every way that I knew to tell you that, but as usual you would not listen.”
Robin reread the page. It made her smile that she didn’t feel anything. She started to put it into an envelope and then a thought struck her. Why should she? She crumpled the page and through it into the waste basket next to the blank page that showed at the top, “Dear Ron.”