The Most Dangerous Thing - Laura Lippman [57]
Not that he actually likes bookkeeping. But you aren’t supposed to like your job. It makes him a little crazy, listening to Tim Junior and Sean talking about what they want to do. Not when they were little, still in the astronaut-firemen phase. Heck, he wished they’d go back to the firemen phase. With overtime, those guys make out like bandits. No, it was all this current talk of fulfillment, of what would be meaningful to them, that makes him crazy. Sean wants to be a doctor, and while Tim knows he would burst with pride if that happened, he resents it, too. Same with Tim Junior, with his half-assed dream of being a lawyer. As for Go-Go—the last vocational desire he expressed was being a garbageman. Sincere as anything. He thought it would be fun, he said, picking up other people’s trash. Two kids aiming too high, one aiming too low.
He blames their mother’s blood. He wonders about the children lost, what they might have been. All daughters, Doris claims, but she has no way of knowing. Tim believes a son, his real son, the boy most like him, was one of the lost children.
The bar grows dimmer as the day grows brighter. About 4 P.M., as he’s getting ready to ask for his last beer, he sees a vaguely familiar woman enter the place, a real slinky piece even in her nylon waitress uniform. She feeds the cigarette machine, yanks the knob hard, curses, and slaps the side. She’s overdoing it, making a spectacle of herself. She likes having everyone’s eyes on her.
“Can you make good on the money I lost?” she asks Jim.
“Didn’t you read the sign?”
“What sign?”
“The one plastered on the front of it that says ‘Out of Order, do not use, no refunds.’ ” Jim’s smiling, though. She’s too cute to ignore.
She glances back over her shoulder. “Oh, that sign.” It’s droll, the way she says it. “I was in such a goddamn hurry to get to work I didn’t even look. Can’t you cut me a break?”
“Best I can do is take your name and the amount lost and the boss will fish it out for you when the repairman comes by.”
“Aw, c’mon.” She doesn’t put much oomph into it. She might have gotten what she wanted if she had. She is a good-looking woman. Maybe that’s her problem. Too proud to use charm, thinks her looks alone should carry her. Where has Tim seen her before, or is that wishful thinking? Then he remembers.
“You’re—that girl’s mother. Mickey. We’ve met.”
“Have we?” She extends a hand so limp that the fingers curl like cocktail shrimp.
“Halloran. Father of Tim, Sean, and Gordon.”
“Rita.” She studies him. “Oh yeah, the night of the storm. Mickey went out looking for your boy—”
Is that how she remembers it? Is that all she knows? The men told the children never to speak of Go-Go’s secret, not even to their mothers. Tim didn’t want everyone knowing his son had been touched by that queer. A story like that could ruin a boy’s life. He had to tell Doris, but he didn’t tell her much. He’s pretty sure that faggoty Dr. Robison has kept his mouth shut. Rita’s boyfriend, Rick, shouldn’t have had any problem not telling Rita. It’s Mickey and Gwen that Tim wonders about, though. Do girls tell their mothers stuff ? How many people know?
He says: “Funny how the kids used to be together all the time and now they’re not. I guess Tim and Sean are too old to be playing with girls.”
“You don’t think boys and girls can play together?” Her mouth curves, not quite a smile. Something else. Something better.
“Not into high school. It’s not natural. They were right to segregate kid by sexes in school. They learn more when they’re apart. At least the Catholic high schools are still all-boy.”
“You know what? I kinda agree.” She sticks out her lower lip and blows upward, ruffling her bangs. She wears her hair in an upsweep. Not quite a beehive, but something with some height to it. It’s not fashionable, but he likes it. Better than those crazy