Tilt - Alan Cumyn [53]
“I have to go! I have to go!” she said, fiddling with her earrings. She was constitutionally incapable of stepping foot outside the house before she’d re-applied her lipstick. If it was going to be the end she’d look well put together at least.
Stan felt like he could look at women differently now. Not long ago he had stood on a ladder clutching the wall of a woman at a very odd hour before sunrise.
“Today of all days I have to go and simply can’t look after Feldon!” she said.
“I’ll stay with him,” Stan said.
“You have school!” She was changing her earrings now. She had a very female way of cocking her head while putting on earrings.
She was exchanging black for white — beads for pearls. She was a good mother. He felt calmer just watching her.
“You can’t just skip class to babysit,” she said. “I’ll call Kelly-Ann from work. She must be out of her mind with worry.”
“I don’t have anything big today,” Stan said. “I’ve got all my textbooks at home anyway. I’ll just work from here.” He felt calm. A windless lake at dawn. The man who was up 4-1 on Karl Brolin before Coach Burgess walked in.
“You had something on today,” she said. Shoes now — the black or the beige? Height or comfort?
“Nothing. It’s all review.”
A narrow escape, now that he thought of it. Who would ever want to play for Coach Burgess?
She went for height. Black went with pearls. Then she changed her belt — a smaller silver buckle for her skirt. She hadn’t had breakfast yet. How often did she leave home just like this, in a panic, without breakfast?
“You had something special today,” she pressed. “What are you forgetting? I know you told me!”
She stopped to look at him. Gary was stuck on her. That’s why Gary was hanging around. He wasn’t much to look at but he could spin a ball into a hoop backwards with people watching.
“It’s a nothing day,” Stan said. “You call Kelly-Ann. I’ll look after Feldon. So go. Go!”
“But . . .”
“I’ll get some breakfast into the kids and Feldon and I will see Lily to the bus.”
22
“One wobble over this line,” Lily said, “and the goblins start to burn. Just like flies when you put them under a magnifying glass.”
They were at the bus stop. Lily was pointing with her toe at a squiggle in the dirt by the curb. “But all they want to do is get over that line!”
“Why?” Feldon asked.
It had turned into a brilliant, bright morning, the air cool, the world unusually fresh. None of the snowflakes from last night had lasted.
“Because that’s what you do when you’re a goblin. You try to get over the line!”
The bus pulled up and she climbed on board. She did not look back at Stan or Feldon.
“She wiggles in bed,” Feldon said on the walk home.
Stan picked up his ball at home and took Feldon to the back lot, where he showed his half-brother the basics of the set shot. The ball was too big for Feldon’s hands but he could still bend his elbows and knees properly and line up his shoulders and use the whip-wave of his body to propel the ball high enough — and cock his wrists to spin it after follow-through. The spin was so important.
Stan chased down rebounds and demonstrated different shots. Feldon stayed with it for a while. Then he got distracted by some ants that were staging a battle on a perfect square of ancient patio stone that someone had abandoned near the fence. Red vs. black, millions of them having it out. Feldon squatted to be closer to the action. The battlefield remained precisely within the boundaries of the patio stone. No ants stepped beyond, although they could have — of course they could have.
It looked like the black ants were slightly bigger than the red and were carrying off their opponents’ bodies in surging columns. Eggs were being carried off, too. There beyond the patio stone, in a long line that Feldon followed. Stan sat on his basketball and listened to his explanation.
“Goblins are waiting for them in the cracks. That’s why they stay on the square.