Chapter 5
Outside Tommy kicks his way out the set of doors that takes him to the parking lot. He sees his truck, old and rusting, parked
as far away from the building as he could manage. He hadn’t wanted Nadine to spot him coming. And she hadn’t. She’d been so
surprised when she looked up and saw him walk in, the envelope containing the papers he’d been served with curled against
his chest like he might’ve held a child. If they’d had the chance to have a child.
But no, Nadine has seen to it that that won’t happen now. What happened to vows? To promises? To “for better or for worse”?
Sure, he’s been pushing the limits of “worse” for a while now—probably longer than he should have. But he’d counted on her
love; he’d depended on her grace. He’d always had both. Since they were teenagers, her love and her grace have been as steady
as the tides.
He climbs up into his truck, tosses the damn envelope into the passenger seat, and slams the door hard, the whole truck rocking
on its axles as he reaches for his seat belt. He pauses, thinks better of it, then lets the belt go, hearing it zip back into
its place. He rests his hands on the steering wheel and stares at the post office, thinking of the old man who was in line
in front of him when he arrived. Hadn’t he waited patiently for his turn? Hadn’t he smiled at the old man when he left?
Tommy had listened as Nadine spoke gently to the old man, who was there to return a piece of mail that had been misdelivered to him.
She’d explained to him that if that ever happened again, he needed only to place it back in his mailbox, pull the flag, and the postal carrier would bring it back to the post office and see to it that it was delivered correctly.
That way he wouldn’t have to spend his time driving to the post office, waiting in line, and all that.
The old man had listened to this, nodding along. When Nadine finished, he smiled and said, “I’m eighty-eight years old. I
didn’t have anything better to do.” Then he smiled again and shuffled off to wherever he’d come from.
Instead of turning to greet her husband (he is still her husband, and that’s the point), Nadine had watched the old man make
his slow way across the floor and exit the building before turning back to look at Tommy. For a few minutes they were in the
same room alone. It had been a while since that had been the case, and it took all he had not to reach across the counter
and pull her to him or to come around that counter, get on his knees in front of her, and beg her not to do this.
Sure, she’d kicked him out, which he’d accepted as something she needed to do. He even thought the break might be a good thing
for both of them. But he’d also thought she’d calm down and let him come home. He thought they’d figure things out like they
always had. But then that server had showed up at his work today. His place of employment! In front of God and everybody!
Talk about adding insult to injury.
Tommy casts a glance at those papers, thinking that if he had laser eyes like the superheroes he watched as a kid, he’d incinerate
them right there in the seat. It’d catch the seat on fire, but he wouldn’t care. Those papers would be gone, and there would
still be hope for him and Nadine.
But he doesn’t have laser eyes, and Nadine is in there with customers, and—she had a point—it isn’t right to show up at her work. Not that she didn’t send someone to his work today, he thinks. Then he hears his dad in his head saying, “Two wrongs don’t make a right, son.”
At the thought of his dad, he leans over and hits the button to open the glove compartment. Inside he sees the handle of bourbon
he’s been swigging from since he left work. The GM—not just his boss, but the damn GM of the whole dealership—had come and
found him under a car to tell him, with this pitying look that made Tommy feel worse, not better, that he could go home for
the day. Then the pompous ass had flashed a smile—like there was something to smile about—and added, “With pay.”
Well, whoop-de-do, Tommy had thought. But he’d left all the same.
Now Tommy takes a long pull from the handle of bourbon, enjoying the burn and the warmth that comes with it. He thinks of
the first time he ever tasted bourbon. He’d been hunting with his dad. He’d been a kid—no older than fourteen or fifteen—but
it had been cold and his dad had offered him a sip. “It’ll cure what ails ya,” he’d promised. Tommy wonders if he ever told
his dad that he was right. It does cure what ails ya.
His thoughts are coming hard and fast: the old man, the GM, his father, all making him think about the man he’s failed to
be. He stares at the post office as he takes another sip. He doesn’t think anyone has come or gone since he left, so it’s
still the same ladies in line in there. How many of them were there? Two? Four? He doesn’t remember. He was too intent on
getting Nadine to tear up those papers. If she will just tear up those papers it will mean . . . what? He doesn’t know. He
just wanted to do something, to change something. That’s what a real man would do.
Tommy caps the bottle and goes to stick it back into the glove compartment but spies his gun sitting in there before he can.
He stares at it for a moment before looking back at the post office.
He just needs to make her understand. Not that he would ever use the gun, mind you.
Just having it on him will up the ante. That’s all he intends.
A serious device to show how serious he is.
He reaches for the gun and angles his body so he can get it into his pocket.
Then he picks up the envelope with one hand and rests the bourbon in his lap so he can use his free hand to open the door.