what remained after the animals had their way, sunk into the earth.
Four years after I died,
someone else joined us. We saw it happen and stood by waiting, like a receiving
line at a funeral.
Frank wasn’t particularly
happy to see us.
Chapter Eleven
Franklin William Murphy
b.1927 – d.1955
As I pull out, the
parking lot goes dark behind me. I light up a Lucky Strike and head home. Today
wasn’t so bad; I managed to close a sale. The couple’s faces, who bought a new
“Two-Ten” Club Coupe, shone brighter than the paint job on their new ride. It
took some finagling with finance; technically they couldn’t afford the
payments, but I only worried about the commission. I had my own bills to pay.
They were eager to sign on the dotted line no matter what the stipulations
were.
Up until two years ago I
liked my job. I made good money and went out bowling with the boys after work. Faye
and I got married, almost two years ago to the day, and everything changed. I
was expected home and my income went towards a mortgage and home décor. I asked
Faye once why we needed a set of china and she just gave me a pointed stare,
followed by a roll of her eyes, “Because everyone needs good china for dinner
parties.” We have yet to use the damn dishes.
I pull into the driveway,
park under the car port and turn off the engine, but I don’t get out of the car
right away. I savor the rest of my cigarette. I do have to say the house looks
nice. Our neighborhood is new and when we picked out colors with the builder, Faye
insisted on tan stucco with a forest green trim and she was right about the choice,
I’ll give her that. The shrubs I trimmed up last month are holding their shape
including the Bougainvillea, which I’m relieved over. Even though the bright
pink flowers are beautiful, the thorns are not.
After stubbing my
cigarette out in the ashtray, I grab my suit jacket off of the passenger seat.
The sleeves of my white dress shirt are already rolled up and my tie loosened.
The air conditioning unit in the living room window hums when I pass by it just
before I reach the front door. I go to turn the knob, but the door opens and
Faye is on the tile entryway beaming at me.
“Hi Honey,” she says and
takes my jacket before kissing my cheek. “How was your day?”
I’m not ready to tell her
and yet here she is eagerly waiting to listen. Doesn’t she have dinner to cook?
I ask myself and clench my jaw.
“I had a long day and
need a drink.”
“Oh, have a seat I’ll get
you a beer.” Faye leaves the room and I sit down in my chair. She returns
within seconds and sets a bottle down on the table next to me. I light another
smoke and lean my head back, exhaling at the same time. With my eyes closed I
can sense her hovering. I just need to get this over with. I part my lids
slightly. She has the same big smile on her face as when she opened the door.
“Why don’t you tell me
about your day first, sweetheart,” I say. Faye unclasps her hands and skips
over to me. She sits on my lap and I’m so taken aback, I almost burn her arm.
“Whoa, what’s this all about?”
Faye snakes her arm
around my shoulders and whispers in my ear, “You’re going to be a daddy.”
“A what?” I begin to
choke mid-inhale and drop the cigarette on the carpet. Faye jumps up and runs
around behind the chair to step on the butt. A small black mark is burnt into
the carpet fibers.
She laughs while she cleans
up the mess. “Sorry, I caught you off guard, but I couldn’t wait to tell you.
Isn’t this exciting?”
Exciting? You could say
that. A surprise? Yes. “Faye, honey, I thought we were going to wait a bit.” I
try to disguise the anger in my voice. Less than a month ago we had discussed
waiting on children until we built our savings up. Faye bites her lower lip and
twists her hands, like she’s lathering them with soap.
“Frank, I…I thought you’d
be happy about this.”
“I didn’t say
Four years after I died,
someone else joined us. We saw it happen and stood by waiting, like a receiving
line at a funeral.
Frank wasn’t particularly
happy to see us.
Chapter Eleven
Franklin William Murphy
b.1927 – d.1955
As I pull out, the
parking lot goes dark behind me. I light up a Lucky Strike and head home. Today
wasn’t so bad; I managed to close a sale. The couple’s faces, who bought a new
“Two-Ten” Club Coupe, shone brighter than the paint job on their new ride. It
took some finagling with finance; technically they couldn’t afford the
payments, but I only worried about the commission. I had my own bills to pay.
They were eager to sign on the dotted line no matter what the stipulations
were.
Up until two years ago I
liked my job. I made good money and went out bowling with the boys after work. Faye
and I got married, almost two years ago to the day, and everything changed. I
was expected home and my income went towards a mortgage and home décor. I asked
Faye once why we needed a set of china and she just gave me a pointed stare,
followed by a roll of her eyes, “Because everyone needs good china for dinner
parties.” We have yet to use the damn dishes.
I pull into the driveway,
park under the car port and turn off the engine, but I don’t get out of the car
right away. I savor the rest of my cigarette. I do have to say the house looks
nice. Our neighborhood is new and when we picked out colors with the builder, Faye
insisted on tan stucco with a forest green trim and she was right about the choice,
I’ll give her that. The shrubs I trimmed up last month are holding their shape
including the Bougainvillea, which I’m relieved over. Even though the bright
pink flowers are beautiful, the thorns are not.
After stubbing my
cigarette out in the ashtray, I grab my suit jacket off of the passenger seat.
The sleeves of my white dress shirt are already rolled up and my tie loosened.
The air conditioning unit in the living room window hums when I pass by it just
before I reach the front door. I go to turn the knob, but the door opens and
Faye is on the tile entryway beaming at me.
“Hi Honey,” she says and
takes my jacket before kissing my cheek. “How was your day?”
I’m not ready to tell her
and yet here she is eagerly waiting to listen. Doesn’t she have dinner to cook?
I ask myself and clench my jaw.
“I had a long day and
need a drink.”
“Oh, have a seat I’ll get
you a beer.” Faye leaves the room and I sit down in my chair. She returns
within seconds and sets a bottle down on the table next to me. I light another
smoke and lean my head back, exhaling at the same time. With my eyes closed I
can sense her hovering. I just need to get this over with. I part my lids
slightly. She has the same big smile on her face as when she opened the door.
“Why don’t you tell me
about your day first, sweetheart,” I say. Faye unclasps her hands and skips
over to me. She sits on my lap and I’m so taken aback, I almost burn her arm.
“Whoa, what’s this all about?”
Faye snakes her arm
around my shoulders and whispers in my ear, “You’re going to be a daddy.”
“A what?” I begin to
choke mid-inhale and drop the cigarette on the carpet. Faye jumps up and runs
around behind the chair to step on the butt. A small black mark is burnt into
the carpet fibers.
She laughs while she cleans
up the mess. “Sorry, I caught you off guard, but I couldn’t wait to tell you.
Isn’t this exciting?”
Exciting? You could say
that. A surprise? Yes. “Faye, honey, I thought we were going to wait a bit.” I
try to disguise the anger in my voice. Less than a month ago we had discussed
waiting on children until we built our savings up. Faye bites her lower lip and
twists her hands, like she’s lathering them with soap.
“Frank, I…I thought you’d
be happy about this.”
“I didn’t say
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