Short Story Library

Family Ties

By

Andy Maslen

I grew up respecting Jim: he was more of a father figure than an older brother. Even when I started my own haulage business, taking loads from Boston down to New York and back, I looked to him for approval. It wasn't his business sense - he never had any. I just wanted him to say I'd done OK.

He did dead-end jobs - cleaning the subway, factory work, night watchman - but he never held them down for long. They'd eventually tire of his late mornings and sick days and fire him. He worked as a slaughter man for a while. We'd meet in Mulligan's for a few Buds, him smelling of blood, sometimes little flecks of it on his shirt collar.

After getting another pink slip, at the tail end of the eighties, he asked me for a job. He sat in my office putting together a case why he should come and work for the 'family firm' as he put it. I looked at his hands while he talked. They were trembling. But he wasn't nervous, at any rate, not because he was asking his kid brother for a job. It was ten thirty in the morning and he needed a drink. I could smell his sweetish breath from across the desk.

"Why not, Billy?" he said. "There are lots of things I could do around here without even going near a truck."

"You know why," I said. "I can't do it. How can I give you a job when I just sacked one of the guys for having a beer on his break?"

"Please don't make me beg for it, Billy."

"Look. Get yourself straight. Get some treatment. There are clinics..."

"Oh, please. Have you ever met a 12-stepper? 'One day at a time, Lord.' Jeez, they'd turn a guy to drink." He barked a short laugh at his own unintentional humour.

"You could try. Let's give it six months. Talk about it then."

"OK Billy-boy. You're right, like always. Of course you are." He stood up and went to the window. His eyes flicked to the bar opposite the yard. "I need to get cleaned up. Then I'll come and see you again." He patted his pockets. "You couldn't spare me a couple of bucks? For the ride home and stuff." I took two twenties from my wallet and gave them to him.

"I can let you have it back, end of the month," he said.

"Keep it. Let's call it an advance on your first paycheck from Harper's."

But he didn't come back. He called Frannie Petersen, the third member of our old gang from high school, and charmed a job out of him, working in his lumber business out in Illinois. A few weeks later, Jim called me and said he was leaving the next day and did I want to see him off.

I met him at the bus station; he'd refused my offer of a ride. He looked small, despite his size, a lonely man among the herds of travelers with sharper horizons than his.

"I hope it works out," I said.

"If it does, it'll be no thanks to you."

"Come on, Jim. Don't let's fight any more. Not today, not now. Look, they're calling your bus and I'm not going to see you off with another argument."

I held my arms wide. He put his around me, but there was no softness to him. He pushed me away and rubbed his sleeve across his eyes. We stood facing each other. I tried to think of something to say to get him to laugh, imagined his face breaking into one of the gap-toothed smiles that used to dazzle the girls: nothing came.

He picked up his bag, a nylon hold all that clinked as he shouldered it, and walked towards the bus. I stayed for a few minutes while he queued to get on but he didn't look back.

I didn't see him for ten years after that, except once, in 1994, when he and Marion got married. Then, one night, she called from Bakersfield.

"It's his fortieth in October," she said. "I know you know that, Bill. I just wondered if you and Cath could come out. He's had a rough few years and I think it would cheer him up."

I had my doubts, but we needed a break. And Cath kept telling me to take it easy, reminding me what the doctor had said at my last medical about working too hard. We arranged to visit with Jim and Marion for a couple of days, then drive down to Chicago.

*

As we swung off the freeway, the thick cloud robbed me of the last bit of watery sun to drive by and I had the headlights on for the last hour. The county road down to their place was slippery with hard-packed snow; we almost went into the ditch a couple of times. By the time we pulled in next to Jim's battered pickup I was hunched over the steering wheel and my shoulders felt like they'd been jacked up under my ears.

"I'll go and ring," I said.

My stomach was jumping as I rang the doorbell. Then Jim appeared. He was holding a tumbler loosely by the rim. He'd changed since we'd last seen each other. His face had fallen inwards: vertical lines ran from under his eyes across his cheeks and he'd lost a lot of hair.

I forced a smile, but he saw the shock in my eyes. "Remember me?" I said.

"Billy-boy. How you doin'?" He smiled. "Well, don't wait out there. Welcome to Harper's." He swept his arm out grandly. I signed Cath to come up to the house.

"Leave your bags for now, Bill," Marion said, once we were inside and stamping around in their tiny kitchen. "Do you want something to drink?"

"A drink!" said Jim, clapping his hands - a loud pop that made Marion jump. "What an excellent idea. A drink. Now why didn't I think of that?" He swung open a door next to the fridge; the cupboard was stacked with bottles of store-brand bourbon.

She looked down, pulling at a loose thread on the hem of her cardigan. "I just thought they might like a drink, Jim."

"And I'm sure you're right. Cath, what's your poison? Bourbon all right for you or are you a little lady like Marion?"

I could see that Cath was getting pissed at the way Jim was behaving. She does this kind of dead-eyed stare when she gets mad, puts her head just a little on one side.

"I'm not drinking," she said. "I'm pregnant."

"You hear that, Marion? Our Cath's going to have a baby. A woman's highest calling."

"Please Jim," she said. "Not now." Her spindly fingers scuttled to her neck and she gave Cath a shy little hug, like it mightn't be accepted.

"Congratulations. Oh, and you, Bill, of course."

"Thanks," I said. "You two are the first to know. It's three months today, more or less."

Jim pulled open the fridge.

"This deserves something high class."

He pulled out a foil-topped bottle. "' ”Fraid it's not the real thing, Billy. We can't run to 'French Champagne' round here, but don't worry: you'll get used to it."

He made a great show out of finding the glasses, undoing the foil and the wire cage and firing the cork against the kitchen ceiling. Marion shrieked as it ricocheted off a couple of walls and into the sink.

Cath laughed and that pretty much eased the mood. After we'd been drinking for a while, feeling our way back into each other's lives, Cath finished her half glass and stood up. I got up too, but she put her hand on my shoulder.

"It's all right, Bill," she said. "You and Jim stay here with your drinks." She slipped her arm through Marion's and said: "Why don't you show me around the house?"

"Oh, yes. Come and see where you'll be sleeping." Marion skirted round her husband, keeping her eyes down and pulling her arms in against her sides. Once they'd gone, Jim spread his big hands on the table.

"You're looking good, Billy. Life must be treating you well." His voice was dusty; it sounded like he was working hard to get it in and out of his chest. "How's the business? Still exploiting the workers?"

"That's right. I'm a regular Henry Ford. Minimum wage and no overtime."

I wanted to keep it friendly; over the years I'd learned to ignore his baited lines, though it still took an effort.

"And if they don't like it they can quit and set up on their own?"

"Why not? You just have to want it badly enough."

"Right. And a nice interest-free loan from your father-in-law helps."

"I would have made it anyway. All a man needs is a little ambition."

"And you don't think I had ambition? You think I wanted to spend the last ten years cutting up trees for Chrissake?" He pulled in another wheezy breath. "Do you hear that Billy? Want to know how a man gets lungs like these?" He thumped his chest. "Sawdust. Just breathe it in and out, nice and easy. Little by little it collects, squeezes itself tight into the corners. You can see it in the filters around the machines."

I thought we were heading for the big one, but Marion and Cath reappeared.

"We're going out to eat," Cath said, looking straight at me in a warning. "I'm starving. I think the baby wants something too."

*

We went to a steakhouse a few miles down the road. The hand-lettered sign outside was offering a two-for-one on 32oz sirloins. We pushed through the heavy-sprung doors into a steamy room full of contented Midwesterners chowing down on slabs of meat and baked potatoes. Not normally the kind of place Cath and I would eat at but Jim was happy. He knew lots of people, walking through to our table giving nods and high fives to big greasy guys in jeans and plaid work shirts, winking at their fat pretty wives.

The waitress arrived with menus. She was about thirty, her dyed blonde hair pulled back tight in a ponytail. "Hi folks, my name's Sandy. I'll be your server tonight. I'd like to tell you about - "

"What the hell happened, Sandy?" said Jim, laughing. "Mike get some marketing book off Amazon?"

"Oh you know, he thinks we should be more 'customer-focused'." She smiled down at him and fiddled with a button on her blouse.

"Well you can forget all the McSpeak with us. We're practically family. Now, how about some drinks?"

After we'd put in our order, Cath looked around the restaurant. "Where's the ladies' room, Marion?"

Marion jumped up. "I'll show you."

They passed Sandy coming back with our drinks and a bowl of pretzels. As she leant over to pass Jim his Jack Daniels, her blouse gaped. I could see the edge of a tattoo - some kind of bird - at the top of one breast. He sat silently, watching, then nodded at her as she went over to meet 'n' greet a young couple shaking snow off their coats.

"Nice titties huh, Billy?" He winked at me. "Mind you, with Cath pregnant you'll be doing all right soon, won't you?"

"Cut it out, Jim. What is it with you?"

"OK, OK. I didn't mean to offend you. Just guy-talk. Guess you don't mix much with my type back in Boston."

"If you mean men whose wives look scared around them, men who make women feel uncomfortable, then no, I guess I don't."

"Not all women, Billy. There's a couple here feel pretty good around me sometimes."

"Look, I don't want to hear it. Why don't you just ease off the gas for tonight? Just for tonight. Let's get some steaks and have a pleasant evening."

"Hey, I'm enjoying myself." He dragged his chair forward to let Cath and Marion by. "You're having a good time aren't you, Hon'?"

"Oh, yes. I was just saying to Cath it's really good to meet her and Bill after all this time. I mean, the phone is all right and we have some pictures, but this is better. I like family."

I made another effort to derail Jim; I could see him winding up to deliver another kick. I raised my beer. "A toast. Family ties. And happy birthday for tomorrow, Jim."

"Yeah," he said, draining his glass, "Blood's thicker than water, huh?"

He ordered another round and I thought it was going to be OK. And it was. Right until we were finishing coffee. Jim had worked his way through most of a bottle of Jack Daniels, plus a couple of beer chasers. Now he was telling me about his 'sure thing' investment idea.

"Don't you see? Don't you get it?" he said. "Frannie's closing the mill. Says it's uneconomical. But he don't know squat. He never even comes down there any more. So me and a few of the boys, we reckon we can take it off his hands. Gonna call it Copperhead Timber after those big old trout you see down in the river."

His eyes were gleaming and the bourbon had made him confident: other diners were looking round to see who was making the noise.

"Sounds great," I said. "Frannie giving you guys redundancy money or something?"

He leaned back in his chair and looked at Cath.

"He just doesn't get it, does he? Must've forgotten how he started his own business."

Cath was stone cold sober: she just stared at him.

"I know what you're driving at, Jim, but Bill started with nothing. We lived off credit cards for two years before Harper's turned a profit. My Dad didn't help us expand till we'd been going for three more."

"And that's my point, you smart little cookie. You've got money to spare now. You're turning a profit every year. I know: I checked."

"You did what?" she said.

"I checked. I had an attorney here in town run a search for me. And that's how come I know you can easily afford what I'm asking."

"Which is?" I said.

"Thirty thou. It's a solid gold investment, Billy-boy. With our experience, we can run the mill at a better margin than Frannie. We got contacts all over the state. You get your money back double in a year."

"This is just fantasyland, Jim," I said. "Frannie's been in the business for decades. His father started Petersen's back in the fifties for God's sake. Now he's closing the mill because it's not profitable and you're going to turn it around?"

Jim's lips were compressed into a thin line and he wasn't smiling any more.

"You just love this, don't you? You love having the keys and keeping them out of reach. I asked for help once before and you wouldn't come through for me. Now I'm asking you again."

"Let's leave it for now, Jim," Marion said. "Till the morning. Things'll be easier then."

"What? When I'm sober, you mean? That's all we ever hear from you isn't it. Well I'm fine and it looks like my baby brother here is fine too. Got the business, got the wife, now he's gonna have the kid too, to round the whole thing off. Just forget about the money, Billy. It's your loss."

He scraped his chair back and got to his feet.

"I got to take a leak."

Marion had her head down again and I could see dark spots on her skirt where the tears were landing.

"Come on, Marion," Cath said. "Let's fix you up. Get the check while we're gone would you, Honey?"

While they were in the ladies room, Jim came back. He slumped in his chair, glaring at me. Then he sat upright and leaned across the table.

"Hey, Billy," he said. "Remember that scene in 'Jaws'? You know, the one where those guys get to comparing their scars?"

"Yeah, I remember."

"Check this out."

He pushed his frayed left cuff up his arm. A bunched ribbon of shiny pink skin stretched from his wrist to his elbow. "I got this two years ago. Know what a Jeavons DynoBand is?"

"A saw?"

"Cor-rect! It’s a big one. Rips through a thirty-foot Spruce log like that. So anyway, one day, I'm working the Jeavons and the blade hits a nail driven into the heartwood. College-educated tree-huggers think they're striking back at big business. Frannie's too mean to replace blade guards, so I get this."

He was kneading the scar like he wanted to push it back under the skin.

"I know you work hard Jim. I know how much you've given to the mill."

"You don't know the half of it. Seems I've been working there forever and all I got to show for it is a dried-up wife who's never going to make me a father."

"Come on, Jim," I said. "You're drunk."

"Don't 'come on' me. I never get the breaks Billy-boy and do you want to know why?"

"OK Jim. Seeing as we're going to have this out before we even get out of here, why don't you tell me? No, let me guess. Your missed education while you brought me up after Dad left. Your cheapskate bosses, and thousand and one missed chances that I'm the cause of." I could feel my pulse jolting in my throat. My leg was jogging uncontrollably under the table. He looked steadily at me. His eyes were red-rimmed and unfocused. He took a long pull on his drink then banged the glass down hard on the table.

A few people were staring at us and Sandy hurried over with the check, just as Cath and Marion got back. I settled it with cash, including 20% on top for her - she'd earned it - and we left. I heard the chat start up again as the doors closed behind us. We drove home in silence, Cath struggling with the manual gears on his old truck.

When we got in, Marion tried to put things right.

"At least because you went to work for Frannie, you and I met. That was one good thing wasn't it, Jim?" She looked at him and I could see all she wanted was for him to smile or nod or even just grunt his approval. He just looked at her.

"What good is it being married to you? What am I going to leave behind me? A few old hunting trophies and a banged-up Toyota with payments owing."

"Jesus! Don't you ever let up?" Cath said. "Don't talk to your wife that way. If anyone's made a sacrifice round here, it's Marion."

She's a fighter, my wife. Especially when she sees a bully. Once, she took on a cop who was harassing some black kids outside the yard. Nearly got herself arrested. Now I thought she'd pushed Jim too far.

He lurched round the kitchen table and pushed his face close to Cath. My hands clenched but I couldn't move, not at first.

"Hey, little miss trust-fund. I don't care what you think. This is my house and she's my wife. And if you don't like it here then you can get the fuck out."

"That's enough," I said. I pushed him hard into his chair. He flopped back like a broken toy. My heart was racing. Little sparks were shooting around the edge of my vision. Cath was white. I looked at her and I knew that was the end. "I'm sorry, Marion. We're leaving. Come on, Cath." I put my arm round her and felt her shaking.

When we got downstairs with the bags, Marion was standing where we'd left her. The outside door was open and snow was flurrying in. I hugged her hard. Cath did too.

"We'll call you," Cath said. "Come and stay."

Jim was in the yard opening the gate. He stood and watched as we threw the bags in the trunk.

As Cath jammed the Mercedes into 'Drive' I leaned round and looked at my brother. He was standing on the porch, right hand curled round a glass. He didn't even wait to see us leave, just turned and went back into the house, leaving an empty cone of yellow light.

The End

 

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