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Authors: Richard Russo
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Janine herself lost so much weight, so she and Miles, sitting there in the school counselor’s tiny office, did seem to suggest that Tick couldn’t possibly have come by her reedlike body honestly.
Miles tried to think if he knew this Candace Burke. There were several Burke families in town. “What’s she look like?”
“Fat.”
“A lot or a little?”
“She’s fat like I’m skinny.”
“In other words, not very?” Miles ventured. In mid-adolescence his daughter was hard to compliment. The truth was that he thought her a heartbreakingly beautiful girl, and often tried to explain that it was her intelligence, her wit, that was keeping her from being more popular with boys. “Which Burke is she, I wonder?”
Tick shrugged. “She lives with her mother and her mother’s new boyfriend down on Water Street. She says we’ve got a lot in common. I think she’s in love with Zack. She keeps saying, ‘Oh-my-God-oh-my-God, he’s so good-looking. How can you stand it? I mean, like, he was yours, and now he’s not.’ ”
“Did you tell her she’s not missing much?” Even now, months after their breakup, the mere mention of Zack Minty, Tick’s former boyfriend, was enough to make Miles grind his teeth. His fondest hope was that Donny, the boy Tick had met on the Vineyard, would free his daughter from any lingering attraction she might feel for a boy who, like his father and grandfather before him, bore more or less constant watching.
His daughter’s pause did little to reassure him. “Here’s the thing,” she finally said. “Now that I’m not with Zack anymore, I don’t have a single friend.” Tick’s two best friends had moved away in the last six months.
“Except Candace,” Miles pointed out.
“Oh-my-God-oh-my-God!” she squealed in mock horror, “I forgot Candace!”
“And you forgot me,” Miles pointed out.
Tick shrugged, serious now. “I know.”
“And your uncle David.”
A frown, a shrug, an apologetic “I know.”
“And your mother.”
Just a hint of a frown. When he didn’t press further, she let him take her in his arms and surrendered limply to his awkward, overlarge embrace. Usually when Tick felt a bear hug coming, she’d position her body sideways, so one of her shoulders would dig under his breastbone. It was Janine who had explained what was going on, that their daughter’s late-developing breasts were probably sore; her explanation made it clear that Janine herself hadn’t cared all that much for his embraces. “I know we’re not the kind of friends you had in mind,” Miles told his daughter. “But we’re not nobody.”
A sniffle now, her nose buried deep in his chest. “I know.”
“You going to write Donny?”
“What for? I’ll never see him again.”
Miles shrugged. “Who knows?”
“Me,” she said, pulling away from him now. “And you.”
He let her go back to unloading the Hobart. “You got homework?”
She shook her head.
“You want me to come back in a couple hours and run you home?”
“Mom said she’d come by,” she said. “If she forgets, the idiot can do it.”
“Hey,” Miles said, and waited until she turned around and looked at him. “Go easy. He’s trying. He just doesn’t know how to … be around you.”
“He could try being dead.”
“Tick.”
“Why can’t you just go ahead and admit how much you hate him?”
Because he might not be able to stop there, was why. Because when David had suggested murder as a solution to the Silver Fox’s daily visits, Miles had almost been able to imagine it.
“B IG B OY !” Walt Comeau bellowed when Miles emerged from the kitchen. “Come over here a minute.”
Walt had taken his outer shirt off now, Miles noticed. He always wore white T-shirts with the logo of his fitness club over the left pectoral, and he always wore them a size too small, so everyone could admire his still-rippling-at-fifty torso and biceps. David had been right, of course. The Silver Fox was
Miles tried to think if he knew this Candace Burke. There were several Burke families in town. “What’s she look like?”
“Fat.”
“A lot or a little?”
“She’s fat like I’m skinny.”
“In other words, not very?” Miles ventured. In mid-adolescence his daughter was hard to compliment. The truth was that he thought her a heartbreakingly beautiful girl, and often tried to explain that it was her intelligence, her wit, that was keeping her from being more popular with boys. “Which Burke is she, I wonder?”
Tick shrugged. “She lives with her mother and her mother’s new boyfriend down on Water Street. She says we’ve got a lot in common. I think she’s in love with Zack. She keeps saying, ‘Oh-my-God-oh-my-God, he’s so good-looking. How can you stand it? I mean, like, he was yours, and now he’s not.’ ”
“Did you tell her she’s not missing much?” Even now, months after their breakup, the mere mention of Zack Minty, Tick’s former boyfriend, was enough to make Miles grind his teeth. His fondest hope was that Donny, the boy Tick had met on the Vineyard, would free his daughter from any lingering attraction she might feel for a boy who, like his father and grandfather before him, bore more or less constant watching.
His daughter’s pause did little to reassure him. “Here’s the thing,” she finally said. “Now that I’m not with Zack anymore, I don’t have a single friend.” Tick’s two best friends had moved away in the last six months.
“Except Candace,” Miles pointed out.
“Oh-my-God-oh-my-God!” she squealed in mock horror, “I forgot Candace!”
“And you forgot me,” Miles pointed out.
Tick shrugged, serious now. “I know.”
“And your uncle David.”
A frown, a shrug, an apologetic “I know.”
“And your mother.”
Just a hint of a frown. When he didn’t press further, she let him take her in his arms and surrendered limply to his awkward, overlarge embrace. Usually when Tick felt a bear hug coming, she’d position her body sideways, so one of her shoulders would dig under his breastbone. It was Janine who had explained what was going on, that their daughter’s late-developing breasts were probably sore; her explanation made it clear that Janine herself hadn’t cared all that much for his embraces. “I know we’re not the kind of friends you had in mind,” Miles told his daughter. “But we’re not nobody.”
A sniffle now, her nose buried deep in his chest. “I know.”
“You going to write Donny?”
“What for? I’ll never see him again.”
Miles shrugged. “Who knows?”
“Me,” she said, pulling away from him now. “And you.”
He let her go back to unloading the Hobart. “You got homework?”
She shook her head.
“You want me to come back in a couple hours and run you home?”
“Mom said she’d come by,” she said. “If she forgets, the idiot can do it.”
“Hey,” Miles said, and waited until she turned around and looked at him. “Go easy. He’s trying. He just doesn’t know how to … be around you.”
“He could try being dead.”
“Tick.”
“Why can’t you just go ahead and admit how much you hate him?”
Because he might not be able to stop there, was why. Because when David had suggested murder as a solution to the Silver Fox’s daily visits, Miles had almost been able to imagine it.
“B IG B OY !” Walt Comeau bellowed when Miles emerged from the kitchen. “Come over here a minute.”
Walt had taken his outer shirt off now, Miles noticed. He always wore white T-shirts with the logo of his fitness club over the left pectoral, and he always wore them a size too small, so everyone could admire his still-rippling-at-fifty torso and biceps. David had been right, of course. The Silver Fox was
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