me to live with you.”
“That’s not the point, Nick.”
“You want to bring girls back here so you can fuck around and you don’t do it because of me.”
Daley slammed the buttered toast hard against the counter top. “No! No, you see how you are? You’re so self-pitying you turn everything around and put it in personal terms. I don’t care about bringing a girl here, not yet, I…”
Nick was pointing the yellow candy wrapper at his brother. “You want to, admit it.”
“I give up. I’m talking to a fucking rock, I swear to God.” Daley stared at the toast and shrugged his shoulders. “I have to get my books. I’m late.”
"That's what I told you." Nick was triumphant.
Daley gave an exasperated sigh and hurried up the stairs.
Nick crumpled the candy wrapper and dropped it to the table. He walked into the living room, slumped into a wooden rocking chair Daley had salvaged from a flea market, and stared gloomily through a leaded-glass window that faced the street. When Daley rushed down the stairs and out the door without saying good-bye the old two-story brick town house settled around Nick like a shroud floating into place.
Nick knew Daley was right. He should get out and find work. A job would do him good. It would take him away from the dark brooding house and keep him from going truly mad again.
Daley had slipped easily back into civilian life. He enrolled at the University of Houston on a part-time basis. In the small alcove upstairs he set up a woodworking bench and shelves for tools. He spent his free time refinishing antique furniture he found at auction or estate sales. He resold his handiwork for three times what he paid, and he was rapidly gaining a reputation as an expert in restoration. Though Nick disliked the uncomfortable, forbidding look of the pieces, he thought it was smart of his brother to take up such a lucrative hobby.
When Nick thought about Daley, he felt a small, hard lump form in his chest. He was both proud and envious of him. Daley knew what he wanted and could achieve it. Where Nick had only vague longings, Daley knew precisely what direction to follow. He would get an education, he said, and the degree would be a crutch to lean on if the antique business went bust. Nick, on other hand, felt no desire to add diplomas to his other non-accomplishments. He had argued with Daley, “There are ten million people going to college. How many over-educated gas jockeys you figure we need in his country?” Nick shut his eyes and rubbed his lids roughly, He could not help it. He just did not want much of anything.
He would find a job because he had to, but it would not matter what kind of job it was. He had heard a nearby burglar alarm company was hiring and he could try for an installer's job. That would be easy. He would get a van supplied to him and his time would be his own. He would not have any boss hanging over his shoulder. He would go out and get the job, then he would have something to celebrate with Daley.
Wouldn't Daley be proud of him? Wouldn't he be relieved things were back to normal?
Normal?
Nick rubbed his eyes again, blotting out the world.
He thought about the garrote upstairs in the old cedar box, its serpentine length curled around his service medals.
#
Nick got the job. His happiness carried him on a long walk to downtown Houston where he window-shopped and watched the crowds. In the afternoon he went to a bar and ordered one Cuba Libre after another. He was celebrating. It was what men did to celebrate: either get drunk or fuck and he had never been all that interested in fucking. By sundown Nick was drunk and decided he loved the world and all his fellow men. He staggered home in the dark, his surprise speech ready. I got a job , he would say. What you think about that, Daley? He practiced the words and sometimes caught himself giggling like a schoolgirl. Oh, wouldn't Daley be proud of him!
He slipped on the steps and almost fell down. His door key
“That’s not the point, Nick.”
“You want to bring girls back here so you can fuck around and you don’t do it because of me.”
Daley slammed the buttered toast hard against the counter top. “No! No, you see how you are? You’re so self-pitying you turn everything around and put it in personal terms. I don’t care about bringing a girl here, not yet, I…”
Nick was pointing the yellow candy wrapper at his brother. “You want to, admit it.”
“I give up. I’m talking to a fucking rock, I swear to God.” Daley stared at the toast and shrugged his shoulders. “I have to get my books. I’m late.”
"That's what I told you." Nick was triumphant.
Daley gave an exasperated sigh and hurried up the stairs.
Nick crumpled the candy wrapper and dropped it to the table. He walked into the living room, slumped into a wooden rocking chair Daley had salvaged from a flea market, and stared gloomily through a leaded-glass window that faced the street. When Daley rushed down the stairs and out the door without saying good-bye the old two-story brick town house settled around Nick like a shroud floating into place.
Nick knew Daley was right. He should get out and find work. A job would do him good. It would take him away from the dark brooding house and keep him from going truly mad again.
Daley had slipped easily back into civilian life. He enrolled at the University of Houston on a part-time basis. In the small alcove upstairs he set up a woodworking bench and shelves for tools. He spent his free time refinishing antique furniture he found at auction or estate sales. He resold his handiwork for three times what he paid, and he was rapidly gaining a reputation as an expert in restoration. Though Nick disliked the uncomfortable, forbidding look of the pieces, he thought it was smart of his brother to take up such a lucrative hobby.
When Nick thought about Daley, he felt a small, hard lump form in his chest. He was both proud and envious of him. Daley knew what he wanted and could achieve it. Where Nick had only vague longings, Daley knew precisely what direction to follow. He would get an education, he said, and the degree would be a crutch to lean on if the antique business went bust. Nick, on other hand, felt no desire to add diplomas to his other non-accomplishments. He had argued with Daley, “There are ten million people going to college. How many over-educated gas jockeys you figure we need in his country?” Nick shut his eyes and rubbed his lids roughly, He could not help it. He just did not want much of anything.
He would find a job because he had to, but it would not matter what kind of job it was. He had heard a nearby burglar alarm company was hiring and he could try for an installer's job. That would be easy. He would get a van supplied to him and his time would be his own. He would not have any boss hanging over his shoulder. He would go out and get the job, then he would have something to celebrate with Daley.
Wouldn't Daley be proud of him? Wouldn't he be relieved things were back to normal?
Normal?
Nick rubbed his eyes again, blotting out the world.
He thought about the garrote upstairs in the old cedar box, its serpentine length curled around his service medals.
#
Nick got the job. His happiness carried him on a long walk to downtown Houston where he window-shopped and watched the crowds. In the afternoon he went to a bar and ordered one Cuba Libre after another. He was celebrating. It was what men did to celebrate: either get drunk or fuck and he had never been all that interested in fucking. By sundown Nick was drunk and decided he loved the world and all his fellow men. He staggered home in the dark, his surprise speech ready. I got a job , he would say. What you think about that, Daley? He practiced the words and sometimes caught himself giggling like a schoolgirl. Oh, wouldn't Daley be proud of him!
He slipped on the steps and almost fell down. His door key
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