twenty-odd hours before.
The house at the end of the block abutted some nice trails and good rock climbing. Although it wasn’t quite dark yet, a full moon peeped over the hill behind Matt and Andrea’s rooftop. She parked and walked up the path to the front door. Light spilled from the windows and she heard within the anxious cry of Matt and Andrea’s baby, June.
“Come on in,” Matt said. “How was your trip?”
“Breathless. How’d it go with Bob?”
“Follow me,” he said. “Stuff to report on that front.” He went to the fridge and pulled out a couple of diet root beers, offering her one, which she took.
“Hungry? Want some leftover spaghetti?”
“No thanks. Where’s Andrea?” Nina asked.
“At a Women’s Center meeting. I’ve got the kids. Bob and Troy are in Troy ’s room playing video games.”
“Should we get June? I heard her crying when I came in.”
“She’s asleep now.” They both listened with the exquisite attention of people who have experienced parenthood. No sound came from June’s crib.
“Bob and Troy have gotten out of hand.”
Matt had had a long day towing vehicles with flat tires around the shoreline. He was thinner these days, and so was his hair. He was only thirty-four, but age and three kids to support already marked him. He ran a parasailing business during the summer months, which made up for the slim pickings in the winter, when he rescued tourists with his tow truck. These days, he and Nina talked a lot about his businesses, his tax problems, employee problems, contract problems. The old carefree Matt still came out now and then, but the adult emerging lately was harassed, unable to be expansive and light.
“What did they do?” Nina said, setting her can down on the table, not wanting to hear the lecture apparently pending. Why couldn’t she collect Bob and head home? Why did every single day have to be so fraught?
“They hung bolos on telephone lines all over town.”
“Bolos?”
“They collect rocks and attach them to a couple of feet of electrical tape, then they skateboard around town until they find an accessible telephone line. They toss the bolo until it falls over the line, with the rocks dangling over either side. Yesterday they spent most of the evening throwing these things.”
“Where in the world did they get an idea like that?” Nina said.
“Ask your son. Troy ’s his minion. He follows the plan.”
“Oh, Matt. Like Troy has no say in the matter. As if he doesn’t love every minute of it.”
“I’m not excusing him, but Bob’s older. He should act his age.”
She thought about that, his age, fourteen, and what that meant.
“You look amused. It’s not amusing,” Matt said.
“Remember yourself at fourteen? The time you crawled through your bedroom window absolutely bubbling from beer, and Mom heard you, but thought you were a burglar and called the police?”
He grimaced. “Don’t remind me. You know we expect better from our kids. And by the way, you could have told her but you didn’t. You let the cops come and hassle me. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive you for that. And all the other stuff.” Matt was upset. He didn’t like it when Bob egged Troy on into trouble. Sometimes Nina thought that he was especially sensitive because when she and Matt were kids, she had done the same thing to Matt, persuaded him into all kinds of harebrained schemes.
Of course, Matt in his early adulthood had found much more trouble all on his own, but no need to get into that any further. He had turned into a strict parent who grounded his kids. He might be right, she sure couldn’t judge, but it still struck her as a harmless prank.
She laughed. “I was sixteen and so superior. I thought you deserved a kick in the rear end.”
“Mean older sister.”
“Matt, it’s not like they beat up a senior citizen,” Nina said.
“ Troy ’s grounded,” Matt told her. “They had one of these things slung over the line right outside. I made them get it down. It took a long time, because it isn’t easy. Nina, quit laughing. Add some heavy snow during the winter and that line could come down. And it interferes with utility lines. They could get a ticket or something. Plus, they climb fences and go into people’s yards without permission. Of course, most people don’t care, but some of them are pretty protective of their space. They came here for some peace and privacy. They don’t need a couple of wild kids rioting through their yards.”
“Okay, you’re right,” Nina said.
“Make Bob understand he can’t do things like that,” Matt said, “not when he’s staying with us, anyway.”
“I will.”
“He’s out of control.”
“I said I will!” But Matt didn’t seem to believe her. Now she was upset, too. Bob wasn’t a troublemaker. He was a high-spirited kid, and…
“Sometimes I think…” Matt started, then stopped.
“You think what?”
“Never mind.”
“No, Matt. Spill it. What’s on your mind?”
He scratched the back of his neck. He needed a haircut. His blond hair almost touched his shoulders. He looked fitter than a man in his early thirties, tall and muscular, but his face was as careworn as that of a man in his fifties. “I think he misses Paul. He’s staying busy because he’s dealing with a loss, too. Did that ever occur to you?”
“They never got along that well.”
“I suspect they were closer than you imagined. And Paul-well, he’s tougher than you.”
“You mean because Paul’s a guy? You think I can’t manage my son on my own?”
“Nina, no,” Matt said, shocked. “I never said that! It’s just easier with two people playing off each other, bad cop, good cop. Gives them perspective.”
“Hey, Mom.” Unfortunately, Bob chose this moment to appear at the kitchen door, accompanied by Hitchcock, who rushed toward Nina.
“Hey, kiddo.” She held Hitchcock off. “Good boy. How’s my big boy? Down! Down!”
“I’ll get my stuff. Meet you at the truck,” Bob said.
“Thank your uncle for letting you stay over last night.”
“Thanks, Uncle Matt,” Bob said. “I love coming here.”
Matt’s expression softened. He said, “So long, buddy.”
The three Reillys, human and canine, drove home. Nina felt disgraced. “I heard about the bolos.”
“Aw, we were just havin’ fun.”
“You’re out of control.” This echo of Matt forced itself unbidden out of her mouth.
“I couldn’t do my hazardous-waste work with Taylor ’cause I wasn’t at home. There’s nothing to do around here! Troy and I were just goofing around.”
“Well, you upset Uncle Matt. You showed bad judgment. Tomorrow we’ll drive around and you’ll knock down all those bolos.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake.”
On Saturday morning after breakfast, they cruised around the area of Bob and Troy ’s bolo-tossing. The boys had restrained their mischief-making to streets near Pioneer Trail. Bolos swung from telephone wires all up and down the neighborhood. Nina parked at each one and Bob got out, found a rock, and started throwing. Some of the bolos wound themselves tighter. Only one cooperated by falling to the ground.
“Can we give it up, Mom?”
“What the-what’s going on?” They had come to an unusual-looking bolo, strung conspicuously on a line on Jicarilla, only blocks from their house. “Those aren’t rocks. Hey! My shoes!”
“Remember how you complained they were old and you needed a new pair of running shoes that would inspire you to run once in a while?”
“I never said throw them up for the neighbors to hate!”
“They made a perfect bolo. Sorry, Mom.”
“My dirty old shoes! You get out there and knock them down.”
But all Bob’s throwing efforts only resulted in an extra loop of electrical tape wrapping around the line. It appeared that Nina’s wretched sneakers would dangle forever above the street, symbols of anarchy and of the essential weirdness of the world.
Nina could not stand it. “Bob, you are grounded until you get those sneakers down. And you are not allowed to climb on the telephone poles or do anything dangerous to get them down.”
“But Taylor and me have to go collect waste this afternoon!”
“How much money have you made with your work?”
“Why do you ask?”
“How much?”
“Sixty-two dollars.”
“That should cover the cost of a good tall ladder. I’ll help you finish this project. We’ll get your money and go to the hardware store.”
“I worked hard for that money! I have plans for it!”
“That’s life in the city,” Nina said heartlessly.
“Wait. Give us a chance first.” Bob held his hands up. “ Taylor ’s coming over. He’ll help me.”
“You can’t leave the house except to buy a ladder and get my shoes down.”
“I’ll take care of it, Mom.”
“Yes, you will.” They drove back home in silence. Bob went to his room and got on the phone.
A short time later Taylor Nordholm, Bob’s homie, showed up. Taylor hadn’t had his growth spurt yet and was physically awkward, except in his weight-lifting arms, but he had an insouciant maturity in his manners. He went to find her and greet her.
“It’s good to have you and Bob back in town,” he said. “How are you, Mrs. Reilly?” He carried a brown paper bag.
“Fine,” Nina said, plumping the pillows on the bed she had just made.
“Well, see you later.”
