170 Degrees

by Jack Phillips Lowe

Part 1 appears
in this issue.

conclusion

“Look who you’re talking to, Pop. I was your Number One patsy and punching bag for the first twelve years of my life. Remember the fishing trip you promised, to Key West? I held out for that one until I was fifteen.”

Pop flopped back into his chair. “Jesus. You spent enough time with those priests and nuns. Didn’t they teach you anything about forgiveness?”

“Sure. And you taught me that it has limits. Let me spell it out for you. Annie got laid off last month and I’m working a four-day week. Even if you are telling the truth this time, I can’t help you. So go back to where you came from. You always said you have to play the cards you’re dealt. Now it’s your turn.” Tom crooked a thumb toward the hall. “Happy trails.”

Pop got up and moved in that direction.

“Hey,” called Tom, “don’t forget your coat. It’s ‘nippy’ outside, right?”

“I don’t need it yet,” said Pop. “Tomorrow, I’m heading north to the Mayo Clinic. They have an experimental treatment there that just might save me. It’s a fifty-fifty shot. So I came here to see you... and my grandson. Tonight, I’m spending time with him. I want him to know me.”

Tom put a hand on Pop’s shoulder. “Vic knows nothing about you, which is how I want it. My house, my rules. Hit the road.”

Pop pushed Tom’s hand off and moved to the edge of the hall. “Call the cops if you want. Then spend the rest of your life explaining to Victor why you had his grandpa dragged off in handcuffs.” Pop cupped his hands around his mouth. “Annie? Is Victor coming down now?”

There were footsteps on the stairs, then in the hall. Annie entered the den carrying a small red-haired boy. The boy’s fingers and face were stained a washed-out blue.

“Sorry for the delay,” she said, eyeing the father and son cautiously. “Vic was coloring with his markers and tried to color himself, too. Everything okay with you guys? It sounded pretty intense down here.”

“That was just the years talking,” Pop said. “Hi, Victor. What does it say on your sweatshirt?”

The boy looked down at his shirt. “Green Bay Packers.”

Pop feigned surprise. “A Packers fan? I thought this was Bears country. I brought presents for a Bears fan!”

“He doesn’t like losers,” Tom said, “and neither do I.”

“Know who this is, baby?” Annie brushed Victor’s hair from his eyes. “This is your grandpa. Your daddy’s daddy.”

Victor’s bright eyes widened. “You mean, Fearless Leader?”

* * *

Annie and Tom sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee. Every few minutes, Tom got up to go peek, through slats in the kitchen door, at Pop and Victor playing in the den. He could see Victor, now clad in a Chicago Bears jersey, crawling along the floor behind a toy radio-controlled robot, all flashing lights and electronic beeps. Pop sat on the couch, working the controller and egging the boy on.

“That’s it, Vic, that’s it!” Pop cheered. “Don’t let Tobor get away. He’ll tell the Martians all our secrets!” His wizened face was glowing.

Tom felt a crumpled paper towel ricochet off the back of his head. He turned to Annie. “What?”

“That’s the fourth time you’ve checked on them in fifteen minutes,” Annie said. “Quit spying! Get over here and finish your Sanka.”

Tom took his chair at the table. “Annie, you don’t get it. Once, when I was ten, we were all having dinner, and actually enjoying ourselves. I jokingly called Pop Fearless Leader and out of nowhere, he cracked me in the mouth. It was like he couldn’t stand it if we weren’t miserable. His moods changed like the direction of the wind.”

Annie refilled her cup from the pot sitting on the table. “No, you don’t get it. How long ago did this happen? Twenty years? I’ve heard all your stories twice. Pop seems nothing like the monster you’ve made him out to be. Times change. People can turn 180 degrees.”

“Not him. He’s as static as the Rock of Gibraltar. And for the record, I’m not buying the skin cancer defense.”

“So you’ve said. And even if Pop hasn’t changed, I’d hope that you had. I can’t believe you’d deny Victor his grandfather. Or that you’d corrupt him with that ‘Fearless Leader’ crap.”

“Corrupt him? I was empowering him. Vic asked me once where his grandpa was. I said he didn’t like us and moved away, that’s all.”

“That’s enough.”

“It’s only true. That nice old man in there ran our home like an army camp. He criticized us all day, every day and beat us raw. Nothing Ma, Martha or I did was ever right or good enough, and there were no excuses. None, except for him.”

“So you let it consume you? Lots of people have had that experience, but they forgive. Can’t you be the bigger man and let it go? No, spend the rest of your life dwelling on it.”

“Why not? He earned it. He was my father and the center of my world. In spite of the put-downs and abuse, I never really hated him, not until the day he walked out. The world ended that day.”

Annie reached across the table and took Tom’s hand. “Twenty years ago, hon. You’re a father yourself now. You’ve given Victor a home Pop never could give you. Can’t you see that you’ve moved beyond him and that drama? Can’t you just go in there and give Victor the memory of having fun playing with both his father and grandfather?”

“I’ve heard that song before. Everybody, from the shrink Ma sent us to after the divorce, to guidance counselors and now you, said the same thing. Forgive and move on. No way. Life isn’t a chalkboard and time isn’t an eraser. That old bastard barged in here without a single ‘I’m sorry’ and demanded to play grandpa.” Tom checked his watch. “He’s had his chance. Now he gets out.” Tom left his seat and moved toward the kitchen door. Annie caught him by his shirttail.

“Tom, behave yourself!” she whispered. “Don’t make a scene. You’ll scar Vic for life. You handle this right or I swear, you’ll be as celibate as Martha from now until Easter!”

At the door, Tom took another look through the slats. Victor was sitting on his grandfather’s lap. One of the legs of Victor’s jeans had ridden up; Pop was gently rubbing a red spot on the boy’s knee.

“There, you’re fine,” Pop said quietly. “It’s nothing but a rug-burn. You got to be careful, bud. You’re fast, but not as fast as Tobor. How does it feel now?”

Victor wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “Better Grandpa.” He smiled.

Tom stood rooted to the floor.

“Well?” Annie hissed from behind him. “If you’re going, go! But be nice!”

Tom, trailed by Annie, walked into the den. Pop cradled Victor in his arms and handed him to his mother.

“Vic had a little mishap,” said Pop. “Only a rug-burn.”

“No big deal. See?” said Victor, pointing it out to Annie.

Annie laughed. “You must have some first aid, Pop. The slightest bruise and he’s usually bawling.”

“Pop,” Tom said, “I don’t mean to spoil the party. But Vic has school tomorrow and it’s nearly eight o’clock.”

“Oh, right. The boy needs his rest.” Pop picked up the toy and handed it to Victor.

“Take care of Tobor, bud. It was nice meeting you.”

“Say thank you, Vic,” Annie urged him.

“Thanks, Grandpa. We’ll play more tomorrow when I get home. So long!”

Pop watched Annie carry Victor out. “So long.”

Tom and his father lingered uneasily in the room together. Pop reached for his coat and struggled into it. Tom fetched Pop’s suitcase from the hall and handed it to him.

“Pop, I never considered how you got here or where you’re staying. We could put you up on the couch. It’s pretty comfortable. Or do you need a lift someplace?”

“No, no. I rented a car at the airport. It’s parked up the street. I didn’t want to frighten you, strange car and all. There’s a room waiting for me at the Emerald Inn on Lake Street. I’ll be gone on a noon flight tomorrow.”

Tom escorted Pop to the front door.

“Well, Pop, this has been...”

“You don’t need to say anything. We both know what it’s been.”

“Yeah. Anyway, I know Vic enjoyed it.”

Pop buttoned his coat to the top and turned up his collar. “He’s a wonderful boy. You and Annie are raising him right. Keep up the good work. If you talk to Martha, give her my best.”

“Pop? One more thing. Since your flight doesn’t leave until noon, do you think you might have some spare time in the morning?”

“Maybe. Why?”

“There’s a little restaurant across the street from the Emerald Inn. I’m off work tomorrow. Could you meet me there around ten, ten-thirty? We could talk over some things, maybe clear the air. No yelling, I promise.”

Pop’s brows touched as he thought. “Okay. Ten sharp. I’m buying the coffee.”

Tom opened the door and Pop walked out into the cold night. Almost beyond the lights of the house, the old man paused to speak, but did not turn to face his son.

“Tom, do me one favor?”

Tom stuck his hands in his pockets and shivered. “Sure. What is it?”

“Before breakfast, get a haircut. You look like a bowery bum.”

“170 degrees,” Tom muttered, and the world ended again.

to Challenge 379...