In Open Spaces (42 page)

I noticed that Stan had been dipping rather more frequently into the egg nog than he usually did, and when Jack appeared, Stan bellowed, “Merry Christmas, Jack.”

Jack grinned slightly and said thanks before looking down at his boots. None of the rest of us said anything, and Stan looked around at everyone, trying to understand the silence.

The cause this time was an incident that occurred the previous summer, at the Belle Fourche Roundup on the Fourth of July. Before that, Jack and Rita had shown signs of renewing their romance. He had begun shyly courting her, and had somehow managed to overcome a healthy skepticism on her part. And to everyone’s surprise, and my dismay, they spent several evenings a week strolling out into a grove of trees behind the old house, where they would sit and talk for an hour or so. I have to confess that I spied on them from time to time, feeling sick to my stomach as I wondered each time whether I would find them wrapped in each other’s arms, or locked in a passionate kiss. But Rita apparently wasn’t ready for that.

But at the Roundup, Jack showed up parading around with another woman. This blatant disregard for Rita destroyed whatever goodwill he had developed among his family. Rita filed for divorce, and he didn’t fight it, although that evening was the only time we saw the mystery woman, who we later found out was from Sundance, Wyoming. It was
almost as if Jack wanted it to happen. He had the opportunity to renew what had been a pretty good life, and he threw it away for one day with some woman that apparently wasn’t even that important to him.

To further his exile, Jack had moved out of the old homestead house, asking the boys to help him clean out the little cabin he and Rita had first lived in. The cats that once swarmed the house were long dead, but nobody had ever had any reason to clean them out. So according to Teddy, “the place smelled worse than a chicken coop.” But Jack moved in, and we hardly saw him other than out in the fields. He focused on his dirt work, erecting a series of dikes and ditches that allowed us to flood our meadows, and he finished building two reservoirs, damming the creeks so we could use those two pastures for summer grazing. He had also hired out to the neighbors on the weekends. But this time, he was careful not to take time away from the ranch.

And in one final stroke of defiance, Jack had begun to spend a lot of time at Bob and Helen’s. To me, this was the most confusing part of his arrival that morning. We just assumed he would be spending the day with them.

“What is it?” Dad asked, not bothering to look at Jack.

Jack shrugged. “I thought I might be welcome to spend Christmas with my family, at least for dinner.”

Dad looked at Rita, whose mouth was a straight line, with little creases above the top lip. “You’ve got some nerve, Jack Arbuckle,” she muttered, but her tone was fairly indifferent.

“Oh, come on, everybody,” Stan said, his palms smacking the table on each side of his plate. The silverware shook and rattled. “You can let things be for just one day, can’t you? Every man should be able to spend this day with their children, if they’ve been blessed with any.”

“Every man who gives a damn about ’em,” George muttered.

This comment stung Jack, I could tell, and he looked suddenly pathetic and lonely to me. Although I didn’t want him there, it seemed obvious that he hadn’t come to cause any trouble. “Sit down, Jack,” I said.

“What?” Dad said.

“Ah, let him eat, at least,” I said.

“Yeah,” Stan agreed.

I looked at Rita, who gave a curt nod.

Because nobody wanted the situation to turn into a conflict, there were no protests. But the silence had the feel of unhappy submission, and as Jack took off his coat, went to the kitchen for a plate, and pulled an extra chair up to the table, between Teddy and Stan, the tension was impossible to ignore.

As dinner progressed, I began to wish I had kept my mouth shut. Jack’s presence sucked the festive spirit out of the gathering like a tube siphoning gas. Everyone ate as though they couldn’t wait to finish and move on to the next thing. There was almost no conversation, and if Stan hadn’t been at the table, there might not have been any.

“So how’s the mining business, Stan?” I asked.

“Better all the time.” Stan finished chewing before continuing. “Of course, the war doesn’t hurt us any.”

“Ah, yes. The war.” I nodded. “I’ve heard something about a war going on.”

“I wish that wasn’t the reason business was better,” Muriel lamented.

“Yeah, well, we didn’t start the war,” Stan said.

“Of course not,” Muriel said, “I just wish nobody had. It never solves anything.”

Talk of the war made me think about the last time the subject had come up in Jack’s presence, and I studied him. He looked placid, not really interested in what was being said. His face was drawn, and I wondered whether he’d been eating enough.

“Well, I think Hitler is going to self-destruct,” Stan said. “He’s trying to do too much. Even with help from the Italians and Japs, he’s taking on too much.”

“Let’s just hope to God you’re right.” Muriel raised her glass to her husband.

“George, you’re about that age. Are you thinking about enlisting?” Stan asked.

This brought the first reaction from Jack, who looked up from his plate in alarm, fixing his eyes on his oldest son. It looked as if it had never occurred to him that his son had grown up.

“He is,” Rita said. “And any help in talking him out of it would be appreciated.”

“George, I hope you decide not to join,” Muriel said. “You just don’t know what can happen.” She shook her head.

“The boy has to decide for himself,” Stan said.

“Leave the boy alone,” Dad grumbled.

“We’re discussing,” Stan said. “We’re not riding the boy.”

“It’s all right, Grandpa,” George said. “For one thing, everybody stop calling me boy. I’m not a boy anymore. I don’t have to listen to what they say.”

“Well!” Muriel said.

“He didn’t mean it that way,” Rita said to Muriel.

“Let’s change the subject,” I said.

“Good idea,” Rita agreed.

“No,” George said. “No, I want to talk about this. I think I have the right to make up my own mind. And if I want to join the army, I shouldn’t have to worry about whether my family is never going to talk to me again if I do.”

Rita looked stricken. “Son, who do you think wouldn’t talk to you? Why would you say something like that?”

George sighed, shaking his head with an expression of someone carrying a much bigger load than he had any business taking on. “Maybe we should drop it. I didn’t mean to offend anyone. I’m just saying that it’s about time somebody realized I’m a grown-up now.”

Rita looked down at her plate, her face slightly older. But I thought George made a good point—it occurred to me that maybe Jack wasn’t the only one who hadn’t been paying attention, that maybe we had all
been so wrapped up in our own lives that we hadn’t noticed that he was a man now.

We talked about less controversial topics as we finished our main course and went on to dessert. Jack never did speak, and by the time we finished eating, his presence had lost its power. I could feel the room slowly relax.

After dinner, we decided to play cards. Between the adults and George and Teddy, we had eight people, so Rita and I sat down in the living room, teaming up against George and Dad. In the dining room, Muriel and Jack paired up against Teddy and Stan, who continued to indulge in his share of eggnog. The candles on the tree had long burnt down to nothing, the wax coating the pine branches, and the fire had to be fed to keep it from dying to a smoldering pile of ash. A chill filled the air even with the fire as the light outside began to fade. And as the temperature dropped, the cold air leaked in through the cracks under the doors, and around the windows. It soaked into the wood floors and walls. We all put on sweaters before we sat down.

“Blake, I don’t know what you’re trying to do to me, but these cards are terrible,” Dad said.

“I don’t feel bad at all,” I answered, smiling.

“Well, you could have dealt your partner a decent hand,” Rita said.

“Looks like George and Blake have the cards this time around,” Dad said.

“Don’t look at me,” George argued. “I couldn’t win Old Maid with this hand.”

Indeed, I had an incredible hand—three aces, and a string of seven hearts including the ace, king, jack, and ten. I took the bid easily, at eight hearts, and ran the table, taking every trick. This was the beginning of a streak of luck that I’ve never known in all my years of playing cards. I ended up with at least two aces in nearly every hand, and
if I didn’t have a strong suit, I seemed to have just the right cards to complement Rita’s hand. Dad got so disgusted, he asked if anyone at the other table wanted to switch partners. But there were no takers.

“Blake, what are you doing to those poor folks over there?” Muriel asked.

“I’m not too sure what’s going on here,” I said. “Living right, I guess. The cards are definitely falling my way tonight.”

“Well, you take it easy on my nephew,” Muriel shouted.

“Hey, if I get the hands, I have to play ’em,” I said.

“You’re coldhearted,” Dad said, shaking his head. “Cruel and cold-hearted.”

Over the course of the evening, as we played game after game of five hundred, the conversation from the dining room got louder a little at a time. And due to his overindulgence, Stan’s voice dominated, along with much laughter.

“Hey, how much longer you guys gonna play in there?” Stan’s voice boomed from the dining room. “We’re about ready to quit in here. You gonna play all night?”

“Yeah, we’re gonna play all night,” I yelled.

“Yeah, Blake is gonna play all night. But he’ll be playin’ solitaire before too much longer,” Dad shouted.

I laughed. “Dad, I never knew you were such a sore loser.”

“I never lost this bad before.”

“Well, if you guys aren’t gonna quit, we’re just gonna have to come in there and bother you,” Stan shouted.

A few minutes later, Stan weaved through the door, with Jack, Teddy, and Muriel following. Stan held his arms straight out at his sides and bowed his head slightly. “Here we are!” he announced. He had a glass in one hand, half filled with eggnog, tipping precariously, and a big smile on his face, with deep creases on each side of his mouth. His
cheeks were red right up to his eyes. Jack lingered behind him, his face giving no sign of his condition.

“Here we are,” Stan repeated, then started giggling, which sounded strange coming from him.

Stan and Jack made their way to the couch, which they caved into. And Teddy and Muriel settled into the easy chairs.

“All right,” Stan said. He turned to Jack and made like a whisper, holding his hand on one side of his mouth. “We gotta be quiet. They’re playin’ cards. Gotta keep it down.” Stan laughed conspiratorially holding his hand against his stomach. “Besides,” he continued, “Blake’s on a roll over here. We don’t want to ruin his lucky streak.”

We continued playing, watching this scene with amusement. Except for Muriel, who was not happy to see her husband in such a state. She became distracted from the game.

I had my eye on Jack, who hadn’t said a word. I had yet to see him drunk since his return, but I couldn’t read his condition. He appeared a little slow, but it was the kind of look that could mean he was tired, or bored. Across the table from me, Rita kept him under close scrutiny herself.

“Did we go out again?” I asked Dad.

“No. You have four seventy-five.” He laid the pencil across the score pad, and started to shuffle the cards. “You want to call it quits after this game?”

“No,” George quickly said.

“Well, let’s see how it goes,” Dad said.

“I’ve about had it,” Rita said.

“At least we had a close game in there,” Muriel said. “It was a lot more fun at our table.”

“You saying you got a better partner than you did last time?” Dad kidded her. He had been her partner the night before.

“I believe so,” Muriel joked. “I believe that was the problem last night. I didn’t have a good partner.”

“Well, if that’s the way this game works, Blake has the best partner in the history of the county,” Dad said.

“Who’s Blake’s partner?” Stan asked.

“Well, look at the table, you big dummy,” Muriel said.

Stan squeezed his eyes together and held his hand above his eyes, as if he was searching for something a long ways off. “Is that you, Rita? Are you Blake’s partner?” he asked.

“Sure am,” Rita replied.

“And a damn good one,” I added.

“And not the first time she’s been your partner, huh?”

The moment these bitter words left Jack’s lips, the atmosphere of the whole room chilled. It became obvious to me that Jack was not drunk. His eyes were wide. His cheeks flushed. Even his neck had turned red. But his eyes were sky-blue clear, and his voice did not waver. He was completely sober, and for the second time that day, his presence commanded the attention of everyone in the room.

“Oh Jesus,” Dad murmured.

“Yeah, we’ve been partners before,” I said, hoping the question was this simple.

“That’s what I thought,” Jack said, his voice brittle, cold.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I asked.

He snorted through his nose and looked around the room, at everyone, as if the answer was so clear he couldn’t believe I didn’t know.

Dad jumped in, his voice low and shaking. “Whatever it is you’ve got on your mind, Jack, you best keep it to yourself, especially in front of these boys.”

“Why should I?” Jack asked, leaning forward from his sitting position. “Everyone in the county knows about it. Everyone but me knew about it until Steve Glasser let me in on the goddam secret.”

“Get that son of a bitch out of here,” Rita muttered, her teeth clenched.

Muriel started crying, quietly, holding a handkerchief to her eyes.

As Jack’s accusation sunk in, and as I saw what it did to Rita, I lost
my head. I didn’t think, but acted completely on impulse. In one motion, I threw down my cards, tipped my chair to the floor and stood over Jack, my hands and knees trembling.