Jack and Mr. Grin (2 page)

The car belching exhaust, he pulled away from the curb and headed toward downtown, to Granger’s, home of the Granger Ranger Breakfast Sammich.

Five

“What’ll it be, pardner?” the tinny voice came through the speaker.

“Can I get two Granger Ranger Breakfast Sammiches and two hashrowns?” Jack said, feeling stupid. He hated saying ‘sammich,’ but they would totally fuck up your order if you called it anything else. At first, he had thought this was just some kind of urban legend. Trying it one day, he found out it was completely true and if you went inside or back through the drive-thru, they would pretend you were never there in the first place.

“I reckon you can, pardner,” the voice said from the other end of the speaker. “Please pull yer hoss around.”

Jesus, this place was so stupid. If their food wasn’t so good he would never come here. But there weren’t a lot of places to eat close to his house and even fewer had drive-thrus. He really hated to get out of the car. It was embarrassing, having to crawl over the passenger seat. It was like announcing to the world that he was uneducated scum, quite possibly doomed to the packing of dirt for the rest of his life. He considered himself lucky the driver’s-side window actually rolled down.

He sat in the line, hoping his car wouldn’t die. There were three or four cars in front of him.

Hunger wasn’t the real reason he had offered to get breakfast. His hunger pains probably wouldn’t have really bothered him until early afternoon.

He had a secret in the glove compartment. It wasn’t until now that he thought about how stupid it was keeping it in the glove compartment. Anyone could have come by and stolen it. But it was so small they would have probably missed it. Opening the glove compartment, he pulled out the ring. It was white gold, a single solitary diamond set in the middle. It wasn’t anything fancy but it had cost him nearly two weeks of pay he’d had to sock away a little at a time so Gina didn’t know he was planning anything.

He wanted his proposal to be a surprise.

He didn’t want her to have to prepare to say ‘yes.’ He wanted to see the look in her eyes when he popped the question and he would know—just from that look— if she wanted to marry him or not.

It would be out of the blue, too.

This was the third year they were together. They had talked about it a lot the first year and then decided they shouldn’t rush anything— it was just a piece of paper, right? And so they had agreed to wait two full years before bringing up the subject.

Gina had been nearly married once before. She had lived for five years with some guy named Tim Fox. Jack had seen pictures of him but he had never met the guy. It was Gina’s theory that, by the end of the third year, if you still want to be with the other person, then maybe it had a chance of lasting. Tim Fox had proposed to her during their second year together and Gina had said yes because she was only twenty-one and didn’t know any better. She had stayed with him for the next four years, she said, simply because they were engaged.

He supposed he could buy that but he couldn’t help thinking there was something else there. Like maybe she really did care for the guy. But thinking about that made him mad. He couldn’t exactly explain it. Maybe some things didn’t need explaining. He just didn’t like the thought of her being in love with someone else. Someone who had come
before
him. Jealousy, he guessed. Probably nothing more.

He pulled forward and slid the ring into his pocket.

Today was the day.

Six

He was so focused on the ring in the front right pocket of his jeans he nearly forgot all about the bag of breakfast sitting in the passenger seat. He nearly sat in it as he went to slide over and get out of that side of the car.

His heart pounded.

He was almost certain she would say yes but what if she didn't? That would certainly put a damper on breakfast. Perhaps he should wait until after they ate. But he didn’t think he could do that. He didn’t think he would be able to eat until he knew her answer to his question. They hadn’t really talked that much about it recently. He just had the feeling they both knew it was going to happen.

But what if she didn’t want it to happen? What if she was perfectly happy with things the way they were? Would his proposal ruin it?

How could it? It wasn’t like they were going to get married on the spot. It was basically just his way of saying she was the one he wanted to marry. The rest he would leave up to her. If she wanted to go to the courthouse tomorrow and do it, he would be there. If she wanted to wait five or ten or twenty years, he would wait for her.

The ring tucked safely in his pocket, breakfast in a splotchy white wax paper bag clutched in his left hand, he bumped the car door shut with his hip. Mr. Moran was still out in his front yard, staring at that tree. Only now, thankfully, he sat in a lawn chair.

Strange fucker, Jack thought, glancing over at him.

Oh God, Mr. Moran was actually
waving
him over. Briefly, Jack thought about ignoring him, pretending he didn’t see him and just moving on into the house. But he had made eye contact with the old man. Now he couldn’t really avoid him without the old man
knowing
he was avoiding him.

Jack seized up, walking quickly into the neighboring yard. Maybe if he just assumed this air of hurry then the old man, prone to unholy lengths of rambling, would realize he had something else on his mind and let him off easy.

“Hey there,” Jack said.

Mr. Moran looked up from his lawn chair and said, “Morning there. I suppose you’re ‘bout ready for breakfast?” He nodded toward the bag in Jack’s hand.

“Yeah.”

“Well, I won’t keep ya. Just wanted to say hi.”

“Always good to say hi. We’ll have to have you over for dinner one of these nights.”

“That’d be good. You take care of that one. She’s a beaut.”

“Thanks. I plan on it.”

Jack nodded, turning to walk away from Mr. Moran.

“You ever notice...” Mr. Moran said, stopping Jack in his tracks.

He considered pretending he didn’t hear him this time but instead Jack turned back around.

“What’s that?”

“You ever notice how a tree is so huge?”

Jack had no idea where this one was going. It sounded like something a five-year-old would say.

“Anyway... a tree gets to be so huge and it just stays standin upright like that for years and years but did you ever stop to think about what’s keepin that tree up?”

Jack took a deep breath. “Not really. I guess. No. I haven’t really thought about that.”

“The
roots
. That’s what’s keepin the tree up. And did you ever wonder about them roots. There must be miles and miles of um spread out there, under the ground, growin into the pipes, diggin deeper into the earth to look for some water and, above all, keepin the tree upright. If lightnin strikes that sumbitch and he falls into my roof, it won’t be the
roots’
problem, I’ll tell you that right here and now. It’s kinda like an iceberg...”

“Yep,” Jack said, already backing away. He had to end this or, he knew, Mr. Moran could go on all day. He could start talking about a tree and it would inevitably end up with him relaying some childhood story Jack had heard nearly every time he spoke with the man. And Mr. Moran’s message was always the same. People were better “back then.” Life was better “back then.” Now was horrible. Every day was a torment, so filled with injustice. Teenagers—hell,
kids
—were all assholes. His family didn’t care about him. Nobody took any pride in their houses. The neighborhood looked like a shambles compared to a million years ago. Oh, Mr. Moran could go on and on and on. Jack had trouble with this single-minded, single-sided type of banter. Not to mention the repetition...

“I’m sorry, Mr. Moran,” he said. “But breakfast is getting cold. You don’t wanna get me yelled at, do ya?”

“They say the tip of the iceberg is only ‘bout ten percent of the actual iceberg. The rest is underwater. That means, most of the iceberg, you don’t even see.”

By this time, Jack had backed across his neighbor’s driveway and stood at the perimeter of his own yard. “Later, Mr. Moran,” he said, raising the bag of food as if a visual reminder would help a little more.

“Yeah, yeah,” the old man waved. “Call me Dick.”

Jack turned and walked quickly, head down, up the porch steps, hoping Mr. Moran would not stop him again.

Call me Dick, he thought. Yeah. Well, probably not anytime soon.

His heartbeat picked up again.

Standing at the front door, he was surprised his conversation with the neighbor hadn’t brought Gina outside to see what was taking him so long. She was usually pretty good at rescuing him from Mr. Moran. Maybe she didn’t want to put on pants. Maybe she hadn’t even heard them. Probably not, if she was still listening to that record.

He opened the simple white storm door, reaching his hand into his pocket and bringing out the ring. He palmed it and opened the front door, imagining Gina on the floor listening to her Mailboxes record.

She wasn’t.

His heart continued to thud in his chest.

The needle of the record player had reached the orange paper label in the middle and made a horrible
screeing
sound as it whirled round and round.

The bathroom, he thought.

He walked across the living room and peeked down the hall toward the bathroom. The door was open.

Faster and faster his heart beat and he thought, this is it. This is really it. You’re really doing this. Up until now, it could all be undone. But this was different. True, it wasn’t marriage but it was something of a formal agreement. Things would be a little more set in stone after this.

Set in stone.

He didn’t know how he felt about that phrase. It made him think of statues and tombstones.

Maybe she’s putting on some clothes.

Now his heart was practically racing. It felt like it was bouncing back and forth between his nipple and his spine.

“Gina!” he called.

No answer.

Where could she be?

His heart reached maximum velocity as he began his search of the house. His heart was not going to slow down anytime soon.

Seven

Now his mind raced along with his heart. Thoughts swarmed around— crazy thoughts— and he had to try hard just to focus on a single one.

Where
was
she?

He had, in only a few minutes, managed to search every nook and cranny of the house where a human could foreseeably be. Closets (he didn’t know why she would be hiding in a closet), the attic, the basement, every room. He had even opened up the oven to check in there even though he didn’t really think she would fit. Upon opening the door, however, horrible visions raced across his head— her body, dismembered and bent into impossible shapes. In the course of human history, he supposed, stranger things had happened. Of course, when one stopped to consider the scope of human history, there probably wasn’t a single atrocity that could be ruled out.

Jesus fucking Christ, Gina, he thought. Where the hell are you?

This was bad. Jesus, this
could
be bad.

Realizing he still held the Granger Ranger’s bag in his hand, he set it on the kitchen table and went to find his cell phone. That was what people did during emergencies, wasn’t it? Make calls? Was this an emergency? He didn’t really know. But the way his heart and head pounded along, it certainly
felt
like an emergency.

Deciding to go directly to the source of his worry, he called Gina’s cell phone. She was number two on speed dial (voice mail was number one). He held down the button and listened to the phone ring, straining to hear if
her
phone rang somewhere in the house. It didn’t. Which meant it had to be with her, wherever she was. Meaning she must have left. But he had no idea where she would have gone. They only had the one car. He used it to drive to work during the week. She worked at a cafe two blocks away and, if he didn’t drop her off, she walked.

As the phone continued to ring, his fear mounted. She wouldn’t have gone out for a stroll knowing he would return shortly with breakfast. Maybe she had been abducted. But who gets abducted before
noon
? And in their own home. Again, he supposed it could have happened but he just couldn’t make this resonate in his increasingly cloudy mind. Abduction seemed so... cinematic.

Eventually, he was put through to her voice mail.

“Gina, this is Jack... I just came home with breakfast. Wondering where you are. Give me a call as soon as you get this... I love you.”

Then he flipped his phone shut and wondered what to do next.

Mr. Moran. Maybe he was still outside. Since he had been out in his front yard when Jack went to get breakfast and he had been there when Jack came back, it only stood to reason he would have seen Gina leave the house.

He slid the phone into the front pocket of his jeans and went outside. He glanced over toward Mr. Moran’s and noticed he was still out there. Now he circled around the tree, casting angry and suspicious glances at it. Jack wanted to check the backyard first. It was October, so it wasn’t like there was any yard work to be done or anything, but it was an exceptionally nice day and it was entirely possible Gina had just wandered out there to take it in.