For that Paul relied on hope.
Lodi, Ohio
Mick carried an aluminum foil pan when he walked into Dylan’s home. He could hear Tom yelling something just before he came down the steps.
“Mr. Roberts,” he said in greeting.
“Hey, Mick. Done for the evening?”
“For a little while,” Mick answered. “Everything all right? I hear yelling.”
“Just trying to get Chris moving and Tigger awake. I want to head them down to JC Penny’s, get them a suit. You know.”
“Yeah. What about Dustin?”
“Has an outfit from the spring dance. Didn’t outgrow it. Of course it was big on him,” Tom said then looked back up the steps. “For the love of God, boys, hurry up.”
Mick looked to the pan he carried, then to Tom. “I just want to drop this off.”
“Marian’s in the kitchen.”
Mick nodded then headed there.
Marian Roberts, Dylan’s mother, looked like the perfect counterpart to Tom. She, too, seemed a throwback from an era long since lost, never without a nice outfit on, her hair done, or an appropriate shade of lipstick. Soft-spoken most of the time, Marian was upbeat and happy, as if she lived the perfect life. In essence, she did. And she acted it. Every single day, Marian acted it. Never gloomy, always pleasant, no matter what the circumstances. Overly compassionate and warm, nothing ever seemed to faze her. It was almost like a Twilight Zone episode.
Turning from her kitchen organizing, Marian saw Mick in the doorway holding a pan. “Good heavens, Michael. More food?”
“Yep. Ham slices, I think.” Mick sniffed it.
“Who from?” Marian lifted a Post-it pad and a pen.
“The Colters.”
Writing down the name, Marian tore the sheet from the pad and laid it on the top of the pan. “Just have to find a place to put it. Dylan is bogged down with food.”
“Want me to put it in the fridge?” Mick asked.
“No, just put it on the table. I’ll make room.”
Mick set the dish down. “All right, I’ll be seeing you.”
“Michael,” Marian called to him. “I’m just about to put supper out, aren’t you staying?”
“No,” Mick answered. “I’m gonna go home. Dylan’s not wanting me around today and the last thing I want to do is upset her.”
“Oh, nonsense.” Marian flung her hand out. “She wants you here.”
“No, ma’am, she doesn’t.”
“Don’t be silly.” Marian walked to the kitchen doorway. “Dylan!”
Mick cringed. “Mrs. Roberts.”
“Hush.” She aimed her voice again. “Dylan!” Smiling pleasantly, Marian pointed. “Did you hear that?”
“What?” Mick asked.
With a fake slightly irritable huff, Marian shook her head and went back into the kitchen. “Tom snuck out with the boys. He’s gonna feed them at the mall. Does that make sense? I have a meal cooking. One would think that a good…”
“Mom, did you…” Dylan slowed down when she saw Mick, “…call me?”
“Yes.” Marian smiled. “Look, sweetheart, the Colters sent some lovely ham slices and Michael here says you don’t want him around. Tell him that’s nonsense, make him wash up, grab Dustin, and we’ll eat.” She flashed another smile and returned to the stove.
“Mom,” Dylan looked at Mick then to her mother, “I’m not telling Mick to stay.”
Offended, Marian turned around. “That would be rude.”
“That’s the way it should be,” Dylan said resolutely. “At least for a while. I mean, how would it look?”
“Is that what you’re worried about?” Marian asked. “I understand that. I mean, you were married, your husband dies tragically and Michael is here. But Michael has been here, sweetheart, the whole time Sam wasn’t. Everyone knows he didn’t just pop into the picture. Now I’m one who always worries about how things will look, aren’t I?”
Dylan bobbed her head. “Yeah.”
“Didn’t I get that rash when Uncle Danny showed up while Daddy was out of town? I was scared to death the neighbors would think I was sneaking in a man. If I thought for one moment it wouldn’t look good, I would tell you. It’s fine.” She patted Dylan on the cheek. “Now be nice to Michael and I’ll finish getting dinner done.”
Dylan closed her eyes briefly, turned slightly, and looked at Mick. “You are such a goddamn tattletale, always have been.” She stormed out.
“Dylan, language,” Marian chirped from the stove.
Just as Mick stepped to follow Dylan, through the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of Dustin walking across the yard and sitting on the swing. Remembering that he wanted to talk to Dustin, he left Dylan to her tantrum and he went outside.
Dustin pushed the swing slowly, his back toward Mick, head down.
Mick walked up to him, first laying a hand on Dustin’s slumped back then taking the swing next to him. “Hey, Dustin.”
“Mick.”
“How’s it…” Mick saw it. “What in God’s name are you drinking?”
Shaking his head with a slight sad smirk, Dustin held up a beer bottle. “Mom gave it to me.”
“Your mother gave you beer?”
“She said I might need a drink.”
“You’re seventeen years old,” Mick snapped.
“That’s what I told her.” Dustin shrugged. “She said you two were drinking at seventeen.”
“I wasn’t the chief of police back then.” Mick took the beer. “You don’t need this.”
Dustin looked back at the house then leaned into Mick. “I didn’t want it either, but she’s… you know. So I took it.” Slowly, in the silence, Dustin swung back a few times. “Mick? Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Did my Dad really say my name last night? Did he really want you to tell me he loved me?”
Mick closed his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, he did.”
“You aren’t telling me that to make me feel better, are you?”
“No. I wouldn’t do that. I was in your shoes at one time.” Mick looked out over the yard. “And I’ll tell ya, I wish my father would have done that. What a thing to carry with you. Knowing your father made sure you knew he loved you before he left this earth.” Mick took a drink of the beer.
“It… it would help with the guilt I feel.”
Mick quickly turned and looked at him. “I know I can sit here and tell you that you shouldn’t feel guilty. I think you know you shouldn’t feel guilty.”
“But I do. I all but sent him over there. I told him about you and Mom.”
Mick nodded. “And if you didn’t, you think he wouldn’t have done what he did?”
“No. He wouldn’t have.”
“Nope.” Mick shook his head. “Got news for you, Dustin. Your mom and I were on our way over to tell your dad that your mom was moving in with me. He was getting the news last night. And…” Mick took another drink, “do you really think he didn’t know? Sam knew. He was smarter than that. Sam knew. He’s known for a while.”
“If he knew about you and Mom, why he’d do it?” Dustin asked. “You’ve known him forever, Mick. Why’d he do it?”
“I don’t think your father really wanted to kill himself,” Mick spoke softly. “But it was the first time he couldn’t take it back.”
Dustin looked at him curiously. “You mean like with the sleeping pills after Pap and Grandma died?”
“And then some.” Mick played with the beer bottle a few seconds before he said more. “I got your mom in there feeling guilty, you out here feeling guilty. It goes way back with your dad. And it wasn’t a desire to leave this earth, ‘cause I’m gonna tell you, your Dad loved too many things, including you kids, to leave.”