Calvin’s Cowboy (7 page)

“Hey, Champ. You having a good time?”

“It’s awesome!” Brock had to move the phone an inch or so away from his ear.

“You won’t want to come home when it’s over, eh?”

The line went quiet. “I am having a good time, but I’m really missing you.”

“That’s good to hear, son.” Brock had to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat. “’Cause I’m missing you one hell…uh, heck of a lot, too.”

Junior laughed. “Hey, Dad, guess what?”

Brock smiled. “What?”

“Guess.”

Laughing, Brock said, “You got signed by a scout from a major league team?”

“Ha! No, I pitched a one-hitter today.”

“That’s my boy!” Brock’s chest swelled with pride.

“And that’s not all.”

“Oh?” Brock went back into the kitchen and rested his butt against the countertop.

“In the last inning today I got a double and drove in two runs.”

“Hooboy! That’s fantastic.”

“You really think so?” Junior sounded a little unsure.

“Hell…heck, yeah. I’m real proud of you, son. Maybe I should start callin’ you ‘Slugger’ instead of ‘Champ’.”

Junior giggled.

“Wish I could have been there to see you play.”

“Yeah, me, too. I miss you.”

“Miss you, too, Junior.” Feeling the conversation was getting too downbeat, Brock said, “I got a big contract today.” He pushed himself away from the counter and reached into the fridge for a drink.

“Yeah?” Junior sounded brighter.

“You remember Vice Principle Hamilton?” Brock popped the tab on the can.

“He once gave me detention for punching Ronnie Halsop.”

“I remember. You were trying to protect a freshman.”

“Yeah.”

Brock had been called to the middle school where he’d been told his son had indeed punched another student.   Junior hadn’t challenged this, and had told the vice principal and Brock he’d done it in order to defend a smaller kid who was being bullied, and added that, if it happened again he’d punch the bully a second time. It was something Brock wished he’d had the courage to do when he’d been in school.

“Mr. Hamilton knew that, which was why you only got an hour’s detention instead of a week’s suspension.”

“Guess so.”

Brock took a long swallow of his drink and burped softly. He rubbed the cold can against his naked chest.

“But getting back to what I was saying. Mr. Hamilton has taken early retirement and—”

“What are you drinking?” Junior asked, tension obvious in his voice.

“Soda.”

“M’ kay.”

Brock knew Junior was concerned he had been drinking beer. His alcohol consumption was the only major bone of contention between them. Brock—wanting to keep the peace—rarely drank in front of his son.

“What about Mr. Hamilton?” Junior asked.

Brock explained about how he’d got a call from Calvin, and how his folks were selling their house, and that he’d been given the contract to fix up the place before it went on the market.

“You’ll still be able to come to the game on Friday, won’t you?”

Brock hoped Calvin would understand if he took the day off, or maybe it’d be better to wait until the following week before starting. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Champ.”

“Thanks. Glad you’ve got some work.”

Brock had kept most of his financial worries to himself, but Junior was a smart kid, and knew they weren’t in the best financial shape. Thank God Mary Anne’s folks had agreed to pay for Junior’s camp this year.

“We’ll be okay, you an’ me. We’re a team.” Brock crushed the now empty can in his free hand and tossed it in the overflowing trashcan.

“Love you, Dad.”

“Love you, too, Champ.”

* * * *

Before Brock knew it, it was 4pm. He hadn’t managed to gather all the figures he wanted from the trade catalogs. There was nothing for it; he’d have to go online to check the rest. When he’d been in high school there were precious few computers, and the Internet hadn’t existed. Junior had shown Brock the basics, and although he’d forgotten much of what his son had taught him, Brock was reasonably sure he could get the information he needed without too much difficulty. The only trouble was Junior had taken his laptop to camp with him, so Brock had to go to the library to use theirs.

“At least they’ll have air conditioning,” Brock said, going in search of a T-shirt.

* * * *

The library did have air conditioning, but unfortunately it wasn’t working.

“Oh, John,” Miss Aldridge, the elderly librarian twittered when he entered. “It’s you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Brock said, taking off his old black Stetson. He hadn’t been able to find his Resistol when leaving the house.

Fanning herself with a magazine, she said, “Our air has stopped working. Do you think you could take a look at it?”

“Well, I’m not sure.” Brock looked up at the wall vent, thinking of possible law suits if he did something wrong. He had fixed window AC units, but he didn’t know squat about central air.

Miss Aldridge had been his English teacher in high school and now, Brock assumed, to try and keep active, volunteered at the library.   Looking at her lined and wrinkled face Brock mused that she must be at least eighty now.

“Oh, dear.” She looked disappointedly at him.

Brock shuffled his feet. “Have you called the air-conditioning company?”

“Yes, but they said they couldn’t send anyone until tomorrow afternoon, at the earliest.”

Brock sighed. He’d never been able to say ‘no’ to this woman, something he knew she was counting on. “I guess I could take a look, but I can’t promise I’ll be able to fix it.”

Her old face lit up. “Oh, thank you, John, That’s very kind of you. You’ve grown up so much since high school.”

Brock winced. Trust Miss Aldridge to be able to issue a compliment and a rebuke in the same statement.

As he was led in back, Miss Aldridge said, “I understand you’re helping Calvin Hamilton renovate his family’s house.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Brock had long ago ceased to marvel at how quickly news traveled in the town.

“That’s good of you. Especially as you two were not exactly friends years ago.”

“No, ma’am.” Brock tried to keep his face neutral.

“Well, here we are,” she said, opening a nondescript door. “I’m sure I don’t know what has happened. We’re always so careful with it, just setting the controls like the man showed us.” Always prim and starched, Miss Aldridge looked as though the heat was getting to her.

“You go back and take a seat, Miss Aldridge, and I’ll see what I can find out in here.”

“I will, but first I must check to see if those books—” She wandered off, still talking to herself.

Brock shook his head before turning the light on in the tiny equipment room. He stared at the air-conditioning unit, praying for inspiration. The thing was still running, but wasn’t producing cool air.

All the dials seemed set properly, not that he’d know if they weren’t. He glanced up at the small window. “Outside!” he said aloud. He thought he should tackle things logically and work from the outside in.

Leaving the room, Brock saw that Miss A. was busy with a patron, so he passed her and left through the main doors. The heat inside was nothing compared with that outside. He stuck on his hat, which at least shaded his eyes, and walked around the side of the building. Soon finding the condenser unit, he saw that dead leaves and twigs obstructed it. He pulled away what he could, but he needed to remove the outer grill and do a proper clean out.

Brock re-entered the library. Miss Aldridge caught his eye; said something to her customer and trotted over to him.

“Do you know what the problem is?”

“I think so, ma’am.” Remembering his manners, Brock took off his Stetson. “I need to shut the unit down before I can do anything else.”

She nodded, obviously secure in her own mind that Brock was on top of things. Brock was much less sure.

He went back into the small equipment room, which could probably more accurately be described as a closet, and shut the air-conditioning unit down. For good measure he threw the breaker switch, too.

* * * *

An hour later, Brock replaced the final screw in the condenser’s housing panel and sent up a quick prayer. He’d brushed, teased and picked out as much debris as he could from the fan blades, but hadn’t dared dismantle anything he wasn’t confident about being able to reassemble.

Going back inside to a now deserted library, Brock made his way to the back. Miss Aldridge was standing by the equipment closet door, hovering.

“I’ve done all I can, ma’am.” Brock’s right hand automatically went up to his hat to remove it.

“I’m really grateful.”

“Where’s the thermostat?”

“Oh, um.” She had to think for a moment. “Yes, of course.” She led him back into the library and stood by a complicated digital box. Brock sent up another prayer. He was certainly keeping the Almighty busy this day.  He turned the thermostat to off, then went back into the equipment room and turned on the power. Back in the library he re-set the thermostat.

“Oh, I’m so glad you know what you’re doing. I only have window units at home,” Miss Aldridge told him.

“Me, too.”

They walked back to the equipment room. Brock felt at the pipes, but the thick insulation prevented him from feeling anything. Gently easing back the padding Brock felt blessed coolness.

“We might be in luck, Miss A.”

“Oh, splendid.” She clapped her hands together and moved rapidly back into the main part of the library.

After pulling the insulation back into place, Brock followed and found his former teacher smiling up at the vent, which was pumping out chilled air.

“You did it, young man!”

Brock felt justifiably pleased with himself. Rarely in high school had he done anything to earn praise from this woman.

Remembering why he’d come to the library in the first place, Brock said, “Oh, I need to check a few things on the computer. Is that all right?”

Miss Aldridge turned from the vent, a frown on her face. “Oh, I’m sorry, but we closed ten minutes ago. I need to switch off the air conditioning now before locking up.”

Brock sighed.

“We open again at nine in the morning. You could come back then if you like.” She smiled at him.

“I would only be about fifteen minutes. I need to check a few prices, it’s for Calvin, uh, Mr. Hamilton’s house renovation.”

“I’m sorry, the library
is
closed,” Miss A. repeated. “You may come back tomorrow.  We open at nine o’clock. I have to leave now. I have a meeting of the altar guild this evening.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Brock jammed his Stetson on his head and left.

* * * *

Brock needed a drink, so he pointed his truck toward Hal’s. Then he remembered he hadn’t paid his tab from the night before. He hoped he’d have enough with the twenty in his wallet. Jesus, he hated being low on cash.

And,
he noted with grim amusement,
Miss Aldridge didn’t mention anything about paying me.

He tried not to let it bother him, but he couldn’t wait until the next time he had an overdue book. Miss Fuckin’ High and Mighty Aldridge could fuckin’ whistle for her money.

You’d have to borrow a book first before you could bring it back late,
the annoying inner voice pointed out.

He told it to shut the fuck up.

Brock turned off the engine, sighed and stepped down onto the asphalt. He hoped Hal wouldn’t be too sore with him for leaving the previous night without paying his tab.

“Hey, Hal,” Brock greeted him on entering the dimly lit bar.

The place was filling up with folks coming in for a drink after work. Brock had hoped to pull Hal aside to ask about his tab; he didn’t want the whole town hearing he owed money.

Hal actually smiled at him. “What’ll it be?”

That all depended on how much money he’d have left after paying his debts. “Uh, I.” Brock lowered his voice, forcing Hal to bend forward. “I kinda left last night without paying.”

Hal shook his head. “It’s already been paid.”

“What?” Brock said louder than he’d intended.

Beckoning Brock to lean further forward, Hal quietly said, “Your friend Calvin paid it. Resuming a normal voice and standing up straight, Hal continued, “Now, what can I get you?”

“Uh, a diet 7-Up.”

Hal raised an eyebrow. “Want anything in that?”

“Ice and lemon.”

Brock wasn’t sure why he’d ordered something non-alcoholic, but he didn’t correct himself. Maybe Junior’s concern earlier had subconsciously had him choose a soda.

As he sat sipping his drink, Brock was forced to muse on the differing attitudes of people. He’d done old lady Aldridge a favor, and she hadn’t let him use the library’s computer. Then he’d pretty much ignored Calvin during high school, never putting a stop to the shit the other jocks pulled, and now Calvin went and paid his tab.

As soon as Brock set his empty glass down, Hal immediately came over to offer a refill.

“No thanks.” Brock handed over his twenty and waited for Hal to make change. “Say, how much was my tab last night anyway?”

“Don’t remember exactly,” Hal gave him his change. “But I think it was a bit under twenty dollars.” He scratched his beard. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“Thanks.” Brock set his Stetson on his head and stood, his barstool immediately being taken by another patron.

Walking out of the bar, Brock determined he’d pay Calvin back in the morning when he went to his place to deliver his estimate. Then he remembered he didn’t have all the prices. No way was he going back to the library in the morning. Calvin would have a computer; he’d ask if he could use it.

* * * *

Brock hadn’t slept well. It was too hot, and his bed felt empty. Why, he couldn’t say for certain, because he had never brought another guy back with him, not with Junior in the house. No way would he admit that despite his alcohol consumption the previous night, being held in someone’s arms had resulted in the best night’s sleep he’d had in ages.

There was no bread in the cupboard. There was dry cereal, but the milk had turned sour. So Brock stood by the sink in his boxers, a cup of black coffee in one hand and a slice of cold pizza which he’d bought a couple days earlier in the other.