Boys Life

figure I saw standing at the edge of the woods.
    “Go on,” she said, “the door’s open.”
    With Mrs. Lezander hulking at my back and a boulder of fear in my throat, I walked across the threshold as if into a mine shaft.
    “Ten points,” Mr. White said as he plunked down another domino.
    “And ten,” Dad said, his own domino going down at the end of the L-shaped pattern.
    “I swear I didn’t think you had that one!” Mr. White shook his head. “Tricky fella, ain’t you?”
    “I try my best.”
    There was a tapping sound. Mr. White peered out the window. The clouds had darkened, the gas station’s light splashed across the concrete. Little flecks of sleet were striking the glass. Dad took the opportunity for a glance at the clock on the wall, which showed twelve minutes before noon. “All right, where was I?” Mr. White rubbed his chin and pondered his dominoes like a hunchbacked sphinx. “Here we go!” he said, and reached for one. “Just mark down fifteen points in my fa-”
    Something hissed.
    Dad turned his head to the left.
    The Trailways bus was pulling in.
    “-vor,” Mr. White finished. “How do, how do! Look who’s early this fine day!”
    Dad was already on his feet. He walked past the cash register and the shelves of oil and gasoline additives toward the door. “Must’ve caught a tailwind!” Mr. White said. “Probably caught sight of that monster out on Route Ten, and Corny gave it the lead foot!”
    Dad walked out into the cold. The bus pulled to a halt beneath the yellow TRAILWAYS BUS sign. The doors folded outward with a breath of hydraulics. “Watch your step, gents!” Dad heard the driver say.
    Two men were getting off. Sleet hit Dad in the face and the wind whirled around him, but he stood his ground. One of the men looked to be in his sixties, the other half those years. The older man, who wore a tweed overcoat and a brown hat, carried a suitcase. The younger, dressed in blue jeans and a beige jacket, carried a duffel bag. “Enjoy your stay, Mr. Steiner!” Corny McGraw said, and the older man lifted a gloved hand and waggled the fingers. Hiram White, who’d come out of the office behind Dad, said, “Howdy” to the two men, and then he looked up the steps at Mr. McGraw. “Hey, Corny! You want some hot coffee?”
    “No, I’m gettin’ on down the road, Hiram. My sister Jenny had her baby this mornin’, and as soon as I finish my route I can go see her. Third young’un, but first boy. Bring you a cigar next time ’round.”
    “I’ll get a match ready. You be careful, Uncle Corny!”
    “Ta-ta, ya’ll,” he said. The doors closed, the bus pulled away, and the two strangers stood facing my father.
    The older one, Mr. Steiner, had a wrinkled face but a chin like a slab of granite. He was wearing glasses, flecks of sleet on the lenses. “Sir? Pardon me,” he said with a foreign accent. “Is there a hotel?”
    “Boardin’house will do,” the younger one said; he had thinning blond hair and a flat midwestern brogue.
    “No hotel in town,” Dad said. “No boardin’house, either. We don’t get a lot of visitors here.”
    “Oh my.” Mr. Steiner frowned. “Where’s the nearest hotel, then?”
    “There’s a motel in Union Town. The Union Pines. It’s-” He stopped, his arm rising to point the way. “You fellas need a ride?”
    “That would be very nice, thank you. Mr…?”
    “Tom Mackenson.” He shook the gloved hand. The man’s grip jammed his knuckles.
    “Jacob Steiner,” the older man said. “This is my friend, Lee Hannaford.”
    “Pleased to meet the both of you,” Dad said.
    The sixth bag was the heaviest. It was full of dog-food cans. “That goes downstairs,” Mrs. Lezander said as she put other canned goods into the cupboard. “Just set it on the counter, I’ll take it myself.”
    “Yes ma’am.”
    The lights were on in the kitchen. Mrs. Lezander had shed her overcoat, and beneath it she wore a somber gray dress. She took a jar of Folger’s instant coffee out of the fourth sack and opened it with a slight wrist-twist. “May I ask,” she said, her broad back to me, “why you were looking in the window?”
    “I… uh…” Think fast! I told myself. “I thought I’d drop by because… uh…”
    Mrs. Lezander turned around and watched me, her eyes flat and impassive.
    “Because… I wanted to ask Dr. Lezander if he… like… needed some help in the afternoons. I thought maybe I could clean up downstairs, or sweep, or-”