Nobody's Fool

thirty-five years ago, of course, and Peter couldn’t make his mother happy or content anymore than Sully had been able to all those years ago. Still, it now seemed cowardly that Sully had not tried harder, endured more. It was one thing to realize you were shoveling shit against the tide, another to give up the enterprise before you got soiled. Especially when, in other respects, you intended to keep shoveling different shit against other tides. “It sure doesn’t take much to get her started anymore,” Sully reflected, recalling that the mere sight of Rub in her driveway had set her off. Or maybe it had been the knowledge that he himself had been inside, that he had invaded her home. Contaminate it, was what she’d said.
    â€œThere was more to it than you know,” Peter said. “Grandpa went into the hospital this morning. He couldn’t breathe, even with the oxygen.”
    Sully thought about Robert Halsey, the way he’d looked at Thanksgiving, and made a mental note to shoot himself before he ever got like that. “When he dies, you’ll be all your mother’s got.”
    â€œShe’s got Ralph.”
    â€œShe doesn’t count Ralph. You know that.”
    â€œI do,” Peter said. “Ralph’s the one I worry about.”
    â€œHe doesn’t look too good, does he,” Sully admitted.
    â€œHe’s a wreck,” Peter said. “If I ever get my shit together, it’ll be for him, not her. He’s been a good father.”
    â€œAnd there’s Will,” Sully ventured.
    â€œKids are resilient,” Peter said. “Look at me.”
    â€œI
am
looking at you,” Sully said to the darkness.
    â€œWell,” he said. “If it’ll ease your mind, this isn’t anything serious upstairs.”
    Sully nodded. He’d gathered that much. Seen it when Peter had smiled at Toby Roebuck’s pronunciation of the word “library.” Peter had too much of Vera in him, too much educational reinforcement ever to fall in love with someone who said “lie-berry.”
    â€œI’m glad to hear it,” Sully said, because he was.
    â€œI bet you are,” Peter said. Even in the dark, Sully could tell his son was grinning. Maybe that was all Toby Roebuck meant to him. They’d argued over a woman, and he’d won the argument.
    â€œI was thinking of her husband,” Sully said, surprised to discover that this was true. “I’m not sure he’ll be able to spare her.”
    â€œHe’s not out of the woods yet,” Peter said. “There’s some woman in Schuyler.”
    Sully snorted. “Carl’s got women everywhere, not just Schuyler.”
    â€œIt’s not Carl I was talking about.”
    It took Sully a moment, but somehow this knowledge was easier to process in the dark. The possibility wouldn’t have occurred to him in a hundred years, but now that the words had been spoken in the intimate dark, he saw they must be true “Why, then?” he finally said.
    â€œWhy what?”
    â€œWhy are you doing what you’re doing?”
    â€œI have no idea,” his son said, and for once it sounded like simple, unadorned truth. No irony, no sarcasm, no anger.
    â€œWell,” Sully sighed, opening the door onto the porch. “It’s time I went home.”
    He was on the top step when Peter said, “You going by Bowdon Street tonight?”
    â€œI hadn’t planned to. Why?”
    â€œThat dog needs to be fed.”
    â€œShit. I forgot all about him,” Sully admitted.
    â€œHold that thought.”
    â€œHe’s not really my dog,” Sully said in his own defense.
    â€œRight,” Peter said, his usual sarcasm back again. “Not really your dog. And the house he’s locked up in isn’t really your house. You’re a free man.”
    â€œYou’re damn right, son,” Sully said. “Don’t forget. Lock the door.”
    Sully waited to hear the bolt fall into place behind him before he crossed the street to where Carl Roebuck’s car idled, a plume of white exhaust trailing off down the street. When he got close, Carl rolled down the driver’s side window halfway and said, “Hello, schmucko.”
    â€œYou follow me over here?” Sully wondered.
    â€œI did,” Carl admitted. “I forgot my cigarettes, too. Let me take one.”
    Sully shook a cigarette up through the opening in the