The staked Goat

”Kenny, Al. You must be freezing. Come up here both of you.”
    They scrambled up and climbed onto the couch in that stiff mincing way kids move when they’re cold. They cuddled with their mothers under my coat.
    ”Kenny,” said Carol, rubbing his back vigorously, ”how long were you sitting down there?”
    ”I-I-I... d-don’t... know,” he said, stammering now more from the rubbing than from the cold.
    ”Well,” said Martha. ”We’ll have to get you guys some breakfast. How does hot oatmeal sound?”
    ”I want some,” said Kenny.
    ”Me too,” said Al Junior.
    ”Me three,” said me.
    Martha and Carol laughed and got up with the kids. Martha seemed O.K. Carol flashed me a real smile, a mixture of friendship and relief.
    Over breakfast in the kitchen, I found myself watching Al Junior. I hadn’t known his father at his age, of course, but you could see the big, brown vulnerable eyes and the curly hair, light brownish thanks to some genetic factor from Martha. He ate thoroughly and slowly, as if he wanted to do it right. I suppressed the thought that maybe he hadn’t had much practice of late. The kitchen was toasty warm, the more so since we’d left the oven on last night before slumping on the couch.
    Al Junior finished his last mouthful.
    ”Would you like some more?” said Martha at the stove and over her shoulder.
    He shook his head. ”Where’s Daddy?”
    Martha’s shoulders went up and down once. Carol said, ”Daddy’s on a trip, remember?”
    Al Junior smiled and said, ”Oh, yup.” He looked at me and frowned. ”Who’s he?”
    I figured I could handle that one. ”I’m a friend of your Daddy’s, from the army.”
    Kenny said, ”From ‘Nam?”
    The abbreviation had a hollow ring coming from his young body. ”Yes,” I said.
    ”Did you—”
    ”Kenny,” said Carol sharply.
    Kenny shut up and went back to his food. We all ate breakfast a little faster after that.
    I excused myself, saying I wanted to go over to Dale and Larry’s to clean up. Carol followed me into the living room.
    I turned to her and she helped me on with my coat. ”You were real good with her last night, you know.”
    ”It would have been a disaster without you there.” She closed her eyes. ”It’s still going to be one. She’s got nothing now. No way to go.”
    I gave her a false wink. ”I’ll talk to his boss at the wake. Don’t worry.”
    She crossed her arms and followed me to the door, locking it behind me.
    The morning was clear, the air brutally cold, a torrent against the face. I ached everywhere from unnaturally held sitting positions. I tried to walk it off into the wind. A solitary jogger in a ski mask and Gore-Tex suit passed me. I got a block and a half before I had to turn back. With the wind behind me, the walking was almost pleasant, the cold piercing only the pants below my coat’s hem.
    I reached Dale and Larry’s doorway. My watch said 7:15. I keyed the lock quietly and slipped in.
    Their foyer was warm. Larry appeared in a restored wooden archway to the right. He wore lilac designer sweat pants cinched at his waist, no shirt. His upper body was spare and taut, like a junior high athlete.
    ”How’s Martha?”
    ”Tough night, but she’s holding up. I thought I’d flop upstairs for a while.”
    He nodded, wary. ”Want some breakfast?”
    ”Had some already, thanks.”
    He nodded again and disappeared back through the arch.
    I trudged up the stairs.
     
    I recognized the light tapping.
    ”Dale?” I asked.
    ”Yes,” he said outside the door. ”Larry said you looked pretty beat but it’s almost twelve noon and I thought...”
    I sat bolt upright in the guestroom bed. My watch agreed with Dale.
    ”... you might like some lunch before... beforehand, that is.”
    ”I need a shave and a shower first.”
    ”All yours,” he said, a little quickly. ”Take your time. Cold lunch. No rush.”
    ”See you soon.”
    ”Right,” he said.
    As I unpacked my suitcase, I began to appreciate the extent of the restoration in the house. In my bedroom, the furniture was perfect: mahogany four-poster, dry sink, and night table; powder blue wing chair with matching hassock; one hurricane lamp. Only the window was modern, double glazed and aluminum. Everything else seemed original equipment. Brass wall sconces, glass doorknobs, wainscoting naturally woodstained (which undoubtedly meant laborious stripping and prestaining). The floors were wide-board hardwood, probably sanded and