Days Like This (9 page)

Leroy wagged a greeting, and
Casey looked up from her work.  She rocked back on her heels and, gardening
trowel in hand, adjusted her ridiculous hat.  “Good morning!” she said in a
tone so saccharine it make Paige’s teeth ache.

“Hey.”

“Did you sleep okay?”

Paige shrugged and said, “Why do
you do that?  The weeding?  It looks like so much work.  I’m not sure I get the
concept.”

“If I don’t pull the weeds, they’ll
take over.  They’ll strangle my poor vegetable plants, and then I won’t get any
peas or beans.”

It still didn’t make sense to
her.  All that work, when you could just go to the grocery store and buy
vegetables in a can.  “So what’s with the hat?”

Casey cocked her head to one
side.  Sounding surprised, she said,  “You don’t think it’s the height of
fashion?”

It took her a minute to realize
she was being teased.  Paige hardened her resolve, not intending to give an
inch.  “Ha,” she said.

“I spend a lot of time in the
garden.  In the sun.  I don’t want to wake up one day at the age of fifty with
a face like a dried-up old prune.  The hat protects my skin.”

Paige wasn’t sure whether to be
relieved or disappointed that Casey was wearing the hat for practical purposes,
and not deliberately trying to look like Whoopi Goldberg in
The Color Purple
.
The hat was still lame and ugly, but she supposed it served its purpose. “Where’s,
uh—”

“Your dad?  He’s in the studio. 
Out in the barn.  You’re welcome to go check it out.  He won’t mind.  Or I
could show you.”

“No!  No, I don’t need to go
there.  I was just…curious.”

Casey went back to weeding.  “Just
in case you’re wondering,” she said, “I’ve known him for seventeen years, and
he hasn’t bitten me yet.”

Good to know.  “What is there to
do in this godforsaken wilderness?” she said.  They’d driven through what
passed for a downtown yesterday afternoon, and it hadn’t looked promising.  “Is
there a movie theater?  A McDonald’s?”  At this point, she’d settle for a
bowling alley.

“Negative and negative.  They have
both in Farmington, though.  It’s not far.  About twenty miles away.  There’s a
video rental place here in town.  The selection isn’t great, but it’s what we
have.”

Not far? 
Twenty miles?
 
Was the woman on drugs?

With the back of her hand, Casey
shoved the brim of her hat away from her face.  “There’s also a drive-in movie
in Skowhegan.  There aren’t many of those left around.  But that’s not so
close.  I think it’s about an hour’s drive.”

Shit.  This was worse than she’d
feared.  She was going to be trapped here for the rest of her life with these
two clueless old fogeys.  She would be climbing the walls by the time school
started.   “I don’t suppose,” she said without much hope, “there are any kids
my age around here?”

“Actually, you have a bunch of
cousins.  Some by blood, others by marriage.  Mikey and Luke are both sixteen. 
The girls are a little older.”

Cousins.  Oh, yay.  She
remembered now that
he
had mentioned them, when he’d called to introduce
himself. 
Hello.  I’m your father.  I’m here to rescue you from a fate worse
than death.

She should have taken off for
Fiji while she had the chance.

“We generally get together at my
brother’s house on Saturday nights.”  Casey yanked at a weed until it loosened
its hold and broke free.  “We barbecue, play music, talk and laugh and
generally have a good time.  Tonight, we’ll introduce you to everyone.”

Outstanding.  Disgusted, Paige
scooped up her dog, turned without responding, and stalked back across the
grass to the house.  She let the screen door slam behind her.  Once inside her
room, she locked the door—it wasn’t even a real lock, just one of those
pathetic hook-and-eye things—and popped her favorite MC Hammer cassette into
her stereo.  With the volume on full-blast, she sprawled on the bed, clutched Leroy
in her arms, and let the music take her away.

He could hear it from the
driveway as he approached the house.  Loud, repetitive, obnoxious noise.  When
he opened the door to the kitchen, it slapped him in the face, like walking
into a wall of sound.  It wasn’t a good sound.

Casey was at the stove, stirring
something in a big stainless pot.  “What in bloody hell is that horrible noise?”
he shouted.

“I believe,” she shouted back, “the
appropriate term would be rap.”

He moved closer so they could
converse without yelling.  Peering over her shoulder to see what was in the
pot, he said, “Jesus Christ on a Popsicle stick.  How long has this been going
on?”

“A couple of hours.”

“You have to be kidding.”

She shot him a look.  It wasn’t a
pleased look.  “You’re the one who gave her the massive speakers.  Thank you
for that, by the way.”

“Does she have that poor dog in
there with her?  His ears are probably bleeding.”

“I don’t know about his, but mine
certainly are.  It must be terribly lonely out there in the studio.  I might
have to go out there with you after lunch.  Just to alleviate some of your
loneliness.”

He swore under his breath.  “The
worst thing I ever offended my parents with was Zeppelin’s
Immigrant Song
. 
And maybe a little Doors. 
Light My Fire
.  The long version.”

“Strange, but nobody in my house
ever objected to Herman’s Hermits.”

He let out a soft snort of
laughter.  “Have you said anything to her?”

“She’s your kid, hot stuff. 
Maybe you’d like to broach the subject.”

“How the hell am I supposed to do
that?”

“Gee, MacKenzie, I don’t know. 
How about something like this:  Approach her door, tell her to turn down the
music, and announce that lunch is ready.  A novel concept, I realize, but it
might actually work.  You’ll never know unless you try.”

“As a professional musician, I
feel I have to say this:  That is not music.”

“I know, babe, I know.  It hurts,
doesn’t it?”

“In more ways than one.”  He
stared at that closed door and felt a knot the size of Rhode Island tighten inside
his stomach.  He’d never, in his thirty-seven years, had a problem expressing
his opinion.  And he didn’t have a shy bone in his body.  Why was he so
reluctant to confront his own kid?

“Just as a reminder,” Casey said,
“you’re the one who gets to play the dad in this little scenario.”

“Ha-ha.  Very funny.”

“I think you need to take the
proverbial bull by the horns and act as if.”

“As if what?”

“As if you had a freaking clue
what you were doing.”

“She’s fifteen years old.  Why am
I so intimidated by her?”

“I don’t know, but if you’re
thinking of taking away her precious music, you should probably offer her something
in exchange.  Psychology 101.”

“Such as?”

“I don’t know.  Maybe a
post-luncheon tour of your studio.  Not the fifty-cent tour, but the full
monty.  Show her all the awards.  Give her an in-depth explanation for each and
every one.  Tell her some of your more interesting road stories.”

“Most of my road stories are dull
enough to make your eyes glaze over.  And the ones that aren’t are definitely
not suitable for the ears of a fifteen-year-old.”

“Then let her play with some of
your ridiculously expensive toys.  Let her push buttons and spin dials and pretend
to be a big record producer.”

“Bite your tongue, woman.  You
just want a break from the bloody massacre.”

“I freely admit that thought was
foremost in my mind.  You could always give her a guitar lesson.  A long one. 
Teach her to play
Layla
.  All seven minutes of it.”

It would be a small sacrifice if
it would bring an end to this torture.  “Okay, then,” he said, steeling
himself.  “Cover my back.  I’m going in.”

She flashed him that Mona Lisa
smile, and he headed for his daughter’s bedroom door.  He rapped twice and
waited.  When there was no response, he knocked harder.  From this proximity,
the noise had him clenching his teeth.  His central nervous system, despite having
been subjected to continual overdoses of screaming rock music for the past two
decades, was on overload and moving rapidly toward doom.  The door itself was vibrating.
 “Paige!” he shouted.  “Lunch!”

“Coward,” Casey said from across
the room.

“Bite me.”  He knocked again,
hard, and raised his voice a few decibels.  “PAIGE!”

The noise—he refused to think of
it as music—ceased abruptly.  The door stopped vibrating, and his central
nervous system slowed in its headlong rush toward the death star.  A second
later, the door opened a crack.  “What?” she said.

“Lunch is ready.  Come on out and
join us.  Leroy still alive in there?”

“Um, yeah.”  She appeared puzzled
by his question.  “He’s fine, but he peed on the floor.”

“Great.  Did you clean it up?”

“I didn’t have anything to clean
it with.”

He turned helplessly to Casey,
who rolled her eyes.  “I’m on it,” she said.

“Before we eat,” he told Paige, “we
should probably take him outside for a walk, so he won’t do something even worse
on the kitchen floor.”

Paige didn’t argue, just clipped
the leash to Leroy’s harness and moved, barefoot, to the door.  He followed
her, and they ambled in a meandering circle around the house, Leroy stopping at
every other blade of grass to mark his territory.  “So what’s with the pink
leash?” he said.  “Aren’t you worried about giving poor Leroy a complex?”

She looked at him blankly.  “Why?”

“Boy dog?  Hot pink leash?”  At
her continued stony look, he said, “Never mind.”  Apparently the kid lacked a
sense of humor. 

He kept throwing her furtive
little glances, trying not to get caught at it.  But he couldn’t stop staring
at her.  She looked so much like Meg had at fifteen, it was scary.  Or what the
fifteen-year-old Meg would have looked like if she’d painted her face like a
two-dollar hooker.  As if Mary MacKenzie would have ever tolerated that from
any one of her daughters.  He had an overwhelming urge to grab a wash cloth and
scrub all that shit off until there was nothing left but fresh-faced fifteen-year-old. 
But that might be a tad over the top, and would do nothing to endear him to the
kid.  He needed to exercise restraint.  “Do you know my sister Meg?  She and
your mother used to be best friends.  That’s how your mom and I met.”

He’d finally grabbed her
attention.  “Meg is your sister?”

“She is.  You didn’t know she was
your aunt?”

“I just remember her as Mom’s
friend.  She used to be around all the time when I was a little kid, but I
haven’t seen her in years.”

“She moved to Seattle a few years
ago.  You look just like her.”  When the kid simply shrugged, he said, “You hit
the family jackpot with the MacKenzies, kiddo.  There are nine of us, and the
extended family just goes on and on.”

“Lucky me.”

“Oh, we’re not that bad.  Except
maybe Kevin.  And you won’t have to meet everyone
en masse
, at least not
until Christmas.  Tonight, we’ll introduce you to my sister Rose and her
family.  The rest of tonight’s gang belongs to Casey’s side.  You’ll like ‘em. 
They’re good people.”

“Woo-hoo,” she said darkly.  “I
can hardly wait.”

If he’d ever spoken to his father
that way, he would have ended up with a mouthful of soap.  But he should
probably cut the kid a little slack.  This situation they’d been thrown into
was awkward for both of them.  She’d just lost her mother, and he and Casey
were total strangers.  At least she was responding to his half-assed attempts
to make conversation.  It might not be much, but it was a start.

 Leroy paused to sniff at one of
Casey’s beloved rosebushes, and Rob snagged the leash and dragged him away
before he could lift his leg and destroy it.  “See that?” he said, pointing.  “That’s
a rosebush.  Casey has a bunch of those planted around the foundation.  If you
let Leroy pee on ‘em, she won’t be a happy woman.  And you don’t want to see my
wife when she’s unhappy.  I’m just offering this as a little friendly advice. 
Keep Leroy away from Casey’s roses. 
Capisce
?”

“Yeah.  I
capisce
.”

Leroy finally accomplished what they’d
brought him outside for, and Rob handed the kid the paper towel and baggie he’d
brought along for the occasion.  “What’s this?” she said.

“Poor man’s pooper scooper.  You
leave that lying around, Casey will really get riled up.  And you don’t want to
see her riled up.”

She gave him a look so frosty he
could feel his testicles shriveling, but she bent over and cleaned up after her
dog.  Holding the bag with the tips of her fingers, as far away from her body
as she could get it, she said, “Now what?”

“Now,” he said, “I show you where
the trash cans are.”

They deposited Leroy’s little gift
and headed back to the house.  He shot her a quick glance and said, “So you
like rap?”

“Yeah.”

One of these days, he’d sit her
down and they’d have a real conversation about it.  He’d find out exactly what
it was that made the stuff appeal to her, and maybe it would give him a glimpse
into her psyche.  One of these days.  But not today.

“Casey and I,” he said, “do not
like rap.  As a matter of fact, that stuff you were playing earlier causes me
actual physical pain.”

She glanced at him out of the
corner of her eye.  “Is that a broad hint?”

He decided not to leave anything
open to interpretation.  “It is.  You’ll have to cut the volume.  Drastically. 
Or my wife may pack her bags and move out.  Or worse, toss you and me out into
the street.  Considering that the house belongs to her, she’d have a perfect
right.”

“If you’re married, doesn’t it
belong to both of you?”