By S.E. Wilson
Carl’s son Teddy is staying home from daycare. He has an ear infection and is teething, so he isn’t feeling well and is fussy, especially at night. Things only seem to get worse at night. Carl’s wife Beth has taken time off of work to care for Teddy. It’s cold outside so they have been spending their time inside, mostly around the TV.
Saturday is especially cold. The sun is out and the sky is blue but a brisk breeze blows. They all sit in the living room, watching some show about people with autism falling in love. Teddy sits in Beth’s lap, nursing. Even though he is nineteen months old he still relies on his mother’s milk. It’s the only thing in the world that soothes him during his recurring ear infections. Carl sits alone on the couch.
Teddy finishes and slides off his mother and sits cross-legged on the rug, playing with some wooden blocks. He stacks them high with a delicate touch.
“He seems to be feeling better,” Carl says.
Their dog barks and Carl looks out the window.
“Mail’s here,” he says. “Frank always knows.”
“I’ll get it,” Beth says.
She puts on her jacket and leaves the house in her slippers. Teddy doesn’t notice. He’s too busy with his blocks. It’s like he’s a little architect.
Carl continues watching TV.
Their dog barks again and Beth opens the front door and enters with the mail.
“Anything good?” Carl asks.
“Just bills and junk.”
She walks through the living room and into the kitchen, dropping the envelopes and advertisements on the table. On top is their credit card statement. She picks it up and opens it, standing with her back to Carl. She looks down and stays that way for some time.
“What are you looking at?” Carl asks.
She turns around with the creased paper in her hand.
“Our credit card bill. There’s over two thousand dollars here.”
Carl swallows. His throat is dry. He watches her eyes scan the statement.
“What is this eight hundred dollars at Dicks?”
Carl swallows again and rubs the back of his neck. It has gotten hot.
“Yeah, I meant to tell you.”
“What the hell did you buy?”
Her voice is raised. Teddy looks up from his blocks.
“Can we talk about this later?”
“No. We can talk about it now. You know we need the money for Teddy’s procedure.”
Teddy needs ear tubes to help prevent his frequent infections and to better his hearing. But their deductible is high and it’s the beginning of a new year, so it isn’t going to be cheap. Their bills only seem to be getting bigger, their debt deeper. Things are tight.
“I know I know.”
“So?”
“So what?”
“What did you buy for eight-hundred dollars?”
He sits forward, looking down at the ground, then at Teddy. He doesn’t want to look at Beth. He’s always good at disappointing people, but he’s never good at dealing with the people who he has disappointed.
“What does it matter? It’s already been done.”
“Well can’t you return whatever you bought?”
“What if I don’t want to?”
This was something he shouldn’t have said and he regrets it immediately. Beth’s eyes fill with fire and her face reddens
“Are you kidding me?”
“Jesus Beth, you’re acting like it was the last of our money. Aren’t I allowed to spend the money I make?”
“Not like this, Carl. I don’t spend the money I make like this. This is selfish.”
Carl stands and walks around the coffee table, around Teddy. He kicks some loose blocks but doesn’t notice.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I thought I told you.”
“Told me what?”
“That I was getting new golf clubs.”
“Golf clubs? You never told me that. And you have golf clubs. Why do you need new ones?”
Carl shakes his head, trying to find the words to explain.
He grew up playing golf. He played it with his parents, his grandparents. Countless afternoons were spent beneath the warm sun and on the soft grasses of fairways and greens. There was laughter and clapping and moments of affirmation from his father, which were rare and seemed to only happen on the golf course, usually after a three foot putt for birdie. Once Carl moved out of his parents’ house and started on his own, he quit playing golf, but still lugged his clubs from one house to the next, putting them in the corners of closets and garages to collect dust.
Then in October his father passed away and the memories swirled and surfaced, making him long for those times again. But his clubs have gotten old and hitting them felt like hitting rocks. So he bought some new ones. Afterward he couldn’t wait until he and his own son could make the same cherished memories. Great shot, he will say, patting him on the butt. Let’s get some hot dogs at the turn, he will say. And Teddy will smile and Carl will smile and everything that came before will momentarily be much more than a memory.
This is what he is after.
“Why did you need new golf clubs?” Beth asks again.
“I don’t know,” he says.
“That may very well be the worst answer imaginable,” she says. “Unbelievable.”
She raises her hands in the air.
“Tell me what you want me to do,” he says.
“I want you to return them.”
“Fine.”
He turns to walk out of the living room and kicks over a tower of blocks. When he looks down, he doesn’t see Teddy.
“Where’s Teddy?” he asks. “Teddy!”
There is no response.
Carl looks in the nursery and Beth looks in the kitchen.
“Is he there?”
“No!”
Teddy had recently been sneaking out the back door, so they look in the backyard, but he isn’t there either. The wind blows dead leaves across the brown Bermuda lawn. The only sound.
“Teddy!”
They go back inside, going from room to room, looking in closets and behind beds. Fear sets in. Their hearts beat hard and their blood moves fast. They feel dizzy and short of breath, the world spins around them.
Then they feel a slight draft and notice the front door is ajar.
They rush outside calling for him. Beth goes to the side yard and Carl goes down the driveway. A car speeds through the nearby intersection. Inside their dog barks. Somewhere in the distance sirens wail. It is cold.
“Teddy! Teddy!”
They shout his name.
Carl begins to run.
Soon it will be dark.
* * *
S.E. Wilson lives in North Carolina. His work has appeared in Chiron Review, Streetlight Magazine, The Louisville Review, and New World Writing Quarterly.