Seven
When Jay arrived at work the Saturday manager, Ed Dunn, was unlocking the front doors of the hardware store. Ed was sixty-ish and moved slowly against his hefty bulk. His gray crew cut gave him the look of a drill sergeant.
“Hey, Ed.” Jay ducked in the door.
“You’re late, asshole.”
“Sue me. Had a family crisis.”
“You are a crisis. Get that patio display out front before the hordes descend. My hemorrhoids are already killing me and it’s only 10:00. I don’t need anymore grief, hot shot.”
“Hemmies, eh?” said Jay. “Is that why you have assholes on the mind?”
“No,” said Ed. “Just thinking of you.”
Jay barked a laugh as he headed for the back room of the store. As he entered, he saw Phil, his weekend co-worker. Phil was a hardware career man—not because he loved the business, but because he lacked ambition to do anything else with his life. Jay liked him, but considered him a prime example of why he wanted to finish college.
“Hi, Phil. How’s it going?”
Phil was on his hands and knees, his pants sloping downward enough from his bulging middle to reveal his plumber’s crack. He turned from the gas barbecue he was assembling. “Hey, man. Where have you been?”
“I’m only fifteen minutes late. Had some family stuff,” said Jay.
“Oh. Yeah.” Phil scrunched his eyes into a concerned look. “Everything okay?”
Jay removed his t-shirt and pulled out his personalized Taylor Hardware shirt from a locker mounted on the wall. Over the pocket was a hand-sown patch inscribed with the legend: Jay—Here to Serve You. “Yeah, it’s okay. My sister is just acting up and driving my mom crazy.”
“Wow. My cousin Wendy started acting crazy when she was in high school.” Phil became pensive. “She got knocked up and ran off with some biker to Oregon.”
“Gee, Phil. Thanks for the story,” said Jay. “You ever thought about becoming a therapist?”
Phil looked at Jay and made arches out of his eyebrows. “No. I’m too old to change jobs—I’m almost forty, damn it! Plus, I could never make people do all those stretching exercises.”
“Right. I don’t know what I was thinking about.” Jay finished the last button on his shirt and moved toward the patio furniture designated by Ed.
“Jay—can I asked you something?”
Jay kept stacking patio chairs together. “Sure. What is it?”
“Your Dad—I don’t want to be nosy—but what happened to him?” Phil rubbed a grease-smeared hand over his balding head, leaving a dark smudge in between the remaining fluffs of curly dark hair. “I know he died and all, but I heard it was a real mess.”
Jay continued to work, but with greater intensity. “Yeah, it was a mess. There wasn’t much left of him.”
Phil grimaced. “Ugh. Did they ever catch the guy who did it?”
“No, they never caught anybody. It’s a big mystery,” said Jay. “I have to get this stuff out front. Ed’s gonna kill me if it isn’t out there soon.”
Phil watched Jay push through the backroom doors, carrying the stack of chairs. “Yeah, a big mess,” he said to himself. “Helluva thing.”
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