Part 7 (1/2)
In the hall, he heard Joey padding back to bed. Then Jack went back to sleep.
Chapter Four.
Jack wondered if Liz was having trouble sleeping. She was waking up later than usual. He kissed Joey goodbye, then Liz as she was coming out of the bathroom, heading back to the bedroom to get dressed. ”Don't forget about the pest control guy,” he said on his way out the back door.
On the way to work, Jack drove past Westgate Music to check their hours. He found them open and decided it would only take a second to get a new string. As he went inside, he pa.s.sed the white acoustic again and thought once more of buying it.
Not today, he thought. Of course not today. But soon, I hope.
He bought his new string, tossed it on the pa.s.senger seat, then headed for Fett Technologies.
Turning back onto Tenth Street, Jack found himself behind a school bus going a record twenty miles an hours.
What the h.e.l.l's a school bus doing out in the middle of June?
He wanted to go around it, but oncoming traffic wouldn't let him. So he trudged along, getting later by the second, and glancing at the new guitar string, thinking, I should have waited until lunch and come out then.
The bus turned off on Checker Street and he saw it was a church bus.
Then he put it out of his mind and had forgotten it completely by the time he reached work. He parked, used his ID card to scan the door open, and was there.
He made the rounds of the cells, checking out what everyone was doing. Jack was almost always the last one there. The door was already unlocked in the mornings, and the alarm turned off. One of the night guys in another building usually had to come over and get a part for something he was working on. So everyone on Jack's s.h.i.+ft was there early in the morning, not so much out of dedication, as out of trying to get that extra three-fifty a day by showing up fifteen minutes early.
He pa.s.sed Charley Clark's chair and Charley said, ”You oversleep? Stay up too late with the wife?”
”No,” Jack chuckled. ”I just stopped to get a guitar string on the way. The place closes before we get off at night.”
”I didn't know you played the guitar.”
”I didn't know you were supposed to know.”
”I guess you wouldn*t,” Charley said, turning back to his work. ”But it would be nice to have someone to play with once in a while.”
”I didn't know you played,” Jack said.
”Didn't know you were supposed to.”
”I see.”
Jack went back to making his rounds. He checked the list of parts they were short, copied it, and stuffed it into his pocket for his meeting at ten.
He noticed today was country day on the radio. While it wasn't his favorite, he was able to admire the guitar work in a lot of country songs. Fingerpicking was one technique Jack had never been able to grasp.
His ten o'clock part shortage meeting went quickly and before he knew it, it was eleven and lunch would be in thirty minutes. That half-hour pa.s.sed in what seemed like seconds.
Only half the shop went out for lunch today. Jack took his place across from Charley Clark and said, ”So what do you got?”
Charley looked down at his microwave plate and said, ”Enchiladas. My wife made them last night. They're hot as h.e.l.l, though.”
”No,” Jack said. ”I meant your guitar.”
”Oh. '57 Gretch Silver Jet.”
”Nice. What color?”
”Silver.”
”Nice.”
Jack bit into his Hot Pocket, then realized he should have blown on it first. Steam escaped and burned the roof of his mouth. He drew back, wincing and trying not to drop the food out of his mouth.
”How 'bout you?” Charley asked before Jack had swallowed.
Finally, he was able to mutter, ”White Strat. '87. Lily.”
”Good choice,” Charley said. ”How long have you been playing?”
”Not as long as I've had her. I got her in high school, back when everyone had a guitar in high school. Then she lay in the case for a few years.”
Charley knocked back half his c.o.ke.
”What made you take it out again?”
”My wife left,” Jack said. He swallowed another bite, wiped his mouth, and said, ”My son was only a few months old, and she just left. I was just finis.h.i.+ng college and I had a baby and a full time job, and I was not ready to deal with all that by myself.”
”I can imagine,” Charley said. But Jack wondered if he really could. How could anyone imagine, realistically, what that situation is like without being in it?
”So as I'm starting to go into the requisite depression, trying to work enough to pay the bills and now a babysitter, and trying to spend time with the baby when I am home, I decided I needed something to take my mind off all the bulls.h.i.+t.”
”That's right,” Charley chimed in. ”You'll show her.”
”Well, I never got the chance for that. I haven't seen or heard from her since she walked out. Anyway, I decided to take out my guitar and try to learn to actually play the thing instead of just seeing how much noise I could make.” Jack took another bite, chewed, swallowed. ”Turned out to be great therapy, and I fell in love with it,” he finished.
”Cool beans,” Charley said. He was nodding, but something in his eyes said he'd moved on to something else. ”So d'ya get that book I told you about? Freaky stuff, isn't it?”
”I don't know,” Jack admitted. ”I haven't got it yet. But I am going to the library this weekend, I might do it then.”
”I'm telling you, you got to get that book. You think this place is screwed up, you haven't seen the rest of Angel Hill. That'll set you right on what screwed up is.”
”I don't know if I could take more screwed up stuff. It's bad enough this job is the way it is. Plus I got squirrels at home, or something in the third floor making noises.” He took his last bite. ”But at least that's getting taken care of right now.”
”Third floor?” Charley asked. ”You got a third floor to your house?”
”Yeah,” Jack said. ”Why?”
”Well, 'cause there's not many houses in Angel Hill with three floors. Which one do you live in?”