Spoonbenders

Arrayed on the velvet were two sets of gold cuff links, Maureen’s engagement ring, one diamond tie pin, and four watches of various worth: a Tag Heuer, a workaday Citizen, an Audemars Piguet Royal Oak, and the one he was looking for. It was a near twin of the watch he was currently wearing, a 1966 “Paul Newman” Rolex Daytona with a diamond dial, and a novice pawing through his collection would have thought a second one redundant. Teddy, however, had held on to the one in the safe for sentimental reasons. If he was going to go see Nick Pusateri Senior, there was only one watch he wanted to wear.

He wound it, set the time, and realized it was time to go.

He went looking for Irene, and it wasn’t hard to find her. Whenever she wasn’t at work, she was parked at the dining room table. She turned the room into the command center for her dissection of NG Group Realty’s finances. File boxes were stacked on the floor, and her new computer was set up in the middle of the table, probably scarring the wood. Frankie was yammering at her while Irene kept her eyes on the screen.

“It wouldn’t be just a video-game arcade,” Frankie said to her. “We’d do food, beer, sports events—”

“I thought you were done with computers,” Teddy said to Irene.

“This one’s been disconnected from the Information Superhighway.”

“The what?”

“Dad. Dad,” Frankie said. “Tell Irene. You gotta invest your money rather than let it sit there, right?” He was talking fast, the mark of a desperate man. Loretta had kicked him out, and Teddy had a good idea why.

Teddy said, “What money? You’re broke.”

“But what if I wasn’t, huh? What I’m talking about is an arcade, a whole family thing, like Chuck E. Cheese without the fucking robots and the dress-up characters.” Frankie had always been scared of people in costumes. Never sat on Santa’s knee, ran terrified from the mall Easter bunny. “We serve good food, good beer, play good music. And here’s the clincher—no video games.”

Irene finally looked up from the computer. “You’re going to open an arcade,” she said, her voice flat. “With no video games.”

“Nothing but real pinball,” Frankie said. “It’s ready to make a comeback. Kids will eat it up.”

“You’re an idiot.” She did not quite glance at Teddy. “Do you know what this family would do for you? You’d throw everything away, and you have no idea what any of us—”

“Irene,” Teddy said, interrupting. “Time to go.”

“Where are you going?” Frankie asked.

“Out for an errand,” Teddy said. “Delivering some food to a sick friend. Irene, you ready?”

“Let me get my shoes,” she said. She did something on the computer keyboard, then stood up. “Don’t touch my stuff,” she said to Frankie. “And would you please wake up my son? He’s going to sleep the day away.”

“Let him sleep,” Frankie said. “He deserves it.”

“For what?”

Frankie hesitated. “For being a good kid who loves his mother.”

She snorted and went up to her room.

Frankie said to Teddy, “That’s Irene all over. Conventional. Not a risk taker. But you understand, right? I can’t just keep working as a phone tech. How’s Loretta supposed to respect me when I’m an installer? What are my girls supposed to think? I’ve got to work for myself. I’ve got to do something I’m passionate about. You wouldn’t believe the ideas I have for this place. I was thinking of making it a real, old-style arcade, with, like, 1950s memorabilia. You could come in with me!”

“My boy, my boy,” Teddy said. He walked forward, hands out, as if going in for a hug.

Frankie looked up at him eagerly. “You could be my partner! Silent partner, maybe, since you’ve never even gone to an arcade, but you could put in—”

Teddy gripped Frankie’s head. “Stop it. Just—” He didn’t know what to do with this kid. Never did know. He was the boy who wanted everything, and didn’t know how to get it. Hours in the corner, trying to levitate paper clips. “Stop it.”

Frankie tried to speak through squashed cheeks.

“No,” Teddy said. “I love you, but you’re killing me. Just killing me.”

The morning after he drove Maureen to the hospital and stayed the night at her bedside, he came home to shower and get a few things she’d asked for. Mrs. Klauser, their neighbor, had stayed the night and had made the kids pancakes.

Teddy called the children into the living room and tried to sit them down, but Frankie wouldn’t stay still, kept trying to explain the miracle that had occurred in their kitchen: “Best pancakes ever. Mrs. Klauser is the best. I want pancakes every day.”

Buddy was quieter than usual, on his own planet, crouched over a Hot Wheels car, pushing it through the carpet. Only Irene seemed to understand what was happening. She was almost eleven, only a year older than Frankie, but she seemed a decade more mature, a full voting member of the Parliament of Seriousness. Teddy was pretty sure she outranked him.

“Is Mom in the hospital?” she asked. He’d been planning to ramp up to the “H” word, but Irene had jumped ahead in the script.