Page 35 of Afternoon Delight
I had a feeling it was Dale’s way of getting people in the door so he could sell them something, but I said, “Let’s get school figured out before we worry about what you’re doing after the bell rings.”
“Would you like to sit down?” Mom asked. “What can I get you? Coffee? Iced tea?”
I saw Zak open his mouth to refuse, but Dale said, “A cool drink sounds nice. Thank you.”
“Of course. Zak?”
“No, thanks. We don’t want to be in your way long.” His concerned gaze flicked toward Dale, who was settling onto the sofa.
It’s fine, I wanted to assure him. Mom was a grandmaster of small talk, and caregivers needed breaks. Mom and I both knew that.
“Let me show you the stereo. It’s down here.”
I led the way to the basement rumpus room. Thankfully, there was an exterior door to the backyard. Carrying the thing around the outside of the house wasn’t ideal, but it beat dragging it up the stairs, through the narrow foyer, and out the dogleg of the enclosed porch.
Roddie had been instructed to tidy up, but hadn’t gotten far. He’d folded his bed into the sofa and stuffed my father’s clothes into some canvas yard-waste bins. Mom had drawn the line at garbage bags. The bins were shoved into a corner with Dad’s fishing gear, leaving plenty of space around the credenza.
“Nice,” Zak said, stroking the top edge before opening the lid to check out the record player and stereo knobs. “This here’s your top-of-the-line 1971 Zenith Allegro Stereophonic Hi-Fi. I can polish up this walnut once it’s at the shop. Does the eight-track work?”
“Mm-hm.” Roddie nodded. “I’m kind of bummed Mom’s taking it. My sister and I used to listen to all of these.” He opened the front door to reveal neatly sorted tapes from Animals to Yardbirds.
“You have a daughter?” Zak asked me.
“Shelby. She’s in Calgary. Second year.”
“Your daughter’s old enough to be in university?” Zak’s brows shot up.
“Child bride. What can I say?”
“Huh.” He seemed to reconfigure his impression of me as that sank in.
I caught Roddie looking between us and deflected by waving at the tapes.
“I should throw those into a box.”
“Yeah, this thing is going to be heavy as fuck. Sorry.” Zak grimaced in Roddie’s direction.
Roddie turned to me. “Mom, what does fuck mean?”
“I’ll tell you when you’re old enough to understand. Let me see if there’s a box in the garage.” I started for the stairs.
“If you don’t have any, my brother-in-law can pick some up on his way,” Zak said. “I figured this was a job for three men and a boy, so I told him to meet us here. You’re not the boy,” he told Roddie. “Lance is. Dad’s not as steady as he used to be. I don’t want him on the stairs with one end of this.”
I left them chatting while I emptied some puzzle boxes in the garage. When I returned, Zak was deep in conversation with Roddie.
“Oh, it’s nerdy as fuck, but I guess I have a touch of obsessive-compulsive because I kind of like it,” Zak said.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Researching old furniture. Roddie asked how I knew this was worth about $165. Truth is, it would fetch more like $150, but I add $15 so the buyer can talk me down. I wouldn’t give you more than $75, though, so I can double my money. Bottom line: the worth of nearly anything is whatever someone’s willing to pay for it.”
“Zak said I could do my homework in his shop and earn a commission if I sold something. That’s what he and his sister did growing up,” Roddie said.
“You’re a hustler from way back. That tracks.” I began shifting the tapes into the box.
“My sister was the hustler. I’d be about to close a sale, then she’d descend and say, ‘You can’t sell that! I have someone coming back for it!’” He used a high, panicked voice and mimed a dramatic Home Alone expression. “The people would hurry to pay, and she’d insist she earned half my commission.”
“Ruthless,” Roddie snorted.
