Roofer in his armchair watched his wife Rita. She had come home from a busy Monday at the hospital in the Bronx where she worked and was still in her work parka and seated on the couch with the coffee table before her in the warm house, phone at her ear since she’d entered. She was talking to the doctor in D.C. The television was on, the sound muted. She was watching. She thank you’d now and then, said a few yesses, moved the parka’s zipper up and down while watching the images play on the screen.
Featured today was footage of the breach of a door leading to the House Speaker’s office. This footage replayed several times from a single angle, then came the recap footage: the bearded men in their winter gear claiming the Capitol steps, the officers battling back, some pulled into the crowd and beaten; and then, inside, the insurrectionists starting through the lobby, officers outnumbered standing by, hands above their weapons.
“Shoot ’em, boys,” Roofer advised quietly, eyeing Rita, who was still not saying much into the phone. She wasn’t giving him anything. Roofer removed his glasses to wipe the lenses, did a poor job of it, and then got out of his chair. A minute later he returned from the kitchen with steaming pasta for both of them to find that she had put down her phone.
“Good evening dear,” he said.
“They didn’t get her, did they?”
“The Speaker? No, she’d already gone.” He set one of the plates before her on the coffee table. “What’d the doctor say?”
“He was all right.”
“The doctor was all right?”
“Thanks for making dinner, Jack.”
“What’d he say about our boy? That was the doc on the phone, right?”
“He’s stable, Jack. The doctor says he’s stable.”
Roofer said the word stable and repeated it, thinking gratefully stable, yes, stable, like a piece of furniture is stable. A tree is stable, a house. He sat in his chair with the word on his tongue and set the plate on his lap.
“Stable is good,” he said. “Stable is just fine.”
She was staring at the television, huddled in her parka in the warm house, moving the parka zipper.
“You know, dear, the heat’s up,” he said helpfully.
“The heat? Oh the heat.”
He was pleased to see this idea register with her and watched her get out of the parka. She carried it over one arm to the front closet, then returned, a little wobbly. She said she was all right. She added, sitting, that she hadn’t eaten today but that happened sometimes, but that she was all right. She hadn’t looked at him once.
“I’m glad to hear you’re all right,” he said.
“I didn’t eat today.”
“Yes, you said that.”
Now she looked at him. “Didn’t you ask me if I ate today?”
“Of course I did. Certainly I did. And I’m glad you’re all right.”
She had always been the stronger one, he was thinking. Nothing had ever seemed to faze her. When she looked like this, worried, distracted, it didn’t last long. He had a feeling this time was different.
“So he’s stable. What else?”
“That’s what he said.”
“What else did he say?”
She did not answer. He watched her expression with the miscreant rioters back on the screen and the embattled police and the very white Capitol and winter above and behind. He had been thinking about it and concluded that if he had to carry them both now he would. He would rise to the challenge. He would have to get used to her expression.
“Rita my love?”
“I’m just watching. Wait a minute.”
Her look of dread—it had other elements but dread was in the majority—did not change when other footage was played nor when it was a commercial break and a young family appeared on the screen romping in an island paradise. “What’s keeping you?” was the sunny question in friendly letters beneath the rompers. Then came a commercial for a sandwich chain.
“Eat while it’s hot,” he said.
“Yes, thank you.”
“And what else did the doc say?”
“Croissants,” she said, pointing without looking at the far end of the coffee table. Then she looked to where there was only this morning’s folded newspaper.
“Croissants?” he said.
“I thought I brought them in.”
“Probably they’re in your car.”
“I know I bought a bag of them. I’m sure of it.”
“That’s wonderful. Thank you.”
“I thought they were right here.”
“I’ll check the car after,” Roofer said. “So this was the young doc on the phone, right?”
“I did buy them,” she said.
“They must be in the car. Rita?”
She was looking down at the table. Beside her plate was a piece of torn paper. On that paper Roofer had written the names of two auto repair shops. He had started a list and gotten to two after coming home late in the afternoon from a dreadful day of car trouble.
“That’s mine,” he said. “Don’t throw it out. So that was the young doc?”
She moved the paper a ways from her plate. She looked hard at her plate. Then she looked up.
“Weren’t we going to have veal?”
“Yes, we were.”
“What happened to the veal?”
“It’s fine, I’ll try it again tomorrow.”
“It couldn’t have spoiled.”
“Did the doctor tell you when Bob could be released from the hospital?”
She put her fork down. “If the veal went bad we have to return it, there’s no reason for it to go bad. I just went shopping for it yesterday. Yesterday was Sunday.”
In the dining room the grandfather clock began chiming for eight o’clock. The clock had belonged to Roofer’s parents, who’d received it as a wedding gift in the old country. The house in the old country where Roofer visited as a boy with his father was long gone. Where the house had stood was weeds and rubble when he and Rita had brought their only son, many years ago. A fire had swept through, it might have been arson. The chiming for eight o’clock had completed.
“I bought the veal yesterday. Or maybe it was Saturday.”
“Sweetheart, don’t worry about the veal. I just wasn’t up to cooking it. I felt like making something easier. I’ll cook the veal tomorrow, I promise. Would you tell me something?”
“Of course.”
“Did the doctor tell you when Bob could be released from the hospital?”
“Yes, he did. I mean, no he didn’t. He didn’t tell me when. He said that they’re watching for infections.”
“What kind of infections are we talking about?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think they said, exactly. They say they want to focus on one thing at a time.”
“How about your docs? Did you speak with anyone?”
“I made some calls. People were busy. But I got encouragement, you know, in the halls, in meetings. People stopped by my office. Dr. Rubin came by my office.”
“Only one doctor? In the whole hospital?”
“It was a busy day. Oh but I spoke with a couple of docs who came by administration. Yes. They concurred with Dr. Rubin. Infection is the one big concern now.”
“Thank God,” Roofer said to his plate. He looked up. “I mean thank God for only one big concern. That’s damn good news, isn’t it? I’d say it is. How’s that pasta?”
“I was thinking we should get down there sooner, Jack.”
“Did his D.C. doc say that we should rush?”
“I don’t remember the word rush.”
“Then Thursday. We’ll go Thursday, as planned. Marge is handling things fine, right?”
“Yes, Marge is handling things. Dependable Marge.”
“Sure she is, thank God. Pasta’s getting cold.”
She pushed her plate away. “I called her around lunchtime. She was taking the kids to see him in the hospital. She’s very organized. I could pack tonight.”
“We’ll go Thursday. We’re not needed now, thank God.”
She looked at him.
“People say it. I can say it.”
“Please let’s keep Him out of it.”
“All right.”
“But what if we were needed now?” She was focused again. “I mean, we wouldn’t wait until Thursday.”
“Then we’d get down there now, if we were needed. You want me to heat up that pasta?”
“She’s very organized. I was never that organized. She’s working and managing the house, keeping the kids on track.”
“She’s a good mother.”
“And I don’t want to get in her way. I wouldn’t be in her way. I’d make sure of that.”
“Thursday,” he said. “My car’ll be ready by then. Today’s Monday, so I figure Thursday. You remember I had car trouble today.”
“That was today.”
“Yes, of course, and I still have it. Idiots. They were supposed to fix it but I have to deal with it again tomorrow morning, like starting from scratch. I’m dealing with idiots.”
She stared at the television. He saw that when she had put down her fork she had missed the plate and the fork lay isolate in a spot of sauce on the table.
“You’re a good mother, too.”
“Unnecessary,” she returned, fond of the single adjective response. “But appreciated.”
“Are you hungry?”
“I don’t think so.”
“We’ve got to be thankful,” he said. “It could’ve been worse for him, you know. You do know that.”
She was staring at the television. He looked at it as well. Then he looked at her fork in the spot of sauce.
“I’ll ask you something,” he said. “What’s happening to our country?”
“I don’t know.”
“Idiots,” he said. “Am I right? Half the country has lost its mind.”
She stared at the television. He composed himself. “Listen, about the car. I’ll tell you why I’m not taking it back to ShiGo. Are you listening?”
She was staring at the television.
He coughed unnecessarily. “So I was out this morning after you went to work and I hit something, a pothole. You’re sure you want to hear? I don’t have to tell you this.”
She looked vaguely at him as if he had spoken from another room in a language she half understood. But she didn’t say no.
“Well,” he resumed, “that’s when I called you, after I hit the pothole. Then I called ShiGo—you know, the dealer—in a pinch to see if this mechanic was there, he’s only half an idiot—Stanley, I think. And I’m told he’s there. Great. So I drive over there, ten miles per hour on the Clearview, not quite after rush hour. Imagine. I leave the car and when I come back for it after several hours—there was a bit of work to do—I’m told my Stanley didn’t work on it. He was busy, I’m told. So I drive away with my fingers crossed and sure enough, there’s still something wrong with the car. Is that infuriating?”
“Infuriating.”
“It is. And I should’ve known. I could’ve taken the car to any other garage and they could’ve screwed up the repair for cheaper. But I gambled.”
“You gambled.”
“It was stupid.”
“You’re angry, Jack.”
“I’m not. Not really. How can I be? You have to ask yourself is it a big deal, you know, in the scheme of things.”
“You’re angry.”
“Maybe a little annoyed. But not angry. But not stupid either.” He watched her carefully. “Like I said, I’m not taking it back to make them fix it. I’ll take it somewhere else.”
She reached for her plate and brought it closer. She took a forkful of the pasta that no longer steamed at the surface and she chewed, and she watched the television.
“I’m telling you, Rita, I’m finished with them. You can only take getting screwed so many times, then you have to move on. People show you what they are, you don’t have to keep going back for more punishment. There, I started a list.” He pointed at the scrap of paper on the table. Then he sat back and waited.
“Fine with me,” she said. “Take it somewhere else.”
He watched her. He had an urge to ask her if she knew what she was saying. He ate with the plate on his lap, cautiously glancing up at her. In forty years of marriage he knew her to always hold people to account. She could prod a waiter to or past his breaking point over a questionable charge on the bill of fare. He had seen her follow and confront the driver of a car where candy wrappers had flown out a window. One Mother’s Day she had crossed the field during a children’s soccer game to berate the parents of the other team’s undisciplined players.
“It’ll cost us taking it somewhere else, I just want to prepare you,” he went on cautiously. “Where ShiGo should make the repair gratis for letting me drive away in an unsafe car. But there are things more important than money, right?”
“Unsafe?”
“Oh, absolutely! And this was bad! And I didn’t know there was a problem until I reached the Clearview. At 50 mph you could feel it holding back, like it’s in a low gear, tugging dead weight. What kind of a mechanic misses that?”
Her eyes were on the television screen. The insurrection was back. They watched again the attack on the Speaker’s office.
“I tell you,” he said, thinking about his day, “I have no confidence in them. It got wiped out today. I’m absolutely turning my back on the wretched lot of them.”
“Look at that,” she cried suddenly. “Look at those bastards! And you just know they’ll get off scot free.”
“I don’t think so.”
“You know they will! They killed people and they’ll get off, every one of them. They tried to kill our son!”
There has to be justice, he thought to tell her, and he was suddenly and deeply embarrassed. My God, what we’ve been through with this president. President? My God. And his followers? What had happened to this country?
He watched her breathe shortly, face flushed beautifully as if she’d come in from gardening or a brisk summer walk. She bowed her head and brought her hands to her eyes.
“Now listen,” he started, but he was lost. She sobbed quietly. He sat back in his chair. On the television played another commercial with happy couples, none wearing masks. His mind went to this sunny island where he and Rita lounged just off camera, drinks in hands, holding hands. Then he imagined a terrace over a morning courtyard in Rome, and then a sunlit street with paving stones in Paris. Then County Kerry, why not? Or Sligo. Or Donegal—she had people there.
“I need to be with him,” she said.
“I know,” he said. “But things’ll get better.” He shifted in his chair, put his plate down.
“Look, dear, we’ll get some more of them nice croissants on the way out of town Thursday, they’re better than what he gets down there, right? Isn’t he always saying that? And we’ll have a good drive down to D.C. and when we see him he’ll be feeling better and we’ll feel better, that’s coming soon. That’ll be Thursday.”
“They used bear spray.” She had brought a napkin to her eyes. “They used bear spray on our baby.”
But for her sobbing it was quiet in the house. Outside a neighbor dragged a trash can to the curb.
“Listen, Rita,” he said. “They won’t get away with it.”
“Oh, Jack.”
“They will not get away with it. There has to be accountability. They must be held accountable. Do you hear what I’m saying?”
She sobbed.
“I don’t think so.”
“Listen, Rita,” he said. “It’s been a crazy week, one helluva crazy week, and we’ve been under pressure here. It’s Bob but it’s us too, we’ve been under a lot of pressure. But you’ve got to see that our boy’s in good hands. We have to be grateful for that.”
“I’m going tomorrow morning,” she said. “I’ll take my car. I’m going tomorrow and you can join me later.”
“Calm down, will you? Will you please calm down? Say something.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“You’re calm?”
“I’m calm.”
“Are you sure? Are you sure that you’re calm?”
“I just said I am.”
“Good. Then you’re all right now?”
“No.”
He took in a deep breath and exhaled. “You’ve got to be strong, dear.”
“But I’m not. You are.”
“And you are, too. I want you to realize that someday we’ll look back on this and be glad and very proud that we were both able to be strong.”
“But I’m not strong as you, Jack. You make all of us strong. It’s always been that way. You know what Bobby said last time they were here?”
Roofer removed his glasses to rub his eyes.
“He said he wouldn’t have been an officer without you supporting him. Without you being strong.”
“He said that?”
“He did.”
“God.”
“What? What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.” He put his glasses on.
“You’re the strong one, Jack.”
“I try, that’s all. That’s all anyone can do. Well. Damn it.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Maybe I’ll take the car to ShiGo in the morning.”
“But I thought you were through with them.”
“There has to be accountability.”
“Whatever you want to do. I’m worried, Jack.”
“About our Bob? He’ll be fine. I don’t want you worrying.”
“He’ll get better, won’t he?”
“Of course he will. I’ve absolutely no doubts about it.”
“I’m worried.”
“Don’t be. It’s not necessary.” He swallowed, then he swallowed again. It seemed to help to keep the room from spinning.
“He’ll be back on his feet in no time,” Jack went on. “I’m sure of it. Do you hear me?”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m positive,” he said. “I’ve never been more positive of anything in my life.”
