OLD SPICE A SHORT STORY by Deborah Atkinson A couple nights ago, someone cut in front of Danny on the freeway and pulled all the way across three lanes of traffic to make an exit that Danny said the crazy broad could have made anywhere. He got up the next morning still thinking about it. I could hear him muttering while he rummaged for underwear and socks in the dresser. At breakfast, he started ranting again and started to laugh mean and talk about what he'd do to her when he found her. Josie started to cry. He was talking to me, but you know toddlers. They know what's goin' on even if they can't tell you about it. He said the bitch had a big green Cadillac with a bumper sticker that said "Honk if You Love Jesus," and he said he was gonna find that car. I wondered, why bother? Tons of people are bad drivers and anyway, no one got hurt. But I didn't want to get him any more riled up, plus the baby was really wailing by that time. She held her arms out for me to pick her up and knocked her cereal bowl off the high chair, Cheerios and milk everywhere. That's when Danny threw the paper in my face and stomped out of the house. The slam of the door was like another slap in the face and the screech of his tires peeling out of the drive made even Scott's eyes fill up. That's why I didn't go after Danny. Well, okay, he scares me when he gets that way, but I did think the kids needed me more than he did. So I took my vitamins, ate some toast, and got Josie calmed down. Scott recovered right away and went around getting the stuff he was supposed to take to school that day. I tell you, that six-year-old can be so grown-up. I had a sip from the sherry bottle, but just one swallow, just to calm my nerves, then made sure the kitchen and living room were nice and neat before we left the house. I dropped Josie at the day care center and Scott at Wilson Elementary and drove to the office. That week, I was on afternoons and one of the other girls was sick, so I not only had to answer the phone and key in a new associate's dictation, but I had to do extra filing and make a couple trips to the post office. Busy day, so much that I had a roaring headache by the time I picked up the kids and got home. Danny got home right after we did. He noticed right away that I forgot, in all the ruckus this morning, to get meat out of the freezer. He threw some pork chops in the sink, then started shouting about how if he didn't do it, nothing would ever get done. I had to slip into the bathroom and take a couple of aspirin and a sip on the sherry bottle to calm my nerves and get rid of the pounding behind my eyeballs. When I came out, I noticed he'd thawed only two pork chops. I had to take out the frozen scallops I'd been saving for Scott's birthday dinner next week. Danny is terribly allergic to any kind of shellfish; his throat swells up in about a minute, so these were meant to be a special surprise just for Scott. They're expensive, too, and now I had to use them for an ordinary meal. Dinner went okay, thank goodness. Scott and Josie enjoyed the scallops and Danny ate both of the pork chops. I guess it was a good thing my head was aching so fierce that I wasn't hungry. It was all I could do to clean up the kitchen and put away the leftover food. Danny didn't help put the kids to bed, as he was too busy gathering his fishing gear for his day off tomorrow. I read to Josie and Scott and put them to bed, which I enjoy, but my mind wandered a bit and I couldn't help wishing I could spend a day fishing, too, sitting out in the deep blue bay, miles from any responsibility with nothing to do but enjoy the gentle rocking of the boat. When Dad was alive, he used to take me fishing with him and I loved the peace on the water. Danny rose ahead of the birds and left the house before the kids were stirring. As soon as I heard the front door close, I got up and poured myself a cup of coffee. The morning was peaceful and quiet, and I could think of what I needed to do without getting distracted. The kids got up earlier than usual and had a nice quiet breakfast. With the extra time we had, Scott played Legos with Josie on the floor while I gathered up dirty laundry. All of a sudden, I felt as if a cool hand tapped my arm. The kids were too quiet. I dropped the rest of the clothes on top of the washing machine and went to the living room. Legos were all over the floor, but no kids. It was as if they had wandered out the front door, but that was impossible because I'd been in the front of the house. When I called out, not even Scott answered. A chill pushed against the small of my back and propelled me up the stairs to my bedroom. The kids were at the dresser, right next to the picture of their Grandad. At first, I thought they were looking at him, because I always tell them how wonderful he smelled after he shaved and how strong he was. He never liked Danny much and used to tell me how he would always take care of the kids and me. I took another look, though, and noticed that whatever had Scott's and Josie's attention was inside Danny's sock drawer. The socks were all over the floor and dresser. Scott was holding one of the dressy dark ones while Josie poked her finger at it and giggled. At least I thought it was a sock, but the coldness at my back nudged me closer until I could see the blue-black sheen of metal. Scott was holding a gun. He needed both of his little hands to hold the thing up and he peered along the top of the barrel. Josie stood right in front of him, with her finger in the muzzle. When they saw me, they both jumped like I'd poked them with a fork. Josie laughed and her little round tummy over her droopy diaper shook with pleasure, but Scott jerked the gun away and hid it behind his back. He glared at me with an expression just like his father's. I stayed as calm as if I were pouring milk on their cereal. When I held out my hand, Scott's lip curled, but he handed me the gun without a word. "Go downstairs and play. I'll be there in a minute," I told them. Scott shivered and left. Josie gave me a little smile and followed him. I had work to do. The room was freezing, though it was probably my horror at what had nearly happened. Still, I got Josie's diaper bag and wrapped the gun in two Huggies, then buried it under the extra clothes I always take to the day care center. I began to shove socks back in the drawer, but my hands were shaking so badly that I knocked over Dad's picture. Scott's voice, irritated and scolding his sister, reached me from the living room. Josie wasn't saying much. I hurried down the stairs with the diaper bag under one arm just as we heard the truck pull into the drive. A few seconds later, Danny stormed into the kitchen. I don't want to repeat the words he used to tell me that I forgot to pack the lunch he'd asked for last night, but I'll tell you that I had to use an ice pack on my cheekbone when he left. He said I'd screwed up his chances of getting out early for the best fishing and now he would just stay out longer. In fact, we'd be lucky to see him tonight, by God. Both kids were standing there while he ranted and I could see Josie's eyes spill over, but I gave my head a little shake and she bit her lip and didn't make any noise. Scott, though, stared wide-eyed at Danny as if he were trying to memorize every word, and then shot me an expression of pure contempt. That one glance cut me deeper than any of Danny's comments. So when I laid on the lettuce, ham, and cheddar, I slivered a scallop into tiny pieces between the layers of meat and added an extra splat of spicy mustard. Then I shoved it at Danny and told him to take his favorite sandwich and let us get on with our work. A few minutes later, I loaded the kids into the car. We didn't say much and I thought that the aroma of Old Spice, Dad's familiar scent, was all in my imagination until Scott told me he liked the way the car smelled this morning. Plus, Dad's picture was sitting upright on the dresser when we got home that afternoon. And I'll tell you something else: the diapers and their contents went into the dumpster behind the K-Mart on Central Avenue. Next day, I filed the missing person report and two weeks later, I called Good Will for Danny's clothes. Do you think I waited long enough? © Deborah Turrell Atkinson . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Published in Strong Currents, an anthology of Hawai'i writers