Delores Parker's Arc

Chapter 7 of 8

After her husband took the sixth tie, Delores led him toward the picnic area inside the showcase garage. The six red Fords sat in a row along the wall. A long table waited under the tribute sign that carried his name. The other five fathers were already drifting in with their kids. Delores had a lunch to finish setting, and a speech to help her husband through. She carried the pot roast out herself. The meat sat deep in its dish, edges dark, carrots and onions sunk in the gravy. She set it at the center of the table and straightened the cloth. Next to the roast she placed a small boxed model of a 1931 Ford, still in its clear plastic window, as a centerpiece. It was the closest thing to a joke she would allow herself. Her husband saw it and laughed once, short and surprised, then squeezed the back of her neck. The children had been working on their own piece for a week. Their oldest had taped a wide paper mural to the garage wall behind the table. The two younger ones had filled it with crayon suns, lopsided cars, and stick figures wearing neckties. One figure was clearly their father, drawn taller than the rest, holding a wrench bigger than his head. Delores watched her husband stop in front of it. He stood there a long time. He did not speak. When he turned back, his eyes were wet, and he wiped them with the cuff of his shirt. The other fathers took their seats. Plates went around. Her husband stood at the head of the table and pulled a folded square from his pocket. Delores already had the backup ready. She held the ring of index cards in her lap, numbered, every line of his speech printed out clean. They had written it together at the kitchen table, two nights running. He found his first line and started. His voice shook on the opening. She lifted the cards just enough for him to see. He caught her eye, nodded, and kept going. He thanked each father by name. He thanked his kids. He thanked her last, and he said it plain. The table clapped. Their oldest whistled through two fingers. Delores stayed in her chair while the fathers ate. The roast went fast. The kids tore at the mural's edges pointing out which figure was whose. Her husband sat down beside her and set the folded speech on the table between them, finished. She had built the day around him and he had carried it. The six cars still lined the wall behind them, all six, exactly as he wanted them. She had stopped pretending that would ever change. She reached for his hand under the table and held it there.