Terminal

“A bug? You’ve been sick for a couple weeks, Tommy. And you’ve lost weight too. You don’t look good.”

“I know, I know. But he said it wasn’t anything to worry about. Besides, I needed to drop a few pounds anyway. Those baggy jeans weren’t getting so baggy anymore.”

One of my Mom’s boyfriends used to say, “If you’re gonna lie, Tommy, then lie big.” That was what I did. I lied real fucking big. It was a preview of the days to come.

“Did the doctor give you a prescription?”

“Yeah.” I dug myself deeper. “But I didn’t get it filled. We ain’t got the money right now. I’ll do it next week.”

“Bullshit.”

I winced. We’d both gotten into the bad habit of cursing in front of T. J., but Michelle was worse at it than me. I glanced over at him, but he seemed oblivious, absorbed in the cartoon again.

“Not bullshit, Michelle,” I lowered my voice. “After tomorrow, I don’t get paid for another two weeks. Tomorrow’s check has to pay for the truck inspection and yours has to go to groceries and day care. The credit card payment is already late too.”

“So is the electric. It came today.”

“Shit.”

She frowned, then brightened.

“We’ve got my bingo money. You can get your prescription filled with that.”

Every Friday night, while I was drinking down at Murphy’s Place with John and Sherm, Michelle dropped T. J. off at her parents for a few hours and played bingo at the Fire Hall with her girlfriends. Most of the time she lost, but occasionally she’d win, and she kept that money in a coffee can under her side of the bed. She was saving it up to take her Mom on a bus trip to New York City, one of those day-trips to see a musical and do some shopping. She’d been squirreling the winnings away for over two years.

“No way, babe. That’s your money. I can do without the medicine for a while. I’ll just take aspirin instead.”

“You’ve been taking aspirin, and they’re not helping.”

“Aspirin are good for my heart. The commercials say so.”

“Tommy . . .”

“Goddamn it, Michelle, I said no!”

Silence. I hadn’t meant to snap, and I think I was just as shocked as she was. I hated the wounded look in her eyes. Immediately, I felt like an asshole. My temples began to throb, heralding the onset of another headache. My teeth hurt, and I fought back a cough, knowing there would be blood in it. I could taste it at the back of my throat.

T. J. whimpered, his cartoon forgotten, and Michelle looked wounded.

“I’m sorry. Okay? I’m sorry . . .”

She shrugged.

I got up from the couch, picked T. J. up, and gave him another squeeze.

“Daddy didn’t mean to yell,” I told him. “I just had a really bad day and I’m a little grumpy. That’s all.”

“It’s okay, Daddy,” he said, then hopped down.

“I’m sorry too,” she said, softening. “It’s sweet of you to think of me and Mom’s trip, but you need to take care of yourself, Tommy. You need to think of T. J and me. What would we do if you got really sick?”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Instead, I just shook my head. The pain exploded behind my eyes and I fought to keep from showing it. A metallic blood taste welled up in my mouth. I collapsed back onto the couch.

“You’re right,” I croaked. “I’ll pick some up tomorrow. But we’re not using your bingo money and that’s final. I’ll see if I can slide on the inspection. I can put some mud over the sticker so the cops don’t see it.”

“Will that work?”

“It has before. It’ll be okay as long as it doesn’t rain and wash the mud off.”

I got up and walked unsteadily to the kitchen, feeling Michelle’s eyes on me. She knew I didn’t feel good, but she also knew better than to keep harping on the subject. Instead, she put her book down. “T. J., it’s time for bed.”

He turned to face her, and said, “Bullshit.”

There was a brief pause. Then we both laughed, and what little tension remained in the room dissipated.

“What did you just say?”

“I don’t want to go to bed,” T. J. pouted. “I want to watch SpongeBob.”

“You’ve seen this one a million times,” Michelle said firmly. “It’s time for bed. And don’t use that word anymore.”

“What word?”

“The bad word you just said a second ago.”

“What bad word?” He was grinning now. “You and Daddy said it.”

“Maybe, but that doesn’t make it right.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so, that’s why.”

“But why?”

Michelle rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Never mind.”

She scooped him up from the floor and carried him to me.

“Tell your father good night.”

He held his arms out. “Good night, Daddy.”

I took him from her and hugged him tight against me. He kissed my cheek and wrinkled his nose.

“My whiskers bothering you?” I asked.

“No,” he replied, “but your face is wet, Daddy.”

I realized then that I’d been crying. I hadn’t known.

“Daddy’s been sweating. I worked hard today. You go on to bed now.”

I kissed him and he kissed me back again, carefully avoiding the wet patches this time. Then we did our familiar, nightly ritual.

“We boys?” I asked with a grin.

“Yeah boyyyyy, we boys!”

“Night homeboy.”

He giggled. “Night homey.”

I smiled, and gave him another kiss.

“Nighty-night. Love you, Daddy.”