at him. “Better view from back there?”
Ked grinned. “Nah. I told Eph you were my chauffeur. Don’t blow my cover.”
“And Eph would be…?”
“Ephraim. New kid. He’s cool.” His son was mastering the art of the two-second meaningless sound bite.
“Does he need a ride somewhere?”
“Nah. He lives close.”
“Is he going to be a friend?” Dan probed.
“Um … maybe.” A one-shoulder shrug. “We’ll see how it goes.”
“He could stand a change of wardrobe,” Dan said, catching the boy’s retreating form in his side mirror.
Ked snorted. His freckles underwent a quick metamorphosis. “Eph’s from an underprivileged family. I hope you’re not going to hand me some crap about poor kids being bad influences.”
“Hardly.”
Dan reversed and swung the car around. Not bad influences, no. But what about the other kind? The kind that determined whether you became a success or failure in life. It added up. Who you hung out with, went to school with, fucked, or married — that sort of thing. It mattered in the end, even if for all the wrong reasons.
He eyed his son in the rear-view mirror. Ked’s head was down, focused on his Game Boy. “Good game?” he ventured.
“Pretty good.”
“Score any goals?”
“Nah.”
Dan nodded. “You’ll get there. Just don’t neglect your schoolwork.”
“I won’t,” Ked said without lifting his eyes.
“How’s your mother?”
“Same.”
Dan saw Ked wrinkle his nose the same way Kendra would at such a generic question. “Be specific or be gone,” she liked to say. Dan could play that game.
“Same as what?”
“Same as always,” came the reply from the backseat.
“That’s what you say every time I ask.”
Ked looked up. “It’s true. What do you want me to say?” His voice rose in pitch, as though puberty wasn’t done with him.
“I want you to tell me how she is. Happy? Healthy? Going anywhere interesting?”
“She’s fine. She’s happy. Not going anywhere. She doesn’t ask as many questions as you.” Ked bared his teeth at the mirror then turned back to the Game Boy.
“You’re really exasperating, you know.”
“I know, Dad. I learned it from you.”
Cars buzzed past the intersection. Rush hour was in full swing. The streets were packed with the usual muck of traffic heading away from the downtown core. A black Neon swerved into their lane without signalling. Dan felt a prickling of anger on his scalp and back.
“Who taught these losers to drive?”
Ked looked up again. “Other losers?”
Dan braked for a scattering of teenagers running from the 7-Eleven and dodging cars. More hoodies. The smallest of them banged a pop can against an SUV, exchanging glares with the driver and flashing a less obscure hand signal Dan recalled from his own teen years. The light turned red. Vehicles continued to flood the intersection, blocking the way.
“Inconsiderate moron!” Dan yelled through the window.
An Asian woman looked nervously away.
“Too much testosterone, Dad,” Ked informed him.
Dan thought again how the city had devolved over the past fifteen years into a rat’s nest of frustration and seething tempers. Corporate crime had taken the backseat to a more visible MTV-style menace: street gangs shooting and killing in broad daylight, the corrupt, surly cops who chased them, and the mindless assholes who blocked intersections and drove like the selfish pricks they were. That and the slow-moving immigrants who learned to drive at schools with names like Lucky Driver and navigated as if they were herding caravans in the desert. What did luck have to do with it?
There was a moment’s respite as Dan turned down his street. The overhang of leafy boughs made it seem like a vast cathedral. The elation vanished. Once again he had to squeeze past his neighbour’s car to get into his parking pad. If she’d pull up another foot it wouldn’t be a problem, but Glenda couldn’t be bothered to clear his drive. He looked over. She was out raking leaves in the kind of outfit women wore to cocktail parties. She ignored him. He’d been an occasional dinner guest before Steve moved out. Dan liked Steve, but had wondered about his wife. She always seemed a little vacuous and self-absorbed. Maybe Steve liked his women that way.
He got out and slammed the car door. “Fucking princess,” he muttered, hoping she might hear but Ked wouldn’t.
“You got that one right, Dad,” Ked said, shouldering his knapsack.
Juggling his laptop, briefcase, and raincoat, Dan fumbled the key into the lock. As the front door swung open, he smelled something disgusting — like farts, only worse. His first thought was about the garbage. This was more immediate. He looked down and just missed stepping on a large brown turd.
“Not again! That goddamn dog!”
“I’ll clean it up.” Ked threw his knapsack on the counter and darted for the cupboard to retrieve a mop and a plastic bag.
“I just walked him at lunch time!” Dan fumed, knowing that had been seven hours ago.
Ked bagged the offending litter and knotted the handles together. “Maybe he’s mad because you neglect him too.”
Dan looked at his son. “Are you saying I neglect you?”
Ked looked up, his face serious. “No, Dad. I’m saying you could be a better dog owner. Even dogs need love.”
“He’s your dog — you love him.” He watched his son swipe at the spot with the mop. “He does it on purpose.”
Ked looked pained. “He’s old, Dad. He can’t help himself.”
“That’s not true. When it’s an accident, he hides it in the basement. When he does it at the front door like that — one big piece of crap right where I’ll step in it — then it’s a big ‘Screw you, buddy.’”
Ked giggled.
Dan looked around. “You see — he’s nowhere in sight. He knows he’s done something bad, otherwise he’d be here to greet us.”
“He probably knows you’re pissed and he’s hiding from you.”
Ked
