The Birthday Box on His Porch
What Cody said
For a long moment, nobody said anything at all. The ballgame inside kept going. A truck went by out on the county road and the wind brought a little dust up across the porch.
I watched Cody’s face. I have known that face for twenty-two years. I watched him think about lying. I watched him think about blaming the shipping company, or me, or the people who made the thing.
And then I watched him decide not to.
He pulled the dish towel out of his back pocket and folded it, slowly, like he needed something to do with his hands. Then he stepped out of the door and onto the porch.
“I got laid off in January,” he said.
He said it to Tanner, not to me. I want to give him that. He looked straight at his son when he said it.
“The rig stacked out right after New Year’s. They let nine of us go. I’ve been putting in applications every day, and nobody’s hiring right now. Not in the oil field. Not anywhere I’ve tried.”
Tanner’s mouth opened a little. “You said you were on days off.”
“I know I did.” Cody’s voice was rough. “I didn’t want you worrying about it. I didn’t want your mom knowing. I figured I’d have something by now and nobody would ever have to know.”
He rubbed his face with one hand.
“I can’t sleep, son. Haven’t slept right since January. I lie there and do the math on the rent and the truck note and I can’t make it come out. So I get up, and I sit in there in the dark.”
He nodded at the front window.
“When that box came Monday, I told myself I was just going to set it up for you. Make sure it worked. So it’d be ready Saturday. That’s what I told myself.”
“And then you played it,” Tanner said.
“And then I played it.” Cody laughed, but it was not a laugh. “Every night. Three, four in the morning. It was the only time all day I wasn’t thinking about any of it.”
He stopped, and I could see his jaw working.
“Thursday night I got up to get a glass of water and I caught my foot in the power cord and pulled the whole thing off the stand. It hit the tile. It never came back on. I tried everything.”
Tanner looked down at the box in his hands.
“Then I couldn’t face telling you,” Cody said. “I couldn’t stand there on your birthday and tell you I broke your present because I’ve been sitting up every night like some kid, because I don’t have a job and can’t sleep.”
He turned and looked at me for the first time.
“So I texted your mom something I ought to be ashamed of. And I am. Jill, I’m sorry. That was a sorry thing to ask you. You didn’t deserve it.”
I nodded. I could not have said anything just then if I tried.