Running the Bulls Read Free Page B

lemon,” said Howard, and struck his balled fist against the Probe.
    â€œJesus, Dad,” said John. “It’s just a car.”
    Next door, a man came out for his own morning paper. He saw John and waved. John waved back and then turned to face Howard. “Come on in the house, Dad,” John said. “Patty will get us some breakfast. And then maybe you’ll tell me what the hell is going on.” He motioned up the walk, then went on ahead, with Howard following as though he were on some kind of tether.
    â€œWait,” said Howard. He went to the Probe and groped around in the backseat and came out with his suitcase.
    â€œHoly cow,” said John. “It’s this serious?” Howard made a pointless gesture at the suitcase.
    â€œJust a few things to tide me over,” he explained. “But I forgot to pack socks.”
    Patty was in the kitchen and still in her robe. She looked up at Howard in surprise, then over at the clock.
    â€œDad!” she said. “Is everything okay? Is Mom okay?”
    Howard nodded and said nothing, so Patty looked to John, who shrugged.
    â€œFrom what I can make out,” said John, “he’s really pissed off that Ford sold him a lemon. And he’s been waiting out in the yard since dawn to tell me about it.”
    John motioned for Howard to take off his jacket. Howard did so and handed it to his son. No one spoke. Howard could hear water boiling in a kettle and then the kettle’s voice rising to a whine before Patty unplugged it. There was already a smell of muffins in the air, or some kind of bagel or cake, and it reminded him that he was quite hungry.
    â€œIt’s Ellen,” he said finally. He would tell them. He would explain, and then he would feed his famished soul. “She threw me out.”
    â€œMom threw you out ?” John asked. He gave Howard that stunned look, the one animals have as they plod toward their own slaughter.
    â€œWell, actually,” said Howard, “I told your mother to get out of our home, and she refused to leave. So, here I am.” With his right arm he gestured pitifully at the length of himself. John and Patty exchanged a quick look, but Howard caught it. He had always caught John with those furtive looks. Like the time twelve-year-old John and his buddy Micky Pilcher played poker with Howard and a couple of fellow teachers, using their own marked deck until Howard, bankrupt and in debt to Micky for fifty dollars, saw something adrift in John’s eyes. The boy, at thirty-three, still had a face like an open slate. Guileless. A man you’d follow into battle, or would want to follow you into battle.
    â€œWhy?” John was asking this cautiously now, frightful of the answer. “Why would you ask Mom to leave?”
    â€œWhy?” Howard asked. “Because she cheated on me. That’s why.”
    John seemed to go pale at this declaration. He spun around and began rattling about in the cupboard for some plates. Patty, who’d been listening quietly, smiled at Howard. She gestured for him to take a chair at the table.
    â€œHow would you like your eggs, Dad?” she asked.
    ***
    John came into the den where Howard was lounging on the sofa, having a second cup of coffee. He sat down in the chair facing Howard and stretched his legs out before him. Howard smiled. It reminded him of another time, this quiet determination he could see in his son’s demeanor. It reminded him of the time John had been caught smoking pot in the boys’ bathroom at Bixley High. He had been expelled, and he had come home to wait for his father in the den, sitting stiffly in a chair, determined to defend himself, his legs thrust out before him.
    â€œNow, Dad,” said John. “I’ve called my office. I told them I’ll be in later. Don’t you think it’s time you let me know what’s going on?” Howard cleared his throat. He had been staring at the