The Matter With Morris Read Free Page A

her voice and he suffered a moment of empathy for her. She shouldn’t have to be privy to all this nonsense.
    “Give Jake a hug, okay. Tell him it’s from Grandpa.” “I will.” Libby’s voice was soft and low. “What’s up?” she asked.
    “Just checking in. Doing a father’s job. How are you?” He wanted to keep her on the phone, hear her voice. She was the only one in his life who did not judge him, who did not see something dire in him, who did not want to wring repentance from him.
    “I’m good.”
    “School?”
    “Good.”
    “You still seeing that Mr. McKibben?”
    “His name’s Shane. He’s actually a doctor of English, Dad. And we aren’t seeing each other. He’s just a friend.”
    “Of course. That’s what I meant. It’s just, now that you’re over there and I’m here, I don’t know what’s going on. Not as much.” He stopped talking, aware that he was asking for more than she wanted to give. Mr. McKibben was an older man, almost twice her age, who was a professor of English at the university, and Morris knew that they spent time together and were perhaps having sex. This worried him. Several times he had dropped by the university and gone to the English department in order to talk to the man, but all he’d discovered was a closed door and on the door the man’s name: Shane McKibben. One time, late on a Thursday after his men’s group, a sliver of light showed from under the door and he’d knocked and called out, but no one answered. He’d scribbled a note on a scrap of paper. He wrote:
Mr. McKibben, my name is Morris Schutt and I believe you are spending time with my daughter Libby, who is eighteen and in grade twelve. How old are you, Mr. McKibben? What do you imagine can come of this relationship other than some superior damage to my daughter? I am not threatening you, Mr. McKibben, I am simply advising and my advice is that you gently and kindly tell my daughter that you have made a mistake and that you will not see her again. Thank you. Morris Schutt.
    Such restraint and decorum. He was pleased with himself. He folded the paper and slipped it under the door and then went down on his hands and knees to see if there was indeed someone in the room, if he might be able to glimpse a passing shadow. He saw nothing. He had expected that Shane would tell Libby about the note, but she said nothing. And they still kept seeing each other. Now, hearing his daughter say that she was only a friend with Dr. McKibben, Morris held back any speech he might have prepared and he said, “The debating team? That going well?”
    She made a sound that was soft and very Libby-like, and he imagined that she was busy with something electronic, perhaps looking for a song, or texting someone, maybe sending Shane a message. He felt himself sink as he recognized that she might be pitying him.
    “Is your mother there?”
    “Hang on.”
    He heard her holler and then there was silence and finally the static of the phone being handed over and Lucille said,“Don’t you have your men’s club tonight?” She sounded breathless, disappointed, as if she’d run a long distance, anticipating perhaps someone else.
    “Tomorrow night. Thursday. And it’s a men’s group, not a club. Robert called. He said that my columns have become wistful and disjointed.”
    “Yes?”
    “He said he talked to you.” “He did. Yesterday.”
    “So you knew this already. You knew I was being laid off and you didn’t let me know.”
    “Morris, you aren’t laid off. A hiatus—that’s what they’re calling it.”
    “And you agree? That I’m wistful?”
    “Did I say that? I never did. You know I don’t read your column anymore. I don’t need to read fiction that is passed off as truth. I don’t need to read about myself. Meredith was right to challenge you.”
    “How long do you think she’ll stay angry? I miss Jake.”
    “You might try apologizing. Talking to her. And then talking to Glen and showing some kindness