Page 56

How Dave Died

After that hot, Saturday night at Pam and Hank’s, back in July when all their trouble started, it took Andre about twenty-two hours to realize how much shit he was in with Shalisa for suggesting she didn’t need that piece of chocolate mousse cheesecake.

The Uber ride home was quiet, but that wasn’t unusual in itself. Andre trailed his wife up the driveway, and she stepped aside and waited by that contentious juniper bush while he unlocked their door and let her pass. Wordlessly, she pushed the empty springform pan into his chest and went upstairs. He listened for the decisive click of their bedroom door closing, then went to the kitchen and poured himself a nightcap. An hour later he wandered up the same stairs and closed their guest room door.

Shalisa was still in bed the next morning when Andre left for the marina to meet up with Hank, Larry, and Dave for a day of fishing. He didn’t see his wife until the next evening, when he returned home, his skin tight from the hours in the wind and sun. His stomach grumbled as he came through the door and was greeted by a whiff of grilled steak, and he smiled. Maybe there was some life left in his old girl after all. He dropped his gear and sauntered into the kitchen, rubbing his belly, his mood light and bright.

He found Shalisa sitting at the table. Before her, a fresh gingham tablecloth was laid with flowers, the perfect plate of steak, sauteed mushrooms still succulent and sizzling from the cast-iron frying pan, and a baked potato peeking out from under a scoop of sour cream sprinkled with chopped chives. Andre’s smile dropped when he noticed the table was set for one.

“Where’s mine?” he asked.

He scanned the counter and peeked through the oven window to see if it was warming inside. It wasn’t. He looked back to his wife. Shalisa gently pierced a juicy cube of ribeye with her fork and raised it to her mouth, pausing to consider it before she turned her big, brown eyes on him and said, “I didn’t think you needed it.”

She sucked the steak into her mouth with a quiet pop.

They’d been married thirty years, so even though Andre wasn’t able to recall exactly what he’d said the previous evening around the table in Hank and Pam’s backyard, he knew enough to apologize. “Hon, I was just trying to help.”

Shalisa chewed, then swallowed. She pointed her fork at Andre. “You want to help, Andre?”

Then she pointed her fork to their living room. “If you want to help, you would chop down that juniper bush like I asked you a year ago. And show me the proper respect my requests deserve.” She brought her fork back to Andre. “That is how you can help.” She pierced another piece of meat.

“Juniper bush?”

Andre scrunched up his face. “What’s a bush have to do with anything?” He put his hands on his hips.

“A year ago, I set that goddamned Peloton bike up in front of the window so I could look outside while I rode that goddamned thing. Only, that old, overgrown juniper is in the way. I’ve asked you a hundred times to get rid of that bush. How can you not remember that?”

Oh, yeah. That bush.

“What do you want to look out the window for? The whole point of a Peloton bike is that you watch the screen for a better workout.”

Shalisa held his eyes a moment, then said, “If you don’t cut down that tree, as God is my witness, you will regret it for the rest of our marriage.”

She picked up her knife and cut another piece of steak.

Andre had heard empty threats before, and he pondered exactly how empty this one was as he opened the fridge to grab a beer in defeat. Reaching in, he noticed Shalisa had stocked the shelves with grilled chicken, fresh salmon, and homemade fruit salad. As Andre scanned the dishes, he knew he wouldn’t be eating any of that food unless he chopped down that fucking bush.

And that’s why Andre texted Dave and asked to borrow his ax.

* * *

The next morning Dave was driving to meet Hank for their regular Monday drop when he remembered Andre needed his ax. “Fuck!”

He made a U-turn, drove the few blocks to his house, turned into his driveway, stopped his car with a squeal, and jumped out. He should have gone to the garage and set the ax out the night before, but that would have meant a conversation with Marlene. And he hadn’t been up for that.

Marlene would have kept her eyes on the TV and said, “You know what Larry and Nancy do with their garage, Dave? They park their car in it. Same with Hank and Pam. Right in the center of their garage. You know what’s in the center of our garage, Dave? Our Christmas tree stand.”

Marlene would have kept going. “Everything in Larry’s garage has a spot. His tools hang on hooks. You know where our snow shovel is, Dave? It’s leaning against the wall. It’s July. How much snow you expecting tonight, Dave? And Larry has an automatic garage door opener. Almost like they’re living in the 2020s. And we pull our garage door down with a rope. Like the cavemen. I swear to God, Dave, that garage door is gonna kill one of us someday.”

Dave wouldn’t have bothered pointing out to Marlene that cavemen didn’t have garages.

So that’s why Dave was in a hurry that Monday morning. He’d saved himself from that conversation with Marlene the previous night by staying in his chair and shouting out the answers to the TV screen—“What is the capital of Argentina?”

and “Who are the Rolling Stones?”—instead of going to the garage and getting his ax.

He would be late to meet Hank, but Andre had texted he needed it ASAP; he had some crisis brewing with Shalisa, so Dave had texted back that he’d hand it off to Hank that morning.

And Dave was the kind of guy who did what he said.

The sun beat down on the back of Dave’s neck as he bent over, grabbed the garage door handle and heaved the heavy, hinged sections upward, rolling them back on their track. He stood with his hands on his hips, his eyes adjusting to the dimness and then darting about the clutter until he spotted the ax, leaning against his tall red toolbox. He picked a quick path around the lawnmower, snow tires, and hockey sticks, snatched the ax by its handle, reached up to grab the rope to bring down the garage door, and then stopped.

Wait. What was the other thing he needed? He planned to give Andre two things. The ax, and . . . He stood still while his brain fired on all cylinders. Two things. He’d told himself to pick up two things. What was the second? Did it have something to do with . . . coffee? His head snapped up.

Right.

Three days earlier Dave had been walking along the casino basement hallway, enjoying the coffee he’d just grabbed from the maintenance room, when the new boss, Padma Singh, had pushed past him from behind, like the self-important piece of work she was rumored to be, and jostled his arm. She’d flung open the door to the casino bank and disappeared inside. So preoccupied she hadn’t glanced back to apologize for the mess she’d made of Dave’s shirt and the floor.

Dave had just been chatting with the janitor in the lunchroom, so knew he wouldn’t be around this way for a while, and that puddle of coffee was just the kind of thing someone could slip on and crack open their skull. And Dave Brand wasn’t the kind of guy to let that happen. So, he’d ducked into the men’s room, stopped to pee, admired his new haircut in the mirror—thinking maybe it was time to up Hector’s tip, he liked that guy—and then wadded up some paper towels to wipe up his mess.

Back in the hallway, he’d squatted and was doing a final pass across the tile, satisfied the halls were once again safe, when he’d noticed it. Peeking out from the tiny space between the bottom of the casino bank’s door and the tiled floor, one lonely casino chip had winked at him.

Dave had rolled forward on his knee, passed the paper towel along the edge of the door, then rocked back on his heels. He’d stood and taken deliberately calm strides back to the men’s room. He’d discarded the soggy paper towels and had opened his palm to examine the casino chip, wishing for a hundred dollars.

He’d gasped as his fingers had unfurled—one thousand dollars!

The corners of his eyes had creased as he’d laughed.

The belt on his finances had been tight the past few years. This chip was pennies from heaven. Andre would get it cashed, and with those thousand bucks, they could take the girls out for a proper good time. Maybe that’s when they’d finally tell them about their retirement plan. A pre-celebration. Maybe even champagne, because, hello good life—we’re comin’ for ya’!

When he had arrived home that Friday night, he’d tucked the chip into the top drawer of the toolbox.

That hot, Monday morning, his smile was broad and his dimples deep when, still holding the ax, Dave pulled the chip from its hiding spot. He tossed it high, debating at which waterfront restaurant he should make their dinner reservation. He snatched it from the air, kissed it, and then he flipped it again, reached up to grab the rope to bring the garage door down, and tripped on his snow shovel.

His six-foot-four-inch frame rocketed toward his heavy-duty Christmas tree stand—solid steel construction, the best money could buy (Marlene was done with the tree tipping over). His skull connected with the cylindrical base, and as his momentum rolled him over, the casino chip somersaulted through the air, heads over tails over heads. He reflexively gripped the ax as the garage door continued its descent and the casino chip finished its arc, landing softly on the middle of Dave’s chest. It bounced once and then fell flat on his sternum. The door crashed down toward him, and Dave Brand had his last thought:

My wife was right.