Salad, Sandwiches, Dainties and Punch

Chapter 11

Bill had spent the last 5 hours in the garage, door down.  The radio was constantly on and tuned.  All Bill had to do was turn the volume up or down.  Today it was quiet, but audible.  A mix of songs he knew, and songs that were new to him had filled his hours.  Bill knew the difference between country and western, and new they'd always play a western song before the local news and a country song at the end. 

The news had cycled at least three times since he'd been in the garage but there was no news about Art.  Guys like them couldn't even be famous in death.  It made Bill sad enough to over polish one of his collectible oil cans.  He had rearranged his cans and every jar  of nuts, bolts and screws had been examined and wiped down.  Art was a pilot, a farmer, a woodworker and a terrible slob.  Bill worried about the state it Art's shop as he took stock of his immaculate garage.

Art's shop was an absolute mess, but it was also a popular coffee stop.  Bill even had his own mug out there, in the mess, a mug he would never drink out of again.  The corners of his mouth turned down at the thought of Dottie having to content with another mess on top of everything else.  Just because Art knew where everything was and what it's purpose was for, didn't mean that anyone else would.  Those boys would have their work cut out for them. 

He heard a car pull up parking alongside the garage.  The door closed and Teresa's steps on the gravel quickly dissipated as she walked toward the house.  The back door opened and closed.  He knew she'd been down at the church.  She had told him that Linda was going to be "in over her head." She used her fingers to quote this last part but Bill wasn't sure she was using it right.  He had never used air quotes, he knew he would never need to since his words were always his own. 

Bill figured he'd be just as lost as Linda if he had to plan anything.  Thank God for women and their need to control everything and everyone.  He'd been to funerals and weddings and anniversary parties but wasn't really sure how it all came together.  He wasn't even really sure how much work went into it.  It was probably just an excuse for the women to get together. 

He didn't give it much more thought as he started flipping through an old manual for a lawnmower that hadn't run for the last two summers. Forty five minutes later he swivelled on his stool as the side door opened.  A silhouette of Teresa solidified as she stepped through the door into the garage.  He noticed that she still had her women's meeting clothes on.  "Looking good!" Bill said as she came nearer.  "I'd be flattered, but I know you're talking about the sandwich," Teresa set the plate and a glass of ice tea on the counter beside Bill.

Bill blushed conceding that he was also referring to the sandwich.  "A Reuben," he nodded knowing this was a sad sandwich.  "You stopped at the grocery store on your way home," he added taking a bite as the sauerkraut bulged out the back.  "You hadn't eaten yet had you?" Teresa asked watching him eat.  "Mmmmm," Bill was shaking his head to communicate that he hadn't.  "Are you eating?" he asked between bites.  "I'll eat inside."  Teresa loved a Reuben as much as the next guy but didn't love eating them publicly.  They were a bit of a mess. 

"I'll let you get back to work."  Teresa looked down at the manual.  "I'll finish up here in a bit," he replied. Teresa nodded, "Yeah, see you when you're done."  Bill finished his sandwich alone in the garage while Teresa ate hers in the kitchen.