As Marie Might Say

Lemons and Limes

This story was originally posted on February 3, 2023 but a lot of you weren’t here yet. If you’ve already read it, thank you. If not, please have a look!

Jack Connor was sitting at the far side of the bar at Yerger’s, halfway through his second Rolling Rock when Howie finally wrestled his way through the heavy oak door. Brown leaves blew in with him.

Jack was reading an article on his phone about citrus trees, about how to graft a lime to a lemon. He put the phone down on the bar now that Howie was here.

Howie kept his head down as he moved around the bar, like he didn’t want to talk to anyone, walking his peculiar walk with too many things moving. Arms, belly, shoulders, instead of just his legs. He “shambled” as Marie might say. Jack was trying to come up with some other words that Marie might use to describe cousin Howie or cousin Howard as she always called him. “ Short in stature.” “Ruddy complectioned.” “Unruly haired.” Haired? Jack wasn’t sure if that was a proper word. Marie would know that. She took classes at the community college. English major.

Howie, red faced and grunting, climbed up on the stool next to Jack. He smelled of varnish. He always smelled like that, even in church on Sunday. Marie might call it a “distinct olfactory signature.” It was an unfortunate side effect of Howie’s job as head of the finish department at Langton Luxe Cabinetry.

Howie held up two stubby fingers and the bartender delivered two Rolling Rocks.

Jack turned his head just far enough to give Howie the side-eye. “The fuck took you so long?”

“Spence called us in. All the shop stewards.”

Jack drummed his fingers on the bar.

“And?”

“Spence thinks they’re gonna shut the whole thing down.”

“Bullshit,” Jack said, thinking that Marie might have used the word “Ludicrous.”

“No cuz,” said Howie, “It’s bad. Spence says it’s bad.”

Howie had his palms on the bar, his bottom lip jutting out in a pout. Motionless, he could have been one of those statues over at the Carnegie in Pittsburg, the kind that Marie and her and her college friends would fawn over. Defeated Man (Seated) was the name Jack came up with.

“Howie,” Jack leaned in to get Howie to look up, “You’re playing into their hands. Sure, orders are down because of the recession and the market is flooded with those shitty Asian cabinets but John Spence caves to management every fucking time they call him in there to talk. I’ll bet he’s already got an offer from union headquarters. I think they’ve been grooming him for a while. Fucking guy is a double-agent.”

“Duplicitous,” is the word that Jack could hear Marie saying if she were here.

“It sounds like they’ve already done all the talking there is to do.” Howie was speaking quietly, hard to hear over the noise in the place, “We used to be the biggest player in North America.”

“You don’t have to tell me that things have changed, Howie.” Jack was getting cranked-up, near spitting his words and Howie sat back a little. “I’ve got twenty-six years in. You must have near thirty.”

“Twenty-nine,” Howie said. “And a half.”

“My father dropped-dead right there at the panel saw. Forty-fucking-seven.”

“Uncle Matt.”

“I’ve already outlived him.”

Both of them went back to their beers, Jack looking around to see who else was there tonight from the factory, saw a few that he knew at a table in the front, under the sign that said “Free Beer Tomorrow.” He wondered if any of them knew what was going on, how their livelihoods might soon be in the crapper. One of the guys gave Jack a nod and turned away. Jack could tell that a lot of people were not comfortable talking to him these days.

“Look Howie, we’ve been through this shit before. Next week Spence will be telling us that he’s negotiated a deal to keep the place open and all we have to do is ditch some hours and take a small pay cut.”

‘No cuz, It’s different this time. Spence told us that they haven’t been bringing in any materials for over three weeks.”

“Fuck Spence,” Jack spit again. “You know, you worry too much Howie. You think you can change anything by getting your panties in a wad? Let ‘em close the place, burn the fucking place down for all I care. You wanna worry? Maybe you oughta worry that your gut is so big that you can hardly reach your beer on the bar.”

Marie might scold Jack for being“Callous”or even“brutish”toward Howie at that moment and she would be right.

Howie said “Alright cuz, I’m gonna go now” as he dropped one foot to the floor.

“You really think this it?”

“Probably Friday.”

Howie was standing, fishing for his wallet when Jack asked him if he had a Plan B.

“Whaddya mean?”

“You know,” said Jack “a fallback, a plan for what to do next, reinvent yourself.”

“Do you have a Plan B cuz?”

“Maybe, I’ve been tossing something around.”

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Cuz. Don’t stay here all night.”

Jack picked up his phone and found the article again. The part with the roots is called the rootstock and the branch that gets spliced onto it is called the scion. Rootstock and scion. Jack would try to remember that.

Howie was back now, standing next to Jack.

“I thought you left.”

“Tell me about your Plan B cuz.”

Jack looked at cousin Howie for a moment, trying to decide if he should share it with him.

“Howie, did you know that you can grow lemons and limes on the same tree?”

“ No, I didn’t know that. Sounds like magic. So what are you gonna be, a tree surgeon?”

“Remember when I went to visit my sister Sheila and her second husband Nate a few years ago?”

“Sure,” Howie nodded. “Florida”

“Southwest, Gulf Coast, eighty degrees in the middle of winter.”

“Marie didn’t go.” Howie thought he needed to remind Jack of that, for some reason.

“Onerous academic workload,” Jack recalled Marie saying. “Anyway, they have this pool cage that overlooks their dock where Nate keeps his boat on a motorized lift. He took me out fishing.”

“Catch anything?”

“That’s not the point Howie. The point is that it’s fucking January and I’m on a boat in the Mangroves, wearing shorts and a T-shirt.”

“Mangroves, huh? You sure know a lot about trees,” Howie said. “I remember we had snow here the week you were gone. I did my driveway and Mrs. Schneider’s.”

“At night the pool light comes on and it reminds you of the Caribbean.”

“You’ve been to the Caribbean?” Howie looked surprised.

“Shit Howie, you know I’ve never been anywhere. Spent my whole life at that shithole factory. Anyway, Nate and I watched football, the Steelers beat the Dolphins on that Sunday afternoon. He’s got a big screen right on the lanai. We sat out there drinking Coronas with limes that he picked right off the tree in the yard. They have avocado trees too. Sheila made Guacamole.”

“Sounds like paradise.”

“I showed Marie a picture of the pool at night and she said it looked “contrived” or “affected” or some damn thing.

Howie gave a chuckle, “I can’t picture Marie in Florida.”

“There’s a Jimmy Buffet cover band that plays happy hour at the Bayside Tiki Hut every Wednesday during season. They’re good too. Close your eyes and you’d swear it was the Coral Reefers. Place gets packed.”

“Didn’t know you were a parrothead, cuz.”

“Nate is flipping houses down there. Buying, fixing, selling. He has a bunch that he rents out in season. He’s been calling me, says he needs someone to help him manage all these properties, work on some of his remodels, maybe get a cut eventually.”

“You should do it cuz.” Howie waited another moment before saying “Jack, you need to do this. It’s a great Plan B.”

“Marie would’ve hated Florida,” Jack said, his voice a little choked.

Howie put a hand on his cousin’s shoulder. “Listen Jack, we’ve all been concerned about you. You haven’t been the same since she passed away. This sounds like it would be a great new beginning for you. “Seize the Day,” as Marie might say.”

“I miss her Howie. I’ll never be the same.”

“No you won’t” said Howie. “But things will get better, just takes time.”

When Howie was gone, Jack went back to the article. Lemons and limes. Rootstock and scions. The bartender came over and picked up the empty Rolling Rock. He gave Jack a raised eyebrow.

“Corona this time,” said Jack. “With a lime.”

Many thanks to Sharron, author of “Leaves” substack, who caught a few “ignorable trifles” in the original version of this story. Fixed it!