So Long, Chester Wheeler(45)

I had set up the new phone Ellie sent us so I could see him on the caller ID when he called. You know. Back when I thought he would actually call. When I assumed he’d be willing to use the thing.

“Well, look at that,” I said out loud. “What do you know? Chester figured out how to use the cell phone.”

“Is that hard?” she asked from the direction of the stove.

“Not for you or me.”

I picked up.

“Well, look at you, Chester,” I said in lieu of hello. “Using the cell phone.”

“Come and get me,” he said. “I’m ready.”



When I had managed to get him into the chair and wheel him into the backyard, the glass-topped table was nicely set for three.

In the middle of it sat a serving plate with a stack of six homemade waffles. It was surrounded by syrup, honey, two kinds of jam, and what I took to be a pot of coffee.

I pushed Chester up to the table just as Sue stepped out of the house. She was carrying a bowl of sausage. I couldn’t see inside the bowl, but I could smell it.

“Well, look at you,” she said to Chester. “All cleaned up.”

He only grunted in his throat.

Meanwhile I was mulling over that expression, because it kept coming up. Well, look at that. Look at Chester. Look at you, Chester. Doing things. It felt like we were spending the morning so far telling each other where to look. It also seemed a little like the way one handles a child—suggesting he be proud of himself for something that’s really nothing at all by adult standards.

Meanwhile Sue was dishing up food onto plates.

“I was thinking,” she said. “Maybe we just eat. First, I mean. And then talk after. So nothing spoils breakfast.”

“Oh, so you just assume I’m going to spoil things,” Chester said.

“Chester,” I said in my most authoritative voice. “We’re doing it her way. First of all, it’s her house. And, for myself . . . just the tension of any serious conversation would be enough to spoil my appetite.”

“Sure,” he said, “because you’re a big pansy.”

Then he fell silent again, with a vaguely guilty look on his face. I gathered by looking at him that he might actually have been trying to be civil, and that the strain of trying to do something so unnatural to him had caused chaos.

Sue and I exchanged glances but said nothing.

We settled into our breakfasts.

After a couple of minutes of quiet chewing, I figured a little small talk couldn’t hurt.

I asked Sue, “How long have you lived in this house?”

Chester answered for her.

“Thirty-seven years,” he said, his voice low and gruff. “I know because I bought it. And then she took it away from me, along with my kids and my dog.”

“Chester, I swear,” I began. I was just at the edge of figuratively clobbering him and he clearly knew it. “I’ll put you back in that RV right now. We can just drive home if you can’t bring yourself to behave.”

He fell silent. And, more remarkably, he remained that way.

In fact, we all remained awkwardly silent until every scrap of food had been eaten.



Sue rose and began clearing the table. I instinctively jumped up and helped her, following her into the kitchen with jam jars and syrup bottles.

“Still betting on less disastrous?” she asked over her shoulder.

“It’s not going as well as I’d hoped, no.”

“That’s pretty understated.”

“He crumbles under pressure.”

“Yes he does,” she said.

“I’ll understand if you want to call this off.”

“No, I’ll try it,” she said. “He’s obviously on his last legs, so it’s not like I’ll ever see him again. Let’s go ahead and give him one final chance to vent his spleen.”

We left everything more or less in a heap on the counter and walked back outside to what felt like our own doom. At least, it felt that way to me. I was only guessing about her, but I think it was a pretty safe guess.

We sat down at the table with him, and Sue tore it wide open.

“Okay, Chet. You came all this way to tell me what’s on your mind. Let’s have it.”

Oddly, Chester just stared at his legs for a moment and said nothing.

I thought, Oh, bloody hell, he’s doing it again. He’s back to “I don’t know.”

But then he looked up at her. Opened his mouth. The words that came out sounded surprisingly mousy and small.

“Why did you take my kids away from me when you knew how much I loved them?”

Sue sat back hard in her chair.

“First of all,” she said, “they were our kids. Not yours. And you haven’t seemed to love them very much since. Johnny and Danny say they haven’t seen you in almost twenty years, and as best I can figure you didn’t get back together with Ellie until you got sick.”

A long silence fell. Chester did not fill it.

He did glance over at me with a desperate look in his eyes. I got the sense that he was in over his head and looking for a little assistance.

“With all due respect,” I said in Sue’s general direction, “you did sort of duck the man’s question.”

She turned her full ire onto me. It was considerable, even before she opened her mouth.