Reay Jespersen

“You finished your homework?”
“Yes, sir.”
Wilfred glanced at Agatha, who nodded her confirmation. She touched her napkin to the side of her mouth. “He finished it after dishes and before listening to the radio last night.”
Taking a sip of coffee, Wilfred looked with a slight smile at his son, who sat in his pajamas and scooped the last bit of oatmeal into his mouth. “Well, perhaps the son I had last year, who was so willing to let his work and grades slide, is starting to become a young man I can finally be proud of.”
“I want to do well,” Edwin said earnestly as he concentrated on scraping the bowl clean. He looked up. “To make you proud of me, yes, but also because we were told that only the students with the highest grades will be chosen for the clubs.”
“And those who show particular enthusiasm and ability will no doubt be selected as the leaders,” Wilfred confirmed. The boy’s eyes lit up with aspiration.
The family returned to its breakfast routine. The clinking of cutlery on plates was all that broke the silence for long moments.
“Have you heard any more about the transfer?” Agatha asked.
Wilfred shook his head as he took the last bite of egg and toast. “Nothing yet,” he finally said. “It would probably still be out east, if anywhere.”
“I hope so,” Agatha said. “That’s where the Beckers moved, you remember?”
“I remember.”
“It would be wonderful to see them again. Mindy and I could restart our Bridge club. Maybe with new members from the neighbourhood. I’m sure there must be Bridge players out that way.”
Wilfred nodded automatically. “I’m sure of it.”
She took a small bite of her eggs, pensive. “So they said by the end of the week?”
Wilfred sighed, sagging slightly in his pajamas, tired of days of the discussion. “Yes. They said they would know for sure whether or not I’m getting transferred by the thirteenth, the end of this week, and would let me know either way by shift’s end Friday.”
He remembered something and checked his watch. “Blast, I’m late.” He stood up and hurried to his room.
“Late? For what?” Agatha asked. She got up and followed him, nervous. Edwin leaned slightly in his chair to be able to look down the hallway of their small house and see his mother standing at the doorway to his parents’ bedroom.
“The meeting,” Wilfred said from within. “I told you about it last week, remember? The managers wanted to meet with lead supervisors to go over the lagging turnaround time we’ve been having the last few months. Our numbers are way down, and they’re none too happy about it.”
Edwin slid from his chair and made his way down the hall.
“But the meeting is now? This morning? So it won’t keep you tonight?” Agatha asked.
“Yes,” Wilfred said, forcing patience. “That’s why I’m late now.”
“Well alright,” she said, still anxious. “But call me if you’re going to be late for dinner.”
He sighed. “Of course.”
She smiled and smoothed the front of her dress, turning and walking back up the hallway, stroking Edwin’s crew cut hair as she passed by him. He got to the door of the bedroom and looked in, having always enjoyed watching his father get ready for work.
Already in his pants and starched shirt, Wilfred threw his jacket onto his arms and leaned down to pull his boots on, polished to a shine visible even in the early morning light.
Looking at himself in the full-length mirror, he stood up straight and did up the buttons down the front of his jacket before he saw the reflection of the boy in the doorway. Wilfred smiled and turned to him, flawlessly official, even the leather of his snapped holster buffed to perfection.
Knowing what his father was expecting, Edwin stood at emphasized attention and clicked his slippered heels together, saluting his right hand at arm’s length upward in front of him.
Wilfred’s expression became serious and he clicked his boot heels together and saluted back the same way, holding the pose for a moment before smiling and breaking form. “Go on and get changed and get your books, or you’ll be late, too,” he said with a gesture of his head. “And keep up the good work at school.”
A wide smile on his face, Edwin nodded once and ran into his room to gather his books, wanting to do well. Wanting, as every boy does, to make his father proud.