Heat Wave: Grosse Ile

Chapter 2: Like a Hoover

Chapter 2: Like a Hoover

It was after midnight when Peter finally found his way into his own, dear old childhood bedroom and was able to strip off the clothes he’d been wearing for thirty-three hours, give or take. He needed a shower but was just too tired to bother. He was trying to find pajamas in his suitcase, standing there naked, when there was a tap on his door, and his brother came in.

Without preamble, d**k announced, “I know my girl is kinda wacko, but she sucks like a Hoover.” He fairly glowed with contentment, which Peter imagined would depart abruptly the next morning when his father found out who had vomited in the pool. d**k himself would probably depart immediately after that, but for tonight, it had been decided he was too drunk to drive home. He lived in an apartment in Ann Arbor, thirty miles away on the other side of the airport. He’d gone to the University of Michigan also, following Peter, and had never left. He was sort of working on a Master’s Degree in something or other, as well as working for the county health department. Koko, whose real name was Monica, ran a beauty salon in Inkster. Peter had no idea how they could have met and wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

When his dad came up to say goodnight, d**k left abruptly. Peter had put his pajama bottoms on, having found them wadded up inside a shoe. The top was nowhere to be found so he was rummaging in the closet, knocking things down as he pulled one of his old tee-shirts off a hanger. “Did you enjoy the party?” his father asked.

“Yes,” answered Peter simply. “That was very nice of you and Mom.” Oh the formality, thank God the polite response came back to him. In Hawaii he not only wouldn’t have been asked, but would have just given the host a shake and a “cool, bro.” Waldo the cat strolled in the door as his father waved good night and shut the door behind him. Peter fell into bed, and was immediately out like a light, which he had left on.

* * * *

His mother turned it off a few minutes later, when she checked on him. She smiled, noticing that Peter still slept the same way he had as a child, sprawled out in all directions, with one foot hanging off the side of the bed. I love my boy, she thought, and he’ll always be my baby to me.

The cat was nowhere to be seen, having entered the closet and made herself a timely nest in the clothes that Peter had knocked to the floor. As the household slept, Waldo produced five tiny kittens. The shirts she had them on would never be worn again. But then, who cared, because—babies!