Free An Ocean in Iowa by Peter Hedges

better.
    The Judge and Scotty sat alone.
    “There’s a lot of good meat left on these bones.”
    Scotty watched his father pick at the food.
    “A lot of good meat.”
    Scotty had lost his appetite.
    “You do the dishes.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    Punished, good.
    He took hours washing and drying each dish by hand. He put away the silverware and left the dishes on the counter for morning, when someone taller, the Judge most likely, would put them away.
    The girls were asleep by the time Scotty finished, and in the living room, the Judge had nodded off while watching the late news. Scotty turned off the television, woke the Judge, and turned off the lights. He followed his dad up the stairs.
    And as he climbed, Scotty contemplated his lifetime full of mistakes. If only I had done more of this, less of that, he thought.
    And he made a mental list, indelibly scrawling it onto his heart. If only he hadn’t used the kissing machine on her all those times. If only he hadn’t done the seven dance, or licked the mailbox, then maybe she’d have stayed.
    If only I wasn’t such a cheater, he thought as he climbed into bed, the bed that was still hers.
    (2)
    Where was Joan?
    That became a frequent question in the minds of many people. Periodically there would be a sighting—she’d be seen idling in her yellow convertible at a stoplight; Liz Conway saw her getting cigarettes out of a machine at Harold Drake’s gas station. Once she was seen pushing an empty grocery cart down an aisle at the Safeway, laughing, no bra on, her breasts jiggling up and down, her laugh forced and unfortunate.
    Rhonda Fowler called Brenda Burkhett and said, “You’ll never believe who I just saw at Safeway…”
    The Oceans went to church. They were Joan-less. The Judge told the children to say to anyone who asked that their mother wasn’t feeling well. The Judge seemed stiffer, and the girls looked older suddenly, and Scotty didn’t fidget. Hisbehavior seemed impeccable. Someone mentioned that Joan had closed her gallery. Someone else heard she was staying on the other side of town.
    (3)
    After school when she knew the Judge wouldn’t be home, Joan made a secret call to her kids.
    “Let me talk to Scotty. Is Scotty on the phone? Scotty, are you there?”
    “He’s on,” Maggie said.
    “Scotty? Hello, little love.”
    “He’s on. Talk!”
    “Are you sure he’s on?”
    “I hear him breathing.”
    A faint “Hi.”
    “Was that you?”
    A faint “Yes.”
    “Can you talk a little louder? For your mom? How are you?”
    A faint “Good.”
    “You have to speak up. I’m calling from a pay phone. You know how pay phones are.”
    “Scotty, talk to Mom. You’ve been wanting to. He’s always practicing what he wants to tell you. I have to listen to him all the way to school. He talks a mile a minute. And now you call and he says nothing. Come on, Scotty!”
    “Honey, what are you doing?”
    A faint “TV.”
    “What’re you watching?”
    “Nothing.”
    “I miss you so much.” Joan dropped another coin in the phone. “You know that, don’t you? Scotty?”
    “I think he put down the phone, Mom, because I don’t hear him breathing.”
    ***
    Scotty watched as Claire and Maggie, after hanging up the phone, began a frantic search. Claire checked the Judge’s room, opening his sock drawer, his underwear drawer—Maggie checked the living room bookcase and sorted through the stack of papers in the kitchen.
    “What are you doing?” Scotty asked.
    “If you had stayed on the phone,” Claire said, “you’d know exactly what we’re looking for.”
    The more they searched, the angrier they became. So when the Judge entered the house, Claire and Maggie stood waiting, fuming.
    “Where are they?” Claire asked.
    The Judge looked puzzled.
    “Mom said she wrote us letters.”
    “Where are they!” Maggie shouted.
    “Oh,” the Judge said.
    “I can’t believe it!”
    “You keeping them from us, Dad?” Maggie said.
    “I forgot,” the Judge