Page 3 of King of the Crease

“Just like new, huh?” I joke.

I’ve been a plumber since I graduated high school. I had no idea what to do with my life; all I knew was that college was not for me. I’d sorta checked out of school in eighth grade. Once you learn algebra, do you really need the rest of it?

My mom and dad, rest in peace, suggested I learn a trade. Dad’s friend was a plumber who drove a BMW convertible and smoked cigars; that was all the motivation my eighteen-year-old self needed to be his apprentice and learn the plumbing trade. (Did I mention it was a red BMV convertible?)

Some people have lofty career ambitions, but I’m grateful to do a job that I never have to take home with me. Unless my own pipes burst, which thankfully hasn’t happened. I like helping people. I like knowing that no matter how much our world changes, I’ll always have customers because people will never stop using the toilet, shower, or sink. I like that I never have to join a Zoom conference call. Those sound terrible.

I wipe away the remaining grime to reveal a beautiful silver wedding band. Gratitude lights up their faces.

“Does this ring moonlight as a taser? Because it’s stunning!”

“Hank, you’re a lifesaver!” Elsie squeals. For a moment, it looks like she’s about to hug me before realizing what’s all over my shirt and hands.

“My pleasure.” I stand up and wipe my hands on a rag. I place the ring on a paper towel on the counter. “I know people have fancy ring cleaners, but all you need is some warm water and some dish soap. Really. A few drops of Dawn, scrub with an old toothbrush, and it’ll be good as new.”

I scooch back under the sink and reassemble the pipe, then put all their cleaning products back in an organized fashion. I run the water to ensure no leaks. As usual, my work is immaculate.

“All right,” I say. “That about does it.”

“Thank you so much, as always,” Karl says.

“Anytime,” I tell them. “You know where to find me.”

Elsie shuffles over to her desk and pulls out a checkbook. “How much do we owe you?”

I wave it off. “This one’s on the house.”

“Are you serious?” She plants a hand on her hip, scolding me the way I’m sure she once did to her classroom of second graders.

Karl crinkles his brow, his crow’s feet getting extra deep. “Hank…”

“It was a ten-minute job. I was on my way home. You called, I came. Easy breezy.”

They exchange a look, unsure what to say. I’ve done lots of jobs for them over the years. If my business had punch cards, they would’ve been eligible for a free job a while ago.

“Use that money and buy your grandkids an extra present for Christmas.”

Elsie hugs me and kisses my cheek. “You’re a good one, Hank. A real good egg. To think how Cathy treated you…” Her sweet grandmotherly features turn hard.

I shrug, not wanting to get into the muck and grime of my personal life. “It’s in the past.”

“Maybe this Christmas, you’ll find a sweet girl, one who actually appreciates you,” Karl says with conviction.

“Tis the season for miracles.” I pack up my gear and haul to the front door. “Happy Holidays!”

“Wait!” Elsie exclaims. “We have tons of leftovers. Take some.”

“Oh, I couldn’t⁠—”

“I insist!” She shuffles to the fridge.

Karl puts a hand on my shoulder. “Resistance is futile, Hank. Take the Tupperware.”

A little while later, I return home with two containers full of Thanksgiving leftovers under my arm. Multiple microscopes and rows of petri dishes filled with water cover the surface of my dining table.

A large three-paneled poster sits on the table, with images of the Hudson River and MICROPLASTICS written at the top. Brody is sitting at the far corner of the table hunched over his laptop.

“Should I be wearing a hazmat suit?” I ask my teenage son.