Joe Ohio

Stu & Joy

“Oh my stars. Indiana,” she said. “South Bend.”

“Where is it?” Joe asked. “It’s one of those cities you hear about, but you don’t know where it is. I don’t know where anything is in Indiana. I should, I know, it’s right next door.”

“You really ought to travel more,” his mother said. She sipped her coffee. “It broadens the mind.”

“I was in Maustown last week.”

“South Bend. She sighed. “Stuart. Your uncle had a bowling alley there, which I think he bought so he could work somewhere that drowned out his . . . noises. The man had gas.”

“I remember Uncle Stu! He came here for Christmas once. We called him Farty Stu. We used to play games where one of us was Farty Stu, and the other guy would fall down and choke. Unless you were Captain Anti-Fart, but you had to call that first.” Joe grinned. “I can’t believe I remember that. It must have been ‘43 or ‘44. When did you go see him?”

“I don’t recall. Good Lord. This was in your father’s jacket?”

Joe nodded. It wasn’t the only matchbook in the pocket, but he’d keep that to himself for now.

“Stu took us out for dinner. I remember this. We met at his bowling alley. He wanted us to meet him there. He played the big shot, ordering the help around, saying hiya jack to all the regulars. He opened up the register and took out some money, trying to impress your father by showing he could just open up the drawer and take what he liked. Of course your father knew he was in debt up to here. But Stu was always like that. You couldn’t hate him, but you had a hard time liking him, so you just settled on waiting him out.”