An Ocean in Iowa by Peter Hedges

students she was proud of each and every one of them. It was good for everyone to feel satisfied on a Friday.
    Scotty stayed practicing the telling of time after the bellrang. The other kids put their chairs upside down on their desks and left the classroom. Scotty didn’t see Carole Staley come up behind him. She placed her wet lips quickly on his right elbow, pulling away fast, leaving a ring of spit.
    “Aagh,” went Scotty as he rubbed his elbow. “Aagh!”
    Carole disappeared between two friends, and soon there was only Mrs. Boyden and Scotty left in the classroom.
    Scotty ignored the giggles coming from the hallway. Mrs. Boyden looked up from her gray metal desk. Still holding his elbow, Scotty said, “three-oh-one.”
    “Very good,” Mrs. Boyden said.
    ***
    That weekend, Scotty repeatedly grabbed the Judge’s wrist with both hands. He studied the Judge’s watch. Scotty’s face contorted as he did his figuring.
    “Seven… twenty,” Scotty said.
    “Correct.”
    Scotty smiled.
    Two minutes later he grabbed the Judge’s wrist again.
    “Seven… twenty.”
    “Close enough,” the Judge said.
    “Seven-twenty-two to be exact,” Maggie said, looking at her Minnie Mouse watch.
    “Close enough,” Scotty shouted back.
    Throughout that evening and for the next several days, Scotty barked out times.
    “Evidence,” the Judge liked to say, “that you’re learning things, Scotty.”
    “Yeah,” Scotty would say. “Evidence.”
    “And why do we gather evidence?”
    “To make our case.”
    “Yes. And why do we want to make a case?”
    “To prove we’re right.”
    “Correct, Scotty.” The Judge extended his stocking feet. “Will you rub them?”
    Scotty pulled off the socks. The Judge’s feet were dry with white, flaky patches—a remnant from his World War II tour of duty.
    “It’s nice of you to do this for your old man.”
    Did Scotty have a choice?
    “Ugly feet, aren’t they?” the Judge liked to brag. “Do you know why they’re ugly?”
    Scotty shook his head, even though he knew why. Scotty began to massage the Judge’s feet. Then the Judge leaned back and closed his eyes.
    “It’s a reminder—evidence—that I served my country. Some people lost arms and legs; sometimes they even gave their lives. I was lucky. To go to war and only have to give up my handsome feet.”
    “Your feet sure are ugly,” Scotty said, stopping the massage. He shook out his hands.
    “You’re not stopping, are you?”
    “I’m tired.”
    “More.” The Judge wiggled his toes.
    “But…”
    “More.”
    And Scotty continued to rub.
    “Good boy.”
    Yes.
    And then, as the family watched
My Three Sons
, the phone rang. Scotty leapt to his feet and scrambled down the hallway. He stood on one of the kitchen chairs to answer the phone.
    “Ocean residence, Scotty spea—”
    A similar high-pitched voice interrupted. “Hey!” the excited, out-of-breath voice exclaimed. “It’s my dad!”
    Scotty recognized Tom Conway’s voice.
    “He’s coming home.”
    (7)
    The morning of Sergeant Conway’s return, the Judge sent Scotty out to retrieve the newspaper.
    Outside, Scotty saw a figure moving in the Conways’ front yard. He stood watching until the Judge impatiently swung open the screen door and said, “Scotty.” But Scotty pointed down the street to Mrs. Conway, who wandered about their front yard in her white nightgown. The Judge pulled on his slacks and walked with Scotty down the street. The streetlights were still on and the sun would be rising soon. They moved close enough to see that Liz Conway was emptying jars full of change into her front yard, spreading the coins the way a farmer would feed pigs.
    The Judge whispered to Scotty, “Now why do you think she’d do that?”
    Scotty shrugged.
    Liz Conway saw the Ocean men standing across the street. “I’ve been saving since he left,” she said. “Saving these last two years.”
    The Judge had always thought of Liz Conway as a simple-minded wife