Debris by Kevin Hardcastle

off it for a good long time.
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    Summer stretched long that year. Too hot and dry enough to nearly rout bumper crops on farms at town’s edge. Sunbaked soil under row upon row of stunted plant lines between concession roads. There was a fire ban on. Boats had their outboards torn out in shallowed channels around the bay. When fall came at last it stayed but weeks and then cold rain started to fall. Colder and colder and the first snowfall early in October. Snowbanks two feet high aside the town roads while kids trudged brave through the white on Halloween, ghouls and goblins in winter boots. I went to work at the FoodTown still, hammering the heater with my palm when it stalled out. The truck never took more than two turns of the key to fire the engine. When I left in the mornings now, Pa was not in the garage at his cars and he wasn’t in his bed sleeping it off. He was either down the road at Aunt Colette’s and Ronnie’s or he was at the kitchen table in his skivvies, listening to the radio.
    Me and Ronnie were sent to the scrappers, deep in the backcountry. I had to put chains on my truck tires. It took the whole day but we made it back around suppertime with a bed full of parts. At the house the sun set red through gaps in the wood, lit the frozen roadway in weird colours. Thick woodsmoke rose from the chimney cap, hanging like a fog. The garage door was open and Pa sat a deckchair at the head of the drive with a beer in his hand, the shop stereo spitting news and weather. He wore just his boots and coveralls, wool sweater underneath. Watched us come up like we were travelling salesmen.
    â€œHow’d we do?” he said.
    â€œGot everythin’ you told us to.”
    â€œOkay.”
    â€œHe would’ve took a case less for it, but Ronnie piped up.”
    Pa’s bottom lip curled so that his beard covered all of his mouth. He turned to where Ronnie stood in the garage, already at the shop-fridge with his hand on a bottle of beer. Ronnie straightened up and his mouth opened a little.
    â€œGood,” Pa said to Ronnie. “Good for you, son.”
    Ronnie nodded and cracked the beer. He couldn’t help himself from smiling. I just shook my head. Pa turned to me.
    â€œWhy would ya pay a man less than he’s owed if he’s fair to trade with and a friend to fuckin’ boot?”
    â€œI wasn’t tryin’ to stiff the guy. Just tryin’ to get us a better trade.”
    â€œWell, next time just follow Ronnie’s lead and trade what yous are fuckin’ told to trade. Alright?”
    I was about to say something else but it just gave up halfway and came out as a puff of air over my lips. I went to the fridge and got a beer and Ronnie leaned up against the dropcloth of the Mercury. I thought he would catch a slap for that one but Pa barely bristled. I started for the garage stairs to the house and got as far as the first step.
    â€œWe got work to do startin’ early tomorrow,” Pa called to me over his shoulder.
    â€œI’m at the FoodTown in the mornin’.”
    â€œNope. You are retired.”
    â€œI can’t just fuckin’ not show up ever again.”
    He sat up and turned.
    â€œYou go there tomorrow an’ I’ll come in bare-assed and knock the teeth out your manager’s head in front of all your buddies. And your pretty girl.”
    â€œFuck,” I said.
    â€œNow both of you pull up a chair here with the old man. We got plenty to discuss before the mornin’ comes.”
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    We hit the first store toward the end of that month. Three in the morning with a portable halogen lamp shining eerie light from the underside of the trailer. Uncle Doug cut through the wooden baseboards with a jigsaw and pulled the insulation matting clear. Cut through the actual flooring and climbed inside. I went in after. We lowered boxes down through the opening onto long sleighs made from the hood metal of old cars.