said, “but I'll pass.”
Manuel was disappointed. “She can be quite charming when she chooses. She is not so ... hard . . . always.”
“I've got things to do at home. Thank you for the invitation, and good luck with your fishing.”
Manuel stepped away from the truck, and Eris drove on before he could say anything further to persuade him. He liked the idea of sitting down and eating a good steak with nice people, but none of them really knew each other, and Eris felt awkward and ill at ease in such situations. There were always those preliminary questions, covering everything everybody did, and where everybody went to school, and if they knew anyone in common. He wasn't any good at just sitting and chatting with people. Maybe if he drank more he would be better at it, but he didn't enjoy drinking and didn't trust himself when he did drink. It surprised him that anyone did. He was still paying for the desperation of the previous night.
As he drove on he thought about the Lyman’s and wondered how they were holding up. He felt suddenly bad for thinking ill of them and their grandstanding on television. They couldn't help what they were anymore than he could help what he was. It was just the way things turned out.
Ronnie's wife was sick. She had been sick ever since Ronnie called her yesterday and told her that her baby was dead. She couldn't eat anything, and even when she drank something she threw it right up. The people at the Trinity Shelter in Augusta were worried about her, and they couldn't understand why she was so angry at her husband, whose poor head was shaved half bald where it had been stitched, and who looked as if someone had gut-kicked him and left him fighting for air.
The reason for Sheila's anger was clear to Ronnie. She thought he had done it. She thought he had killed their baby girl to get more money coming in. Not enough money was coming in, so she thought he had killed Kayla to get more sympathy and more begging time on TV.
He had called his mom and told her to bring Kayla to the Haven a day or two early. He had to, because they were kicked out of the park, and he was going for really high drama by having his little girl show up looking for them just one day after they had been kicked out.
But someone else had snatched her from in front of the Haven after his mother drove away. Someone bad had taken her and done dirty things to her before killing her, and it was killing Ronnie because he couldn't get his wife to believe that it wasn't him who had done it.
What kind of wife would believe something like that about her own husband? Ronnie asked himself as he received yet another evil glare from the pasty-faced Sheila. She was sick, all right. She was sick in the head, thinking such things about him. She was making everyone in the shelter stare at him and whisper. Last night he had wanted to hit her so bad he nearly bit his lower lip in two trying to prevent it. If word got out that Ronnie Lyman slugged his wife, then those little five and ten dollar checks that were dribbling in out of sympathy for them would stop quicker than a mouse pissing.
They might, anyway, if he couldn't get her to be nice to him again. Goddammit, they were going to bury their little girl tomorrow and she shouldn't be treating him as if she hated him. She even had Kelsey and Kendra looking at him like he was some bad old half-bald bogeyman.
He threw himself onto his bunk and closed his eyes, tired of it.
Sheila watched him, hating every freckle, every little hair in his eyebrows. The lazy, greedy, worthless bastard. She knew she should have left him the first time he hit her. She knew it. But by then she already had Kelsey, and no way to get a job without a high-school diploma. Her mom couldn't keep Kelsey because she worked, and there was no way Sheila could go back to high school with a baby. It was stupid to go on and have another baby, and even more stupid to have a third one. But Sheila loved her babies so much.
Manuel was disappointed. “She can be quite charming when she chooses. She is not so ... hard . . . always.”
“I've got things to do at home. Thank you for the invitation, and good luck with your fishing.”
Manuel stepped away from the truck, and Eris drove on before he could say anything further to persuade him. He liked the idea of sitting down and eating a good steak with nice people, but none of them really knew each other, and Eris felt awkward and ill at ease in such situations. There were always those preliminary questions, covering everything everybody did, and where everybody went to school, and if they knew anyone in common. He wasn't any good at just sitting and chatting with people. Maybe if he drank more he would be better at it, but he didn't enjoy drinking and didn't trust himself when he did drink. It surprised him that anyone did. He was still paying for the desperation of the previous night.
As he drove on he thought about the Lyman’s and wondered how they were holding up. He felt suddenly bad for thinking ill of them and their grandstanding on television. They couldn't help what they were anymore than he could help what he was. It was just the way things turned out.
Ronnie's wife was sick. She had been sick ever since Ronnie called her yesterday and told her that her baby was dead. She couldn't eat anything, and even when she drank something she threw it right up. The people at the Trinity Shelter in Augusta were worried about her, and they couldn't understand why she was so angry at her husband, whose poor head was shaved half bald where it had been stitched, and who looked as if someone had gut-kicked him and left him fighting for air.
The reason for Sheila's anger was clear to Ronnie. She thought he had done it. She thought he had killed their baby girl to get more money coming in. Not enough money was coming in, so she thought he had killed Kayla to get more sympathy and more begging time on TV.
He had called his mom and told her to bring Kayla to the Haven a day or two early. He had to, because they were kicked out of the park, and he was going for really high drama by having his little girl show up looking for them just one day after they had been kicked out.
But someone else had snatched her from in front of the Haven after his mother drove away. Someone bad had taken her and done dirty things to her before killing her, and it was killing Ronnie because he couldn't get his wife to believe that it wasn't him who had done it.
What kind of wife would believe something like that about her own husband? Ronnie asked himself as he received yet another evil glare from the pasty-faced Sheila. She was sick, all right. She was sick in the head, thinking such things about him. She was making everyone in the shelter stare at him and whisper. Last night he had wanted to hit her so bad he nearly bit his lower lip in two trying to prevent it. If word got out that Ronnie Lyman slugged his wife, then those little five and ten dollar checks that were dribbling in out of sympathy for them would stop quicker than a mouse pissing.
They might, anyway, if he couldn't get her to be nice to him again. Goddammit, they were going to bury their little girl tomorrow and she shouldn't be treating him as if she hated him. She even had Kelsey and Kendra looking at him like he was some bad old half-bald bogeyman.
He threw himself onto his bunk and closed his eyes, tired of it.
Sheila watched him, hating every freckle, every little hair in his eyebrows. The lazy, greedy, worthless bastard. She knew she should have left him the first time he hit her. She knew it. But by then she already had Kelsey, and no way to get a job without a high-school diploma. Her mom couldn't keep Kelsey because she worked, and there was no way Sheila could go back to high school with a baby. It was stupid to go on and have another baby, and even more stupid to have a third one. But Sheila loved her babies so much.
Similar Books
