bell. But then at my age everything seems slightly familiar and at the same time unfamiliar.”
I looked back at the book of photos, closed it up, looked up to say something but didn’t. Leonard looked at me. I looked at him. I placed the book on the couch beside me.
I drank the orange pop. I was hot, and it was good. Leonard swigged his. We wouldn’t want to walk out and leave the bottles full—didn’t want her to think we didn’t appreciate it, the old witch. The clock on the wall beat out the minutes. We got up to leave and went out quietly, because she had gone to sleep in her chair.
13
D o you think while she was asleep we should have just gone on and smothered her and set her house on fire?” Leonard said.
“You are not a nice man, Leonard.”
“How about I steal the jockey while she’s sleeping?”
“It would look very nice in your new apartment,” I said.
“Better at the dump.”
I drove Leonard to our house so he could get his car. He surprised me by just going home. I guess that business with John had worn him down a bit. Not to mention the unpleasant old lady. He said he was going to see if he could stand to watch Road House again, as that usually cheered him up.
Of course he could. It was his favorite movie. I think he had a crush on Patrick Swayze.
I drove to the office. The lady who owned the bicycle shop was outside working on a bicycle chain. She had on those great blue-jean shorts, bless her little heart. Her legs were long and brown, and her hair was long and blond. I studied her as I walked to the stairway. She gave me a smile. It was one of those that said, “You’re such a nice old guy.”
It was chilly inside. Brett liked to keep it almost as cold as the office at the car lot. First few days she had it turned down to save money, but East Texas summer heat can make you less thrifty. Sometimes someone from up north will come down to East Texas and say, “It’s so hot, but living here all your life, I guess you get used to it.”
No. You don’t. You live in an air-conditioned house, dart from it to an air-conditioned car, then drive to an air-conditioned place. You spend time outside only when necessary. Some summers it’s so hot dog crap fries on the ground. I used to work a lot of field work, but not anymore, and I hope never again. It was hard to believe that I had grown up with only a window fan.
Brett was at the desk chair, and Buffy was on the couch. Buffy raised her head to make sure I wasn’t that other guy, the asshole who had kicked her.
Brett said, “Hey, we got a couple other jobs. Seem easy to me. Checking on a few things people want to hire us to do they could do themselves but are too lazy to do.”
“That’s good. I guess.”
“Honey, it’s good. We can always use the money.”
“Sure. I was just thinking this current job might be a bit more demanding than expected.”
“You thought it would be easy?”
“I thought the old lady would want to give up when we didn’t find her granddaughter right away. I don’t think so now.”
“You talk to Cason?”
“I did. We’re set.”
“And your talk with Lilly Buckner—I bet that was a soul-enriching experience.”
“Not exactly,” I said. “But I like her. I can’t help myself. I like her because she’s got spirit and spunk and hasn’t lived a life she feels a need to apologize for. I think she lived a tough life and was tough enough to live it and not care what anyone thought about it. Besides, she drinks orange soda. I like orange soda.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Me, either. I forgot. I had one today at her house.”
“How did she and Leonard do together?”
“Like mother and son.”
“That’s a lie.”
“Yes, it is.”
I opened the refrigerator, took out a bottled water. We emptied a bottle, we filled it up in the sink, and cooled it in the fridge. It was the cool we liked. The water is the same, far as I’m concerned. Water that comes bottled—hell, fish shit in it.
I looked back at the book of photos, closed it up, looked up to say something but didn’t. Leonard looked at me. I looked at him. I placed the book on the couch beside me.
I drank the orange pop. I was hot, and it was good. Leonard swigged his. We wouldn’t want to walk out and leave the bottles full—didn’t want her to think we didn’t appreciate it, the old witch. The clock on the wall beat out the minutes. We got up to leave and went out quietly, because she had gone to sleep in her chair.
13
D o you think while she was asleep we should have just gone on and smothered her and set her house on fire?” Leonard said.
“You are not a nice man, Leonard.”
“How about I steal the jockey while she’s sleeping?”
“It would look very nice in your new apartment,” I said.
“Better at the dump.”
I drove Leonard to our house so he could get his car. He surprised me by just going home. I guess that business with John had worn him down a bit. Not to mention the unpleasant old lady. He said he was going to see if he could stand to watch Road House again, as that usually cheered him up.
Of course he could. It was his favorite movie. I think he had a crush on Patrick Swayze.
I drove to the office. The lady who owned the bicycle shop was outside working on a bicycle chain. She had on those great blue-jean shorts, bless her little heart. Her legs were long and brown, and her hair was long and blond. I studied her as I walked to the stairway. She gave me a smile. It was one of those that said, “You’re such a nice old guy.”
It was chilly inside. Brett liked to keep it almost as cold as the office at the car lot. First few days she had it turned down to save money, but East Texas summer heat can make you less thrifty. Sometimes someone from up north will come down to East Texas and say, “It’s so hot, but living here all your life, I guess you get used to it.”
No. You don’t. You live in an air-conditioned house, dart from it to an air-conditioned car, then drive to an air-conditioned place. You spend time outside only when necessary. Some summers it’s so hot dog crap fries on the ground. I used to work a lot of field work, but not anymore, and I hope never again. It was hard to believe that I had grown up with only a window fan.
Brett was at the desk chair, and Buffy was on the couch. Buffy raised her head to make sure I wasn’t that other guy, the asshole who had kicked her.
Brett said, “Hey, we got a couple other jobs. Seem easy to me. Checking on a few things people want to hire us to do they could do themselves but are too lazy to do.”
“That’s good. I guess.”
“Honey, it’s good. We can always use the money.”
“Sure. I was just thinking this current job might be a bit more demanding than expected.”
“You thought it would be easy?”
“I thought the old lady would want to give up when we didn’t find her granddaughter right away. I don’t think so now.”
“You talk to Cason?”
“I did. We’re set.”
“And your talk with Lilly Buckner—I bet that was a soul-enriching experience.”
“Not exactly,” I said. “But I like her. I can’t help myself. I like her because she’s got spirit and spunk and hasn’t lived a life she feels a need to apologize for. I think she lived a tough life and was tough enough to live it and not care what anyone thought about it. Besides, she drinks orange soda. I like orange soda.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Me, either. I forgot. I had one today at her house.”
“How did she and Leonard do together?”
“Like mother and son.”
“That’s a lie.”
“Yes, it is.”
I opened the refrigerator, took out a bottled water. We emptied a bottle, we filled it up in the sink, and cooled it in the fridge. It was the cool we liked. The water is the same, far as I’m concerned. Water that comes bottled—hell, fish shit in it.
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