travel under the radar.
The Azuma had virtually no internet presence - a few news items about the collection.
Beadles flipped through the TV channels. Even here in East Bumfuck there were three dozen channels. He'd fallen out of the news. He watched Judge Judy . Why were so many of the guests morbidly obese?
Beadles walked across the swooshing highway to a Cracker Barrel and had dinner. It was a relief to be out of academia, among normal people who worried about the rent and what was on TV that night. His meatloaf and mashed potatoes were delivered by a fresh-faced girl with a smile and a Midwestern twang. Sated, he darted back across the highway and collapsed in his room, lulled by the sound of passing traffic.
He dreamed of the desert.
***
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
"Hava"
Summer drove straight through to Hava, stopping only for potty breaks and to renew her supply of Monster energy drinks, Weasel Peters, Cheetos and bananas. She pulled into the barren lot in front of the doublewide Holmes Elegance house trailer in which she'd grown up with four siblings. The stoop was made of cinderblocks covered with plywood. An old propane tank peeked from one end. Six other trailers clustered around the sand common which held a half dozen discarded tires and a rusting jungle gym. The ground was hard-packed earth. There were no signs warning parents that the jungle gym was potentially hazardous and they were not responsible for injuries.
Rusting pick-ups sat in front of some of the trailers. A dun-colored '68 Camaro with the side windows smashed out rested on cinderblocks in front of her own ancestral home. It had been her father's pride and joy. Summer had given no warning because the trailer had no phone.
It was seven-thirty and still light as she got out in the baking heat, lugged her overnighter up the creaking stoop and tried the door. Locked. She knocked on the thin aluminum door. Footsteps caused the old trailer to list and squeal. The door opened revealing the blotto face of her younger brother Ethan, who'd been in jail the last time she checked for stealing copper wire. He was tall and skinny with a Beatle mop and a furze of black hairs clinging to his upper lip.
"Look what the cat dragged in," he said returning to the sprung sofa in front of the flat screen TV. He plopped down and picked up his gaming yoke. A half empty bottle of malt liquor sat on the thrift store coffee table next to a bong. The TV emitted muted gunfire, roars and screams. The room smelled of beer and reefer. It was cooler inside the trailer, filled with the whine of a window-mounted AC.
Ethan's thumbs worked the yoke. Onscreen, a First Person Shooter mowed down Al Qaeda types with a machine gun. Ethan reached for the bong, lit it with a Bic and inhaled, exhaling a plume of gray smoke.
"Want a hit?" he said without taking his eyes off the screen.
"No thanks. Where's Ma and Pa?"
"Ma's in the bedroom. She ain't been feeling right. Pa's dead. Didn't you hear? Drifted across the centerline last week and hit a semi head-on. Didn't anyone tell you? I thought Mary was gonna phone."
Mild shock, relief, and a deep burning shame all ignited within Summer's heart. Her father had been an abusive drunk and her mother never said boo about it. You were supposed to feel something when your father died but all Summer felt was a faint sense of relief. He was a rotten failure for whom his children never measured up.
"Did they already have the funeral?"
"What funeral? We let the county take him."
"Jesus that's cold," Summer said.
"What the fuck do you care? Mary didn't get hold of you, huh?"
"I change phones a lot."
For the first time since she'd entered the trailer Ethan looked at her. "Jesus, sis! What happened to you? You look like you've been in a fight."
"Vince beat me up. I left him."
"Who's Vince?"
Summer plopped down on the sofa next to her brother. "Some loser I was dating."
'Yeah, well I hope you cut his balls off."
Summer smiled grimly. "Not quite.
The Azuma had virtually no internet presence - a few news items about the collection.
Beadles flipped through the TV channels. Even here in East Bumfuck there were three dozen channels. He'd fallen out of the news. He watched Judge Judy . Why were so many of the guests morbidly obese?
Beadles walked across the swooshing highway to a Cracker Barrel and had dinner. It was a relief to be out of academia, among normal people who worried about the rent and what was on TV that night. His meatloaf and mashed potatoes were delivered by a fresh-faced girl with a smile and a Midwestern twang. Sated, he darted back across the highway and collapsed in his room, lulled by the sound of passing traffic.
He dreamed of the desert.
***
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
"Hava"
Summer drove straight through to Hava, stopping only for potty breaks and to renew her supply of Monster energy drinks, Weasel Peters, Cheetos and bananas. She pulled into the barren lot in front of the doublewide Holmes Elegance house trailer in which she'd grown up with four siblings. The stoop was made of cinderblocks covered with plywood. An old propane tank peeked from one end. Six other trailers clustered around the sand common which held a half dozen discarded tires and a rusting jungle gym. The ground was hard-packed earth. There were no signs warning parents that the jungle gym was potentially hazardous and they were not responsible for injuries.
Rusting pick-ups sat in front of some of the trailers. A dun-colored '68 Camaro with the side windows smashed out rested on cinderblocks in front of her own ancestral home. It had been her father's pride and joy. Summer had given no warning because the trailer had no phone.
It was seven-thirty and still light as she got out in the baking heat, lugged her overnighter up the creaking stoop and tried the door. Locked. She knocked on the thin aluminum door. Footsteps caused the old trailer to list and squeal. The door opened revealing the blotto face of her younger brother Ethan, who'd been in jail the last time she checked for stealing copper wire. He was tall and skinny with a Beatle mop and a furze of black hairs clinging to his upper lip.
"Look what the cat dragged in," he said returning to the sprung sofa in front of the flat screen TV. He plopped down and picked up his gaming yoke. A half empty bottle of malt liquor sat on the thrift store coffee table next to a bong. The TV emitted muted gunfire, roars and screams. The room smelled of beer and reefer. It was cooler inside the trailer, filled with the whine of a window-mounted AC.
Ethan's thumbs worked the yoke. Onscreen, a First Person Shooter mowed down Al Qaeda types with a machine gun. Ethan reached for the bong, lit it with a Bic and inhaled, exhaling a plume of gray smoke.
"Want a hit?" he said without taking his eyes off the screen.
"No thanks. Where's Ma and Pa?"
"Ma's in the bedroom. She ain't been feeling right. Pa's dead. Didn't you hear? Drifted across the centerline last week and hit a semi head-on. Didn't anyone tell you? I thought Mary was gonna phone."
Mild shock, relief, and a deep burning shame all ignited within Summer's heart. Her father had been an abusive drunk and her mother never said boo about it. You were supposed to feel something when your father died but all Summer felt was a faint sense of relief. He was a rotten failure for whom his children never measured up.
"Did they already have the funeral?"
"What funeral? We let the county take him."
"Jesus that's cold," Summer said.
"What the fuck do you care? Mary didn't get hold of you, huh?"
"I change phones a lot."
For the first time since she'd entered the trailer Ethan looked at her. "Jesus, sis! What happened to you? You look like you've been in a fight."
"Vince beat me up. I left him."
"Who's Vince?"
Summer plopped down on the sofa next to her brother. "Some loser I was dating."
'Yeah, well I hope you cut his balls off."
Summer smiled grimly. "Not quite.
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