the engine. “New belt, oil change, sparks. I’ve got my good points.”
“New belt?” Mom walks over to him. “You mean I don’t get to wake the entire neighborhood in the morning starting it up?”
Joseph Alvarez opens his hands and grins. “They’re going to have to get alarm clocks like everybody else. I had to jimmy your lock and hot-wire the engine, Ruthie. Hope you don’t mind.”
Mom swallows big. “It’s that easy to break into my car?”
“Only if you know what you’re doing.”
Mom reaches to shake Joseph Alvarez’s hand and gets a fistful of car grease. He starts laughing and hands her the towel. I’m just smiling away and Mom wipes some grease on my nose.
Joseph Alvarez leans against the car. “I couldn’t help thinking how Charlie and me used to fix those old cars.”
Mom smiles sad. “Sometimes I’d wonder if I was married to a whole man or just those feet of his hanging out from underneath cars.”
“You remember the McCoy brothers?” Joseph asks.
Mom groans.
“You remember how they drove that old ChryslerCharlie got running for them all the way from Detroit to make the funeral?”
Mom nods. “A fifty-seven Imperial. Bright yellow. It broke down going into the cemetery. Johnny McCoy pushed it while his brother steered so they could stay in the funeral procession. He said the only man who could keep it running was Charlie.”
Joseph Alvarez is looking up to the sky. “Johnny was going to leave it there by the grave as a tribute. He said Charlie would have liked it better than flowers.”
“He would have, too,” Mom says.
I’ve never heard that story. I’ve heard about the funeral, though. Poppy said all Dad’s pool player friends brought their sticks to the church and when the casket was carried out, they rapped the handles of their sticks over and over on the floor in the pool player’s applause. It’s the greatest honor a player can get.
Mom gets up, swings her big black purse over her shoulder. Camille calls it the Black Hole. Things go in there and never come out. “Well, guys, I’ve got to go to work.” She motions me to come. “I’ll drive you to school, Mickey.” She stands there a minute, gets her car keys. “Thank you, Joseph.”
“Anytime.”
Mom and I get in the Chevy. Joseph Alvarez bunches up the greasy towel.
Mom concentrates hard on the road and drives off.
“Boy,” I say, “it was really nice of him to do that, huh?”
Mom’s holding the wheel tight. She stops at thered light by Jacoby’s Pest Control. Jacoby’s new sign has a rat on it the size of Arlen.
“Yes it was.” Mom rubs her forehead. “Fixing a car is a nice thing, Mickey, but it doesn’t fix everything.”
CHAPTER
Mom’s hanging on the sidelines watching Joseph Alvarez and me play. I even get her to play a rack of rotation pool with us, which she hasn’t done in forever. Mom can’t bank shots for anything. I beat her bad. She says I’m an awesome player and getting real fine coaching.
“Thank you for what you’re doing,” she says to Joseph Alvarez.
“Thank you for letting me, Ruthie. I could give you a couple of tips on a better way to hold the stick . . . .”
“That’s all right, Joseph . . . .”
“Wouldn’t take much, Ruthie. You’re holding it a little high, which is throwing your aim a bit and—”
“
No thank you
.”
Joseph Alvarez is going to Buffalo tomorrow with a load of motor oil and then halfway across Canada,which he said might take two weeks. This isn’t great news, because, as far as I know, Carter Krantz isn’t going anywhere.
“You just practice with all you’ve got.”
“I will.”
“I got one more thing for you to work on, but you don’t do it at the table. You practice clearing out your mind and focusing. Shut out the world, shut out the noise, shut out all the things in you that say you can’t do it.”
“Blinders,” I say, “like my dad.”
“You’ve got it.” He gives my hand a firm shake.
“New belt?” Mom walks over to him. “You mean I don’t get to wake the entire neighborhood in the morning starting it up?”
Joseph Alvarez opens his hands and grins. “They’re going to have to get alarm clocks like everybody else. I had to jimmy your lock and hot-wire the engine, Ruthie. Hope you don’t mind.”
Mom swallows big. “It’s that easy to break into my car?”
“Only if you know what you’re doing.”
Mom reaches to shake Joseph Alvarez’s hand and gets a fistful of car grease. He starts laughing and hands her the towel. I’m just smiling away and Mom wipes some grease on my nose.
Joseph Alvarez leans against the car. “I couldn’t help thinking how Charlie and me used to fix those old cars.”
Mom smiles sad. “Sometimes I’d wonder if I was married to a whole man or just those feet of his hanging out from underneath cars.”
“You remember the McCoy brothers?” Joseph asks.
Mom groans.
“You remember how they drove that old ChryslerCharlie got running for them all the way from Detroit to make the funeral?”
Mom nods. “A fifty-seven Imperial. Bright yellow. It broke down going into the cemetery. Johnny McCoy pushed it while his brother steered so they could stay in the funeral procession. He said the only man who could keep it running was Charlie.”
Joseph Alvarez is looking up to the sky. “Johnny was going to leave it there by the grave as a tribute. He said Charlie would have liked it better than flowers.”
“He would have, too,” Mom says.
I’ve never heard that story. I’ve heard about the funeral, though. Poppy said all Dad’s pool player friends brought their sticks to the church and when the casket was carried out, they rapped the handles of their sticks over and over on the floor in the pool player’s applause. It’s the greatest honor a player can get.
Mom gets up, swings her big black purse over her shoulder. Camille calls it the Black Hole. Things go in there and never come out. “Well, guys, I’ve got to go to work.” She motions me to come. “I’ll drive you to school, Mickey.” She stands there a minute, gets her car keys. “Thank you, Joseph.”
“Anytime.”
Mom and I get in the Chevy. Joseph Alvarez bunches up the greasy towel.
Mom concentrates hard on the road and drives off.
“Boy,” I say, “it was really nice of him to do that, huh?”
Mom’s holding the wheel tight. She stops at thered light by Jacoby’s Pest Control. Jacoby’s new sign has a rat on it the size of Arlen.
“Yes it was.” Mom rubs her forehead. “Fixing a car is a nice thing, Mickey, but it doesn’t fix everything.”
CHAPTER
Mom’s hanging on the sidelines watching Joseph Alvarez and me play. I even get her to play a rack of rotation pool with us, which she hasn’t done in forever. Mom can’t bank shots for anything. I beat her bad. She says I’m an awesome player and getting real fine coaching.
“Thank you for what you’re doing,” she says to Joseph Alvarez.
“Thank you for letting me, Ruthie. I could give you a couple of tips on a better way to hold the stick . . . .”
“That’s all right, Joseph . . . .”
“Wouldn’t take much, Ruthie. You’re holding it a little high, which is throwing your aim a bit and—”
“
No thank you
.”
Joseph Alvarez is going to Buffalo tomorrow with a load of motor oil and then halfway across Canada,which he said might take two weeks. This isn’t great news, because, as far as I know, Carter Krantz isn’t going anywhere.
“You just practice with all you’ve got.”
“I will.”
“I got one more thing for you to work on, but you don’t do it at the table. You practice clearing out your mind and focusing. Shut out the world, shut out the noise, shut out all the things in you that say you can’t do it.”
“Blinders,” I say, “like my dad.”
“You’ve got it.” He gives my hand a firm shake.
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