that. Anyway, she has no time for me. That’s natural.”
“She likes you.”
“Oh yes, very mildly. I’m not a good mother, Grey. I’m not a companion to your father, either. You know that too. Though I try, with my limited abilities. I was pretty once,” she repeated sadly. “Once I could’ve had anyone. You want to know something ridiculous? I thought since at least one beautiful girl had loved your father, well–that he would look after me.”
Grey did not say that marital happiness was as foreign to their house in the time of his mother as it was now, more so; so foreign that neither he nor Irene knew what gestures it made, only that it was absent.
He wished he had remembered Irene tonight. He wondered what she was doing. Probably mopping out the kitchen of the restaurant, tired by now with the work and with trying to understand Minh Quy’s broken English.
All at once Angela became embarrassed by what she had said. They fell into a long unbroken silence. Grey looked out the window and lapsed into a desultory gaze over the outskirts of town. The grass and sorghum, the iron pylons …
“I can take you home if you like.”
“What time do you finish here?”
“Not till twelve, but I can shut the place up and drive you.”
“No. Thanks. I’ll walk.”
“It won’t take two minutes to close up.”
“Could you?”
On the drive he thought about going to get Irene, but guessed she was asleep at Amy’s.
WHEN GREY RETURNED, the service station was enveloped by silence. The clock lost its power to describe time, and the shapeless hours of time out of time were coming. Those hours came falling in the dark outside to isolate the roadhouse from the world of sleeping men and women awaiting tomorrow.
He sat on a step of concrete at the back of the service station and looked up at the Milky Way. Sirius burned brightly in the northeast. He could not name the other stars without Irene. There was no point watching the road. Nobody else was stopping. He lay against the wall beside the back door to observe the vigilance that at this hour became absurd. There was no one coming and no one to watch him waiting for no one to come and so no reason to stay.
He did not know he had fallen asleep when her voice perforated his dreams.
“You forgot me.”
“I’m sorry. You should have asked Minh to take you home.”
He rubbed his eyes and looked inside at the clock. The restaurant would have closed long ago. He knew now she had gone to Amy’s house and stayed up with her in order to make him worry. And he had fallen asleep.
“Let’s go. I can get up early and come back. I wonder should I leave the truck here, in case old Bizzell comes by in the morning. I can get Ook to drop me back.”
“Leave it here. I feel like walking.”
So he left the floodlight on and left his truck parked out front as it should be and they walked home in the dark.
IRENE TIED HER hair and walked barefoot on the asphalt. She carried the new shoes Grey had bought her that had given her blisters. He took a squashed packet of cigarettes from his jeans and lit one. No cars passed them. At the bottom of Solitary Hill they looked up and saw the giant white drive-in screen. Then came the plain and glistening crops. Then they were home.
ANGELA WAS DRUNK and asleep and their father was at the railway. Grey and Irene lounged in the living room in a breeze that ebbed and flowed through the house. The walk home had more excited them than made them sleepy. It was half-past two. Irene lit a kerosene lamp. The house had electric light–and
electricity when Grey or Angela remembered to pay the bill–but the girl had grown up with firelight.
He knew he should send her to bed as tomorrow was another school day. But they talked of their mother. As always he was disappointed at how little he remembered. He wanted to tell his sister stories from his own experience, but most of what he had, that formed any kind of narrative, were
“She likes you.”
“Oh yes, very mildly. I’m not a good mother, Grey. I’m not a companion to your father, either. You know that too. Though I try, with my limited abilities. I was pretty once,” she repeated sadly. “Once I could’ve had anyone. You want to know something ridiculous? I thought since at least one beautiful girl had loved your father, well–that he would look after me.”
Grey did not say that marital happiness was as foreign to their house in the time of his mother as it was now, more so; so foreign that neither he nor Irene knew what gestures it made, only that it was absent.
He wished he had remembered Irene tonight. He wondered what she was doing. Probably mopping out the kitchen of the restaurant, tired by now with the work and with trying to understand Minh Quy’s broken English.
All at once Angela became embarrassed by what she had said. They fell into a long unbroken silence. Grey looked out the window and lapsed into a desultory gaze over the outskirts of town. The grass and sorghum, the iron pylons …
“I can take you home if you like.”
“What time do you finish here?”
“Not till twelve, but I can shut the place up and drive you.”
“No. Thanks. I’ll walk.”
“It won’t take two minutes to close up.”
“Could you?”
On the drive he thought about going to get Irene, but guessed she was asleep at Amy’s.
WHEN GREY RETURNED, the service station was enveloped by silence. The clock lost its power to describe time, and the shapeless hours of time out of time were coming. Those hours came falling in the dark outside to isolate the roadhouse from the world of sleeping men and women awaiting tomorrow.
He sat on a step of concrete at the back of the service station and looked up at the Milky Way. Sirius burned brightly in the northeast. He could not name the other stars without Irene. There was no point watching the road. Nobody else was stopping. He lay against the wall beside the back door to observe the vigilance that at this hour became absurd. There was no one coming and no one to watch him waiting for no one to come and so no reason to stay.
He did not know he had fallen asleep when her voice perforated his dreams.
“You forgot me.”
“I’m sorry. You should have asked Minh to take you home.”
He rubbed his eyes and looked inside at the clock. The restaurant would have closed long ago. He knew now she had gone to Amy’s house and stayed up with her in order to make him worry. And he had fallen asleep.
“Let’s go. I can get up early and come back. I wonder should I leave the truck here, in case old Bizzell comes by in the morning. I can get Ook to drop me back.”
“Leave it here. I feel like walking.”
So he left the floodlight on and left his truck parked out front as it should be and they walked home in the dark.
IRENE TIED HER hair and walked barefoot on the asphalt. She carried the new shoes Grey had bought her that had given her blisters. He took a squashed packet of cigarettes from his jeans and lit one. No cars passed them. At the bottom of Solitary Hill they looked up and saw the giant white drive-in screen. Then came the plain and glistening crops. Then they were home.
ANGELA WAS DRUNK and asleep and their father was at the railway. Grey and Irene lounged in the living room in a breeze that ebbed and flowed through the house. The walk home had more excited them than made them sleepy. It was half-past two. Irene lit a kerosene lamp. The house had electric light–and
electricity when Grey or Angela remembered to pay the bill–but the girl had grown up with firelight.
He knew he should send her to bed as tomorrow was another school day. But they talked of their mother. As always he was disappointed at how little he remembered. He wanted to tell his sister stories from his own experience, but most of what he had, that formed any kind of narrative, were
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