thought of her was girly. But there they were in the frame: his shirt, her pink blouse, framed like they’d be sharing the bathroom and laundry forever. Then he remembered: “Let there be laundry for the backs of thieves.” The other line from the poem. She’d shout it sometimes: “Let there be laundry for the backs of thieves,” and laugh the way some people did when they hollered, “Merry Christmas.”
He didn’t get it. He’d read the poem. It said “clean linen,” not “laundry,” but he still didn’t get it. And he didn’t correct her when she shouted it out wrong. It made her happy. She had told him the poem was about forgiveness, that to love the world was to forgive it. But he’d never gotten what all that had to do with laundry and thieves.
But he figured it had something to do with the fact that she’d volunteered to do laundry for this homeless guy named Gator. He was a Vietnam vet, and he lived in the marshlands across the river. He made what money he could by working as a river guide for tourists and fishermen. He was a good guy, all tanned and blue eyes, not bad-looking when he smiled. But he was just a little bit crazy in that he preferred living his life out there with the gators and snakes rather than with people. Billy just figured that was what war could do.
And Gator was looking a whole lot better with Katy’s care. She cut his hair once a month, and she did his laundry every week. Brought it home in a trash bag from the bar and took it back all folded and neat in another trash bag, a clean one.
Billy thought maybe Gator had some idea where Katy was. He’d been a scout in the army . . . maybe he knew something. Maybe he could help. After three days of solid drinking and steady smoking,Billy wasn’t blind yet. He could see enough to know he looked like a drunk in the mirror. He could see her panties on the towel rack, the empty wastebasket, the grime around the tub. He took the framed picture off the wall, hugged it to his chest. “Hold on,” he said as he walked to the kitchen. He saw that it was bright with daylight and a wreck of Chinese takeout and uneaten pizza. Flies buzzed all over. “Shit,” he said. “I’m sorry, Katy.” He swatted at flies around the sink and stuck the dishes in the dishwasher. He poured the powder, slammed the door closed, and jammed the button to click the machine on. He opened the back door, used a newspaper to swat flies out. Then he dug under the sink for the last trash bag. That was on Katy’s list. She was going to pick up trash bags at the Rite Aid when she got her prescription. There were other things they needed that she’d been supposed to pick up that day. He stood gripping the sink, enjoying the steady vibration of the dishwasher. As long as he gripped that countertop, he was pretty certain he wouldn’t fall to the floor and be a puddle of hungover mess when that REV lady showed up. He remembered she was coming tomorrow. But tomorrow was today.
“Shit,” he said, and he pitched beer cans, containers, and boxes into the bag. They had company coming, and Katy would want it clean. He sprayed air freshener all around the kitchen. “It will be fine, Katy,” he said, talking to the framed words of the poem. He grabbed a broom. “We’ve just got to go through the motions of looking for you. It’s like that drill bit I thought I lost one time. I was looking and looking, and when I reached in my pocket for some quarters, I found it. It was right there next to me the whole time. I’m gonna look and look for you. And then I’m gonna turn and see you are right here. Where you belong. With me.”
The Luckiest Girl in the World
Molly Flynn panted hard in the last stretch of her five-mile run. Her house was in sight. Time to sprint the last quarter mile. Then she saw the guy with the dog at the end of the street. She stopped, slowed to a walk. If she sprinted, she’d meet up with him, but if she went real slow, he’d have to keep moving
He didn’t get it. He’d read the poem. It said “clean linen,” not “laundry,” but he still didn’t get it. And he didn’t correct her when she shouted it out wrong. It made her happy. She had told him the poem was about forgiveness, that to love the world was to forgive it. But he’d never gotten what all that had to do with laundry and thieves.
But he figured it had something to do with the fact that she’d volunteered to do laundry for this homeless guy named Gator. He was a Vietnam vet, and he lived in the marshlands across the river. He made what money he could by working as a river guide for tourists and fishermen. He was a good guy, all tanned and blue eyes, not bad-looking when he smiled. But he was just a little bit crazy in that he preferred living his life out there with the gators and snakes rather than with people. Billy just figured that was what war could do.
And Gator was looking a whole lot better with Katy’s care. She cut his hair once a month, and she did his laundry every week. Brought it home in a trash bag from the bar and took it back all folded and neat in another trash bag, a clean one.
Billy thought maybe Gator had some idea where Katy was. He’d been a scout in the army . . . maybe he knew something. Maybe he could help. After three days of solid drinking and steady smoking,Billy wasn’t blind yet. He could see enough to know he looked like a drunk in the mirror. He could see her panties on the towel rack, the empty wastebasket, the grime around the tub. He took the framed picture off the wall, hugged it to his chest. “Hold on,” he said as he walked to the kitchen. He saw that it was bright with daylight and a wreck of Chinese takeout and uneaten pizza. Flies buzzed all over. “Shit,” he said. “I’m sorry, Katy.” He swatted at flies around the sink and stuck the dishes in the dishwasher. He poured the powder, slammed the door closed, and jammed the button to click the machine on. He opened the back door, used a newspaper to swat flies out. Then he dug under the sink for the last trash bag. That was on Katy’s list. She was going to pick up trash bags at the Rite Aid when she got her prescription. There were other things they needed that she’d been supposed to pick up that day. He stood gripping the sink, enjoying the steady vibration of the dishwasher. As long as he gripped that countertop, he was pretty certain he wouldn’t fall to the floor and be a puddle of hungover mess when that REV lady showed up. He remembered she was coming tomorrow. But tomorrow was today.
“Shit,” he said, and he pitched beer cans, containers, and boxes into the bag. They had company coming, and Katy would want it clean. He sprayed air freshener all around the kitchen. “It will be fine, Katy,” he said, talking to the framed words of the poem. He grabbed a broom. “We’ve just got to go through the motions of looking for you. It’s like that drill bit I thought I lost one time. I was looking and looking, and when I reached in my pocket for some quarters, I found it. It was right there next to me the whole time. I’m gonna look and look for you. And then I’m gonna turn and see you are right here. Where you belong. With me.”
The Luckiest Girl in the World
Molly Flynn panted hard in the last stretch of her five-mile run. Her house was in sight. Time to sprint the last quarter mile. Then she saw the guy with the dog at the end of the street. She stopped, slowed to a walk. If she sprinted, she’d meet up with him, but if she went real slow, he’d have to keep moving
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