Page 31 - Demo
P. 31

 “I saw the video, hon,” said Joyce, “and so did every- body else on Venetia’s Facebook page.”
“Joyce,” I said, peering down the long expanse of asphalt, “you need to be texting somebody to come get us. I don’t want to have to be flagging somebody down for a ride. Hey, call us an Uber.”
Both of them continued to ignore me. “Well now that he’s in hospice his days are numbered,” said Nancy. “Ike and I have been separated for over a year now. What does it hurt?” She pointed a finger down the highway as if we could all see him. “Vince is lying there hooked up to all those machines, and giving him a little attention might be the last good thing he gets before he goes to heaven.”
“Oh, for crying out loud.” Joyce’s face was red and streaked with so much moisture I couldn’t tell if it was tears or sweat. Nancy turned on her heel and began walking away. “Hey, I’m talking to you!” shouted Joyce, catching up to her. “You weren’t doing it for Vince. Ever since you caught your Ike with that little dental hygienist you’ve been desperate for some man to pay attention to you. Just look at you. New gold earrings, pink lipstick, that cheap, low-cut shirt.” Joyce poked a finger at Nancy’s chest right as an eighteen wheeler passed, throwing up grit in everyone’s faces, but Joyce paid it no mind. “Did it ever occur to you that because Vince is dying that I’d like to make peace with him? You have no idea what went on in our marriage, and maybe the two of us reconciling our differences before he dies is a lot more important than a big selfish slob like you feeding your ego off of his cancer.”
Nancy’s lips began to quiver and she pushed her hands down over her hips. She hadn’t always been such a big woman. Over the eighteen years she had been married to our brother, Ike, she had gained
at least a hundred pounds. Ike had ridiculed her
in small ways like pretending the floor was shak-
ing when she entered a room or telling the voice at the Arby’s drive-thru that their best customer had arrived and for them to break open a new feedbag
of fries. Nancy always pretended she thought it was funny, but I often saw the dropped expression on her face when my brother looked away. This was the face she was showing Joyce now, but no one was looking away. The two of them stared one another down and hardly noticed the big truck slowing down and eas- ing to a stop on the other side of the road.
“Hey!” The driver bent a tattoo covered, tanned arm out the window. “You ladies have a break down?” He tapped out the shave-and-a-haircut rhythm on the cab door with his knuckles.
“Didn’t you just pass by here?” I asked.
“’Bout five minutes ago,” he said, leaning further out the window of his truck, “had to get to the next by- pass to turn back.”
“You didn’t have to go to so much trouble,” said Nancy. She was shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand, and for the first time I noticed she was no lon- ger wearing her wedding ring.
“My mama always taught me never to leave ladies in distress.” The truck driver gave a little pretend tip of his hat.
“It’s the spark plugs,” I said. “I’ve been meaning to get it looked at.” I wasn’t entirely sure if it was the spark plugs, or maybe the radiator needed rodding out again, or maybe we were just out of gas. It was always something. My car was sixteen years old and a Chrys- ler, a deadly combination.
“I’d be glad to take a look at it,” he said. “Name’s Shebby.”
He may have said Shelby, but the pronunciation was definitely Shebby.
“Thank you, Mr. Shebby. We’re much obliged,” I said.
Shebby swung open the door of his rig and stepped down, holding onto the cab handle as he went. His well-worn Tony Lama’s were oddly small for such a big man. Landing on the pavement, he made a little “hmmph,” and his heels joined together making a small V with his boots. He was soft in the middle, like a man who ate a lot of cake and soda, but his eyes were bright blue and he had a full head of sandy gray erupting from either side of his hat. “You want to pop the hood for me?” Shebby paused at the front of my car and we all stood motionless for an awkward moment.
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