Page 32 - Demo

Three Ladies (continued from preceding page)
“Oh, you want me to pull the—,” I waved my hand uselessly and then hurried around to the driver’s side. Finding the hood release took an embarrass- ingly long time.
Shebby spent a good five minutes pulling and poking around under the hood as Nancy and Joyce loitered at the perimeter. “It’s probably the battery,” said Nancy. “Last Wednesday we took her car to the mall and it was slow starting. I told her she ought to get it re- placed.” She meant me, but the part about telling me to get the battery replaced was a tacky little lie. I gave her a dirty look.
“Yeah, looks like it’s probably the battery,” said Shebby. “Take a look at that corrosion.” He pointed a grease darkened finger at the connector wires. “You can’t let your battery get in that bad a shape.”
I was about to tell him that yes, I knew that, when Joyce piped up. “We’re on our way to see my ex- husband who’s dying in the hospital. He’s got the cancer and not expected to live two more weeks. We divorced last July. I was thinking of going to Branson sometime after the funeral, you know the place with the country stars. I’ve never been there, have you?”
The three of us stood stunned, and for a few seconds no one said anything. Nancy gave me a what-the-hell look, and I raised my eyebrows in response.
“Actually, I have been there,” said Shebby, reaching into his back pants pocket for a rag to wipe his hands on. “It’s a real nice town. You can catch a Dolly Parton impersonator you won’t believe. Sounds and looks just like the real thing.”
“I’ll be sure and look her up. When I go,” Joyce added.
We were all silent as we watched Shebby wipe his hands. He drew the rag over each nail slowly, and Joyce finally broke the awkwardness.
“How about you give us a ride to Birmingham?” asked Joyce.
“Oh no,” I said, “that is putting him out way too much.”
“He’s a truck driver on I-59 headed right in that direc- tion. What would be so hard about him dropping us off at whatever service station is closest to the hospi- tal and we take a taxi from there?” Joyce blurted out her spiel so fast it was as if she had been waiting all day to suggest it.
Shebby’s eyebrows rose and it became apparent the thought was a distinct possibility. He folded the rag in
half and shoved it back in his pocket. “You girls sis- ters?” The way he pushed out “gurls” made my skin crawl a little.
“Nancy’s our in-law, but that’s my sister, Julia. She’s the oldest,” said Joyce, making the words sound like I was guilty of something nasty.
“We’re less than a year apart,” I replied. “That means Joyce was the accident.”
“You can just shut it,” snapped Joyce.
“Yep, you two sound like sisters alright.” Shebby gave a big open-mouthed laugh revealing two missing right front teeth. The effect was jarring, and it aged him at least ten years. He flicked his eyes at each of us in turn while he kept on laughing. “I’m not sup- posed to, but I guess if two of you sit back on the flip seat we could do that.”
“You sure you can fit us all in there?” Joyce craned her neck to see up into the truck.
“I’ve always been partial to substantial women,” said Shebby, looking straight at Nancy.
She curved her shoulders in a little girlish expression of pretend shyness and headed for the door. “Dibs on the passenger seat.”
“Well,” huffed Joyce, “shouldn’t we flip a coin or something?”
Shebby shrugged. “Come on if you want to see your ex.”
After three attempts, Joyce hoisted herself up into the passenger side and stepped over Nancy who was
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