Page 34 - Demo

Three Ladies (continued from preceding page)
let the drama build. He shifted gears, getting the truck
back up to speed. “She run off with another woman.” “Ah,” I said, “so you’re still married.”
“She’s been gone thirteen years. I don’t think it counts anymore.”
“Thirteen is the most unlucky number,” said Nancy.
“Maybe so,” said Shebby, casting another glance at Nancy. “Or maybe things are turning around.” Nancy was staring straight ahead in astonished self-consciousness as the spark in the air raised the temperature.
We rode on like that for at least twenty more miles with Shebby making little comments about stuff
on the road. He seemed to have an anecdotal story about something that had happened in every Podunk, hole-in-the-wall town we passed. Every place had someone who’d been murdered. (“The fellow cut out one of his eyes. Never did know why he just cut out one. Guess he wanted a souvenir.”)
Or a movie star who’d stopped at a diner for lunch. (“Yep, Kevin Costner ordered a Mello Yello, a cheese sandwich with extra pickles on the side, and a large order of sweet potato fries right there at that diner.”) Or there’d been some bizarre occurrence that put
a place on the map. (“When those goats jumped off that truck bed it liked to scared those beauty queens to death. One of ‘em jumped out of her convertible and run screaming right under the wheels of that tow truck behind her and she was dead as roadkill. That ended the July 4th parade right there. But it weren’t their fault. Those goats were just being goats, you know?”)
Nancy gushed over and commented on every story. After a particularly fascinating tale on how the sock factory had once employed “every man and woman in town, just about” and now was a broken down, aban- doned dump of a place, Joyce and I slumped further back in silence, letting the cool air of the rig and hum of the engine lull us into blissful sleep. In the final mo- ments before unconsciousness pulled me under I was halfway wishing I could just stay in that plush seat in the rolling castle home of the storyman, Shebby, and keep riding across the country away from my broth- er’s cancer, Joyce and Nancy’s squawking, my broken down car, and everything else that reminded me that life had become a break down on the side of a hot road with no relief in sight. It wasn’t that Shebby was such a better deal, but he was a ticket out of there far, far away. Maybe he could drop off Nancy and Joyce
in Birmingham and then drive me all the way to the 27
coast. I could start over again in some diner. Maybe some movie star would stop in for a cheese sandwich and I could sidle up to him (or her, I’m not picky) and whisper, “You want extra pickles with that?” I was at that in between state of relaxation where I couldn’t really tell if I was dreaming about being a waitress
at some California diner, or if I was just fantasizing about it when I felt the rig lurching to a stop. Shebby clapped his hands together and announced we had arrived at our destination. The hospital rose up gray and ominous, a gigantic tombstone on the other side of the parking lot with Vince waiting inside.
Joyce and I stretched like big dogs crated up for too long and Nancy opened her passenger side door for us to exit, but instead of letting herself down, she leaned forward and motioned for us to step out.
“Go on out, Nancy,” Joyce complained. “I’m not going.”
Joyce and I froze. “Not going?”
“Shebby and I have been talking, and I’m riding on with him.” And then she finalized it with, “It’s been agreed upon.”
“What the hell you mean? Agreed upon? What’s that supposed to mean? You sign a contract?” Joyce was barking in a voice so loud it hurt everyone’s ears. Shebby started to speak up, but Nancy put a hand up to shush him.
“It just means that’s what I’ve decided.” “This is crazy,” said Joyce.
“I reckon your Pastor Twinkles Prayer Line worked. Maybe this whole thing is a gift from God,” Nancy smirked.
Joyce was too taken aback to even roll her eyes. “What about Vince? We’re here to see Vince.”
“Now you want me to see him!”
“I just- What about your divorce?”
“Thirteen years,” said Shebby. They both shrugged like it was an old joke between them, and then they both burst out laughing.
My head was beginning to pull itself back together and I leaned closer to Nancy. “Don’t you need to think this through? We just met this guy.” I tried lowering my voice with the last few words, a futile gesture