Call me.Now!
Don’t worry about coming in tomorrow. You’refired.
I’ll admit, I may have been late a time or two to a paint job, but I always did a good job and finished it at least half a day earlier than quoted, so I felt like that was bullshit. Dickey had been looking for a reason to cut me loose for months because his ex-girlfriend had a thing for me. She told me they’d broken up; she was five-ten and blonde. Fake tits. The whole lot. A guy doesn’t pass that up, especially not after half a case of beer. “Great,” I mumbled, tossing my head against theheadrest.
“What?”
“Dickey firedme.”
“Of course he did. Dickey’s a dick.” Trevor chuckled, but I couldn’t seem to find the humor in it. Not thatmorning.
______
Blue skies. Bright sun. It may only be nine in the morning, but the heat was already radiating up from the asphalt. I cranked the AC to full blast when I turned beside the mailbox with the wooden cross nailed to the post. Halfway up the drive Grandma’s prized chickens stood pecking at the gravel. I blew the horn, and they ran off into the yard with their wings flapping, feathers going everywhere. I hated those damnchickens.
When I pulled in front of the house, Grandma was waiting on the porch with a fan and her Bible, scowling at me.Yep, she’s going to kill me.I put the truck in park and left the engine running while I hoppedout.
“You’re late,” she said, eyeing me as she shoved her fan into her purse. I knew she saw the bruises on myface.
“I know, I know.” I stepped onto the porch and held her elbow to help herdown.
Her eyes narrowed accusingly. “Where’s yourtruck?”
“It’s a longstory.”
“Mmhmm. I don’t like to be late to church, Noah. I raised you better thanthat.”
She raised me better than that and better than spending a night in the countyjail…
“I had to borrow Trevor’s truck.” I was sure as shit not telling her the real reason I was late. She may have been old and frail looking, but she was mean when she wanted to be. The one thing I didn’t want to do was let herdown.
She swatted at me when I tried to help her into the truck, telling me she could manage on herown.
When we got to the end of the drive, I put my blinker on to turnleft.
“Turn right,” shesaid.
“Your church is left,Grandma.”
“I know. I said turn right, boy.” She shot a stern look at me. “Turnright!”
Shrugging, I did as told and she settled back into her seat, clutching her purse and Bible. “I told you I don’t like being late to church…” she grumbled, turning the radio to some Gospelstation.
I came to a four-way stop across from Robert Murdey’s cornfield, the engine idling. She tapped on the window. “Now, take anotherright.”
“Where are wegoing?”
“ToRockford.”
“Why inthe—”
She whacked the back of my head. “Boy, don’t you swear around me on God’s Day.” She huffed. “When you get into town take a left at the red light and go on down a ways until you see the rock church. Their service starts at ten. I told you, I ain’t gonna be late.” She cocked one of her drawn-on eyebrows. There was no arguing when she cocked her eyebrow.None!
I drove along the road deep in thought. I’d lost my job and that shitty town afforded little opportunity. That assault charge sure was going to be a nice little blemish on my already less than impressiveresume.
The truck sputtered when I slowed down for the only red light in town and took anotherright.
Grandma shifted next to me, an unsettled tension bristling from her. “Now, you wanna confess your sins to me or toJesus?”
