CLARA JUNE
“Freeze,”I command, causing Archie to stutter-step, then still, one foot on the back patio, one boot planted in the kitchen.
“They ain’t dirty,” he says of his boots, because I ask him not to wear them inside but to take them off on theback step and set them against the wall. But this morning, they’re caked with both mud and grass.
“Boots off, Arch,” I move past him a few steps until the sun is warming my face, and I wait until they’re stacked out back. Back inside the house, I tell Archie to get dressed for Tyson’s house, and I call Rawley out for breakfast.
Today is one of those strange, unique, diamond in the rough type of days—I don’t have to work. I have the day off from the diner so that I can pick my car up from the shop and get Tanner home from the hospital.
Today is a big day, and a good day, and I will not let the impending hospital bill from Tanner’s stay ruin my mood.
They’ve gotta have payment plans. I’ll figure it out. I always do.
In my room, I slip on a pair of jeans, and throw on a black t-shirt and some boots. With my hair wet and drying around my shoulders, I swipe on some mascara, a bit of foundation, and call it good. It’s the most “ready” I’ve been in ages.
Back in the kitchen, Rawley is, surprisingly, already dressed and sitting at the table, boycotting his scrambled eggs.
“Eat your eggs, Rawl, we’re heading out in ten minutes. As soon as the Holts grab Archie.”
He sighs, scooping up a bite of eggs like they’re the worst thing he’s ever eaten. “Do I have to drive you all the way to Oakcreek?” he harrumphs.
“What am I gonna do? Drive both cars back? Yes, Rawl. You have to drive me.” I toss the egg pan into the sink and cover it with water and soap. “It will give us a chance to talk about the tutor you ditched, after I asked you specifically not to ditch anymore.”
He freezes, and while he must already know that I know, the chaos of Tanner’s injury has made a nice little pocket oftime where I’ve been too busy to address it. But today, Tanner is coming home, and it’s time for Rawley to make it right.
“We can spend the drive adding up how much you’re going to owe me every month.” I didn’t want to do it this way. I wanted to give my boy the car and the trust, but being lied to and defied purposely isn’t something I can tolerate. He wouldn’t respect me if I did, whether he knows that now or not.
“I don’t have a job,” he argues.
“I told you, you can wash dishes at Goode’s. You will wash dishes at Goode’s, because if my off-the-top of my head math is right, you’ve got almost $500 to pay me back, and that’s just this month with the tutor, car insurance and gas.”
“Fivehundred?” He pushes away from the table and gets to his feet, following me at my heels as I move through the house, looking for my purse, then my keys, and next Archie’s tennis shoes. He sits down on the couch next to me as I call Archie out and tie his sneakers on his feet.
“If I make minimum wage at Goode’s, it’ll take me like, the entire school year to pay you back!” he argues.
I double-knot Archie’s shoe and set him free, asking him to make sure he brushes his teeth before the Holts arrive. He runs off, and I turn to face my oldest son.
“Rawley, I can’t let you lie and waste my money. This is the consequence of what you did, and I told you beforehand this would be the consequence. You chose to do what you did anyway. So… I’m sorry, but you’re washing dishes for a while.”
His blue eyes simmer as he stares at me. There isn’t malice or hurt in his expression, and when he looks at his lap then up at me again, I suddenly realize, none of this is about paying the money back, or missing the tutor.
“Mom, I wanna go to trade school. To become a mechanic,and work on cars. I know you want me to go to college, but I really don’t want that. I don’t think that’s right for me.”
“Rawley,” I start, but then there’s a hearty knock at the door, and I glance at my watch.
“Arch! Tyson’s here! C’mon, get your bag!” I look at Rawley. “We will talk about this on the drive.”
He nods, and I bump my knee into his. “Get the door for me, I’m gonna grab your brother’s inhaler.”
I get to my feet and start rifling around the junk drawer when a deep voice moves through my house, making my head whip up and my eyes go wide. I peer around the kitchen wall to see Dean McAllister standing in my living room, the rim of his cowboy hat leaving a shadow on the Highlights magazines strewn across the coffee table.
Hiding behind the wall, I look down at my clothes, then pull open the microwave door and use it as a makeshift mirror.
My hair is frizzy, as it’s drying naturally. I’m wearing jeans and boots and—you know what, I have to stop. Dean McAllister isn’t here to see me. He’s here because he’s Tanner’s coach, and for all intents and purposes, Tanner was supposed to be home by now. He originally had an early release, but an emergency came in yesterday and his discharge was bumped until four this afternoon. Dean is only here because he believes Tanner will be.
Quietly, I close the microwave door and braid my hair, then step out from the kitchen. His eyes find me, and there’s a little flutter behind my ribs as he takes his hat off and greets me.
“Miss Colt,” he says. “Hi, I’m sorry for just dropping by like this. I came to see Tanner.”
