Family Thang (7 page)

“You know I just buried my daddy yesterday. The mound on his grave hasn’t leveled. If there is a mound. Sometimes they don’t cover the hole till days later, you know. Why it’s a good idea to check on em.”

“I didn’t know that, Robert. If you could give us a rough date to when you’re
coming back. We need
to mark
something
on the calendar.”

“Uh…I really don’t know when I’m coming back. When a man’s daddy is murdered it takes time adjusting, even though I couldn’t stand the sorry rascal. If it wasn’t for him I wouldn’t be here.”

“I understand. I just need a--”

“Do you really? Or are you just talking? Your daddy probably still alive while mine is six feet under. Worm food. Smelling like--”

“Robert, I hate to cut you off. I just need a date. Take all the time you need, just give me a date when you think you’ll be able to return to work.”

Drumming his fingers against the table: “I’m not coming back.”

“Are you quitting?”

“Yeah,” and hung up the phone.

Forget him! Go back, go back for what?
So Dale and his buddies could continue laughing behind his back, calling him the snake man and handing him the majority of the work load.
Forget him, forget em
all!
He noticed his fingers were shaking.

Might’ve been a bad idea, he thought, remembering the long line he’d seen at the unemployment office. He started to call Dale back.

“No!”

He had money coming, and once he got his hands on it he would go down to the mill and tell Dale and his buddies to kiss his rusty, black butt. And once he got his money he could finally catch up on all his bills, start his own business.

Estafay entered the kitchen wearing a red terrycloth bathrobe. “Bad news?” she asked, taking a pot from the cabinet.

“Dale wanted to know when I was coming back to work.”

Estafay filled the pot with water from the tap and set it on the stove. “What you tell him?”

“Told him I’d come back when I feel like it, not a second earlier. Told him not to call me no more. Dale ain’t nothing but a devil. Smile in my face then talk about me behind my back.”

“Rent due next week,” Estafay reminded him. “And a payment due on those teeth in your mouth.”

Robert Earl took out his dentures and set them on the table. “When we get that money I’m buying me some real teeth, the kind don’t hurt my mouth. Won’t have to work at no smelly mill, either.”

Estafay scooted around Robert Earl and opened the refrigerator. “Not on the kitchen table, Robert. How many times must I tell you? That’s nasty!”

He put the dentures in the front pocket of his gray flannel shirt.

“Robert, that’s not where your teeth go. And the next time I find them inside the refrigerator, they’re going in the trash.”

“Freezing em makes em softer on my gums.”

“Put them in ice water, not my refrigerator.”

Robert Earl hung his head, his chin resting on his chest.
My refrigerator?
He was the one who bought it. Shoot, he’d bought everything in their one-bedroom house. Estafay sat at the table opposite him.

“Robert, do you really think a snake hole can make money here, in a small town in the sticks?”

Robert Earl jerked his head up. “Not a snake hole, Estafay. A combination gas station and exotic snake farm. There’s not one here or anywhere near here, possibly not in the entire state. Honey, it can’t go wrong. You’ll see.”

“We’re living in a shack. Look in the front door you can see through the entire house. The commode in the bathroom has been leaking for years. It’ll fall through the floor sooner or later. The refrigerator doesn’t freeze properly, only one eye on the stove works, the little furniture we have is worn out, and on top of all that we have a snake pit in the backyard.”

“A snake house. It’s a snake house.”

“Whatever. We need a new house, new appliances, furniture. I need a new car and…” She drifted off and looked away. Softly: “And some work.”

“A job!”

“Noooo!” Estafay said, frowning. “Woman’s work. Surgery.”

“Oh,” looking confused and disappointed. “You know I’ve been planning a gas station and exotic snake farm for a long time. It’s my dream. When we start making money from our business we can buy all the stuff you talking about.”

“Let’s not argue, sweetheart.” She took his hands in hers. “I’ll fast and pray on it. When the Lord tells me what to do, we’ll do what He says. He’ll tell me the right thing to do. All we need to do is obey His word. Now who do you think did it?”

He didn’t hear the question, fretting over doing what the Lord told
her
to do. Every time she’d sought the Lord’s guidance in a disagreement between them, the Lord’s response always favored Estafay’s argument.
Always!

“Who do you think did it?” Estafay repeated.

“Did what?” wondering if he should just cut her loose and pursue his dream.

“Killed your daddy?”

“No doubt in my mind, the fag did it.”

“Leonard?”

“The only fag in my family, and he told the old man to catch the next bus to hell. Then--plop!--the old man buys the farm.”

“Are you upset?” releasing his hands.

“No.”

“You sound upset.”

“I’m not upset.”

“Robert, I’m your wife, and as your wife I will follow your lead. But the Lord is the head of this household. A divided house cannot stand--you know that!”

“Yes, you’re right,” fearing she would embark on a long sermon.

“Have you talked to Sheriff Bledsoe?”

“Not yet. I will, though. He’s calling everybody in for an interview. I’ll tell him what I know when it’s my turn.”

Estafay interlocked her fingers, closed her eyes and shook her head. Oh-oh, Robert Earl thought, here comes the sermon.

Estafay opened her eyes and said, “Maybe you shouldn’t wait till he calls you. Maybe you should call him. Maybe you can help him, keep him from going in the wrong direction. The sooner he solves this case, the sooner we get our money.”

Robert Earl nodded. She was making sense. “I guess I could.”

Estafay got up, retrieved the phone and handed it to him. “You know the number, don’t you?”

As he dialed he looked at Estafay. Her short hair parted in the middle, brushed down the sides.
What kind of style is that?
She stared back at him and he looked away.

Sheriff Bledsoe picked up on the first ring. “Sheriff’s office. Sheriff Bledsoe speaking.”

“Ennis, this Robert Earl. How you doing? Hey, Ennis, we need to talk about my daddy’s murder, the sooner the better.”

“Yes, Robert Earl, we sure do. In fact, I was about to call you.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. I was reaching for the phone when it rang. Your mother, Ida, she’s here in my office.”

“Momma?” He heard someone crying in the background.

“Yes. She’s here. Uh…she just confessed to murdering your father.”

Chapter 6

The smoke alarm whistled. Shirley, lying on the couch in the living room, didn’t hear it. Dreaming: Eric and she were standing in a chapel before Reverend Walker.

Eric dressed in a baby-blue tuxedo. She wore an off-white gown with a train trailing down the aisle. Wedding bells rang in the background. Smoke filled her nostrils. The pews filled to capacity. She sniffed…sneezed.

Smoke?

“Ain’t something burning?” Eric yelled from the bedroom.

She jumped to her feet and ran into the kitchen. White smoke billowed from the skillet. What once were two sausage patties and three eggs was now a black lump dancing and sizzling in the skillet as if it were alive. Shirley turned the burner off and pushed the skillet off the red-hot coil with a spatula.

“Ain’t something burning?” Eric yelled again.

Shirley tiptoed and removed the smoke alarm from a nail in the wall.

“Yes!” she shouted. “Your breakfast!”

She heard him cursing. The gall of that man. He’d come home late last night, after midnight, sweating, his pants unzipped, talking about the truck had broken down, he’d had to walk.

He’d justified everything, but one thought dominated her mind:
he’s cheating.
Again. Yet she didn’t confront him.

She stepped out onto the back porch and placed the smoke alarm on the window ledge. In the backyard a large raccoon pilfered through trash scattered around an upended trashcan.

It stood on its hind legs and bared its teeth. “Git!” Shirley shouted, feigning to throw something at it.

It grabbed whatever it was eating and disappeared into the pine trees lining the back of the mobile home park.
Confronting Eric a waste of time; he’ll only lie.

Maybe she was jumping the gun. He could have taken a leak and forgot to zip up. If he’d been cheating, surely he had enough sense to tidy up before coming home.

No, Eric wouldn’t cheat on her the day after her father’s funeral. She heard the doorbell ringing inside the house.

Eric was tiptoeing to the front door in his underwear when she stepped into the living room. “You expecting company?” he asked. He looked into the peephole. “Darlene. Blabbermouth Darlene.”

“Come in,” Shirley said, and Darlene--tall, thin, two diamond studs in one nostril, braided hair extensions brushing her butt--pushed the door open.

“Get out of here with no clothes on!” Shirley told Eric.

Eric just stood there, eyeballing Darlene. “You need to gain some weight,” he said. “A strong wind might carry your narrow ass away. I don’t appreciate you coming over here filling Shirley’s head with bullshit about me. Why you ain’t got no man, huh?”

“Don’t disrespect my friends,” Shirley said. “I don’t disrespect your friends.”

“I don’t have no friends.”

“Wonder why,” Darlene said under her breath.

“Say what?” Eric said, moving toward her. “Say it so I can hear it.”

Shirley cut him off at the path. “Go put on some clothes. She didn’t come here to see you.”

“She came here to talk about me. She had a man she wouldn’t be over here all the time dropping salt on me.” Shirley pushed him toward the bedroom and he circled back. “A buncha men round here and she can’t snag
one
!”