The Summer That Melted Everything(21)

In his earthy voice, his prayers sounded like the haymaking I heard one time when passing a field in harvest. The cling clang of sharpening the scythe’s blade. The sharp scythe swiping and cutting the grass in crunching whooshes. The rake coming softly but scratchy as the cut grass is gathered and rolled into bales. Bales to be kept back and saved in the very seconds that had made them.





7

… true in our fall,

False in our promised rising

—MILTON, PARADISE LOST 9:1069–1070

MY DREAMS THAT first night were of long hallways and burning doors. By the time morning came, I felt burned myself. I lay there in bed. My eyes closed and the fan, a poor help on my face.

“Those people are here.”

I looked up at Sal. The window behind him putting his edges in light.

“What people?” I yawned.

“Amos’ people.” He tugged at his shirt. It would be a while before my bright, clean clothes looked natural on him. He was more field than town. More old soul pasture than adolescent attitude.

He left as I threw on a tank and cut-offs. When I got downstairs, I found him in the kitchen with Mom, Dad, the sheriff, and a man with mechanic hands holding a woman who was still wearing her maid’s uniform from last night’s shift. She kept shaking her head at Sal, crying that he was not her Amos.

“Yours.” Sal was offering the bowl and spoon to the woman.

“They ain’t mine, honey.” She blew her nose, the gold crosses shaking at her ears.

As Sal set the things back on top of the counter, Dad whispered to Mom, after which she took me and Sal into the living room, where she turned up the television. We sat on the sofa, listening to the San Francisco lovers on Phil Donahue talk about the shock of testing positive.

A few minutes later, Amos’ parents were driving away in their rusted Chevette while Dad and the sheriff returned to us in the living room.

“I was certain he was gonna be theirs.” The sheriff tucked his thumbs into his belt loops. “Well, hell, I’ll continue the investigation. Let ya know what I come up with.”

Dad brushed the sweaty strands of his hair back. “He can stay with us in the meantime.”

“I won’t put you good folks out like that.” The sheriff looked about to spit. Only the rug stopped him. “He can stay in the jail.”

“That boy in that dank basement?” Mom shot up from the sofa. “With drunks and thieves and rapists and murderers? He’ll come outta there all lessoned up in sin.”

“Now, Stella, I’d put ’im in his own cell. I ain’t stupid, ya know.”

“Like hell you ain’t. Your bright idea is to put a boy in a basement. I thought you were dumb. I didn’t know you were son-of-a-bitch dumb.”

“Stella.” Dad winced.

“We all know why Dottie left you,” Mom continued. “Ran off with that well-to-do fella. If you ask me, she should’ve done it years earlier, instead of stayin’ with a small dick like you. She told us all. Called ya pinky pants behind your back.”

She started taunting the sheriff with her pinkies, the sweat shining on her forehead like bad stars. When she began to choke on her laughter, Dad was quick to pat her on the back.

“Calm down, Stella. For Christ’s sake, breathe.”

“Oh God—” She caught her breath. “I’m so sorry I said those things. I … the heat.” She swept the damp strands of her hair back, unable to meet the sheriff’s eyes. “It’s just the heat. I didn’t mean it. I’m so sorry.”

“My apologies as well, Sheriff.” Dad aired his collar. “I think it’s safe to say Sal is wanted, and he can stay here until something more permanent can be decided upon. And again, I’m so sorry for what has been spoken here.”

You could feel the sheriff’s anger take over the room. Almost like a whooshing past your face. A sort of entity that felt like it could have peeled the wallpaper off the walls and broken the crystal.

“I best be goin’.” The sheriff straightened as if he were being asked to show how tall he really was. Then he quietly nodded at all of us, very slowly at Mom, before leaving with his hands clenched at his sides, only the pinkies left out like small horns.

“Well, that was very sudden, Stella.” Dad checked his tie once more.

“I’m not used to it bein’ so hot. None of us are. We’re not prepared for a heat like this. I can just imagine the things that’ll be had from here on out. We best get cool, and soon. We’re all in a volcano of trouble. I feel it.”

“Calm down now, Stella.” Dad cleared his throat. “I think I’ll go … I think I’ll take a walk to the cemetery. I’d like to talk this whole situation over with Mother.” He turned to Sal to clarify. “My mother has passed. But she always had a way of clarifying the distinctly strange. I think speaking with her has the great possibility of enlightening me on this matter we have before us.”

“The cemetery is a million miles away.” Mom wrung her hands. “You’ll be gone forever. I was plannin’ on makin’ lentil stew. You have to boil lentils, Autopsy. You know how I feel about boilin’ things, all them bubbles poppin’ up. It’s like rain in a pot. And now we won’t be havin’ lentil stew, ’cause you won’t be here to boil it. You have to stay.”