Making Faces(70)

“Right.” Fern's voice sounded more awake, as if she found the subject matter highly interesting.

“So the guy marries the ugly girl. They have a wedding, a feast, and all the wedding night fun stuff.”

“This is a joke?”

Ambrose continued as if she hadn't interrupted him. “The next morning the guy rolls over and sees his new bride and he screams. His wife wakes up and asks him what's wrong. He covers his eyes and yells, 'Sing! For the love of God, Sing!'“

Fern groaned, indicating that the joke was lame. But then she started to laugh, and Ambrose laughed with her, bouncing beside her on the trampoline in Pastor Taylor's backyard like a couple of little kids. But in the back of his mind he wondered uneasily if there wouldn't come a point when Fern would look at him and beg him to sing.





Bailey had very little independence. But in his chair with his hand resting on the controls, he could motor down to Bob's gas station on the corner, to Jolley's to see Fern after work, or to the church in case he wanted to torment his Uncle Joshua with theological hypotheticals. Pastor Joshua was usually very patient and willing to talk, but Bailey was sure he groaned when he saw Bailey coming.

He knew he shouldn't be out as late as he was. But that was part of the thrill too. Twenty-one-year old men should not have curfews. The only thing he felt guilty about was that when he got home he would have to wake his mom or dad to help him to bed, which took some of the fun out of his late night excursions. Plus, he wanted to head to the store and see Fern and Ambrose. Those two needed a chaperone. It had started to steam whenever they were together, and Bailey was pretty sure it wouldn't be long before he was the third wheel on wheels. He laughed to himself. He loved puns. And he loved that Fern and Ambrose had found each other. He wouldn't be around forever. Now that Fern had Ambrose, he wouldn't worry about her so much.

He wasn't living dangerously tonight. He'd tried to sneak out without the headlamp, but his mom came running out behind him. Maybe he would just conveniently leave it at the store when he left. He hated the damn thing. He smirked, feeling like a rebel. He stayed on the sidewalk and streetlights guided his way; he really didn’t think he needed a spotlight shining from his forehead. Bob's Speedy Mart was on his way and Bailey decided to stop in, just because he could. He waited patiently until Bob himself came out from behind the register and opened the door for him.

“Hey, Bailey.” Bob blinked and tried not to look directly at the light blazing from Bailey's headlamp.

“You can turn that off, Bob. Just click the button on the top,” Bailey instructed. Bob tried, but when he clicked the button the light still blazed, as if there was something that had come loose on the inside. He pulled the elastic band around so the light shone from the back of Bailey's head and he could look at him without going blind.

“That'll have to do, Bailey. What can I help you with?” Bob made himself available as he always did, knowing Bailey's limitations.

“I need a twelve pack and some chew,” Bailey said seriously. Bob's mouth dropped open slightly, and he shifted his weight uncertainly.

“Um. Okay. Do you have your ID on ya?”

“Yep.”

“Okay. Well . . . what kind would you like?”

“Starbursts come in packs of twelve don't they? And I prefer to chew Wrigley's. Mint, please.”

Bob chortled, his big belly shaking above his giant belt buckle. He shook his head. “You had me going for a minute, Sheen. I had this picture of you heading down the road with your lip full of tobacco and a case of Bud on your lap.”

Bob followed Bailey down the aisles, picking up his purchases. Bailey stopped in front of the condoms.

“I'll need some of those too, Bob. The biggest box you have.”

Bob raised one eyebrow, but this time he wasn't falling for it. Bailey snickered and rolled on.

Ten minutes later, Bailey was back on the road, his purchases tucked by his side, Bob laughing as he waved him off, having been thoroughly entertained. He realized belatedly that he hadn't righted Bailey's headlamp.

Bailey chose to head down Center and hit Main instead of cutting down 2nd East. It was a longer route to the store but the night was balmy and the air felt good on his face. And he had time. He would give the lovebirds an extra ten or fifteen minutes together before the fun arrived. The silence was welcome, the solitude more welcome. He wished he'd thought to have his dad stick his ear buds in his ears so he could blast some Simon and Garfunkel. But he had been unsuccessfully trying to escape without the headlamp.

The businesses along Main were empty and dark, the black windows reflecting his image back at him as he motored past the hardware store, the karate dojo, and the real-estate office. Mi Cocina, Luisa O'Toole's Mexican Restaurant, was closed too, the twinkle lights and strung habanera peppers swaying in the light wind, clacking against the mustard yellow siding. But the building next to Luisa's wasn't closed. Like Bob's Speedy Mart, Jerry's Joint–the local bar–was never closed. A neon orange light advertised that status, and a few old trucks were pulled right up to the door.

Bailey could hear faint music leaking out from the establishment. He listened, trying to place the song and heard something else. Crying. A baby? Bailey looked around, puzzled. There wasn't a single soul in sight.

He moved forward, crossing the paved entrance to the bar, passing the first few vehicles parked in the long row. Crying again. Parked slightly behind the bar in the gravel that wrapped around the establishment was Becker Garth's black 4X4 complete with jacked up wheels and a skull and crossbones in his back window. How original. Bailey rolled his eyes. What a douche.