The Country Duet(17)

“This is bullshit with how damn cold it is.” Dave leans in closer to inspect my work.

“The space heater is on. It’s good for you to get out of that damn house and blow some stink off, Dave.”

“Ain’t paying you to talk,” he quips right back.

I’d like to argue that he ain’t paying me much period, but I know that will go nowhere. Every damn chance Dave gets, he reminds that I’m making good money and wouldn’t be able to do that anywhere else. Four hundred dollars to put up with his grouchy ass, pick up his piss bottles, and burn his trash is hardly worth it. And that’s even with him paying me whenever he remembers. There’s just something about the cranky, old bastard that keeps me coming back.

“Excuse me?”

We both look up to two men standing in the doorway of the shop with their hands tucked in their pockets.

“What the hell do you need?”

“Wondering if you'd be interested in selling any of your tractor parts off?"

The men are nice enough, showing interest in some of Dave’s stuff. Dave naturally relaxes back on his seat and goes about his business, not looking at the visitors. The men look at each other and then to me. Awkward at best.

“We’re looking for some spare parts,” one of them offers.

I set the piece of metal in my hand down and peer over to Dave, expecting him to say something even if it’s to get lost. He says not a word, ignoring them with his face down. I wipe my dirty, sweaty palms off on my jeans and step toward them.

“What exactly are you looking for?”

The taller of the men rattles off the exact part, and I peer over to Dave, who’s still not making eye contact. Uncertain of what to do, I turn back to the men.

“Uh, I’m sure there’s something around here.”

“Trying to restore our Granddad’s old tractor and finding it difficult to locate parts. This is like a gold mine for us.”

“Understand.” I peer back to Dave, who is still acting like we are the only two in the shop. “Sometimes it’s hard to find older parts.”

“Yeah, that people don’t want an arm and a leg for…”

Before he has the chance to finish, Dave begins to speak up.

“You two paying this boy? Didn’t think so.” He slowly stands, tossing a piece of metal to the shop floor. The sound echoes around the shop, startling everyone.

He then grits out each of his next words with precision. “Get the fuck lost.”

Stunned into silence. There are no other words at this moment. The men stand frozen in place.

“You assholes dead? Get the fuck lost.”

The men turn and leave the shop. I stare at Dave, speechless.

“Ain’t paying you to stand there, boy.”

If I weren’t so fucking embarrassed and disgusted by his behavior, I’d be pissed that I’m once again referred to as the boy. The pieces slowly fall into place. It’s no wonder he doesn’t have anyone and back in the day did all of his shopping in bulk. Dave hates people. I should take it as a compliment he’s let me in this far.

I go to open my mouth at least ten times, but then promptly shut it. It’s clear there’s no sense in talking reason into him. He could’ve just told them he wasn’t interested.

“Need to take my insulin.” Dave stands and begins creeping to the door.

I follow him, listening to each snap, crackle, and pop of his bones. The grinding sound sending chills up my spine. The stubborn old bastard…

“Dave.”

I get his attention before picking him up and walking back up to his house. He doesn’t say a word as we walk in. I set him down, and he goes to the rows and rows of medicine bottles. Arthritis, sugar diabetes, high blood pressure, hydrocodone, the list goes on. At least he keeps up with his medicine if he doesn’t keep up with anything else around his house. He’s made it apparent that he sees no problem with the state of his house, claiming it’s lived in. It’s a fucking dump that’s on the verge of being condemned.

Food is everywhere. Meals on Wheels has been giving him more than he can handle if the trash canss are any indicator. But convincing him to throw anything away before layers of mold cover it, is damn near impossible. I scrub my face, then go about tidying up the trash and hauling it out to burn. I’ve made a barrel for compost and then burn the rest of the trash.

Dave has his protein shake, sipping on it in his recliner when I walk back in. He chose that over some of the home cooked food from Meals on Wheels. I slam down the trash canss harder than normal, catching Dave’s attention.

“What’s got your feathers all ruffled, b…”

“I’m not your boy. My name is Hunter.”

Oh, yes, my stubbornness and pride have had enough of his shit.

“Okay.” He sits up a bit taller. “Then what has you all pissed off?”

“The way you treated those men. That wasn’t right at all. And you wonder why people don’t like to be around you?” I take three more steps closer to him. “You have so many stories to tell, Dave, but you choose to be a sealed off miserable asshole.”

Shit, I even wince at my words, but it’s the goddamn truth, and I’m exhausted.

“You got a woman?” he asks, then takes a drink of his shake with half of it missing his mouth and running down his chin onto his black shirt.