Blacktop Wasteland(23)

Beauregard wiped his face with the least dirty rag in his pocket. “Who is Sandra? I thought you was seeing Cynthia and the other one,” Beauregard said.

Kelvin grinned. “Met Sandra on Snapchat. She from Richmond. I’m riding up there when she gets off from her job at the tobacco plant,” Kelvin said.

“Nah, I got something I gotta do,” Beauregard said.

Kelvin raised his eyebrows. “That something got anything to do with Ronnie Sessions?” Kelvin asked.

“Something like that,” Beauregard said.

“You want me to go with you?”

Beauregard shook his head. “No. I’m just getting more details. It still might be nothing,” Beauregard said.

Kelvin shrugged. “Whatever, man. Let me know. I’ll be at Danny’s till about ten. If y’all get done. I might be down if it’s something worth doing,” Kelvin said.

“I’ll let you know,” Beauregard said. Kelvin walked toward Beauregard and held out his hand. Beauregard slapped it as Kelvin passed him and headed out the door. He heard Kelvin’s Nova start up and tear out of the parking lot.

He went and sat in the Duster. The old leather on the seats smelled like tobacco that had been soaked in oil. He could see his Daddy sitting in the same seat he now occupied. He could see himself sitting in the passenger seat. Beauregard didn’t dream of his Daddy. He didn’t have dreams. He never had nightmares. At least none he could remember. He slipped into a quiet darkness when he slept and then emerged from that blackness when he awoke. Usually to the sounds of Darren and Javon fighting about any and everything.

When his father came to him, it was through memories. Waking dreams that grabbed him by the neck and pulled him into the past. He would see himself and his father as they had been. Sometimes he would see his grandparents or his mother. But mostly he saw his father. Smiling, laughing, sullen or sad. His father working on the Duster. His father coming up behind his mother and wrapping his tree trunk arms around her waist. His father storming out of the trailer and slamming the door so hard the whole structure rocked. His father beating down Solomon Gray with a bar stool. Him and his Daddy sitting on the hood of the Duster under a star-filled night sky looking for Orion’s belt. He remembered how his five-year-old self had thought it would look like an actual belt. Whenever he went into these fugue states, he felt like Janus. Looking forward and backwards with equal amounts of trepidation.

Sitting there in the darkened garage, he was transported back to the last day he saw his father. It was hellishly hot that day too. He had waited on the steps of their trailer for his Daddy to come pick him up and go riding. He had known this visit would be a different one. His mother was more agitated than usual. He had overheard her talking to one of her friends about “Anthony done got himself in some shit he won’t talk his way out of,” but he didn’t know what that meant. By the end of that day, he would learn.

His cell phone rang, breaking the spell. He pulled it out of his pocket. It was Kia.

“Hey,” he said when he answered it.

“The boys want to spend the night at Jean’s. Her neighbor’s grandson got dropped off while they were there. I told them it was okay,” she said.

“Hey, I’m sorry about yesterday,” he said. When he had gotten home last night, she was in the bedroom pretending to be asleep. He had stayed in the living room playing with the boys. When he had finally put them to sleep and gone to lie down, she wasn’t pretending anymore. He had left before breakfast. His temper could be like a lightning strike. Kia was like a smoldering forest fire. He knew he had to give her some space to let it burn itself out.

“Yeah, me too. I shouldn’t have said what I said.”

“I shouldn’t have slammed the door like that. You know I’m just trying to do right by you and the boys. And Ariel,” he said.

“You wanna do right by us, don’t do nothing with them boys that came by yesterday. As far as Ariel goes, you been trying to do for that girl. Ain’t your fault her mama a cracked-out bitch,” she said.

Beauregard clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Knowing these boys, it probably ain’t nothing too serious,” he said.

Kia grunted. “Baby, nobody gets you to drive their aunty to the store. So, don’t talk to me like I’m dumb. You wouldn’t even be thinking about it if it wasn’t something big. And that means it’s dangerous,” she said.

“I don’t wanna argue with you, Kia,” Beauregard said.

“And I don’t wanna lose you, Bug,” she said.

They both went quiet.

“I’ll talk to you when I get home. I gotta go,” he said.

“Yeah, you will. We need to do a lot of talking,” she said. She hung up.

Beauregard put the phone in his pocket and got out of the Duster. The thing about loving someone was that they knew all your pressure points. They knew all the spots that were open and raw. You let them into your heart and they cased the place. They knew what made you feel weak and what ticked you off. Like somebody hanging up on you. He opened his mouth and closed it like a lion then shook his head violently side to side. He had to let that go.

He needed to have his head in the game. Getting ready for a job was like putting on a new coat. You had to make sure it fit. If everything didn’t look right he would walk away. Leave that coat on the rack. No matter how much money was on the table. He glanced back at the Duster. The money was important. God knows they needed it. So many people were depending on him. Kia, his Mama, the boys, Ariel, Kelvin. He thought about what Boonie had said. About how he wasn’t like his father. That’s what he liked to believe. That they were completely different. In some respects that was true. No matter how intense the pressure got, he didn’t run out on his family or his friends. He wasn’t Anthony Montage. So why did he feel a flutter in his chest like a hornet was trapped in his ribs? If he wasn’t like his Daddy, why did he miss the Life?