Blacktop Wasteland(45)

Beauregard’s head began to throb. “You think he ran from me or the cops? He ran from you. He couldn’t stand to hear your mouth one more minute,” he said. The words left a foul taste in his mouth, but he couldn’t help himself. No one knew how to push his buttons like his mother. If anyone else had talked to him like that, they would be counting their teeth in the palm of their hand. All he could do to his mother was try and strike her where she was softest.

“That’s how you talk to your mother?”

“That’s how you talk to me.”

“When I die, don’t sit up in church pretending you miss me. Just burn me up and toss me in the trash like you doing now.”

Beauregard rolled his eyes. This was her fighting style. Attack you from the front, then pivot and spring a surprise attack on your flank.

“Good night, Mama.” He turned and walked to the door. Before he could leave, Ella had another coughing fit. He went back and gave her some more water, but it didn’t seem to help. He slipped his hand under her back and was shocked by how insubstantial she felt. He pulled her up and lightly tapped her between her shoulder blades. She nodded, and he let her lie back on the bed.

“I … should have picked a better father for you. But Anthony had the cutest smile I’d ever seen,” she said. She was wheezing, and a thin line of saliva was hanging from her stoma.

“You want the nurse?”

She shook her head. She wrapped her bony fingers around his wrist.

“You could have been better than you are, but you spent too much time looking up to a ghost.”

Beauregard felt a hitch in his chest.

“Not anymore.”

“Liar.”



* * *



Beauregard got in the Duster and pulled out of the nursing home spinning tires. He had one more stop to make, and he was dreading it.

Beauregard brought the Duster to a stop in front of a two-story white farmhouse that was quickly going to seed. The black shutters had faded to a washed-out greenish color. The porch was beginning to lean on the everlasting. Beauregard got out of the car and tramped across the yard. His feet kicked up dust devils as he walked. There was no grass or shrubs near the house. An El Camino sat up on blocks near the front door. An old brown couch covered by a tarp sat on the right corner of the house. Empty beer cans and cigarette butts littered the yard.

Beauregard knocked on the screen door. He didn’t hit it as hard as he could because he was afraid it was going to fall off the hinges. He could hear Fox News blaring from somewhere inside the house. Shuffling footsteps brought Ariel’s grandmother Emma to the door. A short stocky woman with jowls on top of her jowls. An unfiltered Pall Mall was hanging on to the corner of her lip for dear life.

“Yeah?”

“Can you get Ariel for me? I called her phone, but she didn’t answer.”

Emma took a drag on her cigarette. The tip glowed red like a piece of ferrous metal being melted. “Phone’s off. You’d know that if you called her more.”

“Just get her for me,” Beauregard said.

“What you want with her?”

“I want to talk to her. I’m her daddy. No matter how hard you try to pretend she has the world’s best perm.”

“You coming around here every once in a while with your drug money don’t make you a father.”

Beauregard leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Go get my daughter. Now. I’m not in the mood to play this fucking game with you. Not today.”

Emma blew a cloud of smoke out through her nostrils before turning away from the door. He heard her whisper “asshole” as she walked down the hall. He went back to the Duster and sat on the hood. Ariel came out a few minutes later. She was wearing a tank top and shorts so tight they would become a thong if she sneezed.

“Hey.”

“Hey. Where’s your car?”

“Rip needed it for work. And since my phone is off, he can’t call me to pick him up, so I let him take it.”

“He got a license?”

“Yeah, he just ain’t got a car.”

“Come here.”

She joined him on the hood of the car. “You gonna give some static about that?”

“Nah. There are more important things than Lil Rip driving your car.”

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a bulky rolled-up brown envelope like the one you used to mail documents.

“One year of tuition at VCU is $24,000.”

“Yeah. Plus, textbooks.”

He handed her the envelope.

“What is this?”

“Twenty-four thousand dollars. I guess colleges don’t take cash so open some bank accounts. Don’t deposit more than $10,000 in each. The government will come asking questions if you do.”

Ariel’s mouth was agape.

“Where the fuck did you get this money?”

“Watch your mouth, girl.”

“Sorry. Where the hell did you get this money?”

Beauregard laughed.

“Look, don’t worry about that. Just don’t let your Mama or your grandmother know you got it. I can’t promise you I’ll be able to do more anytime soon, but this is a start.”

Ariel twisted the envelope in her hands. She frowned.

“Am I gonna get in trouble taking this money?”