Blacktop Wasteland(7)

“How’d it go?” she mumbled into the pillow.

“I won but the guy didn’t want to pay. It got a little messy.”

She turned over then. “What you mean he ain’t wanna pay? What kind of shit is that?” she asked.

She was propped up on one elbow. The sheet that had barely covered her had fallen away. Her hair was sticking off her head in strange geometric patterns. Beauregard kneaded the flesh on her thigh.

“You didn’t get arrested, did you?” she asked.

Yeah, by some fake-ass cops, he thought.

He took his hand off her leg. “No, but the guy, he didn’t have all the money he said he had. The whole thing was messed up. I’m still 800 short,” he said. He let it sit there between them for a while. Kia pulled the sheet up and drew her knees up to her chest.

“What about that contract to work on them trucks from the construction company?” she asked. Beauregard moved closer to her. His shoulder brushed against hers.

“We didn’t get it. Precision got the contract. And then we had to get those glasses for Darren. And last month I had to give Janice money for Ariel’s cap and gown. It’s been a slow couple of months,” Beauregard said. Actually, it had been a slow year. Kia knew this, but neither one of them liked saying it out loud.

“Can we get an extension?” she asked. Beauregard stretched out beside her. She didn’t lie back but instead wrapped her arms around her knees and squeezed them. Beauregard stared up at the ceiling. The fan spun on a shaky axis. The globe on the light of the ceiling fan had the image of a Rottweiler.

They’d had that damn fan for five years and it never failed to give him the creeps. But Kia loved the damn thing. One thing he’d learned about marriage was that a novelty fan was not the hill you wanted to die on if you could help it.

“I don’t know,” he said. She ran a hand through her tousled hair. A few minutes went by and then she lay back against Beauregard. Her skin was cool to the touch and smelled like roses. She had showered before bed. He snaked one arm around her midsection and laid his hand on her belly.

“What if we can’t get an extension?” Kia asked.

Beauregard stroked her belly. “I might have to sell something. Maybe the hydraulic lift. Or the second tire-changing machine. Which is why I got the damn loan in the first place,” he said. He didn’t mention going to talk to his Uncle Boonie.

Almost as if on cue, Kia turned on her side and touched his face.

“You thinking about it, ain’t you?” she asked.

“Thinking about what?”

“Going to Boonie. Looking for a job. You know that’s not an option, right? You were blessed. We all was. You never got caught and you got out and you opened the garage. That’s a blessing, baby,” she said. Her light eyes searched his dark ones. They’d been together since he was nineteen and she was eighteen. Married since they both were twenty-three. Almost fifteen years together. She knew him about as well as anyone did.

A lot of couples liked to say they couldn’t lie to each other. That their partner could spot their falsehoods from a mile away. That line of thinking was a one-way street between him and Kia. He knew when she had gone out drinking with her girls. He knew when she had eaten the last chocolate chip cookie. Her face was an open book and he had read every page a long time ago. He hated lying to her, but the ease with which he could do it never failed to shock him. Then again, he did have a lot of practice with mendacity.

“No. I’m not thinking of it. Did it cross my mind? Yeah. Just like buying a lottery ticket crossed my mind,” he said. He hugged her close to him and closed his eyes.

“It’s gonna be alright. I’ll figure out something,” he said.

“I got a call from the dentist yesterday. Javon might need braces,” she said. Beauregard squeezed her tight but didn’t say anything.

“What are we gonna do, baby? I can try to pick up some extra shifts at the hotel,” she said.

“That ain’t gonna buy braces,” he said. Silence enveloped them both. Then Kia cleared her throat.

“You know you could sell—” But Beauregard cut her off midsentence.

“The Duster ain’t for sale,” he said. Kia laid her head on his chest. He slipped his arm around her shoulders and watched the blades on the ceiling fan spin until he drifted off to sleep.



* * *



“Daddy. Daddy. Daddy.”

Beauregard opened his eyes. It seemed like he had just closed them five seconds ago. Darren was standing by the bed. He was holding his favorite toy. A twelve-inch-tall Batman action figure. His tiny brown hand gripped the Caped Crusader in one hand and a rapidly disintegrating biscuit in the other.

“Hey, Stink,” Beauregard said. His youngest got Kia’s eyes and his complexion. Powerful green eyes that contrasted with his dark chocolate skin.

“Mama say come get your food before she gotta take us to Aunt Jean,” Darren said. A smile flickered across his lips. Beauregard figured Kia had used colorful language when she had instructed Darren to wake him. Whenever anyone cursed, Darren was overcome with the giggles. They didn’t subside quickly either. Judging by the slight grin on his son’s face, Kia had probably cussed him out nearly an hour ago.

“I guess I better get my ass up then,” Beauregard said. Darren exploded in a shower of giggles. Beauregard hopped out of bed and grabbed Darren around the waist. He hoisted the boy off the ground and headed for the kitchen, making airplane noises as he went.