The Last Days of Summer (15 page)

‘Bullshit you did,' Lizzie says.

A moment passes as the women's eyes meet.

‘Now, Lizzie.' Esther glances at Jasper, the fear in her eyes slightly rising. He likes the way her jaw trembles when she looks at him. ‘There ain't no need for trouble. I told y'all you might do better shopping elsewhere.' She picks the fan up again, closed tightly in her fist. Unfurls it. The nervousness in her eyes appeals to Jasper. Just a little. It stirs something long lain dormant inside him. A bead of sweat runs down her plump chest to disappear in folds of fat and cleavage. Jasper's eyes follow it. He studies the moisture on her skin, her brow. The anger in him turning in his gut.

‘You won't take my money?' Cold, cold, hardened voice.

Until just days ago Jasper would have never guessed that his sister could use that tone. He never would have pictured her grown up to be so hardened.

The whir of the ceiling fan is the only sound in the muggy shop. As if all breath is held. Katie's whispered voice cuts through the silence: ‘Come
on
, let's
go.
'

Doe Eyes hesitates. Katie steps back, tugging her sister's hand.

Esther locks her eyes on Lizzie. Glances to where the two girls mutely struggle. Katie pulls her sister towards the door while Doe Eyes' feet stubbornly trail behind her. Quietly, as though talking to a child, Esther's voice softens. She reaches across the counter and gently places her hand on Lizzie's wrist. ‘It ain't you I'm refusing, hon.'

‘Course it ain't,' Jasper sneers, words a snarled whisper.

The colour leaves Lizzie's face. She nods, as though understanding is just now dawning. Repeats, ‘It ain't me.' No question in her words.

Esther retracts her hand. Looks at the floor. ‘That's what I said.' Then, braver, she looks back up, jaw quivering, her voice held newly loud and strong. ‘We got no men's things for sale today, I'm afraid.'

Jasper feels the rage inside him sour to laughter, boiling in his insides, ready to explode. Holding down the anger, the laughter, he cuts in, ‘Now look here, Esther,' tone forced civil, forced what he thinks might sound sweet, ‘I ain't here for no trouble. I ain't back for no trouble neither. I just need a few things is all. Now your brother and I, you know we go way back. Roy was always good to me 'n' I got no hard feelin's towards your lot.' He watches as another bead of sweat escapes the sweaty folds of her neck to run down her bosom. Watches as the drop disappears into the dark crease of her cleavage.

She forces her eyes to meet his. Holds his gaze with a determination that surprises him. That almost turns him on. Her words snarl now, the sugar all gone: ‘We don' serve your kind here.'

‘My kind?' He leans forward slightly, the anger in him swelling like poison under his skin, mixing with his bloodstream, turning his insides black.

Her lip quivers, but her eyes and voice stay strong: ‘You know what you are.'

There is silence, the only sound the whir of the ceiling fan. Then Jasper's laughter explodes. He can't help it. The deep dark laugh that boiled up in his insides forces its
way out. An evil sound. Even he recognizes that. ‘You stupid cunt,' he laughs, ‘you stupid, stupid cunt.'

Lizzie throws a handful of crumpled notes onto the counter. More than is owed. She swoops up the clothes in one swift motion, leaving the counter clear. ‘If you don't want my money,' she says, ‘I reckon you know where you can return it. Come on, girls. Jasper.' She turns, quickly crossing the room in four large strides. The bell chimes as the door swings open. Lizzie freezes in its frame. Face drained of all emotion. Jaw hardened. Katie and Doe Eyes are quickly at their mother's heels. The three of them pause there all looking back at Jasper, like they're waiting for him, and they are, Jasper supposes, but he can't control the laughter in him, can't stop it spilling out.

Jasper does not watch them leave, still doubled over, laughing. He does not hear the bell chime again as the door reopens. Nor does he know how long he's been in the shop alone, bent double, laughing in Esther Reynolds's face. It's a small hand in his that snaps him out of it. Tanned browner than prairie grass. The shock of the touch silences him completely. It's been a long time since a hand held his with any care. Calluses round the first knuckle of her palm. And yet, somehow, her skin feels smooth, too. One finger, the index, is sticky. Big blue eyes meet his. For a moment he thinks it's Lizzie. But that can't be: the age is all wrong. And then there's that doe look he's growing used to. Bobby round the eyes.

Joanne smiles. Nothing uncertain, nothing afraid in how she regards him. Just a curling of her lips that's not quite happy, but comforts all the same. ‘You OK, Uncle Jasper?'

He looks back across the counter to where Esther cowers. The silence left by his laughter hollows the room, like a newly forged canyon. Fan spread open but unwaving, Esther watches him, face like a blow-up doll, expression locked with permanent horror and surprise, mouth gaping open. He wonders how that girl with sticky watermelon lips grew into the whale before him. Wonders briefly what her lips would taste like now.

He leans forward across the counter and takes Esther by the chin. Roughly, but not quite rough enough to bruise. He holds her face still as her eyes try to elude him. Eyes gone dark with fear. Been a long time since he saw that in a woman's eyes. Her cheek beneath his squeezing fingers feels baby soft. Tears well in her eyes, but do not fall. He leans in closer, an inch from her lips. He can smell her hairspray he's so close. Can smell the cakey chemicals of her lipstick. The sourness of her breath. He turns her face from one side to the other. ‘You used to be such a pretty girl …' Esther recoils and he releases her, pushing her face back, disgusted she exists, disgusted at himself for caring that she judges him, for caring he falls short. His hand lowers back to his side.

Joanne's hand slips into his once again and squeezes. Her face looks up to his as though searching for his answer, but he can't recall the question now, or even if there was one. His halted laughter hangs heavy in the silence of the shop, suspended in the heat. The ceiling fan clicks as it rotates. There's a slight wheeze to Esther's breathing. And that odour of cat piss somehow smells fresh again. He wonders who the cat belongs to. Where
the cat is. Or if maybe the smell stems from Esther, not the carpet.

Joanne's gaze holds fear inside it. And something else, too, he can't quite name, but that he knows he hasn't seen for quite a while.

‘I'm sorry,' he says, voice shattering the stagnant calm. He looks up and around as though just woken and still dazed. ‘Yes, yes, I'm fine.' He smiles down at the girl beside him, turns to Esther. She's trembling. Shaking on the stool so that her fat jiggles. Her eyes are wide upon him, electric blue lids barely visible. ‘Esther.' He releases Joanne's hand and shoves both of his deep into his pockets, shoulders hunching with the motion. He looks down at the stained carpet beneath his feet. Looks back up and finds Esther's eyes with his own. Fear still lives in her gaze. He smiles. ‘It was awful good seein' ya, Esther. Been a long time. I'd be obliged if you'd tell Roy I was askin' for 'im.'

He nods once, then turns. Doe Eyes is waiting for him, one arm outstretched to take his hand again. Joanne. Joanne is waiting for him. There's this funny smile on her lips – seems unnatural with the fear still in her eyes, her face cast in shadow, the light of the shop window behind her. Tanned and lean and wiry. Brown and gold and blue. More and more traces of woman quickly creeping in every day, taking over. She looks almost like an angel standing there. No wings, but dark blonde hair as a halo shining. He thinks of his mama. Her deep faith. Thinks again of Melvin Douglas and his fondness for little girls. For the first time, he thinks he might just
understand what about them got Melvin ticking. Almost. He takes Joanne's hand and follows her.

Jasper glances back just once, through the glass of the door as it shuts behind them, bell chiming. Esther still sits motionless, paper fan closed, clutched tight to her chest. She does not call after them. Does not rise. Or try to stop them. Fat still floating in orbit around her as she spills off her stool. Her hot-pink lips lie in a thin, straight line. Tears silently roll down her cheeks, leaving trails through her rouge. To Jasper's surprise, Esther raises her hand. It does not wave, just hangs in the air between them, suspended.

Lizzie swings the cab door open and throws Jasper's new second-hand clothes onto the seat. A tangled pile of blues and blacks and greys. A bit of off-white. She slams the door and leans her forehead against the hot glass. Closes her eyes. Can feel the metal of the door handle still burning hot in her hand. She tries to let her mind go blank. Tries to focus on the heat against her head. The heat in her hand. But she can't clear her mind. Can't calm it.

‘Mom? You OK?'

Lizzie stands up quickly, head pulled off the glass. ‘I'm fine,' she snaps, smoothing the front of her blouse as she straightens.

Katie nods. Looks down the street. Arms crossed before her. ‘You want me to drive home?'

Lizzie stares down the road, eyes following the same path as her daughter's. Sun so bright it's hard to see. Concrete cooking in the heat. Mirages down the way. Small shops line the street, some open, most closed years, now
rusted shut. Butcher, baker, both long boarded up. Grocer only open half days most of the week ever since the Piggly Wiggly opened up off I-10. The barber's red and white post still spins, door left open to let whatever breeze might wander in. The elementary just up the way is shut for summer. City Hall lies back down the road behind them. Courthouse, jail, what used to be a fire station, all rolled into one. The garage where Bobby once worked looks more like a scrapyard than a repair shop, rusted bits of cars and bicycles piled high, like raked leaves gathered up and discarded together. Each window in town seems dark in contrast to the brilliance of the day. Not a cloud in sight. She looks back to her daughter. ‘I reckon I can drive still.'

‘All right.'

Flags still hang from nearly every lamppost left over from the Fourth of July. Lizzie turns to lean her back against the hot metal of the pickup's body. She runs a hand through her tangled hair. Windblown. Feels the sun upon her. A small white Ford sedan drives past, old Mrs Anderson behind the wheel. Seeing her, Lizzie waves without thinking. Even feels a smile spread automatic on her lips, though she would not have thought herself capable of smiling in that moment. Mrs Anderson was one of Mama's schoolgirl friends. Married to a lawyer. No family of their own. When they were children, Mrs Anderson used to bring them a plate of fresh-baked chocolate-chip cookies still hot from the oven every Saturday afternoon when she'd call round to visit. And Mama would always pause whatever chore was at hand. And Lizzie and Jasper would take the plate of Mrs Anderson's cookies out round
the back, and they'd hide in the sheets hung out on the clothesline and giggle and stuff their faces till their stomachs hurt.

Once Lizzie got chocolate on the sheets. Mama's nice clean sheets hung up to dry. New sheets, too. Little sticky fingerprints, all dark and brown and chocolaty. Lizzie had caught her breath. She'd be in for a spanking for sure. Big tears had welled in her eyes. But Jasper had just smiled. ‘Don't fuss,' he'd said, and winked. Tears choked her throat, making it hard to breathe. Chocolate still coated her lips, her tongue. Her fingertips. ‘Now watch,' said Jasper, and he'd smiled. He took another cookie off the plate. Broke it open to its gooey centre. Lizzie's throat had relaxed a little. Mouth watered. She sat up straighter, watching. Jasper took the broken open cookie and ran it over where Lizzie's fingerprints had stained. He pushed the chocolate in hard to the fabric, gooey centre right on the cloth. Ran it in circles, wider, bigger. A big brown stain beside them. Sheet still cool and wet from Mama's wash. ‘It's just mud now,' Jasper'd said, and they'd laughed. They'd laughed till their sides hurt. Till tears stung their eyes and they could open them no longer. And later that night when Mama'd pulled the washing in, Daddy's belt had come down hard and swift, but Jasper had not cried out. Not even once. Lizzie had wanted to tell Daddy it was her fingerprints. That Jasper'd only been helping. But she was too scared. Tears ran down her cheeks as she'd seen Daddy's belt unfasten. ‘You think you're smart, boy? Well, this will smarten you up …' and then she'd run from the room before her brother's spanking.

Years later Lizzie'd called round their house to ask Mr
Anderson to represent Jasper at trial. He was the best lawyer in the county. Everyone knew that. Mrs Anderson had answered the door. Silver hair tied up. But still a smile on her lips. Always a smile there waiting, warm as chocolate and just as rich. ‘Elizabeth! What a surprise!'

‘I'm sorry to bother you, ma'am.' Lizzie had shuffled her feet. She could remember that. Had shuffled her feet on their welcome mat. Joanne just a baby there on her hip. Moths buzzing and thudding as they beat their fragile bodies against the porch bulb. Light a muted yellow gold, night dark with heavy rain. ‘Is Mr Anderson here? There's somethin' awfully important I got to speak with him 'bout.'

The smile had left Mrs Anderson's face. Lizzie would never forget that. The smiling woman stripped of her smile. Skin suddenly older, sallower, a different shade of pale. ‘Of course.' Mrs Anderson had stepped aside, letting Lizzie enter.

Their house was beautiful. Hardwood floors, a deep dark oak. Walls crisp and white and filled with nicely framed family photos. Mostly black-and-white. Some coloured. An oil painting of the sea hung above their marble mantel, waves violent and frothy, foaming as they beat a lone sailboat ashore. She'd stood uncertain for a moment in the door to their sitting room, just taking it all in. The deep mahogany bookshelves that ran floor to ceiling. The leather couches lined with tiny brass buttons. The red and gold carpet. The deep gold curtains that reached all the way down to that dark floor.