Biloxi

by Mary Miller

  I petted Layla with my foot, really gave her a good rub. When my foot came close to her head, she licked it.

  Besides deliverymen, Frank was the only person who ever stopped by. Maxine called but didn’t come by. Ellen called on occasion, as well, though not in several weeks, a month. She had questions about taxes or insurance and the last time she phoned she told me she’d sold her burial plot on Craigslist so I’d be next to a stranger for all eternity. She’d left me but she was the one who was angry about it. I supposed I’d been angry for a time, too: first disbelief, then anger, and then I’d skipped over whatever the other stages were and there had just been nothing, or almost nothing, except for the occasional stab-like pain when I was reminded of something nice, which was followed by a wave of nausea before a return to blankness, nearly pleasant, or at least not unpleasant. Mostly I was fine alone, and having Frank around reminded me what it was like with other people in the house. How I’d never really gotten used to it. There was always tension, though I hadn’t realized it until Ellen was gone and I knew for sure she wasn’t coming back. When Ellen was at the store or lunch, she might as well have been in the house—anticipating her arrival was even worse than having her around. What if I was doing something she disapproved of? There had been so many things she’d disapproved of. Every moment was an all-too-brief reprieve from her judgment, her accusation that I was lazy, even though I only retired after she left, after my father died and I knew my inheritance was coming. Back then I’d gone to work five days a week selling insurance—a job I was ill-suited for and hated every single day—and on weekends I’d done yard work and small tasks around the house, whatever Ellen asked. But I’d heard people liked to accuse you of the traits they disliked in themselves, and Ellen was one of the laziest people I’d ever known. She was also dirty, hated the water, never even learned how to swim. In the end, I suppose what she’d disapproved of was my presence, and I suppose I’d felt the same.

  I never thought I’d live to see sixty-three, or have the money to retire early. It was incredible, preposterous. I hadn’t wanted to live this long, and yet there was little to be done about it. I wouldn’t put a bullet in my head—the mess of it, what people would say about me once the deed had been done, as if they’d been waiting for it all along.

  Frank finished his beer and surprised me by asking for another.

  “All the beer you can hold,” I said. “I keep a good stock.” I went back to the kitchen, the dog hot on my trail. I gave her another piece of bologna and did the flyaway ears before rejoining him.

  We sipped our beers while his ankle cooled. When the local news was over, I turned it to Fox and we took turns grunting at the appropriate times. The dog sat on her blanket with her eyes closed. Picks up on social cues, I thought. I needed to go to the store pretty soon. I hadn’t gotten my medicine and Layla didn’t have any food. She’d been eating bologna and tuna, the occasional saltine or spoonful of peanut butter, and I hoped she’d transition to dog food okay, but my next thought was that she was my dog and I could feed her whatever the hell I wanted. I could make a stack of pancakes and toss them to her and she’d eat them off the tile, same as the bologna. If I made them big enough, she might even catch one.

  “Have you heard from Maxine?” Frank asked.

  Dammit, Frank, I thought we weren’t going to do that. I thought we were past all that. He lowered his eyes to examine his ankle again and touched it in a girlish way.

  “I got a present from her in the mail, a cheese-of-the-month-club sort of thing. For my birthday.”

  “Happy birthday,” he said.

  “It isn’t for another week. I don’t know why she sent it this early.”

  “I like a good cheese,” he said. “What kind is it?”

  “Something foreign. There’s a whole story behind it.”

  After that I tried to mentally send him messages that it was time to go. Leave, I thought. Go home. I pictured him standing and walking to the door, raising his hand to wave goodbye. Shortly thereafter, Frank said he’d better be getting home to Claudia. Layla sat up and the two of us watched him hobble over to the door like a cripple.

  “Jesus, Frank. You gonna be okay?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “She really got me. That’s a terrible dog.”

  “I know it is.”

  “You should take that dog back to the pound.”

  “It was a one-time deal. Hold on,” I said, and I handed him the box of cheese, which was still on the floor. “It’s European, you can read all about it.”

  “I’ll see you soon, Louis.”

  “Not if I see you first,” I said, and pointed at him and chuckled like Harry Davidson. He looked at me strangely. I’d never seen that look on his face before and I felt the shame of saying the wrong thing, such a small thing to feel shame over, a joke, nothing. I watched him walk to his truck, hoping he never came back.

  “Layla,” I called. She was right by my side, focused on the fajitas. I asked her some questions: Was she happy? Did she love me? Was I the most handsome man she’d ever seen? Would we love each other forever? I liked the way her ears went up simply because whatever silly thing I’d said had been phrased as a question. She would accept my faults and ask for nothing in return besides some bologna and a bit of attention whenever I felt up to giving it to her. She didn’t need me to tell her I would never love anyone else or that I’d die for her. But I could tell her those things and they’d be true. It was easy with a dog. I didn’t have to give her flowers or remember her birthday, didn’t even know her birthday. She would never be disappointed in me. I felt like I’d never loved anyone more.

  I let her eat the fajitas as she wagged her tail. Then I went out there and picked up the foil-wrapped tortillas. I never bought tortillas at the store, but I could. I could buy whatever I wanted. I had to remind myself. I could spend fifty dollars on a couple of steaks, live lobster if it struck my fancy. Sausage links and pounds of apple-smoked bacon, whole pies from the freezer section. A couple of lovebugs, attached, set down on my arm. I considered squashing them but only brushed them off and they went on to do their business elsewhere. They were harmless; all they wanted to do was love each other before they died.

  “Alright, girl,” I said, “it’s gone.” We left the white box splayed for the neighbors to see, and I thought maybe I’d just let everything go to hell.

  Layla followed me around the house as we locked the doors—one, two, three—and then checked again to be certain. It was an enormous relief to be alone. I thanked God no one cared about me, hoped no one ever did again.

  But a bag of chips and four additional beers later, I was wide awake in the dark.

  The bed was old and uncomfortable yet I couldn’t seem to replace it. Would I drive to the mattress store and lie down on mattresses while some guy watched, asked me how they felt? I imagined Harry Davidson hiking up his britches, smiling and pointing. I imagined myself in the center of a mattress with my arms at my sides and my legs together, looking straight up at the ceiling, in a position I had never slept in in my life. The store cold and silent and white. Climbing off one bed and onto another. There was no way I’d be able to make a decision under those conditions, or would inevitably make the wrong one—decide I wanted a soft mattress when I wanted a firm one. Did they still make waterbeds? It was possible I’d walk out of there with one of those. Maxine told me I should order a bed in a box but I had no idea what that was. She said she could send me a bed in a box and it would arrive within two days and I told her please don’t and then I was thinking about my inheritance. I would call the lawyer in the morning even though he hardly ever took my calls, and when he did I couldn’t understand half of what he said. The last time, I lost my patience, asked him to use goddamn layman’s terms.

  I got out of bed. Layla looked at me as I left the room but it was a look that said, it’s late and I’m sleeping. You’re on your own.

  In the kitchen I poured myself a glass of water and stared into the backyard.
I wouldn’t have been surprised to see someone out there, dressed in black, hunched over as he made his way from shadow to shadow. Living alone was terrifying. There were no witnesses, no one to call. I was afraid of my own voice.

  I resumed my tossing and turning, Layla opening her eyes every time I moved a muscle. Judging me.

  “Ole Judgy McJudger,” I whispered into the dark. “Judgy McJudgerson. You think you know me?” No doubt she thought I was a piece of shit. I apologized. She was unmoved. I shouldn’t have had that last beer or eaten all of the Doritos. I was a piece of shit and she knew it and I knew it. I situated pillows on either side of my body, curled my hand into my chest like a baby hand. I had no idea how anyone had ever slept through the night before, how it was even possible. And then I was fast asleep and it was fine. Everything was fine again.

  CHAPTER 3

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING I awoke to a bird banging against the big window in the den. I knew which bird it was—an ugly one, brown and white with some faded orange on its belly—an oriole that liked to start its activities around six o’clock. I could hear it from my bedroom, could hear it from anywhere in the house. Every few seconds it charged into the glass at a good speed, a good clip. Sometimes it went around to another window and banged into it, too.

  After I let Layla out to use the bathroom and tossed a few slices of bologna to the floor, I dressed in yesterday’s clothes and drove to the big pet store by the mall. Before getting down to business, I wandered the aisles looking at the fish and guinea pigs and hamsters. They were dull and unimpressive, like the kinds of things you fed other, better things. I stopped to observe some ferrets piled on top of each other, waited to see if one of them moved or if I could see their tiny chests expanding. They looked dead. Limp and boneless. I looked around for someone who might check but there were only a handful of other shoppers, all women, most of them with small, well-groomed dogs. I wished I’d brought Layla with me but it had seemed like a lot of trouble and there was the whole Frank situation.

  I imagined her sniffing the other dogs while their owners and I smiled at each other, just a couple of pet owners running errands on a weekday morning. They would tell me how pretty she was—she really was a pretty dog despite her heft—like people used to do when Maxine was a baby. Ellen had been sick a lot with migraines and the two of us had gone everywhere together, doing all of the things I liked to do and Maxine had come to like them as well.

  We fished and ate cheeseburgers and took long drives, looking for deer and turkey and whatever else we might see. Sometimes we’d sit in the woods and do nothing but listen. For a child, she became very good at doing nothing, which impressed me. She never fell asleep and hardly complained as we listened to the birds and the turkeys calling to each other, identifying the sounds different animals made when threatened or trying to attract a mate. This was in Stone County, on the eighty acres my grandfather left me, but I’d sold it years ago to pay for her college.

  It wasn’t her fault, she’d never asked me to do it, but I’d never forgiven her for it. Ellen hadn’t asked me to do it, either. She’d even offered to sell some of the stock her mother left her, said we could take out a second mortgage on the house, but for some reason I can’t figure, I insisted. I sold it too cheap, to a neighbor who had wanted it for years. I guessed at the time it felt like a sacrifice I could give Maxine. When she was no longer a child, I had stopped liking her before there was anything to dislike. One day she didn’t need me anymore; we had nothing to say to each other.

  She hadn’t known I’d sold the land until later and had cried when her mother told her.

  The women didn’t look at me and reined their dogs in more tightly as I neared. Was I imagining it? Was my face doing something funny? I checked my zipper and pushed the cart faster, tossing in dog treats, an assortment of squeaky toys, a large “busy” bone, oatmeal shampoo, flea and tick medicine, but got stuck in the leash-and-collar aisle. I decided I wanted a solid color—that part was easy—but choosing between red and blue and black was tougher. I touched each one, spaced out, and lost track of time. I’d been having the spells for a while, since the sleeping troubles began. The worst ones left me disoriented, turned around in the most familiar places. I selected a red collar and a matching leash and put them in the cart. I also had a hard time with the bed. It needed to be soft and not too big and not too small and maybe have some sides so she’d have something to lean against. I wished she could test them out. I threw one into the cart; it was ugly with triangular shapes in a brown-and-orange pattern but it looked comfortable enough and was on sale. I remembered the red snowman at the last minute—a Kong, the large classic, she didn’t need a wobbler—and then went back for the biggest bag of dog food I could buy, as it was the most economical.

  In the checkout line, I second-guessed my decision on the bed but there was a lady behind me and then another and I wasn’t going to give up my spot.

  “My dog doesn’t like these bones,” the checkout girl said, holding up the busy bone.

  “I never bought one before.”

  “Maybe yours’ll like it but not mine.”

  “Huh,” I said.

  The girl held up the oatmeal shampoo and said, “There’s better shampoo than this, too. This kind doesn’t have much scent so your dog won’t smell fresh. I prefer something fruitier—there’s one called coconut and papaya I really like.” She was young and overly confident for someone of her size, with her face. What would happen if I called her a fathead-know-it-all bitch? Would I be thrown out of the store? It was possible. The idea excited me.

  The total came to one-hundred-and-eighty-four dollars and fourteen cents.

  “A dog’s not cheap,” I said to the girl, smiling in what I hoped was a good-natured way.

  “Are you a member?” she asked. “You could save ten percent right now if you sign up.”

  “I’m not interested.”

  “It’s a good deal. You could save a lot of money,” she said, her whole face scrunched up as she bagged my purchases. Perhaps I’d been too brusque, but surely it didn’t deserve such an unattractive face. I didn’t understand why people were so rude, when they’d become so rude. I thought about calling the store and leaving a complaint. Her name tag said Kara.

  “Thank you, Kara,” I said. I could teach her some manners. “I think next time I’ll do my shopping at Walmart.” At Walmart, they never asked if I wanted to become a member or commented on my purchases. I could even use one of those self-checkouts and talk to no one at all.

  “And you ought to check on those ferrets,” I said. “I’m pretty sure they’ve expired.” I pushed my cart into a stack with a clatter.

  As I was walking out, an older woman wearing a T-shirt claiming she was a proud member of the basket of deplorables was on her way into the store. I pretended I didn’t see her, and let the door close just as she was about to enter. Trump wouldn’t want that woman in his basket. He would hate that old woman and she didn’t even know enough to know that.

  At home, I gave the dog the busy bone. She was thrilled. She tossed it into the air and chased it across the room and tossed it again. She tossed it a few more times before settling down as far away from me as she could get and still be in the room.

  “I see you like your bone fine,” I said. “Kara had her doubts. Kara was a real bitch who knows nothing about your likes and dislikes.”

  She looked at me with what could have been interpreted as suspicion, her paws handling the bone easily, turning it this way and that like human hands.

  “I don’t want your bone,” I said. “I gave you that bone. You remember that.” I considered taking it out of her mouth and giving it back to her to demonstrate my generosity, to show her who was providing for her. Instead, I called Maxine.

  “Dad?” she said. “Hey. How are you?”

  “Hey, Maxi. I wanted to thank you for the cheese.”

  “You got it?”

  “I did. Thank you.”

  “You’re wel
come. I thought it’d be something different.”

  “It certainly is different,” I said.

  “But you liked it?”

  “Are you kidding? I put it on some toast this morning and had it for breakfast. Two pieces!” I hoped she would say she had to go—she was in the middle of something—like she usually did. She was feeding the baby or dressing the baby or fixing the baby’s hair or helping the baby off the toilet. The baby was four or five years old but that’s what she called it. “Well,” I said. “How’s that baby of yours?” She called the baby a baby so often I forgot its name, at least when I was called on to remember it.

  “She’s good, we’re really good. How are you?” she asked. “How’s everything? I haven’t heard from you in a while.”

  “Everything’s fine here, nothing to report.”

  “I was hoping to see you soon.”

  “That’d be nice. I don’t know when I might get over there, though.”

  “How come? Are you busy?”

  “No, it’s not that. . . . I don’t drive all that well anymore.”

  “Is it your eyesight?”

  “My eyesight’s alright.”

  “How come, then?”

  “I get tired. I don’t like to drive too far these days.”