He closed his eyes, and a strange thought came to him. From this point on, it would get easier for all of them.
The hospice nurse came in and silenced the machines. “Did she pass?” she asked.
Francis nodded.
Bugg looked over at his son, who slept through the noise, oblivious. Francis didn’t wake him. There would be time for him to face this loss, but for now, sleep was best. As he watched the boy’s chest rise and fall and listened to the wetness of his breathing, he realized that for the first time in his life, the child’s deafness was a blessing.
Francis wanted to reach down and touch Eric without waking him, but he didn’t. He was too old now. He hadn’t touched him in years. Francis knew this was the way of things, but it deepened his sadness from the memory of that night in hospice all the way to the morning of today. Eric had proven Karen correct. For the last eight years, he’d been in almost constant trouble of one kind or another. Things got better once the life insurance came in, and Francis took Eric to see if cochlear implants might help. He was astounded by the sounds of things, and for a while started doing well in school. When he learned that playing football was off the table, he caved and ended up in the juvenile courts for stealing cars. He didn’t keep them or try to sell them, he just drove them around and left them when he was done, keys still in the ignition.
Francis was just about to wake Eric, when his son’s phone buzzed and a message banner popped up on the screen.
Robert Earl Cripps: On my way. Take a shower.
Francis took the phone and stuck it on Eric’s thumb as he slept. Once it was unlocked, he looked back through the text chain with Robert Earl.
TODAY 12:07 AM: Hey, Robert Earl.
TODAY 12:09 AM: What are you texting me for?
TODAY 12:09 AM: I remember you talking about an idea you had with your pool business. Can I still get in?
TODAY 12:37 AM: ????
TODAY 1:22 AM: You were going to use The Pool Shark to do something with chemicals. You said you might need a driver.
Robert Earl sent a picture of himself lying in bed with a tiny pig under the covers. He was flipping off the camera. The caption: Mr. Big says UR nuts.
TODAY 4:03 AM: Use the other number next time.
TODAY 7:13 AM: On my way. Take a shower.
Francis set his son’s phone back on the coffee table. The clock on the microwave said it was 7:14. Francis went into the kitchen and started making himself a pot of coffee, splitting his attention between the front door window, the coffee maker, and his kid sprawled on the couch. While the coffee maker heated up, Francis emptied the dishwasher and wiped down the counters.
Outside a massive truck rumbled through the trailer park and pulled in next to Bugg’s place. Francis heard it and went to the window, stood to the side, and looked out. The black truck had a white sticker on the door of a grinning shark. The word POOL was written across the place where the gills should be. A kid named Robert Earl Cripps was inside, his hair bleached, mulletted, and wet. He wore the kind of huge plastic sunglasses Francis remembered ladies wearing in the seventies. He was talking on a cell phone while a little black-and-white potbellied pig nuzzled his face.
Eric’s phone buzzed again, which made Francis take another cautious step back from the window.
The coffee machine started hissing, which drew Bugg’s attention. He took a pillow from his recliner and threw it at the boy, which made him shoot up into a sitting position. When he had Eric’s attention, Bugg put a finger to his lips and, with the other hand, pointed to the phone on the coffee table.
Check your phone, he signed.
Eric unlocked the screen and thumbed through the messages. After a couple of swipes, a horrified look leapt across his face. He parted the cheap blinds with a finger and saw Robert Earl out there, sitting in his truck, staring right at him. Eric dropped the metal slat and turned right toward his father with a false look that said, “What’s he doing here?”
While the Buggs took turns shrugging at each other, Robert Earl blew the horn four or five times. It agitated Francis so much he shot a look outside and growled, “That’s enough.” He stormed into his room and came back with a 9mm pistol, which he stuck awkwardly behind his back in the belt of his bathrobe.
He motioned for Eric to keep down, and then he went outside. Eric thought about protesting, but resigned himself to his father’s plans.
Francis said, “Hey, mister. I thought I told you to steer clear of this place.”
“I’m here to pick up Eric. Tell him to get cracking.”
“I’m here to pick up Eric, what?”
“You aren’t gonna hear me calling you ‘sir,’ so quit trying.”
This made Bugg ratchet himself straight and square his shoulders. “I might have to call your daddy, Robert Earl. He’ll want a report on how his boy backtalks veterans and leans on his horn like some third-world cab driver.”
“You’re all bark.”
Francis stepped back through the door and reached for the old gray phone sitting on the edge of the kitchen counter. It took a couple seconds to sell the bluff.
“I’m here to pick up Eric, sir.” Robert Earl said, sighing loudly.
“That’s better. While we’re at it, Dumbo, I’d like to point out that you were honking for a deaf guy.”
Robert Earl stuck a disgusted look on his face and rolled his eyes like a teenager. “Deaf? He’s got those bionic speakers in his hair. He probably can hear me talkin’ right now.” The potbellied pig ran across the bench seat and snuffled along the edge of the open window.
“What the heck is that?” Francis asked.
“It’s a pig.”
“I can tell it’s a pig. Why is it riding in your truck?”
“His name is Mr. Big,” Robert Earl said.
“Mr. Pig?” he asked. “Robert Earl, it ain’t a name if you just call it mister plus the kind of thing it is.”
“Not Pig. It’s Big. Mr. Big, like the band. I’m not gonna argue with you. Where’s Eric?”
Francis folded his arms.
“Where’s Eric, sir?” Robert Earl said reluctantly, then mumbled something Bugg couldn’t hear.
“That’s a tiny little critter. Calling him Mr. Big don’t make sense.” Francis turned around and went back into the house, making sure Robert Earl could see the pistol he’d stuck in the belt of his robe. Eric was dressed, sort of, in a black Adidas T-shirt, his orange Oklahoma State shorts, and basketball shoes without socks. His implants were in place, but his hair was crazy.
“What’s that no-account doing here?” Bugg said, fiercely.
“Leave us alone, Dad,” Eric said. I’m gonna do some work for him.”
“Oh, really? You’ve got a job?”
“I’m going to talk to him about one. Dad, he’s got a pool business. Pool chemicals. He’s expanding, so he needs a driver. You’re always telling me to get a job. Nobody wants to hire a deaffie, but Robert Earl doesn’t care.”
“Don’t call yourself that. I hate it.”
“It’s what deaf people say.”
“Sounds like you’ve got no pride.”
“I’ve got to go.”
“You better not be lying to me, boy.”
“I’m not.”
“Because if you’re lying to me …”
“I’m not lying. This is for real.”
“Because if you’re lying, I’ll never hear the end of it.” Francis froze when he said those words. The shock of what he said seemed overplayed, but it was legitimate.
Eric met his father’s eyes and wouldn’t look away. It was his turn to stand taller. Francis slouched and raised his hand to block his son’s gaze.
“You didn’t hear that,” Francis said. “Just. Go.”
She doesn’t talk to you, Dad. Eric said, speaking and signing together. He swung his hands through the empty air. She’s gone.
“You don’t know anything about it,” Bugg said, still cowering.
I know she’s dea
d, and talking is one of the main things dead people can’t do. He walked past his dad, jumped down the stairs, and jogged around to Robert Earl’s truck. He climbed in and purposely did not look back.
“I been honking,” Robert Earl said. “Can you hear me now?” He laughed at his own joke and put the truck in gear.
“Good one. I never heard that one before.”
“Really?” Robert Earl asked.
“Never heard it because I’m deaf. Get it?”
“Lame,” Robert Earl said.
“Let’s get out of here,” Eric said. “I need to get something to eat.
As they drove off, the pig climbed into Eric’s lap and looked out the window with his beady black eyes.
THE DINER WAS HALF FULL. Robert Earl and Eric had a booth with a window so he could keep an eye on Mr. Big. “You think he can squeeze out of there?” Robert Earl asked.
Eric looked outside and shook his head. “Not with those hoofs.”
“It’s toes, man,” Robert Earl said. “He’s got four on each leg. Two up front and two in back.”
“Gross,” Eric said.
“Actually, a pig foot is tasty.”
The waitress freshened up their coffee, took their order, and grabbed the menus. She looked tired. When she left, Robert Earl glanced around. Everybody in the place seemed like they should be there. A group of contractors at one table. A handful of people eating on their own. Everyone else normal to the eye. When Robert Earl was satisfied, he laced his fingers together and leaned forward on his elbows. “We ain’t having this conversation, okay?”
Eric rolled his eyes. “For real?” he asked.
“If anyone asks—”
“Who would ask?”
“I don’t know. If somebody in here asked.”
“If they ask if I was having a conversation with you, I tell them no?”
“That’s right?”
“But they can see that we’re talking.”
Robert Earl furrowed his brow and growled.
“Fine. We’re not having this conversation.”
Robert Earl leaned further in. “You seen Breaking Bad, right?”
“Some of it. By the way, you’re the most suspicious-looking person in here.”
“Shut up. Breaking Bad ain’t like how it is. Most of the time people cooking meth don’t have some chicken guy bankrolling them. They scrape together some kind of recipe they got off the internet and get stuff from the Home Zone. A lot of ’em blow themselves up.” Robert Earl got a cocky look and drank some of his coffee
“Okay?” Eric said, leaning in a little to match Robert Earl.
“Once the cops figured out how these idiots cooked, they started putting everything behind the counter. You gotta show your driver’s license for cold pills, right? So the cooks move on to other stuff. Stuff that isn’t hot. So, when people started cooking, they used this stuff called P2P.”
“Pee two, what?”
“Phenyl-2-propanone, numb nuts. People use it to clean pools. It was, like, the thing until the cops caught wind and started watching for people who were buying it but didn’t have a pool, or …”
“A pool-cleaning business, like you?” Eric said, brightening.
“Exactamente, like me,” Robert Earl said. He dumped two packets of sugar into his coffee without tasting it. “People quit using P2P like ten years ago and moved on. Now Johnny Law isn’t watching P2P anymore, the Pool Shark’s been selling it for maybe a year, no cops, no DEA, no paperwork, nothing.”
“You’re the Pool Shark, right?”
“It’s an LLC, man. Corporations are people.”
Eric looked confused for a moment. “Okay. So, what do you need me to do?”
“I just need you to deliver it. If anybody sees me making deliveries to places with no pools, with my Pool Shark logo, et cetera, I’m toast. I can fake the paperwork and make it look like it’s all legit. You take the P2P to the cooks, small amounts for each drop. I take stuff to my pool clients like normal. Nobody looks at anything but the amount they gotta pay.”
“What if I get pulled over?”
“You got some pool cleaner in the back. Just a little. It’s still America, right?”
When Eric didn’t say anything for a long time, Robert Earl said, “Did you hear me? Dammit. I never know if you can even hear me?”
“I heard you,” Eric said. “I’m thinking, okay?”
“How do you talk, anyway?” Robert Earl asked.
“With my mouth,” Eric said.
“That was a for reals question, bro. I’ve known you since we were little, but I never thought about it.”
Eric gestured to his ears. “Cochlear implants. I went to a speech therapist, like, forever.”
“But you sign, too.”
“People can speak two languages, dork. Not you, but some people can.”
“Weird,” Robert Earl said. “How come your dad hates me?”
“He hates everybody.”
“That ain’t an answer. How come he’s got it out for me?”
“He blames you for getting me in trouble in high school.”
“Me?” Robert Earl said, touching his chest indignantly. “He blames me?”
Eric nodded. “That’s what he thinks.”
“That’s backwards, man. You probably told him.”
Eric shrugged, drank some coffee, then some water. “When’s our food getting here?”
Robert Earl ignored him. “You tell your piece of crap old man if he’s gonna get a gat out when I’m there, I ain’t playing.”
“Everybody knows you ain’t playing, Robert Earl.”
“Well, I ain’t.”
“You never do.”
“That’s right.”
“My dad is nuts, but nobody wants to shoot anybody.”
“Is that what Jaymee’s dad thought?”
“Come on,” Eric said. “That’s uncool.”
“Uncool, maybe. But not untrue,” Robert Earl said.
The waitress brought their food. Two eggs, sausage, and ham, plus a short stack for Robert Earl. Biscuits and gravy for Eric. Both of them covered their food with hot sauce before they started. Nobody talked until they were each about halfway through.
“Let’s talk money,” Eric said.
“What? And ruin the mood?”
“When we talked before, you said it was good money. How good?”
“Seven hundred per delivery.”
Eric tried not to flinch or smile. He just nodded. “How many deliveries per week?”
“Depends. Probably not more than three.”
Eric nodded again. “I need to get my own vehicle?”
“That’s right, and not that whiny orange thing you drive. It’s too loud. Everyone will know it’s you. You need to be low-key. Can you handle that?”
Eric nodded. “I’ll make it work.”
“I will leave the P2P in different places, then tell you where to get it and when. Drop it off. Tell me you did it. You’re done.”
“Sounds easy enough.” Eric said. “By the way, I’ve told you a million times. Don’t talk to deaf people with your mouth full. It’s nasty.”
Robert Earl ignored Eric, and when the waitress left the check, he slid it over to Eric and went to the bathroom. “Don’t let her take my plate. Some of that’s for Mr. Big.”
ERIC PICKED UP JAYMEE, AND they went to Kim’s Country Store for gum and caffeine. Since breakfast the sky had gone completely dark. The underside of the clouds looked like a hundred tiny gray bellies, dark gray with a little bit of yellow. On the way, Eric told her that he’d lined up good work with Robert Earl.
“Can’t be good work if it’s for him,” she said and signed, sitting cross-legged in the passenger’s seat of Eric’s orange racer. She knew it was dangerous to sign with someone who was driving, but she did it anyway.
“It’s good money,” Eric said. “I can get maybe nine grand in a month.”
“Doing what?” she asked.
“I’m
not gonna say,” he said.
“It’s gonna be you and Robert Earl both in jail,” she said, turning to look out the window.
“I’m not going to jail,” Eric said.
“Nobody starts out thinking they are.”
“I know how it works, Jaymee.”
They pulled into the parking lot of Kim’s and got out. “We can’t leave town on what you have left after the funeral.”
“Shut up,” she said, walking ahead of him into the convenience store. Eric trotted behind to keep up. A guy in a John Deere T-shirt with the sleeves cut off started to come out, slowing him down. The John Deere guy was halfway out when he stopped and checked his receipt, made a noise, and then kept going. By the time Eric got into the store, Jaymee was already in the back getting her iced coffee. Eric grabbed two Rockstar Revolts and a bag of pickle-flavored sunflower seeds. Jaymee had moved over to the candy aisle, and she bent over getting some red licorice. She stood and looked at him like Princess Leia, and then suddenly looked outside.
Look, she signed, then pointed.
Eric saw a flash and felt a percussive blast in his belly a couple seconds later. Then the sky opened up. Rain fell all at once as if from a trapdoor. The cars outside were shrouded in a mist of rebounding rain. His implants didn’t pick up any intricacies of the storm, and the sudden claps of thunder overwhelmed them. He stood next to Jaymee and watched. Everyone in the convenience store drifted to the front windows and watched. Eric took Jaymee’s drink and candy and paid for it all with a ten.
“Ain’t it something?” the cashier said.
“I grew up here. I should be used to it,” Eric said.
“Don’t know how you could. Doesn’t seem like a storm’s got any rules.”
“There’s probably rules the storm doesn’t know about.”
It Needs to Look Like We Tried Page 18