car is a health hazard,” Graham remarks, pointing his coffee cup down the road, where a blue cloud still lingers.
“He’s swapping out the motor,” I offer defensively. “He’s fixing it.”
“ Sling ,” T-Buck starts, but then stops. “Dickie is doing a motor swap?”
I nod.
“That I can’t wait to see,” he laughs before heading back to his half open garage door.
“When’s school start?” Graham queries, moving on quickly from car talk.
“A week or so,” I concede, worried this means no more job.
“You gonna keep after the yards or should I get somebody else?”
“I can manage the lawn and stuff, but any more big projects would be a problem,” I admit, recalling a possible coy pond was mentioned last week.
“That’s fair, but I’d have to pay you less. Say three a week.”
I nod. This will be a problem eventually, but for now it’s better than losing it all together.
“How’s Missy?” he asks, referring to my mother by name.
“She’s good.”
“Not working though?” he confirms, although it feels like more of a statement, than a question.
“No,” I admit and pause. “I’m not sure what to suggest to her.”
“She do laundry?”
“You mean like ours?”
He nods and sips his coffee. Graham doesn’t just make conversation like a normal person. If he is asking questions, it’s likely he already knows where the conversation is going. Where is this going?
“Yeah.”
“Dry cleaner in town is doing ours,” he reveals, pointing to the left in the direction of town. “They aren’t doing such a great job and we were looking for an alternative.”
I didn’t realize this. I had not thought about who over there was washing their clothes. I just figured all the houses handled their own. Do they do anything themselves? This conversation reminds me of the one about his lawn mowing guys.
“You want my mom to wash your clothes?”
“I’d pay,” he nods, sipping. “Say three hundred a week. There are eight of us so it would keep her busy, but she wouldn’t have to leave the house to work.”
“I’m not sure our washer and dryer would be up to that,” I admit, recalling that I have to wait an hour after running the dryer to let it cool down.
“Not a problem. I’ll have the T-Buck pull the new ones out of his place and install them over at yours,” he assures me. “They are brand new, never used. I mean, if she was interested we can do that.”
“Probably, I’ll ask her.”
“Good, get back to me by tomorrow.”
With that he turns and walks across the lawn to Lance’s house. I watch him go, noting that he knocks on the door rather than letting himself in. When he goes to T-Bucks, he just goes in and hollers for them. Once alone on the street, my thoughts drift back to Jarrod. What do the police want with him? Another thought dances around my head. My pay loss to three a week, combined with the possibly that my mother might make three a week means we would actually make two hundred dollars more.
“ Sling Blade was right about me lucking into it,” I smirk then cover my mouth with a hand. “I mean Dickey.”
…
The holidays go well for my mother and our little household. Her laundry business has added a food service component. Every Sunday afternoon she puts on a full sit down dinner for Graham and his crew. They supply a wonderful table that’s at least twelve feet long and the chairs to go with it. T-Buck dubs it the Round Table as if they were medieval knights and this was a castle in England.
I throw out the living room furniture to make room for it. The sofa sits on the lawn for a week before the city comes and hauls it away. In exchange for this once a week family style affair, Graham pays for all our groceries, plus another fifty bucks. My mother passes the extra fifty along to Jerry’s mom, Roberta, who comes over to help prepare and clean up. She’s a concrete factory widow now, her husband killed in an avalanche of ash last summer,
“He’s swapping out the motor,” I offer defensively. “He’s fixing it.”
“ Sling ,” T-Buck starts, but then stops. “Dickie is doing a motor swap?”
I nod.
“That I can’t wait to see,” he laughs before heading back to his half open garage door.
“When’s school start?” Graham queries, moving on quickly from car talk.
“A week or so,” I concede, worried this means no more job.
“You gonna keep after the yards or should I get somebody else?”
“I can manage the lawn and stuff, but any more big projects would be a problem,” I admit, recalling a possible coy pond was mentioned last week.
“That’s fair, but I’d have to pay you less. Say three a week.”
I nod. This will be a problem eventually, but for now it’s better than losing it all together.
“How’s Missy?” he asks, referring to my mother by name.
“She’s good.”
“Not working though?” he confirms, although it feels like more of a statement, than a question.
“No,” I admit and pause. “I’m not sure what to suggest to her.”
“She do laundry?”
“You mean like ours?”
He nods and sips his coffee. Graham doesn’t just make conversation like a normal person. If he is asking questions, it’s likely he already knows where the conversation is going. Where is this going?
“Yeah.”
“Dry cleaner in town is doing ours,” he reveals, pointing to the left in the direction of town. “They aren’t doing such a great job and we were looking for an alternative.”
I didn’t realize this. I had not thought about who over there was washing their clothes. I just figured all the houses handled their own. Do they do anything themselves? This conversation reminds me of the one about his lawn mowing guys.
“You want my mom to wash your clothes?”
“I’d pay,” he nods, sipping. “Say three hundred a week. There are eight of us so it would keep her busy, but she wouldn’t have to leave the house to work.”
“I’m not sure our washer and dryer would be up to that,” I admit, recalling that I have to wait an hour after running the dryer to let it cool down.
“Not a problem. I’ll have the T-Buck pull the new ones out of his place and install them over at yours,” he assures me. “They are brand new, never used. I mean, if she was interested we can do that.”
“Probably, I’ll ask her.”
“Good, get back to me by tomorrow.”
With that he turns and walks across the lawn to Lance’s house. I watch him go, noting that he knocks on the door rather than letting himself in. When he goes to T-Bucks, he just goes in and hollers for them. Once alone on the street, my thoughts drift back to Jarrod. What do the police want with him? Another thought dances around my head. My pay loss to three a week, combined with the possibly that my mother might make three a week means we would actually make two hundred dollars more.
“ Sling Blade was right about me lucking into it,” I smirk then cover my mouth with a hand. “I mean Dickey.”
…
The holidays go well for my mother and our little household. Her laundry business has added a food service component. Every Sunday afternoon she puts on a full sit down dinner for Graham and his crew. They supply a wonderful table that’s at least twelve feet long and the chairs to go with it. T-Buck dubs it the Round Table as if they were medieval knights and this was a castle in England.
I throw out the living room furniture to make room for it. The sofa sits on the lawn for a week before the city comes and hauls it away. In exchange for this once a week family style affair, Graham pays for all our groceries, plus another fifty bucks. My mother passes the extra fifty along to Jerry’s mom, Roberta, who comes over to help prepare and clean up. She’s a concrete factory widow now, her husband killed in an avalanche of ash last summer,
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