he’d consume her and spit out little pieces of Maxine when he was done, then pick his teeth with the fingernails from her very own hand. Finley had never looked at her like that—especially not in the last ten years or so.
And she’d been in her underwear.
The last pair of frilly, girlie panties she owned.
But brighter horizons were on the way. She had a job. A job scooping shit, but it was a job.
Throwing on her gray sweats, she piled her hair, unseen by her stylist Gerard in nine long months, up into a ponytail with a scrunchie, not bothering to look in the mirror before she left. There’d been a time if she’d gone out looking like this, half of the Jersey shore would’ve had apoplexy. There was a time she wouldn’t have dreamed of going to the mailbox without at least some makeup. Nowadays, there wasn’t much point to it.
She didn’t have a mailbox.
It dawned on her how utterly out of this realm her life had become. The day had come to pass when Maxine Cambridge couldn’t even summon the energy to care about what she looked like. Surely the Rapture was upon them.
But what was the point?
She’d never look in a mirror and see whatever it was Campbell Barker thought he saw, and what she used to see had become so distorted she didn’t want to chance even a mere glimpse at it.
“Mr. Hodge?”
“Yup.”
“I’m Maxine Cambridge.” She stuck out her hand, smiling at him through the small opening he’d made in his rather ratty screen door.
“So you’re Mona Henderson’s little girl.” Joe Hodge said it, rather than asked it, and he stated it with the hint of a knowing, yet wistful, smile.
“Yes, sir. That’s me.” All forty-one years, body parts heading for her southern locales.
His chuckle was deep and raspy, his bushy eyebrow rose in a sort of begrudging admiration. “That Mona, I like ’er. She’s a firecracker.”
Yeah. Mona was a real bad mamma jamma. If her mother was nothing else, she was definitely an exploding fire hazard, and apparently, she got around the village. “No doubt that’s my mother.”
He cocked his head, thick with sprouts of bushy gray and white hair, and squinted. “You know, you look a little bit like that girl who used to do commercials for that snazzy car dealership. Damn. Can’t remember the name—”
Jesus. Was there no one who didn’t remember those fucking commercials? Did everyone watch the Goddamned TV? It was like a knife in the gut every time someone pointed out her once local claim to fame.
“Cambridge Automobiles,” Maxine supplied with an almost smile. Take that, Finley Cambridge. When Fin had suggested that maybe she was tired of doing the dealership’s commercials and it was time to give her a break, Maxine had let herself believe he was nurturing her. She’d also wanted to believe it was because he was being generous of spirit and had finally realized she was tired of being the face of Cambridge Auto. She’d wanted to believe. End of.
Of course, now Maxine realized there was only so much soft lighting and Spanx to go around before you couldn’t hold it, suck it, or girdle it in anymore. Fin hadn’t been trying to spare her feelings at all. He’d been keeping the home fires burning until he found the next sacrificial, twentysomething, goo-goo-eyed over him blonde.
Joe nodded with an eager grunt and a shake of his finger. “Yeah, that’s it. But lookin’ at you up close, I see you’re too old.”
Smack. Down. Ouch. “Actually, you’re right, Mr. Hodge. I was that girl for fifteen years. Then I was put out to pasture because old cows make for some chewy, tough eye candy.”
“But they make right fine purses, if you’d asked my dearly departed Millie.” He rocked back on his heels with a cluck of his tongue.
Maxine’s chuckle was soft. Her eyes weary with gratitude. “Nice save.”
“I was married for forty-two years. I could save the government, if they’d let me.”
A “woof” in the octave of big and
And she’d been in her underwear.
The last pair of frilly, girlie panties she owned.
But brighter horizons were on the way. She had a job. A job scooping shit, but it was a job.
Throwing on her gray sweats, she piled her hair, unseen by her stylist Gerard in nine long months, up into a ponytail with a scrunchie, not bothering to look in the mirror before she left. There’d been a time if she’d gone out looking like this, half of the Jersey shore would’ve had apoplexy. There was a time she wouldn’t have dreamed of going to the mailbox without at least some makeup. Nowadays, there wasn’t much point to it.
She didn’t have a mailbox.
It dawned on her how utterly out of this realm her life had become. The day had come to pass when Maxine Cambridge couldn’t even summon the energy to care about what she looked like. Surely the Rapture was upon them.
But what was the point?
She’d never look in a mirror and see whatever it was Campbell Barker thought he saw, and what she used to see had become so distorted she didn’t want to chance even a mere glimpse at it.
“Mr. Hodge?”
“Yup.”
“I’m Maxine Cambridge.” She stuck out her hand, smiling at him through the small opening he’d made in his rather ratty screen door.
“So you’re Mona Henderson’s little girl.” Joe Hodge said it, rather than asked it, and he stated it with the hint of a knowing, yet wistful, smile.
“Yes, sir. That’s me.” All forty-one years, body parts heading for her southern locales.
His chuckle was deep and raspy, his bushy eyebrow rose in a sort of begrudging admiration. “That Mona, I like ’er. She’s a firecracker.”
Yeah. Mona was a real bad mamma jamma. If her mother was nothing else, she was definitely an exploding fire hazard, and apparently, she got around the village. “No doubt that’s my mother.”
He cocked his head, thick with sprouts of bushy gray and white hair, and squinted. “You know, you look a little bit like that girl who used to do commercials for that snazzy car dealership. Damn. Can’t remember the name—”
Jesus. Was there no one who didn’t remember those fucking commercials? Did everyone watch the Goddamned TV? It was like a knife in the gut every time someone pointed out her once local claim to fame.
“Cambridge Automobiles,” Maxine supplied with an almost smile. Take that, Finley Cambridge. When Fin had suggested that maybe she was tired of doing the dealership’s commercials and it was time to give her a break, Maxine had let herself believe he was nurturing her. She’d also wanted to believe it was because he was being generous of spirit and had finally realized she was tired of being the face of Cambridge Auto. She’d wanted to believe. End of.
Of course, now Maxine realized there was only so much soft lighting and Spanx to go around before you couldn’t hold it, suck it, or girdle it in anymore. Fin hadn’t been trying to spare her feelings at all. He’d been keeping the home fires burning until he found the next sacrificial, twentysomething, goo-goo-eyed over him blonde.
Joe nodded with an eager grunt and a shake of his finger. “Yeah, that’s it. But lookin’ at you up close, I see you’re too old.”
Smack. Down. Ouch. “Actually, you’re right, Mr. Hodge. I was that girl for fifteen years. Then I was put out to pasture because old cows make for some chewy, tough eye candy.”
“But they make right fine purses, if you’d asked my dearly departed Millie.” He rocked back on his heels with a cluck of his tongue.
Maxine’s chuckle was soft. Her eyes weary with gratitude. “Nice save.”
“I was married for forty-two years. I could save the government, if they’d let me.”
A “woof” in the octave of big and
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