11
Mike drank one of Linda?s beers while he took out her mower?s spark plug, dried it, cleared the water out of the fuel line. He emptied the old, watered-down gas into a bucket and filled the tank again. He drank another beer. He put the mower back together, cranked it up to make sure it started.
Linda came out to her front porch. She was tall, lean bordering on bony, hair pulled back into a tight knot. High cheekbones. Very dark skin. She wore jeans and leather sandals and a pink blouse. ?You got it going,? she shouted over the mower noise.
He nodded, gave her the thumbs-up.
?Shut it off.?
Mike looked at his wristwatch. ?For another beer I?ll mow it for you.?
She looked at him sideways, like maybe he was joking. ?You sure??
?I got time.?
He climbed into the saddle, began the rhythmic back and forth of mowing Linda?s lawn. He let his mind drift, half-concentrating on the neat rows in the grass, letting the vibrating roar of the mower engine drown out any thoughts that were too complicated or disturbing to deal with at the moment. But soon he?d run out of lawn, and he?d have to park the mower and decide what the hell he was going to do with the kid in his living room.
He finished the lawn and parked the mower on the side of the house next to her wheelbarrow and a loose pile of rakes and shovels. She really needed a shed.
Linda came back out on the porch. ?Done??
?No problem.?
?You didn?t have to do that, but thanks. I?m out of beer.?
Mike looked at his watch again, shuffled his feet. ?That?s okay.?
?Something wrong?? She leaned on the porch railing. ?You seem distracted. And you drank all my beer. Usually you?re way too polite to even have a second cup of coffee.?
?Sorry. I?ll pick up a six-pack next time I?m in town.?
?Forget it. That polite crap gets old. What?s the matter??
?My nephew?s down there.? He pointed at his cabin down the hill.
?You don?t like him??
?I don?t know him.?
?Sounds like a story,? Linda said. ?Come inside. No beer, but I can find something.?
Inside, she searched her kitchen cabinets. ?I have wine.?
?No wine.?
?Oh, yeah. Forgot. There?s Beefeater.?
?Okay. With ice.?
She dropped two ice cubes into a juice glass and covered them with gin, handed it to Mike.
Mike sipped, winced. He hadn?t touched hard liquor in a long time and never drank gin. But right now he needed something. He forced a gulp. And another. By the third gulp it was easier. Linda topped off his glass.
?How?ve you been up here?? Mike asked. His tongue felt thick. ?Getting the hang of it??
?It?s still strange. I have to drive twenty minutes to get milk or bread. I have to go to Tulsa if I want a fresh
