Philipp Meyer - American Rust

“What a good day,” he said.

“What'd you do?”

“Went fishing with Pete McCallister.”

She put the towel aside and laid against him. She rubbed his leg.

“I thought you said you'd be out looking for something,” she said.

“It's a goddamn Saturday,” he said.

“Well, that's what you told me.”

“I forgot what day it was when I said that.”

She shrugged. “I heard U.S. Steel is doing aptitude testing next month. You could put in a call up there.”

“Goddamn hour and a half in traffic each way.”

She could smell the booze on him. “We could move closer in to the city, live in an actual house.”

“We ought to be moving further away. Live a real country life instead of trying to pretend we're gonna move up in the world.”

He looked at her. “What are you laughing about,” he said.

She shook her head and stopped smiling. They looked at each other awhile longer and there was something about his face. She was looking at him and he had a strange look and then she knew.

“What,” he said.

“Virgil,” she said.

“What?”

“The mortgage is due this week, plus it's April and we still owe taxes from two years ago. I'm on a payment plan with the IRS.”

“Danny Hobbes owes me three hundred bucks. We can always make more money.”

It was quiet and she kept rubbing his leg. “Remind me again why you came back,” she said.

“You know I've got money.”

“What about your disability this month?”

“That's what I lent to Danny.”

She nodded.

“What about getting other money from the government.”

“We ain't gonna pass the asset test for welfare. Plus they sign you up for some shit job now so you're fucked if you think you're gonna have time to look for a real job. There's no goddamn point if it don't lead to actual wage-paying employment.”

“You should apply for it anyway,” she said. “Your son isn't working, either.”

“I already looked into it,” he said. “Between the house and my truck we're not even close to qualifying. It's the asset test.”

“Your truck is six years old and I make nine- fifty an hour.”

“Well it's too much,” he said. “You still giving away your time at that shelter thing?”

She looked at him.

“Maybe for a little while you could do something else that paid instead, I mean if you're so worried about all this.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

“I was just thinking out loud,” he said. “Don't get all mad, now.”

“We'll get by,” she said. She still had her eyes closed.

He leaned over and kissed her.

“Let's have a drink to get this out of our heads.” He grinned and went out to the truck.

Give him some time, she thought. Be a little more generous. He came back inside brandishing a half- empty bottle of Kentucky Deluxe and, after finding clean glasses, poured one for her and one for him. She wanted to tell him about Billy coming home hurt last night but something stopped her. She took down her shot of whiskey and so did he and then he started kissing her.

Then he unbuckled her jeans and slid them down.

“You don't want to go to the bed?” she said.

He shook his head. He slipped inside her and she lifted her legs around him. Soon she could feel it building and then she forgot where she was, she was pulling him in and in and trying to get closer, they could not be close enough. He was still going and she hoped the feeling wouldn't end. She felt him get very hard and his whole body went rigid and it started to build up in her again but then he stopped moving. She rubbed his back and he was not looking at her, or at anything, he was just still. She found a comfortable position for her legs and they were like that for a long time. She dozed awhile, had strange thoughts, if Virgil was able to take home some money she'd be able to go back to school, here he was, then she thought you could probably plant the tomatoes soon, take them off the windowsill and get them into the garden, the peppers as well. She decided she could spare a few dollars and plant more herbs this year. Virgil began to move again inside her.

“Let's go to the bed,” she said. “I don't want Billy coming home and seeing us like this.”

She got up and walked to the bedroom; Virgil followed after her carrying the whiskey bottle. Worry about tomorrow's problems tomorrow, she reminded herself. They sat in bed and Virgil took a long pull from the bottle and then another, and then passed it to her.

“Drinking that whiskey like you stole it.”

He mumbled something in response — there was something going on. He didn't look at her; when she reached between his legs again he wasn't interested and then she didn't think she was, either.

“What's going on with you?”

“I've just been thinking.”

“I'm sure you have.”

“Maybe we should take it slow,” he said.

She thought about that. In the old days she wouldn't have dared say it, but now she told him: “You just want to fuck, in other words.”

“We don't have to put it like that.”

“Except that's how you'd put it to someone else, right? What you told Pete when you went fishing today.”

“Nothing's changed with you, has it?”

She wiped between her legs with the sheet and pushed it away, her stomach got tight but then she didn't feel anything, she was just looking out the window. The day was nearly over. She could have been lying next to anyone. There was still time to get the tomatoes in the ground. She felt herself choke up.

“You leaving?” she said.

“I wasn't planning on it.”

“Maybe you better.”

“This is still my house.”

“I've made every payment on my own since you left, and a couple hundred dollars here and there doesn't make a dent.”

“Come on.” He rolled toward her and she felt the frame give under his weight. They had never been able to afford a proper bed. Then there was the trailer with its fake wood paneling. She had never wanted to live here — she'd let herself be talked into it.

“I talked to a lawyer from the shelter.”

He looked at her, half- grinning.

“She said the house is legally mine until you pay your share.”

“That's a bunch of bullshit,” he told her.

He was right — she hadn't talked to any lawyer. But she was surprised how angry her own lie made her feel. She believed those words. They might not have been the truth but they should have been.

“Go talk to someone,” she said. “See for yourself.”

“You're a fucking nightmare, Grace.”

“Get out. Bud Harris said it's a felony, you still owing so much on child support.”

“Our kid isn't a child anymore.”

“It doesn't change what you owe. The court still ordered it.”

“You would bring a cop into it, wouldn't you?”

“I would. I will.”

“Well, that figures.”

She was quiet.

“Petey's wife said your cop boyfriend takes enough pills to kill a steer — Xanax, Zoloft, the whole routine. Biggest prescription in Fayette County.”

“Maybe CVS ought to know their employee is going around talking about people's business.”

“Most people think that Barney Fife motherfucker is queer.”

She thought, he's got a bigger pecker than you do, but she kept her mouth shut. She suppressed a giggle.

“What,” he said.

“Go on and take everything you brought last night.” She watched him dress and walk out, he was shaking his head the whole time. When his truck pulled out she thought she might cry but she didn't. She forced herself to get out of bed, knowing that if she didn't she might end up stuck there, wallowing. She wondered who she could call to find out for sure but it didn't matter, she knew, knew he'd run out of money, maybe gotten dumped by one of his girlfriends so he'd looked her up. It was what the girls at work had told her was happening, they'd been watching it go on forever, but she hadn't wanted to believe them. That was when she started crying. Not too much, though. She picked up the bottle of whiskey he'd left, undid the cap but it seemed distasteful that his mouth had touched it. Into the trashcan.