Philipp Meyer - American Rust

“Let's sip at this,” he said.

She put it down in a gulp. “You turning into some kind of pussy, Bud Harris?”

“She's sassy for not even being drunk yet.”

“She is.” But then she sat looking at the empty glass and he knew he'd ruined it. Six minutes. About par, he thought.

“Who is it,” she said.

“Who's what?”

“The one who got him arrested.”

Telling her wouldn't make it any better and he thought about saying he didn't know. Maybe he could still save it. Then he thought no it's better now than later. Go home and start a fire and cuddle up with the dog.

“He's no one, really, unemployed car mechanic. In and out of jail. He gave two addresses in Brownsville.”

She put her head in her hands. “Jesus, Bud. I don't know why that matters, but it does.”

“I'm sorry,” he said.

“I'll have another,” she said. “You can pour it a little heavier.”

He pushed the bottle away from both of them.

“They cut his throat, Bud. They were trying to kill him and he was defending himself.”

“He's not talking, Grace, that's the problem.”

“It was Isaac English,” she said. “That's the only reason Billy wouldn't be saying anything.”

“Billy's never walked away from a fight in his life and the English kid is a hundred ten pounds. The man who died was six foot eight.”

“That's what they all think, isn't it?”

“People are worried about what this place is turning into. They're worried we'll get as bad as Donora or Republic.” He stopped himself. “Until he talks to a lawyer we're just speculating, anyway. We can start worrying about it then.”

It was quiet for a time. He heard the oven ticking, wondered if the fish was burning, wondered if he would end up eating any of it. Grace was staring at the Formica table like he wasn't there.

“There's no point to caring about it because he's basically gone already. It's pointless even worrying about it, right? That's what you're telling me.”

“No,” he said. “That's not what I'm telling you at all.”

He watched her start crying and he touched her but she didn't respond, she just sat there and cried, Harris looked at her across the table for a long time and couldn't figure out what to do with his hands, he had a sense of something lurking close and then his ears started ringing and he felt shaky. Part of him was trying to make the other part stand up and walk out of the house. Instead he reached and took her face in both hands.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I can't help it.”

“It's early in the game.”

“This is going to wreck me.”

“You shouldn't be thinking those things yet, he hasn't even talked to a lawyer.”

“Please don't.”

“I'm not just trying to get your hopes up.”

“It's too late for us, too, I know that.”

He kissed her and she pulled back for a second.

“Don't just do it to make me feel better.”

“I'm not,” he said.

She let herself be kissed again.

“Be patient for a couple of days. It'll all change with a lawyer.”

“Okay,” she said.

She took his hands across the table and then came over and sat on his lap and hugged him around the waist and kissed him on the neck. He didn't move, let himself sit there just feeling it. She kissed him more. He touched her hair. He felt her heart speed up or it might have been his, he had a prickly rushing feeling in his throat that spread all over.

“I should powder my nose,” she told him.

She went into the bathroom and he made no move to leave. When she came back she sat on his lap again, she grabbed his belt loops as a child might grab her father and pulled herself tight against his chest, he kissed the top of her head and they sat like that. When she looked up her face was shining for him.

“I'm sorry,” she said, “I made a promise to myself I wouldn't think about it when you were here.”

She smiled and squirmed purposefully in his lap.

“Christ I feel like a teenager. Horny and then crying and then horny again.”

“I think you should make me a nice dinner first. So I don't feel like a slut.” Then he said: “That was a joke.”

“Ha- ha.”

“Ha.”

He got up and slid his pistol and holster from their spot in the small of his back, stood up and put it on top of the refrigerator.

“You bring that in for a reason?”

“I live alone, I guess.”

“You used to leave it in the car.”

He shrugged. “Times are changing. What's for dinner?”

“Trout.”

“From the river?”

“I might live in a trailer,” she said, “but…”

“I didn't think so.”

“Sit.”

“I'll work on the wine.” After a minute of trying he got the cork out with a knife and a pair of pliers. He decided to do the other bottle while he was at it.

They ate, the fish was tender and the skin crispy with salt and she'd made a sweet cream sauce to go with it, something French. He wiped the sauce up with the bread and they ate the fish down to the bones. He thought about eating the cheeks, as Ho had shown him, but decided to leave it.

“That's probably the best fish I ever ate.”

“Food Network,” she said. “God's gift to men, indirectly.”

When they'd finished wiping up the sauce and put down the second bottle of wine she said: “Can I ask one more question?”

He nodded.

“Who's the public defender you were talking about?”

“She's good and I think I can get her to take the case instead of one of the idiots. She's probably got a real career waiting for her somewhere, but for now she's putting her time in, serve the community type of thing. Hopefully she'll embarrass the lifers into working a little harder.”

“She's a woman.”

He nodded.

“I like that,” she said.

“Thought you might.”

They looked at each other for a long time.

“I'm sorry I brought that up.”

“You're his mother. We can talk about it all you want.”

“Do you want to open that third bottle?”

“I shouldn't,” he said. But he did.

— —

They sat on the edge of the bed and they were kissing again, touching each other everywhere and his body felt very light and he felt the heaviness between his legs. There was no trouble. Not that it was a surprise. A slight surprise. Once in a while with the pills he wasn't sure. He would throw the pills away, he thought, and grinned.

“Happy?” she said.

He nodded.

“Me too.”

She knelt down in front of him, he stroked her hair and thought look at you old man, your life is not so bad. Then he rolled on top of her, sped up quickly, they still knew each other's timing. The sounds she made— same noises you hear in your own head and you could keep to yourself but she shares them, lets you know how good you're making her feel.

An hour later they lay on top of the covers and she ran her fingernails up and down his back. She got up to refill their wine glasses and they sat next to each other against the headboard, he looked down at himself, getting thinner and his hair gone gray but still he had muscle on his chest and stomach, a few years back he'd developed a beer gut but quickly gotten rid of it. Why, he hadn't been sure. Now he knew.

“Have you been with other people?” she asked.

“Sure,” he said, shrugging. But the truth was he hadn't.

— —

In the night he woke up and she was watching him. She ran her hands along the soft hair at the sides of his head.

“Shhhhhhh,” she said.

He opened his eyes all the way.

“I like looking at you.”

“I like looking at you, too.”

She pulled the covers down. She had beautiful shoulders, the lines of the bones around her neck, the softness of her just right. She was a beautiful woman, he could barely bring himself to touch her. He felt full and happy, it seemed amazing his skin could hold it all, it seemed he had never felt this way in his life. No, he thought, it's only that this is something you can't store away, you can only feel in the minute.