Natalie Baszile - Queen Sugar

The girl stared at the money.

“I was saving it for gas,” he continued. “I’ve got my kid with me, see? Just let me pay. I got my kid. He’s in the car.”

The girl eyed him, then glanced up at the video equipment mounted on the ceiling.

Ralph Angel saw his pixilated self on the monitor. “I swear it’s true.” He pointed at the big picture window behind her, to one of the minivans at the edge of the lot rather than the Impala. “There, that green van. The one with the kid behind the wheel.”

A couple walked in. Matching shirts, matching sneakers. Ralph Angel heard the woman say, in a nasally midwestern tone, “We should buy some of these garlic chips for the kids.”

Ralph Angel let his hands fall to his sides. “What’s gonna happen to him if I get hauled off to jail? His mama’s dead. Just let me pay up. You won’t ever see me again.”

He knew the girl was weighing her choices, marked the moment, by the blink of her eyes, when she decided against him.

And in that next moment, Ralph Angel made his own decision. No use trying to convince some thick-necked security guard he actually had enough cash to buy the food he stole, that his kid really was in the car, even if it wasn’t the car he pointed out to the girl. And what about the car? How would he explain that he rented it for a couple days, just to get around town, but that somehow those couple days had turned into a couple weeks? That the rental place had sent a dozen demand letters threatening to alert the police if he didn’t bring the car back? That his grace period expired today , and that by this time tomorrow he’d be wanted for grand theft auto?

Ralph Angel lunged forward. He swept the money off the counter, bolted from the store, back through the crowded lobby, the plastic bag with the water bottles in it swinging at his side, the stolen food shaking up and down against his leg, the girl’s cry “Stop that guy” echoing behind him. He pushed through the glass doors, stumbled out into the heat and the blinding sunlight. At the Impala, he dived behind the wheel, jammed the key into the ignition, and tore out of the lot.

“Pop!” Blue squeezed himself into the front seat. Christ, he thought it was a game.

“Sit back. Get down. Be quiet.”

Ralph Angel was back on the highway before he drew a breath, the clean, hard desert all around him, the rest stop shrinking to miniature in his rearview mirror.

The Colorado Plateau.

Juniper and ponderosa.

The unfurling road.

A tap on his shoulder.

“I’m still hungry, Pop,” Blue said. “And Zach really, really, really has to pee.”

“Aw, shit,” Ralph Angel said, remembering his promise. “Use this.” He dropped a dented foam cup over the seat. “And here,” he said, tossing back the Tiger’s Milk bar and Slim Jims. “Those should hold you till we can stop again.”

Blue whimpered as he struggled with the cup. After a minute he said, “Now what?”

“Now what, what ?”

“The cup. It’s full.”

“Well, throw it out, for Christ’s sake.” Ralph Angel pressed the button for Blue’s window and felt the tug on his headrest as Blue pulled himself forward. In his mirror, he saw his son blinking as he held the cup up to the wind.

“Oh, no,” Blue cried. “Aw, Pop.”

Ralph Angel glanced quickly behind him. Blue’s shirt and pants were drenched, the cup overturned. Urine streamed down the door, a dark spot the shape of some distant continent, spreading over the burgundy upholstery. “Goddamnit!”

“It was an accident!” Blue said, his small voice quaking.

“Goddamn, Blue!”

“Pop, I’m wet.”

“Motherfuck!” Ralph Angel said. “Well, what do you want me to do about it? I’m driving. Can’t you see I’m trying to drive?” The whole world seemed to be spinning, the road ahead all zigzaggy and wavy in the mid-morning light.

Silence again from the backseat, followed by muffled sobbing.

Ralph Angel thought of the father and son in the canoe and knew that man would react differently. He would be patient. He would be kind. And then there was the memory of himself as a kid: the envelope of deep sleep, the vague awareness of liquid warmth flowing from him, and the shame as he stripped the reeking sheets off the bed. Ralph Angel glanced in the mirror. Why did it seem like the kid always got the brunt of whatever he was feeling? “Hey, look, sorry I yelled,” Ralph Angel said. “I didn’t mean it.” He unzipped his jacket. “Take off those clothes and throw them up here. You can wear this till I find a place to rinse them.”

Blue handed his wet clothes over the seat, the sweat jacket he wore now draped like a tent from his shoulders to his knees. He sat back, peeled the Slim Jim from its plastic wrapper, and stuffed the whole thing in his mouth. He chewed, swallowed hard, then reached for the Tiger’s Milk bar.

“Go easy, there, buddy, slow down,” Ralph Angel said. “You’re going to make yourself sick.”

• • •

Almost an hour since he ran from the rest stop. Ralph Angel pinched a minidoughnut from the wrapper and took a bite, the chocolate coating, waxy and flavorless, stuck to his teeth. He fixed his gaze on the horizon and thought about Miss Honey. If she hadn’t called, if she’d just stayed out of his business, he could have gotten by on the money in his pocket, made due till Gwenna’s next social security check. But she had called, with news that Charley was coming down, and not just visiting but coming down for good, to work some sugarcane land their father left her.

“How much land?” he’d asked. The last time he saw his kid sister, she was twelve or thirteen. It was hard to imagine her being old enough to run anything.

“Plenty,” Miss Honey had said. “Come home.”

But by then, things had turned around for him and Blue. They weren’t sleeping in the car anymore — he’d sold it. They had a room. Blue was back in school. He hadn’t found a job yet, but he was optimistic, he had prospects. “There’s nothing for me in Saint Josephine,” he’d said. He knew it and she knew it too. Besides, the last time he was home, things hadn’t gone so well.

But Miss Honey was like a dog with a bone. “Why not?” she’d pressed. “I know Charley would love to see you. You could help her with the farm. It would have made your daddy happy to know his children were close.”

“If my daddy was so concerned with my welfare, why didn’t he leave half the farm to me?” He hadn’t expected to get much, maybe a few thousand dollars. He couldn’t believe Charley got everything.

“Well, if you’d paid him back like I told you, maybe you would have gotten more.”

“Jesus, ’Da. Get off my case. What happened between my daddy and me wasn’t only my fault.”

“Just think about it,” Miss Honey had said.

Blue nudged Ralph Angel’s shoulder with Zach’s feet. “I’m tired of being in this car. It’s not fun anymore.”

“Your pop’s got a lot on his mind.” Ralph Angel turned on the radio, tuned it to a rap station. “You know this song, don’t you? You can sing along if you want.”

Blue sat back. He recited the lyrics — girl trouble, police searches, paparazzi — and bobbed his head to the beat.

“There you go. Nice, buddy. Now sit tight while I work things out.”

• • •

Evening was rising. Ralph Angel unplugged the GPS tracking device and stuffed it under his seat. He looked down at Blue, sitting crossed-legged on the passenger seat now, unbelted and still wearing his sweat jacket. Gwenna would chew him out for letting Blue eat all that junk. She’d give him hell for not bringing extra clothes.

“You figure things out yet, Pop?” Blue scooted forward and locked Zach in the glove box.