Riven - Jerry B. Jenkins [79]
“Yeah?”
“I do, man.”
“If I drank like you, I’d hate it too,” Stevie said. “You don’t have to drink all you have, you know.”
“I don’t even like just one.”
“That a fact? You know why I like it? I need something to take the edge off, mellow me out.”
“Me too,” Brady said, “but I can’t stand the taste.”
“What about weed?”
“Too expensive.”
“But you like it?”
“Who doesn’t?”
“In the can on top of the fridge. Go for it.”
“No money,” Brady said.
“I’m not selling, bud. I’m offering you one. Smoke yourself some dope.”
Brady and Stevie passed the joint back and forth. It did mellow Brady out, but the combination of alcohol and marijuana made Stevie giggly. As Brady poured out his story, telling the truth to the only person he trusted, Stevie kept covering his mouth to keep from bursting out laughing. That made Brady mad, but he would never let it show.
“Man,” Stevie said, eyelids heavy, “you’re hosed. Listen, if nothing works out, you can crash here.”
“You’d better talk to your wife about that, dude.”
Stevie didn’t seem to hear him at first, but then it seemed to dawn on him. “Oh yeah! Her! I am married, ain’t I?” And he slid to where he was lying on the couch, laughing hysterically.
Brady showed up at Dennis Paving just before seven and found Alejandro at the door, pulling on his jacket.
“Bad news and good news,” Alejandro said. “For a while I got no more hours for you than what you have now. But I like your work. The other guys like you, so next time we have an opening or a big job where we can add more hours, it’s yours.”
“Okay. Well, thanks. What’s the good news?”
“The laborers have an extra bunk in the shack, and until you get more hours, they’ll let you have it for a half share of the rent. You’ll be helping each other out.”
“How much is that?”
It was half of what Brady was making, and of course he still had payments due to Tatlock. He knew it was a foolish investment and probably twice what his own mother would charge. But something about the freedom it promised made him take it on the spot.
“When you’re done tonight,” Alejandro said, “check it out. Manny will show you. Those guys have fun over there, man. They live for the weekend, but they’re good guys.”
Brady worked with more enthusiasm and precision than he had in a long time, even with the weed still in his system. That was another thing. All the laborers talked about, besides their money and their booze and their women, was weed. He ought to be able to score some anytime he wanted it now.
Life was looking up. He still had to talk to Peter, and he was going to have to reassure him that he would still be close by and they would see a lot of each other. But things were going to work out.
28
Adamsville
Thomas and Grace Carey had never raised their voices to each other. Like their parents before them, they didn’t believe in it. They had their arguments, their disagreements, their pet peeves. But these they discussed behind closed doors, and their goal—Thomas was proud to tell anyone he was counseling on marital issues—was to compete to see who could first clear the air. It was not about winning, he always said. It was about putting others above yourself, starting right there at home.
At times, he admitted—if only to himself—that the most irritating thing about Grace was her perfection. Worse, she wasn’t even smug about it. She lived the life he strived for, and frankly it occasionally drove him nuts. Just once he’d like to see her lose it, raise her voice, stomp, slam a door. Lord knew, Thomas sometimes deserved it.
Living with a saint was sure better than the alternative. He didn’t like tension, and there rarely was any. He found it easy to prefer her interests over his own, unless he was tired or cranky and, thus, selfish.
Of course, over the years, Thomas had learned that his idea of marital discord was markedly different from that of his parishioners. He joked about toilet paper rolls being set to issue from the front or back or whether husbands had it in them to ask for directions. Or who should do which chores and when. As he