The Devil All the Time - Donald Ray Pollock [45]
Sandy shut off the engine, stepped out of the car, went around to the passenger’s side. “I ain’t drivin’ another mile until I get some real food,” she said. “I been eating nothing but candy for three days. Shit, my teeth are getting loose.”
“Jesus Christ, we just got on the road,” Carl said, as she turned and started walking toward the diner door. “Hold up,” he yelled. “I’m coming.”
After locking the car, he followed her inside and they found a booth near a window. The waitress brought two cups of coffee and a ragged menu spattered with ketchup. Sandy ordered French toast and Carl asked for a side of crisp bacon. She put her sunglasses on, watched a man in a stained apron try to install a new roll of paper in the cash register. The place reminded her of the Wooden Spoon. Carl looked around the crowded room, farmers and old people mostly, a couple of haggard salesmen studying a list of prospects. Then he noticed a young man, early twenties maybe, sitting at the counter eating a piece of lemon meringue pie. Sturdy build, thick, wavy hair. A backpack with a small American flag sewn on it leaned against the stool beside him.
“So?” Carl said, after the waitress brought the food. “You feeling any better today?” As he talked, he kept one bloodshot eye on the man at the counter, the other on their car.
Sandy swallowed and shook her head. She poured some more syrup on the French toast. “That’s something we need to talk about,” she said.
“What is it?” he asked, pulling the burnt rind off a slice of the bacon and sticking it in his mouth. Then he took a cigarette from her pack and rolled it between his fingers. He shoved what remained on his plate over to her.
She took a sip of her coffee, glanced at the table of people next to them. “It can wait,” she said.
The man at the counter stood up and handed the waitress some money. Then he slung the backpack over his shoulder with a weary groan and went out the door with a toothpick stuck in his mouth. Carl watched him go to the edge of the road and try to thumb a passing car. The car went on without stopping, and the man started walking west at a lazy pace. Carl turned to Sandy, nodded toward the window. “Yeah, I seen him,” she said. “Big deal. They’re all over the place. They’re like cockroaches.”
Carl watched the road for traffic while Sandy finished eating. He thought about his decision to head home today. The signs were so clear to him last night, but now he wasn’t so sure. One more model would jinx the three sixes, but they could drive for a week and not find another who looked like that boy. He knew better than to fuck with the signs, but then he recalled that seven was the number of their room last night. And not a single car had passed by since the boy left. He was out there right now, looking for a ride in the hot sun.
“Okay,” Sandy said, wiping her mouth with a paper napkin, “I can drive now.” She got up and reached for her purse. “Better not keep the fucker waiting.”
17
ARVIN WAS SENT TO LIVE WITH HIS GRANDMOTHER right after his father’s suicide, and though Emma made sure that he went to church with Lenora and her every Sunday, she never asked him to pray or sing or kneel at the altar. The welfare people from Ohio had told the old woman about the terrible summer the boy had endured while his mother was dying, and she decided not to push anything other than regular attendance on him. Knowing that Reverend Sykes was prone to be a little too zealous at times in his attempts at bringing hesitant newcomers into the fold, Emma had gone to him a couple of days after Arvin’s arrival and explained that her grandson would come into the faith his own way when he was ready. Hanging roadkill from crosses and pouring blood on logs had secretly impressed the old preacher—after all, weren’t all the famous Christians fanatical in their beliefs?—but he went ahead and agreed with Emma that maybe that wasn’t the best way to introduce a young person to the Lord. “I see what you’re getting at,” Sykes said. “No sense turning him into one of them Topperville nut