The Ranger - Ace Atkins [21]
“Did the Army take your ability to talk?” she asked.
“Guess I didn’t expect you.”
“Your momma had to run back to the Piggly Wiggly. I told her I’d watch Jason.”
“It’s good to see you.”
Quinn removed his baseball hat and walked past her, Anna Lee following and plopping Jason down in front of the television, where a cartoon kid was spelling out the words cat, hat, and rat. He turned back to look at Quinn, smiled, and then back to the television.
“She said you were staying at the motel.”
“I’m gonna stay at my uncle’s place a few nights.”
“Heard it was yours.”
“That’s up for debate.”
“It’s good seein’ you, Quinn,” Anna Lee said, smiling, but in kind of a ragged, eye-rolling way, twisting her red mouth up and walking into the family room, reaching for the ponytail and letting her hair spill down to her shoulders. She had nice muscles in her back and lean arms, and a tall, delicate neck. Quinn pretty much liked all of it, knew that feeling wouldn’t change, expecting it, and forgiving himself for it.
“Your momma hoped you’d stop by,” she said. “She even got beer.”
“Praise Jesus.”
“They sell it in town now.”
“I would’ve come back sooner.”
“Hell of a fight with the Baptists, but it passed. We even have a bar downtown.”
“Civilization.”
“Luke’s down there now. He said he had something important to talk to you about.”
“He say what it was?”
“Figured it was something about your uncle.”
Their eyes met, and Quinn smiled at her some more. She reached over to Jason and pulled him into her lap and hugged him close, the boy intent on the television screen, the cartoon kid now counting to ten. All the basics being covered in a single episode. He thought about Caddy, wondering what she’d gotten into now, and knew whatever he or his mother did, it wouldn’t make a damn bit of difference.
“Your momma is worried you’re mad at her.”
“I’m not mad.”
“You could’ve stayed here. She can’t understand why you stayed at that roach motel.”
“I get up at all hours. I’d wake everyone in the house. And with a child here—”
“Maybe you can stay for dinner. Jason doesn’t bite.”
“What’s the name of that bar?”
“The Southern Star.”
“Maybe I’ll get a few drinks first.”
“You might want to get over whatever’s eatin’ you.”
He walked back to the kitchen and fetched a Budweiser, noticing the photo he’d brought home of his platoon outside Camp Phoenix now under a magnet, next to several photos of Jason and several clippings of Elvis Presley. Quinn walked back and took a seat on the sofa, Jason turning around, staring at Quinn and not finding much interesting, turning back to the beginning of Curious George.
“When I was a kid, I used to think we were related to Elvis.”
“Your mom says she met him once.”
“She touched his hand when he played the Mid-South arena,” Quinn said. “It was during ‘I Can’t Help Falling in Love with You,’ and she kept the scarf he handed her. She keeps it in a specially made cedar box.”
Anna Lee adjusted Jason on her lap, stretching out her long legs and wiggling her bare toes, having to crane her neck back to look at Quinn, and Quinn feeling embarrassed, noticing that the blue carpet, the Elvis knickknacks, and even the goddamn old console television, hadn’t changed. They’d lay there, watching television, curfew coming up like a son of a bitch, waiting for his mother to finish that last white wine and turn in, and then rolling around on the floor, crazy and wild, sneaking back to his bedroom, so damn hungry for each other that they barely could catch a breath. It was the quietness and stillness of it that had made it.
“You still with me, Quinn?”
“What’s that?”
“Like I said, you seem like you’ve again lost your ability to speak.”
“The Southern Star?”
“Stay for