What You See in the Dark - Manuel Munoz [76]
“I get off at three.”
“I’ll be here.”
That afternoon, Vernon followed her to the motel. He drove a brand-new truck, sturdy and somehow elegant for its size and what he used it for. Vernon, she knew, was the kind of man who kept his possessions meticulously clean. She regretted that it was a Tuesday—the motel parking lot sat empty for lack of customers, and she hated for Vernon to see this. Arlene hurried from her vehicle with keys in hand, if only to keep Vernon from surveying the scene and saying something about her spotty business.
His truck was comfortable and the ride smooth. The air conditioner was on low, but the cab felt almost cold. “I’ve been watching them start on this thing for years. Just bit by bit. And they’ve got people working from here all the way up through Sacramento.”
“That’s good work, I guess,” Arlene said. “There’s always people looking for a job around here.” She looked out at the fields rolling by, and for the first time in a while, she thought of her older brother.
“I knew your husband, Frederick, a little bit,” said Vernon. He cleared his throat.
“How so?” She knew this but, surprised that Vernon had mentioned Frederick, put up a pretense.
“In town. You know how it is. Good people.”
The truck hummed along and Arlene waited for him to continue. She realized, too late, that she hadn’t said anything in agreement.
“I think he would’ve wanted you to sell that motel,” he said.
“He ain’t dead, Vernon,” she said. “He left me.”
“Arlene, he’d want you—”
“I could give a good goddamn what he would’ve wanted me to do.”
Vernon pursed his lips a bit. “What I mean … what’s best for you …” That didn’t sound right either and he stopped with a brief sigh. “It’s just a bad decision to hang on to that place, Arlene. Believe me. I’ve got property. You might end up with taxes on a place you can’t afford if the money stops flowing in. That’s all I’m saying.”
Up ahead, finally, she could see how the landscape had changed. Up ahead, she could see what it meant when Vernon said “ramp.” The road elevated in the distance.
“See that?” he said. “That’s the freeway.”
He slowed to a crawl and then turned the truck onto a dirt lane bordering a vineyard. The bumpy lane paralleled the new freeway, a deep ravine and fencing separating it from the site. Vernon guided the truck among the holes and the kicking dust and then finally stopped. “There it is.”
The two lanes shot north. The pavement seemed to glisten in the afternoon sun, a fresh gray, free of oil or grit, almost reflective in its newness. The lanes spanned wide, with generous shoulder room on either side, and even though Arlene could see enormous mounds of earth and gaps in the pavement only several feet away, it was clear that the freeway was a progression unimpeded. Up ahead, she could see the beginnings of a ramp and a completed overpass.
“Ah, that,” said Vernon. He eased the pickup truck along the dirt lane as far as the property line allowed, and Arlene could see why he had driven that distance. An enormous green sign loomed: union avenue.
“That’s the exit?”
“Straight into town,” said Vernon. “That means if someone takes that off-ramp and is looking for a place to sleep, your motel will already be behind them.”
The truck was still running, the air conditioner going at its low hum, still cold. Even so, Arlene could feel the sweat beginning to stick to the back of her waitress uniform. They sat in silence for a while, Vernon not turning off the truck.
Finally, Arlene shook her head slowly. “I wouldn’t know how to handle all that … paperwork … and … well …”
“You need to do it, though,” said Vernon, and he reached over and set his hand on top of hers. His hand was enormous and she could feel the calluses on his palms from his hard work. It was sweaty from having held the steering wheel. His hand did not move and neither did his fingers, and Arlene’s heart beat fast at his gesture. She waited for him to say something, maybe something about Frederick, what