Sassafras, Part 61

Rick


After work Tony stopped so I could get the starter for Joan’s car. “So, how was the funeral?”

“It was okay. Joan was glad to see me. Thanks for letting me borrow your car.”

“No problem, Pops. You know, I used to have a crush on her.”

“I think every man in Sassafras had a crush on Jenny.”

“Fuck Jenny. I’m talking about Joan.”

“You have a crush on Joan?”

“Well, I was seven at the time. She was about 14, 15. She was my babysitter. Usually I was stuck with Jenny. One night Jenny got sick and Joan came instead. She was a lot nicer than Jenny. She was a stuck up bitch, always on the phone, telling me and my sister to shut up, but Joan was nice. She played games with us, she made popcorn. I remember she brought a great big book to read. It was a bunch of science fiction stories that won some kind of award. When I asked her about it, she actually read us one of the stories. Mom got home before she was done, but she stayed and finished reading it. She never came back after that. I forgot all about her when Brittany Olson moved next door.”

“I’m sure she was crushed.”

“I’m sure neither one of them realized I existed.”

By the time we got to the Monte Vista the wind had died down and the snow was falling in huge white flakes, giving everything a blurry Norman Rockwell feel. I cleaned up and scraped the ice off my car, then drove to Joan’s.

“You’ll never guess what I’m doing,” Joan said when she answered the door. I could think of four or five things I would like to see her doing. “I’m reading the paper.” That wasn’t one of them. “Let me tell you, the help wanted ads are very disappointing.”

“You’re looking for a job? Really?” I followed her to the kitchen where there was newspaper spread across the table.

“You sound so surprised. I promised you I would think about staying. How can I think about staying if I don’t think about a job? It doesn’t look good though. Not unless I want to be a night janitor at Stoneypoint Elementary, or a doctor at Mercy General. I told you, this place sucks.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

“It can and it is,” she grumbled, drumming a highlighter on the table. “Look at this job, part-time cashier at the truck stop by Don’s. Why don’t I run down and put in an application? Oh, right, because that job sucks. And this job sucks, and this job sucks, and this job sucks. This is hopeless. None of these jobs pay enough to live on, none of them have any kind of health insurance or benefits of any kind.”

“Don’t give up so soon. Where are your car keys?”

“What do you need my keys for?”

“I’m going to go put on that starter.”

“But it’s snowing! You can’t do that in the snow.”

“It’ll just take a second. Besides, a little snow won’t hurt me.”

“A little snow? There’s at least six inches already, and the weather man said we’ll end up with at least four more. Well, I’ll fix some coffee. I need to get up and start on dinner anyway.”

“What are you fixing?”

“Tacos. I think I can manage to cook some hamburger and chop up a tomato and some lettuce. But I’m warning you, you’re taking your life in your own hands if you eat my cooking. I guess I’m pretty spoiled. I never have to cook in New York. I think having to actually cook would be the hardest thing about moving back here. That or going to medical school so I could get that job at the hospital.” She dug around in her purse until she pulled out a key chain and handed it to me.

“Why don’t you go back to school? I bet you could get some kind of scholarship. You’re smart enough. Then you wouldn’t have to worry about a job.”

She nibbled her lip a little. “That’s an idea.” She sighed. “But even if I did go back to school, what kind of job could I get here?”

“You’ll think of something. I have faith in you. I’ll be back in just a couple minutes.” It really did just take a couple of minutes to change the starter. I was back inside before the coffee was finished brewing. Joan was studying a pile of hamburger starting to sizzle in a skillet. When she saw me she filled a coffee cup and handed it to me.

“If you don’t crumble that up you’re going to end up with one giant hamburger patty.”

“I knew that,” she claimed, looking at me out of the corner of her eye. I leaned against the counter and watched her cook. She didn’t look like she had a clue what she was doing. She started stabbing the meat with a spatula, looking at it like she almost expected it to fight back.

“Would you like me to do that? You’re going to get hamburger grease all over your dress.”

“No, I’m cooking dinner.” She stabbed it a few more times, then ran her hand down the front of her dress. It was the one she wore the first day I saw her, the dark gray one she said was her favorite. “Do you really think I’m going to get grease on my dress?”

“Oh, definitely. Everywhere. You should probably take it off right now.”

She smiled at me. “You just want to see me naked.”

“If you don’t mind. No, I’m serious; you’re going to get grease all over your dress. You ought to change. I can watch this.”

She hesitated a minute then handed me the spatula. “Okay, I’ll be right back.”