They ignored LaRose and, more elaborately, Sonja. They came up to stand around the flat.
Rusted out, man.
They each tried the ratchet. Zack even balanced on the handle and gently bounced, but the nut seemed soldered on. Cappy asked for Sonja’s lighter, applied flame. That didn’t work either.
You got WD-40?
I showed Cappy where it was on Whitey’s tool bench. Cappy squirted a tiny bit around the base and rubbed dust on the nut and inside the socket. He fit the wrench on, tighter.
Step on it again, he said to Angus.
This time it gave, and we left the car jacked up while we rolled the tire into the garage. Whitey had a stock tank set up in there to find the holes in tires, and he was good at putting in a seal, but of course he was over at the Dead Custer.
I came out and looked at Sonja.
Maybe you should get him, she said, looking away, and I noticed that she’d taken out her stud earrings.
We got Whitey out after only three beers. LaRose got her tire fixed. We had a sudden rush and then everything quieted down. We closed the place and got into the truck. Neither of them touched the tape deck. We rode back silently but Sonja and Whitey just seemed tired now, all done in by the heat. At home, things went as usual—I helped Sonja with the chores. We ate, nobody saying much. Whitey drank, morose, but Sonja stuck to 7Up. I fell asleep on the couch with a fan blowing on me and Sonja’s hair swirling gently around her profile in the sapphire light.
There was a crash. The lights were out and there was no moon. Everything was black but the fan still stirred the air around me. In the bedroom, low vehemence. Steady grating of Whitey’s voice. A heavy thud. Sonja.
Quit that, Whitey.
He give ’em to you?
There’s no he. It’s just you, baby. Lemme go. The crack of a slap, a cry. Don’t. Please. Joe’s out there.
Doan fucking care.
Now he was calling her names one after another.
I got up and went to the door. My blood pulsed and swam. The poison that was wasting in me thrilled along my nerves. I thought I’d kill Whitey. I was not afraid.
Whitey!
There was silence.
Come out and fight me!
I tried to remember what he’d taught me about blocking punches, keeping my elbows in, chin down. He finally opened the door and I jumped back with my dukes up. Sonja had put the lamp on. Whitey was wearing yellow boxer shorts patterned with hot red chili peppers. His fifties hairdo hung off his forehead in strings. He put up his hands to slick it back and I punched him in the gut. The punch reverberated up my arm. My hand went numb. I broke it, I thought, and was exhilarated. I swung at him again but he pinned my arms and said, Oh shit, oh shit. Joe. Me and Sonja. This is just between us, Joe. Stay out of it. You ever hear of cheating? Sonja’s cheating. Some prick gave her diamond earrings—
Rhinestone, she interjected.
I know diamonds when I see ’em.
He let me go and stepped away. He tried to reclaim some dignity. He put his hands up.
I won’t touch her, see? Even though some prick she’s stringing along bought her diamond earrings. I won’t touch her. But she is dirty. His eyes rolled toward her, red with weeping now. Dirty. Someone else, Joe . . .
But I knew that wasn’t true. I knew where those earrings came from.
I gave ’em to her, Whitey, I said.
You did? He swayed. He’d had a bottle in the room. How come you gave her earrings?
It was her birthday.
A year ago.
Asshole, what’s it to you! I found those studs in the bathroom at the gas station. And you’re right. They aren’t rhinestones. I think they are genuine cubic zirconiums.
Okay, Joe, he said. Fancy talk.
He looked tearfully at Sonja. Propped himself against the door. Then he frowned at me. Asshole, what’s it to you! he muttered. Some way to talk to your uncle. You crossed a line, boy. He held out the hand with the bottle and pointed his middle finger at me.
You. Crossed. A. Line.
Well, she’s my aunt, I said. So I can give her a birthday present. Asshole.
He killed the bottle, threw it behind him, swelled big, and leaned forward. You got it coming, little