Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 149301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
“Watch over your son extra hard. Protect him! He’s about to walk through the shadow of death. He needs divine intervention. You died before he could even talk. You were out there in those streets! I begged you to stop the foolishness, but you didn’t! And then you died…You owe me, and you definitely owe him!” She looked back at the cards, and tears filled her eyes. There, on the table, was the Death tarot card. Five of Swords. The Sun. The Lovers. The Empress…
It got darker outside as she swayed to the music: John O’Leary’s, ‘Drinking Again’ was playing.
…My father had the potential to be a good man. He’s awfully clever. Fascinatin’, and looks damn good for his age. I remember being a little thing, mesmerized by the bull skull tattoo across his neck. He told me it was because of his nickname: ‘Wilde Bull.’
She tucked her hair behind her ear, and rested her jaw along her palm.
“Women still love my daddy. The young and the old. He’s a tall, broad-shouldered dark-hearted cowboy with silky silver hair that hangs down his back. He has the most haunting ghost blue eyes… He treated me like a princess when I was a little girl. Mmmm hmmm… Hugs. Toys. All the dolls, with all the accessories and houses a lil’ girl could want. He would even tuck me in sometimes, and read me and my sisters stories. He loves God, and apparently evilness, too… Daddy is complicated. Just when you think you’ve figured him out, he pulls the rug out from under you.
Daddy, you fooled me for a long time, but you can’t fool me no more…
I know my daddy didn’t have it easy growin’ up. I know that he’s damaged. She scratched her head. Hell, aren’t we all? I know also that he never loved my mama, either, though he said he did. As she fought tears, she began to shake. It’s taken me a lot of years to figure that out. To accept it. He’s not dead yet, so there’s a shred of hope. I love my father. Lord knows that I do, but I love my son more…
She heard a burst of laughter pour from her house, then cheering. Some of the guys were watching television in her home theater. She picked up Kane’s cup and took another slow sip, then poured a little of the liquid out on the wooden porch floorboards.
“Baby, that’s for you. Drink up.”
The grasshoppers began to chirp, and she smiled. A big gust of wind blew, and the candle on the cupcake was snuffed out.
Is that you, baby? I remember you used to call me grasshopper. Was that some sort of sign? Patience, young grasshopper, your time to shine is coming…
…A week later
Poet stood inside of Melba’s house. The stench of medicinal ointments, mold and the like was a thing of the past. A couple of men in white jumpsuits marched more old periodicals from her attic to a big bin parked right outside of her house. Melba lay in her bed, the thick, lint-covered quilt pulled up to her neck. The woman hadn’t said much, but her eyes smiled, nonetheless. Aunt Huni came into the bedroom with two tangled handfuls of yarn. She had on green overalls and a farmer’s hat.
“Melba, you sew?”
Melba nodded, then smiled. “Yes, but my arthritis makes it hard.”
Huni pulled up a chair beside her and started sorting the yarn, making it fit for use. Her aunt had been coming by, walking up the path, insisting on talking to Melba after she’d been briefed on what happened, and that the lady was back home. This time, without her husband.
“I’m sorry, Poet.” Melba’s voice was weak and weepy.
“Sorry for what, Melba?”
“Everything. Sorry for botherin’ you like I did for all of these years. Sorry for stickin’ my nose in your business about your property ’nd such.” Melba looked out at the view from the window. “I used to be a busy lady, you know? I used to be the one folks came to for advice. I was an administrator with the Houston bird conservatory commission.” She held her head a bit higher. “But then my husband got ill, and I had to stay home and tend to him. Had to retire early. He wasn’t in his right mind when he said those awful things to you.” Melba slowly turned in her direction. “Clyde ain’t mean it.”
Poet forced a smile. “Uh, Melba, first of all, thank you for the sincere apology. I accept it.” Melba nodded proudly. “Secondly, and I mean this with all due respect, but I do not give a single, piping hot fuck on a rusty tin roof about what your bigoted, vile, despicable, spineless weasel of a husband meant to say and didn’t mean to say.”
Melba’s face paled, and she blinked several times. Huni never lifted her head from the massive ball of yarn. She just kept right on working on the great yarn sort of the year.