He had a nicotine habit and dirty nails.
Smalley fumbled in the folds of the coat, opening it so that Jacob could see the bottle. The amber liquid lay greasy and thick within the confines of the glass, rolling back and forth in waves with the motion of the truck. "But the Lord gave us means to ease our suffering. That's a real blessing, you ask me."
Jacob looked at the bottle, the slick brass cap, the brown label that suggested an easy afternoon on the plantation. He pictured himself showing up on Renee's doorstep half-drunk, an excuse to launch into an abusive rage.
No, not half. Jacob hadn't been half-drunk in over a decade.
"No, thanks," he said, more to himself than Smalley.
"Suit yourself. Say, you got any work coming up?"
Jacob didn't want to tell the man that M & W Ventures was done. Renee should be the first to know, followed by his partner. Maybe Donald would buy him out and keep the earth machines well fed, continue stacking bricks and laying pavement and raising monuments to progress and ego. Taking up the Wells mantle without benefit of the bloodline. "I've been out of touch," he said.
"Yeah. I reckon so."
They circled the back end of town, past the gray warehouses and boarded-up shops that lined the abandoned railroad. Jacob used to think of this section as a slum, acres and acres in need of a wrecking ball, an urban renewal project he had once calculated as a long-term investment. Turn the old textile mill into a mini-mall, charge outrageous rent for small shops whose proprietors could peddle "handcrafted" Appalachian baskets and quilts that were actually mass-produced by exploited labor in Taiwan. The consumer was only buying an emotion, after all. A mountain town back-street offered plenty of nostalgia for those who longed for better days that had never really existed.
For the first time, Jacob saw the beauty of the broken glass that sparkled in the dying sun. The ragweed that grew in clumps along the leaning chain-link fence had outlasted the concrete. The stinking brown creek, marred by oil runoff, carried away the dregs of growth. Here and there between the buildings, a honey locust made a reach for the sky, bristling with thorns and defiance.
Smalley shifted gears and turned up the hill onto a private drive. A wooden sign with a fieldstone base heralded "Ivy Terrace." The sign was landscaped, ringed with pine straw and non-native pansies. Nestled among the hardwood trees on the ridge were the apartments that Jacob had helped develop. More of his false ego, a mock testament to the ephemeral nature of ambition.
And behind one of those doors was Renee. Another mock testament.
"Stop," Jacob said.
Smalley glanced at him and eased in the clutch. When the truck slowed, Jacob pushed open the passenger door and eased to the ground. He reached in and pulled the bottle of liquor from its hiding place.
"A small blessing," Jacob said.
"Don't blame you none. Give me a holler if you got any work for me."
"I'll do that, Chick."
"I'll be praying for you."
"It can't hurt none."
Nothing could hurt, not anymore. Smalley turned the truck around and headed back toward town. Jacob tucked the bottle inside his coat and headed for the shrubs that had been part of a landscaping scheme he had once designed, never realizing until now the type of concealment it provided. He found a gap in the rhododendrons and crawled among the twisted branches. The space had been used before. Empty beer bottles, a condom wrapper, a mottled, crushed French fries container, and a sprinkling of cigarette butts marked it as the territory of the transient. Jacob instantly felt at home.
He twisted the metal cap from the liquor bottle and toasted the distant sky, which was barely visible through the thick, waxy leaves. "To our mutual suffering," he said.
The first taste was harsh and welcoming. The second was merely welcoming.
CHAPTER SIX
R enee cradled the phone against her ear. She'd chipped her fingernail polish opening a can of
Smalley fumbled in the folds of the coat, opening it so that Jacob could see the bottle. The amber liquid lay greasy and thick within the confines of the glass, rolling back and forth in waves with the motion of the truck. "But the Lord gave us means to ease our suffering. That's a real blessing, you ask me."
Jacob looked at the bottle, the slick brass cap, the brown label that suggested an easy afternoon on the plantation. He pictured himself showing up on Renee's doorstep half-drunk, an excuse to launch into an abusive rage.
No, not half. Jacob hadn't been half-drunk in over a decade.
"No, thanks," he said, more to himself than Smalley.
"Suit yourself. Say, you got any work coming up?"
Jacob didn't want to tell the man that M & W Ventures was done. Renee should be the first to know, followed by his partner. Maybe Donald would buy him out and keep the earth machines well fed, continue stacking bricks and laying pavement and raising monuments to progress and ego. Taking up the Wells mantle without benefit of the bloodline. "I've been out of touch," he said.
"Yeah. I reckon so."
They circled the back end of town, past the gray warehouses and boarded-up shops that lined the abandoned railroad. Jacob used to think of this section as a slum, acres and acres in need of a wrecking ball, an urban renewal project he had once calculated as a long-term investment. Turn the old textile mill into a mini-mall, charge outrageous rent for small shops whose proprietors could peddle "handcrafted" Appalachian baskets and quilts that were actually mass-produced by exploited labor in Taiwan. The consumer was only buying an emotion, after all. A mountain town back-street offered plenty of nostalgia for those who longed for better days that had never really existed.
For the first time, Jacob saw the beauty of the broken glass that sparkled in the dying sun. The ragweed that grew in clumps along the leaning chain-link fence had outlasted the concrete. The stinking brown creek, marred by oil runoff, carried away the dregs of growth. Here and there between the buildings, a honey locust made a reach for the sky, bristling with thorns and defiance.
Smalley shifted gears and turned up the hill onto a private drive. A wooden sign with a fieldstone base heralded "Ivy Terrace." The sign was landscaped, ringed with pine straw and non-native pansies. Nestled among the hardwood trees on the ridge were the apartments that Jacob had helped develop. More of his false ego, a mock testament to the ephemeral nature of ambition.
And behind one of those doors was Renee. Another mock testament.
"Stop," Jacob said.
Smalley glanced at him and eased in the clutch. When the truck slowed, Jacob pushed open the passenger door and eased to the ground. He reached in and pulled the bottle of liquor from its hiding place.
"A small blessing," Jacob said.
"Don't blame you none. Give me a holler if you got any work for me."
"I'll do that, Chick."
"I'll be praying for you."
"It can't hurt none."
Nothing could hurt, not anymore. Smalley turned the truck around and headed back toward town. Jacob tucked the bottle inside his coat and headed for the shrubs that had been part of a landscaping scheme he had once designed, never realizing until now the type of concealment it provided. He found a gap in the rhododendrons and crawled among the twisted branches. The space had been used before. Empty beer bottles, a condom wrapper, a mottled, crushed French fries container, and a sprinkling of cigarette butts marked it as the territory of the transient. Jacob instantly felt at home.
He twisted the metal cap from the liquor bottle and toasted the distant sky, which was barely visible through the thick, waxy leaves. "To our mutual suffering," he said.
The first taste was harsh and welcoming. The second was merely welcoming.
CHAPTER SIX
R enee cradled the phone against her ear. She'd chipped her fingernail polish opening a can of
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