floor and listened.
“I don’t want to overstep my bounds,” he said, “but I can help you out when it comes to what some of the farm equipment’s worth.”
“I just want it gone,” she said. “I’m past trying to get a good deal.”
“I understand. But I might be able to get a better price for you real quick at the feed store. They have advertisements posted on a bulletin board.”
“Dax said he priced the tractor for me. Maybe I’ll need your help when it comes to the truck.”
There was a pause. “Okay,” he said. “Just let me know. It won’t hurt to have a number in your head for some of these things.”
“Thank you, Gary. Is there anything you need out there?”
“I’m fine, thanks. Tell Foster I’ve got some errands I need to run tonight. I’ll feed Joe for him and see him first thing in the morning. We’ll need to start stripping the shingles off the roof early before the heat hits us.”
There was another pause.
“Gary,” she said.
“Yeah?”
“Be careful with him,” she said.
“I know, Linda,” he replied.
* * *
She heated some leftover spaghetti for me and placed it on the table with a glass of milk. She didn’t fix anything for herself, but sat across from me and watched me eat. I stared at my plate and picked at my food. I didn’t want to talk to her.
“Gary said he’s got some things he needs to do tonight,” she said. “He wants you to help him with the roof in the morning.”
I kept eating and didn’t answer.
“What’s wrong?” she said.
I didn’t look at her. “You know what’s wrong.”
“We really need the money.”
“You could have sold it to somebody else.”
“It seemed like the best thing to do.”
I looked at her. “I thought he wasn’t coming back.”
“He wanted to apologize, Foster.”
“Gary doesn’t like him either.”
She sighed and got up from her chair. “I can’t talk about this tonight,” she said.
“Me neither.”
* * *
I lay in bed that night, staring at the dog tags on the bedside table and holding my closed pocketknife in my fist. My head raced with too many thoughts for sleep to come. Eventually I heard the farm truck crank. I got out of bed and stepped to my window and looked out in time to see him pull around the house toward the blacktop.
* * *
Sunday morning we started at daybreak. Gary got on the roof of the house, scraped the old shingles up with a flathead shovel, and flung them off. I busied myself on the ground, picking up the pieces and tossing them into the farm truck.
Mother brought us bacon and eggs and biscuits after we’d been at it for an hour. Gary came off the roof and we stuffed them down and got back to work within a few minutes. The cicadas were already rattling with the oncoming heat.
By ten o’clock Gary had his shirt off and glistened with sweat. The smell of hot tar and pine hung thick in the air while his shovel scratched and popped across the loose grit and plywood. His back muscles rose and fell against it all as he tore it away. Occasionally he’d stop and take the bandanna off his head and wipe his face with it.
For the first time I was able to study the tattoo as much as I wanted. It was a haunting image that spoke only of death. I couldn’t help but think it had to be connected to whatever it was Gary thought about when he grew distant with me.
“Hammer,” he called down to me.
I got the hammer out of the truck and tossed it up to him. He caught it and smirked like he was impressed.
“That’s too good an arm to waste,” he said.
“It was just an underhand toss,” I said. But I knew what he meant.
He knelt and began using the hammer claw to pull up some stubborn roofing nails. I caught them as they rolled off the edge and tossed them into the truck bed with the other trash.
Just before noon he came down the ladder and leaned against the truck. He took off the bandanna and wiped his face again and draped it over the side
“I don’t want to overstep my bounds,” he said, “but I can help you out when it comes to what some of the farm equipment’s worth.”
“I just want it gone,” she said. “I’m past trying to get a good deal.”
“I understand. But I might be able to get a better price for you real quick at the feed store. They have advertisements posted on a bulletin board.”
“Dax said he priced the tractor for me. Maybe I’ll need your help when it comes to the truck.”
There was a pause. “Okay,” he said. “Just let me know. It won’t hurt to have a number in your head for some of these things.”
“Thank you, Gary. Is there anything you need out there?”
“I’m fine, thanks. Tell Foster I’ve got some errands I need to run tonight. I’ll feed Joe for him and see him first thing in the morning. We’ll need to start stripping the shingles off the roof early before the heat hits us.”
There was another pause.
“Gary,” she said.
“Yeah?”
“Be careful with him,” she said.
“I know, Linda,” he replied.
* * *
She heated some leftover spaghetti for me and placed it on the table with a glass of milk. She didn’t fix anything for herself, but sat across from me and watched me eat. I stared at my plate and picked at my food. I didn’t want to talk to her.
“Gary said he’s got some things he needs to do tonight,” she said. “He wants you to help him with the roof in the morning.”
I kept eating and didn’t answer.
“What’s wrong?” she said.
I didn’t look at her. “You know what’s wrong.”
“We really need the money.”
“You could have sold it to somebody else.”
“It seemed like the best thing to do.”
I looked at her. “I thought he wasn’t coming back.”
“He wanted to apologize, Foster.”
“Gary doesn’t like him either.”
She sighed and got up from her chair. “I can’t talk about this tonight,” she said.
“Me neither.”
* * *
I lay in bed that night, staring at the dog tags on the bedside table and holding my closed pocketknife in my fist. My head raced with too many thoughts for sleep to come. Eventually I heard the farm truck crank. I got out of bed and stepped to my window and looked out in time to see him pull around the house toward the blacktop.
* * *
Sunday morning we started at daybreak. Gary got on the roof of the house, scraped the old shingles up with a flathead shovel, and flung them off. I busied myself on the ground, picking up the pieces and tossing them into the farm truck.
Mother brought us bacon and eggs and biscuits after we’d been at it for an hour. Gary came off the roof and we stuffed them down and got back to work within a few minutes. The cicadas were already rattling with the oncoming heat.
By ten o’clock Gary had his shirt off and glistened with sweat. The smell of hot tar and pine hung thick in the air while his shovel scratched and popped across the loose grit and plywood. His back muscles rose and fell against it all as he tore it away. Occasionally he’d stop and take the bandanna off his head and wipe his face with it.
For the first time I was able to study the tattoo as much as I wanted. It was a haunting image that spoke only of death. I couldn’t help but think it had to be connected to whatever it was Gary thought about when he grew distant with me.
“Hammer,” he called down to me.
I got the hammer out of the truck and tossed it up to him. He caught it and smirked like he was impressed.
“That’s too good an arm to waste,” he said.
“It was just an underhand toss,” I said. But I knew what he meant.
He knelt and began using the hammer claw to pull up some stubborn roofing nails. I caught them as they rolled off the edge and tossed them into the truck bed with the other trash.
Just before noon he came down the ladder and leaned against the truck. He took off the bandanna and wiped his face again and draped it over the side
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