Earthly Possessions by Anne Tyler Read Free Book Online Page B

back.”
    “Maybe I could just sit here and wait for you,” I said.
    “Ha.”
    I climbed out of the car. My legs felt stiff, and it seemed my shoes had hardened into some shape that didn’t fit me. “Is it far?” I asked.
    “Not too.”
    We started walking—smack down the middle of the road, for there was no car in either direction. He had hold of my arm again in the same sore place as before. His hand felt small and wiry. “Listen,” I said, “can’t you let me walk on my own? Where would I run to, anyway?”
    He didn’t answer. Nor did he let go of me.
    The air had a damp smell, as if it might rain, and seemed warmer than what I was used to. At least, I wasn’t shivering any more. From the little I could see, I guessed we were traveling through farm country. Once we passed a barn, and then a shed with the sleepy clucking of hens inside it. “Where on earth
are
we?” I asked.
    “How would I know? Virginia, somewheres.”
    “My feet hurt.”
    “It don’t make sense that you can’t drive a car,” he said, as if that were to blame for all our troubles. “That’s about the dumbest thing I ever heard of.”
    “What’s dumb about it?” I asked him. “Some people drive, some people don’t. It just so happens I’m one of them that don’t.”
    “Only a whiffle-head would not know how to drive,” said Jake. “That’s how I look at it.” He wiped his face on his sleeve. We walked on. We rounded a curve that I had some hopes for, but on the other side there was only more darkness.
    “I thought you said it wasn’t far,” I said.
    “It ain’t.”
    “I feel like my feet are dropping off.”
    “Just hold the phone, we’ll get there by and by.”
    “My toes ache clear to my kneecaps.”
    “Will you quit that? Geeze, you’d think that guy could’ve filled his gas tank once in a while.”
    “Maybe he didn’t know how long you’d be stealing it for,” I said.
    He said, “Watch yourself, lady.”
    I decided to watch myself.
    Around the next curve was the filling station, such as it was: one dimly lit sign, two pumps, and a lopsided shack. As soon as we saw it, Jake let go of my arm. “Now, pay attention,” he said. “You’re going to ask the guy for a can of gas. You got that?”
    “Well, how come I always have to ask for things?” I said.
    Something jabbed me in the small of the back: the gun. Oh, Lord, the gun, which I had thought we were through with, and in fact had let slip my mind as if it never existed. That prodding black nubbin in the hand of a victim of impulse. I crossed the road and climbed the cinderblock steps, with Jake close behind me. I opened the warped wooden door. For a moment all I saw was a pyramid of PennZoil tins, a faded calendar girl in a one-piece latex swimsuit, and stacks of looseleaf auto-parts catalogues. Then I found an old man in a wicker chair. He was watching TV with the sound turned off. “Evening,” he said, not looking around.
    “Good evening.”
    “Something I can do for you folks?”
    “Well, our car ran out of gas and I … we need a can of …”
    “Fine, just fine,” said the old man, and he went on watching TV. There was a commercial on, someone holding up a bottle and silently rejoicing. Then a news announcer appeared at a bare, artificial-looking desk, and the old man sighed and stood up. “A tin,” he said. “Tin.” He went rummaging behind a stack of tires in one corner, but came up with nothing. “Wait a minute,” he said, and went outside. As soon as he was gone, Jake pushed me further into the room and leaned over to turn up the sound on the TV. “…  with no end in sight,” the announcer said, “though experts predict that by mid-summer there may well be a …”
    Jake switched channels. He traveled through a lady shampooing her hair, a man making a speech, a man playing golf. He arrived at another news announcer, pale and snowy. “Traffic on the Bay Bridge this summer is expected to reach an all-time high,” this