Fresh Eggs by Rob Levandoski Read Free Book Online Page A

towards an associate degree in accounting. “Pretty, isn’t she?” Marilyn says.
    Even with the red runny nose and the bright green earmuffs, Calvin can see that this Donna Digamy indeed is pretty. But he is angry that Marilyn Dickcissel would say such a thing to him. Jeanie has been gone only two months.
    Donna wipes her nose on the sleeve of her puffy coat. “I only need a dozen.”
    So Calvin gets another dozen from the refrigerator. He has no time for this damn brown egg business. If it wasn’t for Rhea he’d wring the necks of those damn Buff Orpingtons. And just as soon as Marilyn Dickcissel and that runny-nosed girl leave he’s going to take down that drawing of Jeanie feeding the chickens. He doesn’t need that staring him in the face every damn morning and every damn night. Maybe Jeanie’s mother would want it. Maybe he should hide it in the basement, or in the attic. Maybe someday, when time has numbed his anger at God for inventing cancer, he will find the drawing and give it to Rhea.
    In April, as the temperature rises and the sweet stench of chicken manure is wiggling from the thawing fields, and flies by the score are staggering out of their hiding places in the window sills, Norman Marek calls. “Calvin, my copacetic amigo,” he says, “how’s the Egg King of Wyssock County?”
    â€œTired,” Calvin answers. He is boiling spaghetti noodles for supper. Rhea is standing next to him, making finger pictures in the Kraft Parmesan cheese she’s shaken out on the counter.
    â€œNot too tired for a little holiday, I hope?”
    Calvin is suspicious. He’s known Norman too long. “Holiday?”
    â€œThree-day meeting of all our producers and corporate people. The whole shebang is on Bob Gallinipper’s dime. And it’s a family deal, Cal. You can bring Rhea.”

Seven
    On the first of June, Calvin Cassowary lifts his daughter into the cab of the pickup and helps her buckle her seat belt. They crackle down the driveway, careful not to smash the cats. They pull even with the FRESH EGGS sign. Calvin squints into the still-low morning sun to make sure nobody’s coming. Belted in the way she is, little Rhea can’t see much more than the latch on the glove compartment. They turn onto the road and head west. Jimmy Faldstool, atop a tractor, scooping chicken manure into a dump truck, surrounded by a buzzle of flies, waves at them.
    Wyssock County is a little bit hilly, but the counties to the west get progressively flatter. They pass field after field of ankle-high corn. Barns and silos sit on the landscape like giant lunchboxes and Thermoses. They reach the Indiana border about the same time as the sun does.
    The towns out here are too small for a McDonald’s or a Wendy’s but they do find a hamburger stand named Sooper’s and they sit on a picnic table by a bed of newly planted petunias and share a Big Soopie and fries. Rhea is enchanted by the cardboard tray the fries come in and she wears it on her head like a hat all the way to Illinois. They intersect the interstate and drive north until they are sixty miles south of Chicago. They get off at a great tangle of truck stops, motels, and gas stations. They find the Marriott. The marquee says WELCOME GALLINIPPER FARMS. Calvin doesn’t notice that Rhea is still wearing the French-fry hat until they are in the elevator with half a dozen other people. He crumbles it in his hand. “Behave,” he whispers.
    The room Norman Marek has booked for them is a double and they each get a huge bed. Calvin showers and puts on his suit. He combs the French fry salt out of Rhea’s hair and helps her put on her dress. It’s the dress Jeanie’s mother bought her to wear to the funeral. A serious dress for serious occasions. It’s burgundy, made of soft corduroy. It has long sleeves and a row of gold buttons. It’s also a short dress, so she has to wear white