Muckers by Sandra Neil Wallace Read Free Book Online Page A

were all proud and with whom we were all honored to serve.
    The Marine Corps and the nation can ill afford to lose the valuable services of such a person as your son.
    Please accept my sincerest sympathies on your recent bereavement. I remain,
    Sincerely yours,
    J. D. Hutterfield
    Lieutenant Colonel, U.S. Marine Corps,
    Commanding Second Battalion, 28th Marines,
    5th Marine Division
    * * *
    5:54 P.M .
    The screen door whams shut and then there’s a thump, like a big juicy cantaloupe’s rolled off the counter and onto the floor. But I’m always thinking about food when it’s supposed to be suppertime. With Maw not here anymore, Pop eats wherever he feels like it: Duvall’s Service Station one night, the diner, even the Copper Star—whatever can get delivered to the doghouse during meal break over at the mine.
    He has Maggie Juniper, the widowed squaw living in an old gypsy caravan down in the Gulch, come in once a week to clean the place up a bit, and sometimes she’ll make us food. That’s on Mondays. Now that it’s Friday there’s nothing left to speak of in the way of nourishment.
    That’s how come I know it’s Cruz in the kitchen instead of anything to eat, like a ripe-heavy cantaloupe that’s gone rolling. He must’ve dropped his helmet on the floor. Cruz is always stuffing way too much in his gym bag.
    “Hey, Ugly. Aren’t you ready yet?” he hollers up the stairs.Cruz sure is fired up if he’s at my house this early. The game’s not until eight.
    “What’d you do, eat up all the food on the shelves and then chomp on the ice, too?” he says. I can hear him in front of the Frigidaire, scratching up Maw’s linoleum floor with his cleats.
    “I’m not hungry,” I tell him. Cruz is getting on my nerves already, walking around the kitchen as if he owns it.
    “Whaddya mean, you’re not hungry? You eat already? Better not be meat.
¡Ave María Purísima!
You know what happens if you eat meat.”
    “I said I’m not hungry.
Comprendes?
” I sprint down the stairs and shove Cruz and his yapper out of the way, swinging the refrigerator door shut. It’s nobody’s business how much food is in there.
    He plugs his nose and shifts a pile of my dirty laundry onto the step stool.
    “Good thing you’re not hungry.” Cruz starts pulling out a red bandanna from his bag but he doesn’t even have to untie it. I caught a whiff. I know it’s a burrito. Smells all fresh and full of those Mexican spices Mrs. V grinds up with her mortar and pestle.
    “
Frijoles
. That’s what you need … beans,” he says, poking the bandanna at me.
    “I said … I ain’t hungry.” I try not to lick my lips or swallow or anything. But the scent’s all over the kitchen and my mouth sure is watering.
    “I thought you said your pop leaves leftovers every night, no?” Cruz tugs on a cupboard handle. “That your fridge is so full you can’t even close it.”
    “Threw all that stuff away on account it was turning sour,” I tell him. Which is true: the one rotted-out tomato covered in fuzz that I scraped off the butter dish.
    Once in a while Pop’ll remember to bring me something home, but I can fend for myself. Ernie still keeps me on the payroll two days a week, though there’s not much to do at the garage, and if Mrs. Slubetz has anything left in the cafeteria, she lets anyone take it, so I’ll bring stuff home and mix it up with some hot sauce.
    Cruz takes out a plate, wiping off the dust with his elbow. It’s the orange china dish with the little grooved lines around the edges that was Maw’s favorite.
    Pop acts like Maw will walk right down from the miners’ hospital and start making us an Ulster fry like nothing ever happened. Like everything’s all right.
    “If you don’t eat something fresh, Ugly, you’ll pass out, and I don’t want us losing the game on account of you.” Cruz is acting cocky, as if he’s got the upper hand. Like he’s better off because his mother’s still at home making