Stones in the Road by Nick Wilgus Read Free Book Online Page B

pimples. No hint of pubes or underarm hair or a moustache. Since kids were hitting puberty much younger these days, I was getting worried.
    Does anything hurt ? I asked.
    He shook his head.
    You were sick yesterday. Now you’re fine ?
    He shrugged.
    Does your head hurt ?
    No , he said.
    Your stomach ?
    No.
    Any aches or pains ?
    No.
    Headache? Sore throat? Nausea? Congestion? A cold? A fever? Joint pain ?
    No, no, no. Nothing like that.
    Then what?
    But he did not know.
    Then he began to cry and put his arms around me, unabashedly wanting to be held, cuddled, babied, wanting skin time. It was another sort of childish behavior that had recently made a comeback. I obliged, feeling a small terror in my belly, the same sort of terror I had felt in his younger years as he struggled with the demons from his meth-baby childhood that had haunted him long after the addiction had been dealt with and which might very well haunt him the rest of his life, the doctors said. Literally born addicted to meth, it had done things to his brain, to his physical and emotional development, even his spirit and his soul. It had left deep, unfathomable scars.
    He put his head in the crook of my neck, positioning his ear against my throat so he could feel the vibrations as I talked, wrapping his arms around me and holding on tightly. His breathing eased, and he calmed down, as if my warm skin was some sort of drug or antidote for his peculiar kind of pain.
    “It’s all right, sweetie,” I cooed into his ear. “Daddy’s here. Daddy will always be here.” I did all kinds of loving on him, whispering sweet nothings, knowing he could neither hear nor understand anything I said, but that wasn’t the point. He occasionally turned his head so he could lay his other ear against my throat, soaking up the vibrations.
    I picked him up and carried him to the kitchen, walking around in a circle, singing softly. He was almost too big now for such babying, fifty pounds and counting.
    Jackson, dressed in running clothes, came into the kitchen and offered a worried glance. “Is he all right?”
    “I don’t know,” I admitted. “Maybe you could hold him for a while?”
    I tried to hand him off to Jackson, but Noah would have none of it. “No!” he muttered in his awkward, loud voice, wrapping his arms tightly around my neck and squeezing his eyes shut the way he did when he was afraid and didn’t want to see what was happening.
    “You’re too big, baby,” I said, knowing he couldn’t hear me. My arms felt like they were going to be pulled out of their sockets.
    I tried to put him down, but this made him cry even harder, so I went to the living room and sat with him in the easy chair. I could not count the number of times we had sat in such a chair over the past eleven years, cuddling, skin on skin.
    Jackson, his eyes full of silent disapproval, handed me the covering draped across the back of the sofa so I could cover Noah.
    “I might be late for work again,” I said.
    “Your boss is going to kill you,” he replied. “Or worse, he’s going to fire you.”
    “I’ll give him a few minutes… I’m sure he’ll be fine.”
    Jackson frowned, left for his run.

11) The new girl
     
    I PUNCHED in my numbers on the time clock at Food World, my fingers heavy with dread. Although it was just before nine in the morning, the parking lot was already full, and I had six hours of swiping, scanning, hefting, and number-punching to get through. All of this had to be done with a smile, because Food World wanted all it could get for my $7.55 an hour. At least I wasn’t late. One more time and Mr. Owen would can my ass like it was canning season and my ass was a bushel of okra.
    “I want you on the express lane, today, Wiley,” Mr. Owen said.
    “Yes, sir,” I said.
    “Gon’ have a new girl to train. She’ll be along in a bit.”
    “Cool.”
    “And I’ve got a word of the day for you, Wiley: Coupons .”
    “As in?”
    He pursed his fleshy lips