Sunlight and darkness became the only testament to time. The way those shadows rose and fell along the walls was the only proof hours had passed at all over the next few days. A low yellow shone through the blinds each morning until white light spread across the room, then the blues settled on evening until it all went black again. I studied all of that movement and light in a drug-fueled delirium. The morning after watery graves, I spent half the cash I had on a quarter bag and twenty white ladders. Those white Xaney bars brought a dreamless sleep and I was thankful.
Those days alone were the first time I ever remember praying, and that’s the thing about folks who aren’t used to offering words to God. Praying’s easiest when you need something, selfish kinds of prayers, and that’s the type I prayed. I prayed that Robbie Douglas wouldn’t wake up. I prayed that no one would miss the Cabe brothers. I prayed that I could get the hell out of this town. And I prayed that I could sleep without nightmares. That last prayer was the only one answered, but it wasn’t God. It was pills.
God never answered a McNeely prayer.
Daddy and I hadn’t spoken since the night on the barge, and after what we’d done, I wasn’t so sure there were any words left between us.
“About time your pussy ass decided to face the world,” Daddy said, only glancing at me for a second before turning his attention back to a skillet full of livermush. “But believe me, I understand. A man needs a little time to himself to let things settle.”
“I don’t know if I’d call it settled.”
“That’s just the bitch in you. It’ll all settle with time. One way or another, that’s just how it works.” He had on an old pair of blue jeans dotted with grease stains. A navy blue button-up shirt like the one Jeremy Cabe had worn the night at the camp held loosely around Daddy’s shoulders. His hair was still slick and wet from the shower and lines from a comb shone where he’d raked his hair to the side.
I opened the refrigerator to find something to drink, but both the orange juice and milk shook empty. Only the beer shelf held anything fit for drinking, so I popped a top on a Budweiser and took a seat at the table.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“There’s nothing left to drink.”
“I been meaning to tell that bitch to run by the store, but hell, she won’t even crawl out of bed this morning.”
“Josephine?”
“Naw, Jacob, your fucking mother. Why, hell yes, Josie. She’s sprawled out in there covered in peter tracks. Useless I say. Ain’t good for shit.”
“Then why in the hell you keep her around?”
“Because a man’s got to have him one outlet, Jacob, and I reckon that’s about what a woman’s fit for. Stress management.”
With the type of women he was referring to, he was right. With the type of woman I was after, he’d never understand. So like always, I just kept my thoughts on the matter to myself.
“You’re going to come down and work around the shop for the next few weeks until I can track down some new help.”
“New help?”
“Well, fuck yeah, son. I don’t know if you realized it or not, but my workforce has just upped and disappeared.” Daddy turned away from the skillet and looked me square for the first time since that truck sank beneath flat water. “Got to keep things moving forward, Jacob. Got to keep this ship sailing.”
“I ain’t too good around engines. Transmissions never made a lick of sense to me.”
“I’m not asking you to build me a fucking race car, Jacob. Simple shit. Tire rotations, oil changes, simple shit till I can find some help.”
“And when did you want me to start?”
“Soon as we eat.”
“What’s today?”
“Monday, Jacob, goddamn.” Daddy looked back over his shoulder and smirked at me. He flipped thin slices of livermush over in the skillet and that gray meat popped and sizzled against the cast iron. “The day of rest was yesterday for fuck’s sake.”