Over the next week he works with Midge. Tries to get across the distinctions between Mama and Elmo, as if she’s coming back. He makes no progress whatsoever. She knows Mo. She always wants Mo. He’s not sure if it means more, or Elmo. Both, maybe. More Elmo. Mo’ ’Mo.
Avoiding Alisha, he finishes the cabinets, waits for Rudy to get back from Nevada, does what he can on his own.
He’s still out in the shop when Rudy finally calls, still road bleary, asks if he needs a hand.
“Kinda been waiting,” Taz says. “It’ll be for more than a couple of days.”
“Perfect.”
“You want to come over? First thing tomorrow? We could use both trucks.”
“Why don’t we get together, discuss this over a beer? I’m flat desiccated.”
Taz spins a square on the surface of the workbench. “Man, Rude, that’s sounds good, but, you know, I’m wiped, I’ve got to go in, let Alisha go home, feed Midge—”
“Dude,” Rudy says. “Just come on in. We’ll talk about it.”
Taz leans over, pushes open the shop door, looks across the yard to his house. Sees Rudy waving from the kitchen window, phone pressed to his ear, beer raised in the other hand.
“What the—”
“Just you know, being neighborly, getting acquainted.” He grins and slips his phone into his pocket, tips his beer toward Taz.