Lake City by Thomas Kohnstamm

Author:Thomas Kohnstamm
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
ISBN: 9781640091436
Publisher: Counterpoint
Published: 2018-10-25T04:00:00+00:00

TWENTY

“DAISY. C’MON, DAISY, YOU BITCH.” Inez pushes past Lane onto the porch, calling the dog back in with a shrill, two-fingered whistle. Lane has always been envious of people who could pull that off. Whistling—even better with one hand—and knowing how to snap, change a tire, drive a stick or roll cigarettes. If he were honest with himself, he’d admit he is lacking in practical skills. But now is not the time to be honest. Especially with himself.

Daisy isn’t as impressed by the whistle, and Inez has to take off after her in bare feet.

“Mommy friend,” Jordan repeats.

Lane takes a step further into the trailer and stares at Jordan as if telling him, “Easy now. You’re confused, kid.” But it’s lost on the toddler. Lane’s expression starts to harden into “You know what happens to snitches?” until he is distracted by the prodigious disorder inside the aluminum and plywood rectangle that is Inez’s home.

Various styles of driftwood sculpture clutter every space capable of supporting them. The walls are draped in oil paintings of bears, eagles and wolves, often accompanied by the ghost outline of a pensive Native American shaman. There are Jesus votives. Saints figurines. A chain pharmacy version of a Bob Marley poster. Piles of rubber bands. Twist ties. Layers of plastic grocery bags pillow the floor under the coffee table. Belongings are packed into milk crates and cardboard boxes. A green glass globe wrapped in yellowed macramé is suspended from the ceiling. Lane watches as it refracts the dust-flecked slivers of daylight that sneak in around the edges of the foil on the windows. He hears the crackling of a frying pan on the hot plate and smells the butter cooking a thin breakfast-style steak.

To be fair, Inez has made a yeoman’s effort to add a Christmas-like veneer to it all. There is a small tree, or more like a branch harvested from a tree, draped with a single strand of blinking lights. There are also a few presents wrapped in newspaper under the branch, and there’s even a Spider-Man pushbike that Lane recognizes as a Fred Meyer Christmas special.

The blazing sound of a TV on full volume dominates the room but is nowhere in sight. Lane determines that it’s coming from the aft cabin as the wall doesn’t reach to the ceiling and the door is made of a colored plastic bead curtain.

Inez steps back in the house holding Daisy so tightly by the scruff of her neck that her front paws skim above the floor.

“I’m not a dog owner,” Lane suggests, “but a collar might—”

“You really gonna give me advice right now, dude? I’ve got enough—” There are a couple of quick popping noises and smoke starts to fill the trailer.

“Shit.” She runs across the room and rips the pan from the hot plate, burning her thumb in the process. She jams the pan into the sink full of fouled dishes and tries to open the tap, but the water sputters and the smoke turns black.

“Mommy friend,” Jordan announces.

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