The Smoke in Our Eyes by James Grady

The Smoke in Our Eyes by James Grady

Author:James Grady [James Grady]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Noir, Small Town & Rural, Thrillers, General
ISBN: 9781639366002
Google: Jr7EEAAAQBAJ
Publisher: Simon and Schuster
Published: 2024-02-06T00:00:00+00:00


RADIO DAZE

So, kid,” said the woman in the pink bathrobe to Lucas that next Monday morning as they sat at her kitchen table, “how’s your summer been?”

She lit her cigarette.

“Kind of different, Mrs. Dylan.”

“You call my husband Neal, so call me Rita.”

She plowed fingers through her mussed hair. Scanned the kitchen. The white stove. The humming refrigerator. The sink with dirty dishes.

“Different. Huh. Looks pretty damn much the same to me.”

The cigarette waved in the air.

“But what do I know? I’m not the smart one.”

Lucas sniffed. “Is coffee supposed to smell like that?”

“Shit!” Rita lunged to the stove. Twisted a white knob. Killed the ring of blue flame beneath a rumbling coffeepot. “God-damn it! Now it’s boiled to…”

She flicked her eyes to the boy at the kitchen table.

Brushed the hair off her face. Swept her scowl into a sweet smile.

“Oh well, coffee is coffee. You want some?”

“I’m not old enough.”

“Who is?” Her smile was a grin Lucas believed. “Any sugar in that bowl?”

Lucas lifted the lid off the table’s brown bowl. “Not much.”

“Behind you on that shelf,” she said as she got a green mug off a hook. “Can you reach the sugar bin? Fill the bowl?”

With his back to her, Lucas fetched that metal cylinder of white crystals.

Turned back to the table.

Across the kitchen, Rita pushed a brown paper sack into a cupboard’s shadows. Turned to face Lucas. Held her green mug steady. Walked to the stove and poured coffee into the mug.

Lucas filled the sugar bowl. Returned the bin to its place.

While he did, she eased back down into the chair at the table, saying: “Thanks. Sit down. She’s doing fine in there.”

Baby Rachel sat on the living room floor stacking wooden alphabet cubes. She’d been in there, doing fine, since Neal had left for his painting job and Rita had shuffled out of the bedroom to find Lucas watching the toddler.

Rita’d kissed her, ambled to the kitchen, told Lucas: “Come talk to me.”

Now she spooned sugar into her green mug. Stirred the mix. Took a sip.

“Nothing like that first cup of coffee,” she told Lucas. Rita sipped from the cup. “I’m not a bad sort, no matter what you’ve heard.”

“I haven’t heard anything.”

“Maybe your family never says nothing in front of the kids. My mom never shut up. Never stopped letting you know who you were and damn sure who you weren’t. She’s still the queen of all that, let me tell you.”

“Ah, OK, but shouldn’t I be taking Rachel to the park like Neal—”

“Forget about Neal. Talk to me. That’s not too much to ask.”

“What should I talk about?”

“Anything but the damn weather: ‘Hey, hot enough for you?’ And don’t tell me what’s in the newspaper or some book and then get all mopey when I don’t give a shit, or what you learned in law school before you quit ’cause it was the right thing to do.”

“My dad wants me to go to law school.”

“Yeah? What do you say?”

Lucas shrugged. “I just got out of fifth grade.



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