Mix was drinking a dead man's beer. He sipped from a pony bottle of Miller Genuine Draft that his uncle-in-law kept in the refrigerator by the case. Cheap beer, the kind that a Monty Python fan would call "Making love in a canoe"; it's only saving grace was that it was cold and there were plenty of it left over. He was sitting in Bob's back yard, concrete under a fiberglass patio, the only thing left of the sunset was a stripe of green at the horizon.
The heat in Glendale reminded Mix of being in a sauna – the baking heat minus the tangy smell of heated wood. The cicadas were deafening. The pool lights cut through the green, half-drained swimming pool of his uncle and reminded him of everything that he hated about visiting this place. Uncle Bob wasn't his wife's favorite uncle…He wasn't anyone's favorite uncle. Or father, or son, or brother, or friend. Bob was Bob and a lifetime of poor lifestyle choices had finally caused him to cash it in on the cereal aisle of the local Fry's. His heart beat its last right between the Golden Grahams and the Lucky Charms.
A dog roop-roop-roop'ed near by and Mix could hear Ranchero music echoing from a car window out on the street. The street was quiet again after a minute. The silence seemed to be pregnant and it got under your skin after a while. You were waiting for something to explode but somehow it never did.
"Duncan?" a voice called from inside and Mix turned.
"Yeah?"
"I'm putting the baby down, come say good night," his wife's voice floated out from somewhere inside. Walking into the house was like stepping into a steam room on top of a sauna – the swamp cooler had been broken and the house still held the heat of the day.
The kid was sweating as he slept on the couch – you could see tiny beads on his brow. It was after 9 o'clock and they were still divvying up old momentos, clothes and going through Bob's papers. They were checking to see if he had any money socked away that would help pay for the funeral. Briefly, Mix kissed his son's forehead and walked outside again – time for another cruise.
She heard his keys jingling at the door and caught him before he left. "Where are you going this time?" she asked him.
"Just out," Mix replied, he tried to keep it light but he knew his eyes would give too much away.
"Can't you see we need your help here?" she demanded.
"I've been sitting on the back porch for the last hour, drinking Bob's beer," he said. "What to you want?'
"And while you're doing that, we're sweating our fannies off (she cleaned it up for the sake of Grandma when she visited) trying to figure out how to pay for Bob's casket!" She was getting shrill and he knew the whole house was listening, even if he couldn't see them. If he could hear her call from outside, well, the whole house was one big sound box, wasn't it? There wasn't any point in arguing – he might have done it if he was at home. But he wasn't home and the normal rules of their relationship had been temporarily suspended. Her sister came silently into the room and stood behind her with her arms crossed. Mix turned, opened the front door and left. This wasn't the time or place to argue about it…an hour of driving seemed to clear the air.
I'll post the rest - or link to it - when it gets published...
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