Page 106 of Cookout Carnage
‘Hey!’
Tristan turned to see a man running towards them.What the fuck?He was dressed as the Phantom of the Opera, with a black dinner suit, long black cape, and white mask stuck across half his face. The look was marred slightly by the Air Jordan Hi-Tops on his feet. The man stopped and bent over to catch his breath.
‘Thad, what you doing?’ asked Axle.
Thad raised himself up and swept his arm out to the side. ‘You have to get off the streets!’
‘Why?’ asked Axle.
Thad’s eyes flicked to Tristan. ‘The curfew. It’s the law!’
‘Dude. You been smoking? What curfew?’
‘It’s Amy.’
Axle’s stance changed immediately. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Er. She needs help,’ Thad replied. ‘You’ve got to come right away.’
Axle threw the rag to the floor and ran to pull the garage doors shut. Tristan closed the second one.
‘Thanks, man,’ said Axle. He secured the doors with a padlock. ‘Gotta go. Nice to meet you.’
‘You too. See you around,’ Tris replied.
Axle jumped in the Buick with Thad and sped off. Tristan watched them go, then looked up at the mural as the penny finally dropped. Put the woman’s hair back into a tight bun, dress her in a pair of glasses and a waitress’s uniform, and it was clear who Axle Bodean had painted: Amy.
* * *
The Fourthof July started at the Bodean household with bullets firing and Wiener barking with bloodlust. Sherilyn dragged herself out of bed and went to the window to see her oldest brother in the middle of the yard. Fender had a shotgun draped over his shoulder and was wearing an undershirt, boxers and a big grin. Wiener was circling him excitedly, a dead squirrel in his mouth.
There was a barrage of knocks on the bedroom door.
‘Shortstuff! Git up!’
She looked at the time. Six a.m. Normally she would have been more excited for today than Christmas morning, but right now she had a ball of lead in her stomach that was slowly dissolving in acid.You can do this. She could hear her mother crashing about in the kitchen, her father now yelling at Fender to get dressed. They would be leaving shortly to check the grandstand was set, Main Street was clear, and everyone in the town was at least fifteen minutes ahead of their individualised schedule. Ford Bodean treated the Fourth of July like a military campaign. He may have been a mechanic but Sherilyn always felt he’d missed his calling as a low-level dictator. If you were tardy or forgetful it was considered treason of the highest order. If you were younger than him, he would subject you to a lecture on patriotism, and if you were older you were gifted with a hard stare. This behaviour didn’t affect his popularity in Midway, however, as people seemed to understand he wanted the day to be perfect for everyone, and he was always re-elected as mayor with a huge majority.
She went down to the kitchen. Her mother stood in front of the stove, stirring a vat of chilli.
‘Morning, Sherri-Lynne honey, how’d you sleep?’
She kissed her mother’s hot cheek. ‘Fine, thank you, Mama. You?’
Her mother smiled at her. ‘Even with your pa snoring and Wiener yapping at that darn squirrel, I slept like a baby. I’ve got my family around me and couldn’t be happier.’
At the sight of her mother welling up with emotion, Sherilyn felt sick. It wasn’t just Tristan she’d hidden from them. It was also her new job. She couldn’t keep them in the dark forever. She was teetering on a tightrope over a shit swamp and losing her balance.
‘You okay, Sherri-Lynne?’ Her mother stopped stirring. ‘You look awful pale.’ She sat her in a chair. ‘I’ll heat up some gravy and you can have some biscuits the way you like them.’ She bustled around the kitchen, a whirr of pots, utensils and running commentary. ‘I’m warming the biscuits now in the stove. I tell you, Sherri-Lynne, they don’t have proper food up in Chicago. Now, let’s clear some space on the table for you. You’re gonna get all skinny and unhealthy if you don’t eat right. Orange juice? I wish you lived closer, baby girl. Let me get cutlery. If I could check up on you more, it would save me fretting so.’
Sherilyn shrank into herself with every kind word. Her nausea was now intense, and when her mother plonked a massive plate in front of her of biscuits and white gravy, heavy with sausage meat, she bit back a barf.
‘Eat now, Sherri-Lynne honey.’
‘Mama—’
‘Hush, not a word until that plate is clear. You hear me now?’
Sherilyn took a bite. Her mother’s food was delicious, but right now her body had diverted all resources into acute anxiety and there was no capability left for the digestive process. Lynne Bodean stood at the stove, stirring the chilli, but Sherilyn could feel her eyes on her. Her mother turned off the heat and sat down next to her.
