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CHAPTER 7

The Other Brother

      FOR THE second day in a row, Lucy was late to work. Six o'clock, and on a Saturday, too.

      Bobby, she thought, would be in none too good a mood anyway, after this morning's fight with Normalade. "But if he'd wanted me sooner, he should have brought me back the truck," she said to herself crossly. As it was, she'd had to phone Tagg and ask him to come and get her. And although he hadn't seemed to mind, he'd probably had to close the feed store early to do it.

      Moreover, she was in a bad mood because she was not looking her best. She'd had to wear an old sweatshirt over her denim skirt, because her sweater was still in a pail of water on the back porch, soaking out stains. And of course, Elena had really quit.

      However, everything else was hunkey-dorey. Gene was hard at work in the kitchen, making sandwiches and supervising Shark, who was cutting up tomatoes and peppers for salsa while Gene told him where everything was kept, and explained his always-keep-cleaning-up routine.

      And when she came in, Bobby gave her a pleasant nod and didn't say a word about the time. So she didn't mention the truck, or how he'd gone storming out of the house this morning. Instead, she said, "Uncle Bob told me to tell you he's not coming in tonight after all."

      Bobby nodded. "He never does. I wasn't looking for him."

      Lucy went back in the kitchen to get an apron, which bunched up around her sweatshirted waist so much that she had trouble tying the strings.

      Back in the bar, Lucy said, "Bobby, I'm concerned about Uncle Bob."

      "He's always worse in cold weather," Bobby said, dismissing the subject. "He'll get better when it warms up again."

      "He was in pretty bad shape the other night," Lucy said doubtfully. "I think maybe we ought to let a doctor look at him."

      "Did you say that to him?"

      Lucy nodded. "He said he'd be fine."

      "Don't you think he knows how he feels? Better than you do?"

      Lucy sighed. "Maybe. But Bobby, he's getting crazier all the time. You know this morning, he told me he saw Mama in the doorway . . ." But Bobby wasn't listening. He had plugged a quarter into the juke box and started up an old Elvis record, Heartbreak Hotel. He always played that when he was worried about something.

      Lucy wondered if he was brooding over his fight with Normalade. Was he still mad at her, or just embarrassed.

      Clive came in with Bertie, and right behind them were Ricky Morganstern and Cal Arthur. They all sat down at the bar, and Lucy drew them each a draft. Bertie was saying, "Heard you were the life of it last night, Ricky."

      Ricky took a slug of his beer. "Yes I was. Old Tagg and Bobby, they know how to throw one all right."

      Bertie said, looking sly, "Sang a song, did you?"

      Ricky glanced at Lucy. "Mr. Watkins, it was not one I'd perform in mixed company."

      Bertie started to urge Ricky to sing it anyway, but then he gave a kind of start and said, "Well, maybe you'll give us a sample later on." Clive must have given the old man a kick. He spent a lot of time trying to keep his grandpa in line.

      Ricky didn't seem to notice. "Listen, though, I want to ask you two about this business deal I'm thinking of getting into."

      His little mustache began to quiver, and his beady eyes got bright. "See, this man came in the drugstore early today, and we got to talking, and he said he's looking to open up a straw-hat factory — make real fine Panama hats on the cheap, see? And he was thinking of maybe doing it here."

      Bertie took a handful of chips from the bowl next to him and began to crunch them down, several at a time. "Who is he?" he asked.

      "Never saw him before. Anyway, he was asking me whether there was plenty of cheap Mexican labor here, and what kind of rent we paid there at the drugstore, stuff like that. 'Course I told him my Dad owns the building."

      Ricky slid the chips neatly away just as Bertie was reaching for them. Crunching, he went on, "See, what this fella wants is not just a good place to start up, but a sharp local person who'd do the actual managing — a hands-on type who'd run it for him. And then that man would get to keep a bunch of the profits for his trouble."

      Bertie raised his eyebrows. "Any idea why he'd pick a place like Los Neitos?"

      "Central location, reliable workers . . ." As Ricky began ticking the reasons off on his fingers, Lucy went down the bar to serve a glass of beer to a cowboy who worked on a ranch north of town. When she came back Ricky was saying, ". . . He himself wouldn't get too involved on the local level, because he has these several other businesses to run."

      "Oh sure," nodded Bertie, grinning.

      Ricky paused to drain his glass. "So finally, he made me this proposition: said he'd let me in on it. How about that? On the ground floor. It'll make me a rich man, he said. Independent. Sounds pretty good, I think."

      Clive looked sour. "You'd have to put up money?"

      "Well yes, of course — since I'd get so much of the profits once we got started. That's only fair."

      "And you'd do it?" Bertie asked.

      "Listen, I'd have done it on the spot, except my Dad wouldn't let me have the cash."

      Bertie slapped his hand down on the bar, and began to cackle, all his broken teeth showing. "I bet you would've, too, Ricardo Morganstern. You'd of handed over your whole wallet to a slick-talker you never saw before. Sonny, if you was a fish, you'd of been in a frying pan long ago."

      Ricky looked crestfallen. "You think so? Funny, that's sort of what my Dad said."

      Lucy began gathering up empties to wash, and Cal Arthur followed her down the bar, holding up his glass for a refill.

      "How's your mom these days," she asked, filling the glass. "Haven't seen her in a long time now."

      Cal took a long swallow before answering. "They made her assistant principal at the school this year. And as she's still teaching her classroom, she's pretty busy. But she likes that."

      "That's grand. Tell her I'm glad for her."

      Cal nodded. "I'll tell her tonight, when I get home."

      Mrs. Arthur had been Lucy's sixth-grade teacher, years ago, and Lucy had been terrified of her. They all had. She wondered if Cal was afraid of her, too. But maybe she was nicer at home.

      Ricky was now telling Clive about another business deal he was considering. Clive was listening, but just barely. He had a look on his face as if he had just eaten a bug.

      Bertie came sidling down the bar toward where Cal was standing. "How's that dog of yours?"

      "Wolfgang-Amador's in excellent health, thank you." Cal answered with a little smile.

      "Still pretty smart, is he?" Bertie grinned.

      "Yes, he's very intelligent."

      "What's he reading now?" Bertie asked with a straight face. "He got the dictionary by heart yet?"

      Cal gave Bertie a tranquil look. "That's all right, Mr. Watkins, you can laugh at my fondness for him if you want to, but he's a sweet-tempered companion, and I feel he really is my best friend."

      "Well . . ." But even Bertie couldn't find a smart comeback for that. "Glad to hear it."

      Cal never got mad, and nobody could stay mad when they were around him. "He's a sweet, person, and I like him," Lucy thought, "No matter what Miss Peaches says.

      "But how strange it is." her thoughts went on. "Clive Watkins is as good a person as you can ask, supports his grandpa and keeps him out of trouble all the time, and does good work at his garage, and hardly charges anybody for it, but he never says a kind word and I think I like mean old Bertie better than I do him. While Cal Archer drinks all the time, and never does a day's work, and mooches off his poor mother . . . yet he's such a sweet person that everybody's always glad to have him around."

      With a sigh, Lucy picked up the tray of dirty glasses and carried it into the kitchen. She was loading them into the washer when Shark came in through the back door. "Miss Lucy," he said, "My brother's outside. You got a minute to meet him?"

      "I'd be happy to." She followed Shark into the chill twilight. In the dim light of the neon sign, she could just make out a tall man standing in the shadow of the wall. Beyond him, the desert stretched barren and stark, falling away into darkness.

      Shark said, "This is my brother, Gallatin."

      As the man came forward, she saw that he was extremely thin and very shabby, but clean-shaven with overlong whitish-blonde hair falling around a tanned face. But as soon as he came into the light, Lucy knew him for what he was. "Aw," she thought, "These boys are nothing but dirt-poor stock."

      She offered him her hand, and her heart sank as she remembered, regretting it, that she'd told Shark she'd try to help this brother of his find work. Because — who'd want to hire a man like this?

      Of course Shark was poor-looking, too, but he had a kind of shaggy toughness to him, making him look almost like a down-on-his-luck biker. This brother, however, was a different matter. Although maybe not yet thirty years old, he looked like nothing so much as a worn-out farmer, or at best a failed rancher. The only strength in him would be a sort of hang-on endurance — the dull stubbornness that makes a man put in yet another crop after years of drought. Or try to squeeze one more season out of a failing herd.

      "Pleased, ma'am," He did have a nice voice, though. And a strong handclasp. Big clean hand.

      Lucy felt awkward, ashamed of her uncharitable thoughts. After all, she herself had on an ugly old sweatshirt, and an old apron tied around her waist. "So" she said, "Think you'll be in Los Nietos a while?" Meanwhile thinking, 'Maybe if I ask around enough, I can find somebody, somewhere who needs work done.'

      "Yes'm we'll stay in the area a while," he answered gently, "Now that you've been so kind as to let Brother have some work here. Truck could sure stand some fixing."

      "He tells me you're looking for a job for yourself," Lucy said, steeling herself to make the offer to help him.

      He shook his head. "I was, Ma'am, but I been in Duke City all day today, and I think I got something put together — if I can find somebody to play bass guitar. Somebody cheap."

      So he didn't need her help after all.

      Then he added, "Now we just need a place Shark can stay."

      So maybe she could help him after all. "Well now, let's see — " Could Tagg put them up, she wondered. No, his own apartment took up all the space over the feed store.

      Would Bertie and Clive have a place? That was an idea. Out behind the gas station, they used to have some old tourist cabins. One of those might fix up. Only of course Bertie would want to charge.

      "Shark said your Dad mentioned that you folks had space," Gallatin said diffidently,

      "My uncle you mean? Uncle Bob said that? But we don't have a spare room." She herself had had to move out on the screened porch when Bobby and Normalade were married. And now with the baby — then she remembered. She'd been half asleep at the time, but when Shark brought them home from the doctor, she'd introduced him to Uncle Bob and said he was the one who was going to help out, and they'd talked for a minute. "You mean what he said about our barn? He wants to stay in our barn?"

      Seeing her surprise, Gallatin said quickly, "Maybe I mistook him?"

      "No-no," she said slowly, "It's okay — it's fine with me. But it's just an old garage. Nothing but a roof and walls."

      "Be warmer than a pickup in a parking lot."

      "Well of course. But — but of course you're welcome to stay there if you want."

      "Maybe we could go have a look now? If you can spare him?"

      Lucy hesitated. People were starting to come in now. And there was still a lot to do in the kitchen. But . . . "Well, for a little while. I don't see why not."

      "Thank you, Miss Vance, that's kind of you." And as Gallatin said that, he smiled at her for the first time. And with that smile, everything changed.

      She hardly knew how she answered to him, because that smile of his took her so entirely by surprise. It transformed him into an altogether different man. Lucy realized, unexpectedly, that he was far more than the dirt-farmer she'd taken him for. He was a person worth knowing. Someone worth pleasing. Someone . . . special.

      They said goodbye, and she watched them get into the rusty pickup and drive off, still bemused by the power of Gallatin's smile. Even after they were out of sight, she stayed there, leaning against the wall, thinking about it. Thinking about him.

      How strange, Lucy thought, that I would have sized him up so wrong. That's never happened to me before. How could a thing like that happen?

      It was not until several minutes later, that she opened the door and went back into the pleasant chili-scent of the kitchen and told Gene that Shark had an errand to do and would be back presently.

     


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