Separating - Carol Arnold

Mr. A called me into the den and closed the door. He walked over to his desk and leaned on it with his hands. I’d have to wipe off the sweaty palms later, when I did the dusting. That’s what I was thinking when he said what he said, the thing that made my stomach heave.

“Spidee, what’s this I hear about you and Horace not getting along?”

Bernice had done it! She had told even after I begged her not to.

“Not getting along?” I opened my eyes wide, talked sugary like I ‘d never heard something so silly in my life.

“Well, it sounds that way to me, you complaining about him to Bernice. You know, I rely on Horace, he’s good with the cows, knows how to boss ‘em, good with the hands too. Can’t have any trouble with Horace, Spidee, you know that.”

“Hmm, hmm.”

“So’s here’s what I propose. Mr. Houssian needs someone to help him out with his restaurant in town. I told him you’re a pretty good little clean-up gal, do what you’re told. He said he could take you in, teach you to be a fry cook. Got a little room in back even. You could stay for free.”

I sucked in my breath and held it there, like maybe I would die if I held it long enough. I had met Mr. H once, when he came out to the ranch to deliver bread to Mrs. A, flat things that looked like pancakes that Mrs. A liked to mush around in her food. All I remembered is the way he smelled, a mix of B.O. and garlic and some kind of sourness that made my eyes sting. I had looked up his nostrils when he handed me the package, two hairy holes as deep and dark as poison wells. As bad as Horace was, at least I knew about his poison. Mr. H’s was just floating around out there making fumes.

“Mr. A, I will never complain about Horace again. It was my fault, the whole thing.” This time my eyes were bigger than even Mrs. A’s old serving platters. Only they had a little wateriness to them, a wateriness I tried to blink out but it just stayed there. Bernice had betrayed me. But that feeling I got when she crushed me to her boobies was something I hadn’t felt in a long, long time. I couldn’t leave it, not now or ever.