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Chapter Thirty-Seven
Joel
The work never stops; it just keeps piling up faster than ever. The snow has stopped, and the sky was clear, a little pale blue. It's rare that we get snow here in Texas, even in February, but this has been a strange year. Hot and cold. Hot and cold. Everything feels impossible to predict. The good news is the snow won't last long. It'll be sunny again tomorrow.
Good thing, because people keep dying, and they have to be put somewhere, which means work never stops. It's important to mourn and get on with things. The circle of life.
I spend the morning digging, not thinking about anything except the dirt and wetness under my fingernails. That and the fact that Gina's dad is now underfoot. It's like I can't shake him. He thinks he knows better than I do how to run the farm, how to work on my truck, just about anything. He knows it all. Suffice it to say, he and Mona, they've become pretty involved in our lives, and I married Gina, not her family.
Fortunately, I came up with a solution, renting the old Hugo place. Now, Gina's dad can be close, but not in my yard close.
Other than that, for the most part, I’m able to keep clear of him because I work all the time. Like now. I’m lost in thought when I look up to see a familiar face. I stop working for a moment to watch Martin from the feed store as he comes walking toward me. His hands are shoved in his pockets, his eyes look tired. The icy wind whips his white hair around his face.
“Howdy,” he calls, cupping his hand over his eyes. “Hadn't expected to see anyone else out in this weather.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m just about to wrap it up for the day.”
He reaches into his coat and pulls out a small bouquet of half-wilted flowers. It’s rare to see him out and about. I only ever see him in his store. He works about as much as I do.
“It's Mama's birthday,” he says. “Gotta pay my respects. Weather be damned.”
He looks around the graveyard. “Oh, and by the way, I saw that pretty wife of yours the other day.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah, she came in looking for a spot at the poker table. And she got it.”
Martin holds poker matches in the back of his store. He’s an honest man, but I know who shows up to his table, and I’m not a big fan of that crowd. Most are harmless. A few are not.
“Gina?” I say. “She's a pistol.”
“You're telling me. She beat us all.”
“Can't say I'm surprised,” I tell him, which is a lie. I had no idea Gina could play poker. She's never mentioned it. Just like she never mentioned her “dream” of being an “actress.” Dreams, I might add, that sound a little more solid than ideas rattling around in her head. It sounds to me like she has a goddamn plan, and now that I’m hearing this, well, I’m beginning to worry that maybe I don’t know my wife at all.
“You know,” said Old Man Martin, “I’ve seen a lot of things in my time, but never a girl that young with that much guts. She'll be the death of you one day.”
I look at the snow and nod. “Hopefully, not anytime soon,” I tell him, motioning toward the partially dug grave. “I’ve still got a lot of work to do.”
“Well, I guess I’d better get on with it,” he says. “Nice seeing you, Joel.”
I watch him leave, and I keep digging.
Later, at home, after dinner, I walk into the living room and find Gina sitting on the couch. She glances up from her book and points to the chair across from her.
I sit and look at her, noticing her striking features. Her long hair falls down her back like a waterfall of gold. Her chestnut eyes sparkle as she looks at me. She's wearing a dress that hugs her curves in all the right places. I can't help but admire her, but I also feel a deep sense of dread. I pull a deck of cards from my back pocket.
“Care for a little Texas Hold 'Em?”
“Now?”
I shuffle the deck and cut the cards. “Is there a better time?”
“I don’t know. I just had other things in mind,” she says, putting her book down. She walks over and straddles me in the chair. “It's dreadful out and I'm cold. I've been waiting all day for you to get home and keep me warm.”
I squeeze her ass, and she smiles. Then I pull her in close. “I’ll keep you warm, but want to play a few hands first,” I say, my lips brushing against her throat. She shudders.
“God, you're good,” she says.
