Uncle Virgil said, “I might need me a little cut.”
Daddy thumbed the bills and Aunt Juanita got to studying on her cuticles, her cheeks gone deeper pink.
Daddy said, “Yeah?”
Uncle Virgil sat up straighter. “Yeah.”
“Well now.”
Daddy turned to look at Aunt Juanita, who found something not to her liking on her pinkie. She was almost cross-eyed trying to see whatever it was.
Uncle Virgil said, “Yeah. I mean, it ain’t like you got nothing to worry about. I got rent, and we need’n a few things.”
Daddy said, “What happened to the money from that last run?”
Uncle Virgil raised his shoulders. “Like I said, there’s things we need.”
Aunt Juanita dropped her hand into her lap, and with exasperation said, “For heaven’s sake, Virgil. Just tell him you owe people because you can’t play cards worth a lick and lost it over that foolishness.”
Daddy said, “Who do you owe?”
Uncle Virgil rubbed his hands together, the sound raspy and dry, like papers rustling.
“That’s my business. Mama gave you this place here, while I got nothing but a damn plow and combine I ain’t never gonna use. I reckon I don’t quite see that as fair. Seems like maybe you ought to pay my rent now and then, and it’s just how I feel about it.”
It was an age-old argument Uncle Virgil liked to use to make Daddy feel accountable for his self-made struggles. It worked about half the time and today was one of them. Without hesitation, Daddy took one of the stacks and pushed it toward Uncle Virgil, who snatched it up like it was a ham biscuit. He shoved it in his front pocket, and grinned at Aunt Juanita. She rolled her eyes and sipped her coffee. He simmered down now he had what he wanted.
Uncle Virgil said, “Hell, it ain’t nothing but money, ain’t it what you say?”
Daddy nodded. “Sure, sure. It’s what I say.”
Uncle Virgil stood and so did Aunt Juanita. “All good?”
Daddy said, “All good.”
Uncle Virgil went to the back door with Aunt Juanita on his heels. She motioned to Oral, who ignored her, and then Daddy got to laughing softly again. Uncle Virgil was about to step outside and he stopped.
He said, “What’s funny?”
Daddy went back to thumbing the rest of the stack of bills.
He said, “That run last night?”
Uncle Virgil said, “Yeah?”
“I’ll be damned, if it were Bob Stoley, he fired off a shot at me.”
Uncle Virgil said, “Woowee! When’s the last time that happened?”
“Never.”
“I suppose he was mighty ticked off he couldn’t catch you.”
“He can’t stand being beat, for sure.”
“Maybe it was a Murry.”
Daddy grinned as if he enjoyed reflecting on the danger and excitement of being chased and shot at.
His manner irritated me, and I said, “I honestly don’t get the way y’all act.”
Uncle Virgil said, “The way we act?”
I said, “I reckon it shouldn’t bother nobody getting shot at, or thrown in jail, noooo, it’s just a game is all.”
Merritt mumbled his favorite response, “Oh brother, here we go again.”
Five pairs of eyes turned to me, like I was a stranger among them.
I stood my ground. “Ain’t it right? Nobody here thinks it matters.”
Uncle Virgil put his hands on his hips and poked his rear end out. He waggled a finger at Daddy like he was scolding him, and at that, the men and boys laughed. Aunt Juanita faced the screen door again, ready to leave now they had what they needed. I fumed. This was typical of how it went when I got, as Daddy would say, up on my high horse. Their laughter followed me down the hall as I escaped. I went into the small bathroom and splashed water on my hot face. I brushed my hair, and put a headband on to hold it back. I bent forward toward the mirror and rubbed at the two frown lines in the middle of my eyebrows. Uncle Virgil’s truck started, making the small bathroom window vibrate. The sound faded, and I was glad they were gone.
I went back into the kitchen in time to see Daddy going out the back door. He would hide the money, maybe in the shed, or in the old outhouse. He didn’t trust banks. His mama, Granny Sasser, had been the same way, keeping jars filled with coins and bills buried in various spots only she knew. One day he found her out in the backyard, keeled over under the clothesline, still holding on to a jar filled with cash. She’d had a heart attack and the story goes him and Uncle Virgil used that money to bury her, then searched, trying to locate where she’d hid the rest. They found some, and split it, but both contended there was a good chance more was out there, somewhere. Merritt was all the time digging in the yard, like a pirate hunting buried treasure, whereas I’d come to look at liquor profits as dirty money. I wanted none of it, yet it was as if I was surrounded by its very existence, even down to the very ground I walked on.
Daddy came back in a few minutes later, held out his hand, and said, “Here.”
In it was a ten-dollar bill. I made no move to take it, but Merritt did and Daddy gave him a look.
Merritt said, “Why can’t I have it if she don’t want it?”
He ignored that and held it out again. “Jessie. I ain’t having people think I don’t provide for you when you’re about to bust out of what you got on.”
It hadn’t helped one of my teachers sent a note home saying I needed to come to school in proper-fitting clothes. If Aunt Juanita knew about that she’d have felt vindicated for her comment.
I said, “I ain’t got no use for bootleg money.”
“Jessie.”
“What?”
“How do you know where this came from?”
“You just carried a bunch of it out the door.”
“For all you know, this very bill was took out of my wallet from my other job.”
“It ain’t from your other job.”
“Well, I suggest you stop eating then. I’m the one putting food on the table and evidently it don’t matter where it really comes from.” Daddy kept on. “Them pork chops last night? I noticed you enjoyed them. I bought them with bootleg money. Yeah, you ate the hell out of’em.”
I was suddenly very conscientious of my physical form, fleshy thighs, hefty middle, and overly large breasts. I stared at a corner of the kitchen ceiling and noticed a cobweb.
He went on. “You want for things to be harder maybe. Not have that kind of food to eat. And here I go again, trying to give you money for nice clothes, but you won’t take it. Instead, you want to go around without a decent thing to wear, going about looking like a hobo. You’re making me look bad.”
I said, “It ain’t me making you look bad if people think like that.”
“I work hard; that’s