God Is Dead by Ron Currie Jr. Page B

big deal? It’s just dirt.”
    â€œNo, it’s that fortified stuff. Got all kinds of fertilizers and chemicals in it. They emptied her stomach and pumped her full of charcoal. Good news is, they’re keeping her overnight, so I can stay here.”
    â€œHey, great,” I say, though I’m instantly disappointed, and a bit panicked, that I won’t be able to go through my nightly routine with the catalogs.
    Selia moves behind the sofa and kneads the muscles in my shoulders. “So I stuck around for a while and made sure they cleaned her hair and her nails and her dentures and changed her socks and let her keep the TV on because she can’t sleep without it. Then, the other reason I’m so late, I had a flat tire when I came out of the hospital.”
    At this my ears prick up. “A flat? Was it slashed?”
    â€œNo,” she says. “I had it towed to Arbo’s, and they found a nail lodged in the tread. Said it happens all the time during the summer. Lots of construction, lots of nails lying about.”
    â€œHave you noticed Jeff Pauquette around anywhere?”
    â€œI told you, it wasn’t him,” she says, rubbing harder. “Don’t be so paranoid.”
    â€œYeah, what am I worried about?” I say. “After that display of venom at the bank this morning, even if Jeff knew we were together no one would believe him.”
    Selia tries, not too hard, to stifle a titter. “Sorry about that,” she says. “You have to admit, though, I was convincing.”
    â€œA little too convincing. That was my favorite coat.”
    â€œI’ll pay to have it cleaned, big baby. Okay?”
    â€œIt’s not the expense,” I say. “It’s having to drive all the way to the dry cleaner’s in Dover.”
    â€œOh, knock it off,” Selia says. “I’ll take your jacket to the cleaners. What else do I have to do? I’ll drive. Mom would enjoy a little road trip.”
    Later, Selia wakes from a nightmare. She tells me she dreamed she was driving to Dover and her mother grabbed my coat and leapt from the passenger seat, screaming some nonsense mantra about gefilte fish as she hit the pavement and rolled.
    â€œI couldn’t stop the car,” Selia says. “I hit the brakes, but the car just kept going. And all I could think was, she wouldn’t have been able to jump out if I’d paid the Adulation tax for child safety locks.”
    She’s trembling.
    â€œTry some milk,” I suggest.
    â€œNah,” she says. “I think I’ll grab something a bit stronger from the bar, if you don’t mind. First I’m going to call the hospital, though.” She rises and heads for the stairs.
    â€œDon’t forget to disable the motion sensors,” I call after her.
    I wait until she’s upstairs, then take the opportunity to sneak over to the safe and steal a few quick glances at BestDressed Kids. When I hear Selia’s footsteps returning I replace the catalog, close the safe door carefully so it won’t make any noise, then hop back into bed.

    The next day, Wednesday, my session with Jeff is scheduled for one in the afternoon. He shows up on time and actually smiles at me when I open the office door.
    â€œHow you doing, you?” he asks, bright and friendly.
    â€œFine, Jeff, thanks,” I say. Jeff sits without being invited, and after a minute of staring quizzically at the back of his head, I take my seat behind the desk and set the timer for fifty minutes.
    â€œLooks like they’ve left your car alone today, them,” Jeff says. He’s still smiling.
    â€œIs that so?” I ask, trying to seem indifferent. “If you had to venture a guess, would you say the chances are good they’ll continue to leave it alone?”
    Jeff makes a show of considering this. He tilts his head back and rubs his stubbled chin thoughtfully. “Yeah,” he says.