The Summer That Melted Everything by Tiffany McDaniel Page A

stopped him. “He can stay in the jail.”
    â€œThat boy in that dank basement?” Mom shot up from the sofa. “With drunks and thieves and rapists and murderers? He’ll come outta there all lessoned up in sin.”
    â€œNow, Stella, I’d put ’im in his own cell. I ain’t stupid, ya know.”
    â€œLike hell you ain’t. Your bright idea is to put a boy in a basement. I thought you were dumb. I didn’t know you were son-of-a-bitch dumb.”
    â€œStella.” Dad winced.
    â€œWe all know why Dottie left you,” Mom continued. “Ran off with that well-to-do fella. If you ask me, she should’ve done it years earlier, instead of stayin’ with a small dick like you. She told us all. Called ya pinky pants behind your back.”
    She started taunting the sheriff with her pinkies, the sweat shining on her forehead like bad stars. When she began to choke on her laughter, Dad was quick to pat her on the back.
    â€œCalm down, Stella. For Christ’s sake, breathe.”
    â€œOh God—” She caught her breath. “I’m so sorry I said those things. I … the heat.” She swept the damp strands of her hair back, unable to meet the sheriff’s eyes. “It’s just the heat. I didn’t mean it. I’m so sorry.”
    â€œMy apologies as well, Sheriff.” Dad aired his collar. “I think it’s safe to say Sal is wanted, and he can stay here until something more permanent can be decided upon. And again, I’m so sorry for what has been spoken here.”
    You could feel the sheriff’s anger take over the room. Almost like a whooshing past your face. A sort of entity that felt like it could have peeled the wallpaper off the walls and broken the crystal.
    â€œI best be goin’.” The sheriff straightened as if he were being asked to show how tall he really was. Then he quietly nodded at all of us, very slowly at Mom, before leaving with his hands clenched at his sides, only the pinkies left out like small horns.
    â€œWell, that was very sudden, Stella.” Dad checked his tie once more.
    â€œI’m not used to it bein’ so hot. None of us are. We’re not prepared for a heat like this. I can just imagine the things that’ll be had from here on out. We best get cool, and soon. We’re all in a volcano of trouble. I feel it.”
    â€œCalm down now, Stella.” Dad cleared his throat. “I think I’ll go … I think I’ll take a walk to the cemetery. I’d like to talk this whole situation over with Mother.” He turned to Sal to clarify. “My mother has passed. But she always had a way of clarifying the distinctly strange. I think speaking with her has the great possibility of enlightening me on this matter we have before us.”
    â€œThe cemetery is a million miles away.” Mom wrung her hands. “You’ll be gone forever. I was plannin’ on makin’ lentil stew. You have to boil lentils, Autopsy. You know how I feel about boilin’ things, all them bubbles poppin’ up. It’s like rain in a pot. And now we won’t be havin’ lentil stew, ’cause you won’t be here to boil it. You have to stay.”
    Dad tugged on the tail of her hair until she smiled.
    â€œI won’t be gone long.” His long arms wrapping around her was like being somewhere in a wheat field.
    â€œYou’ll be gone forever. Once you start talkin’ to your mother, I become a widow.” She broke the embrace and bit her fingernail hard enough to chip the polish. She frowned at this and more as she said to him, “If you must go, then go, but before you do, bring me my canna for the day.”
    Breathed envied Mom’s cannas, which were tall, tropical flowers done up in colors with familiar names like red, orange, yellow, peach. Yet they weren’t familiar at all. They were the colors of the other side of a journey to