Page 8 of Chasing Fireflies

“I’ll ask her,” I reply. “But she’s on disability, so she isn’t supposed to work.”

“Oh. Well, I’m sure Maci would work something out with her. Maybe pay her under the table.”

“Woman, sometimes I think you forget that I’m the chief,” Drew says to her.

“I surely don’t,” she replies, winking at me. He shakes his head.

“Well, son, I’ll have your suit and gun ready for you Monday morning. You can start then.” He moves Anne out of the way and takes a seat in front of her desk. Reaching into a drawer, he pulls out a cigar and a box of matches.

“Sounds good. Thanks again,” I say as I walk to the door. The bell rings when I open it, and I hear Anne talking.

“Don’t you smoke that thing in here. You’ll have my allergies just a fussing.”

I can’t hear what he says back, but as I’m getting into my truck I hear that bell again and the smell of a cigar being lit hits my senses.

*

The screen door opens, and Debbie walks out onto the porch. I kill the engine and get out.

“Cash.” She nods to me, placing her hands on her hips

“Thanks for coming, Debbie. How is she?”

“Sleeping still,” she says, crossing her sweater-covered arms over her chest. It’s eighty out and this woman has on a sweater. “She won’t get up, and she screamed at me. Are you giving her medicine to her?”

“I don’t give it to her, Debbie. She knows to take it,” I answer, walking onto the porch.

“And you’re not making sure she takes it every day?” she asks me.

“She’s grown.” I open the screen door, knowing she’ll follow me.

She huffs, “You have to make sure she’s taking it, Cash. I still don’t know what you two were thinking. Sara’s sick. She can’t be left alone. She shouldn’t be sleeping. If you were making sure she’s taking her medication, she wouldn’t be sleeping all day like this.”

“It’s because of the meds she is sleeping all day like this,” I say to Debbie, opening the fridge and grabbing a beer.

“So, you’re drinking now?” She looks at the beer in my hand.

“If you’re asking if I’m about to drink this beer, then yes. If you’re implying I have a drinking problem, then no,” I say, twisting the cap off and tossing it into the trash. I walk past her and back onto the porch. I hate dealing with this woman. I know Debbie is concerned about her daughter, but she could cut me some slack. I sit down on the swing and look up when she comes walking out.

“Cash, why don’t y’all sell this junk pile and move back home? We can take care of Sara there. We can watch her.”

“No!” I say. She jumps from the sound of my voice. “Debbie.” I sigh. “I’m sorry. Thank you for coming. You should be getting on your way before it gets dark.” It’s only a little after lunch, but I need her to leave before I lose my shit. She gets that same defeated look in her eyes I’ve seen many times over and her shoulders slouch.

“Fine,” she says. “Call me if you need me.” She walks down the steps.

“Debbie,” I call after her before she gets into her car. “Thank you.”

“You never have to thank me for looking after my child,” she says. I nod and she gets in. I sip my beer as I watch her leave and look over at the door as it opens. Sara walks out in her pajamas and piled-up curls.

“She’s gone, huh?” she asks, sitting down beside me. The swing rocks as she folds her legs under.

“She is,” I confirm.

“Why did you call her?”

“You know why, baby.” She doesn’t say anything because she does know why. Sometimes Sara gets bad thoughts and doesn’t want to live anymore. She leans down and rests her head on my lap. I kick off the porch and drink my beer. We sit in silence as the day passes by, just looking out at the old road and the wheat fields that sway from the wind.

*

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