Miriam smiled. She couldn’t help herself. He had pronounced “washing” like there was an r somewhere in the middle. Almost home, she thought.
“A Chevy Astro. A ’92. Manual.”
“Little lady, you driving stick all the way to Memphis?”
She relaxed. This white man was all right. As far as white men can be all right. “Well, I prayed for wings, but the good Lord just laughed.”
“Well, no one’s here. Let’s go take a look at this testy girl. If you want.” He put his hands up, palms forward. “Can’t promise anything. But I’ll sure as hell try for a little lady like you.”
Miriam’s neck tensed, the nerves there expanding, contracting.
He eased off the stool he was perched atop, letting out small groans with every small shift of weight. He pointed a meaty index toward the door. “Ladies first.”
The mountains had turned into a silvery moonstone color that made Miriam pause as she turned.
“It’s a sight, ain’t it? And after all these years, I can’t get used to it. Mountains. How did they even come to be? Sometimes I sit in that shop all day wondering. Don’t make no sense to me how a fella can question the existence of God waking up to mountains like that every morning. All the proof I need. Got any kids?” He aimed his thick finger toward a curtain in the van suddenly fluttering closed. Those pairs of brown eyes, observing all.
Miriam nodded. “Husband, too. We’re meeting him in Memphis. There’s a naval base there.” The lie was a SweeTart in her mouth.
“Your man is military, then?”
“An officer and a gentleman.” She almost laughed at herself. Then almost raised her hand to her left brow, still tender, covered in cheap Maybelline foundation not her shade because no drugstore ever carried her shade. She nodded at the hood of the white van. So big her kids called it “the White House.” So irksome she’d christened it “the Reagans.”
“Can you fix it?”
He was in the innards of the van now. She peered over his hulking frame. Then—
She didn’t hear the gentle creaking of the passenger-side door opening, just a crack, or the tiny pitter-patter of feet. But she did hear the growl.
Wolf was three feet away, Mya right behind her. Her youngest daughter. Mya stood on legs not seven years old. Wolf, the color of snow atop the Smokies, keeled low and flashed white teeth and pink gums bespeckled with black.
The white man turned. Looked aghast.
“Wolf, get back in the car. Mya, you, too.” Miriam held her brown arm straight, pointing at the passenger door.
“Woman, you got a Noah’s Ark full.”
“Who he, Mama? Where is Daddy?” Mya asked.
“Come on.” Miriam saw Joan poke her tiny head out the side window.
“My. Wolf. Come. Now.”
Miriam would have smiled if Mya’s question hadn’t sent the muscles in her neck into an entirely new level of tension. Joan’s tone was sharp. Mya obeyed her older sister. Wolf backed away, never taking her eyes off the white man. Suspicious. Protective. A snarl was forming in the jowls. Mya followed, though Miriam could tell she did so reluctantly.
The white man turned back toward the van’s innards. “See this here? This is the vacuum valve. See these holes? All I got to do is put some duct tape on them. Between meat and God, the only thing man needs is duct tape. Saved the crew of Apollo Thirteen, did you know? Your man a pilot?”
“If I could be that lucky. Have that man stationed in space instead of Memphis.” The sweet sour candy taste in her mouth had dissolved. Miriam was taken aback by the truth she told.