As much as the entire scene disgusted him, Conner knew that most men ended up right there, hating their life and trying to avoid it. One night of escape at a time. Drowning their misery with a bottle and paying for a brief spasm of lust. It would probably get him too, as much as he hated the thought of succumbing to that. It would get him too if he stuck around. Man he remembered wishing life would rush along, that time would hurry up and go and he would get older already, but now he wanted it to stop. Stop before shit got any more dreary than it already was. If life would stop moving, maybe he could clear his head. He wouldnt have to run out on it.
He paused outside his moms room, almost forgot why he was there. Palmer. Right. He lifted his hand and knocked, really hoped he didnt hear a man barking at him to scram, this ones taken . But
it was his mother who opened the door, a robe draped over her shoulders. She tightened it up and cinched the sash when she saw who it was.
Hey, Mom.
She turned and left the door open, walked back to her bed and sat down. There was a bag beside her, a roll of cloth laid out with brushes. Lifting her foot to a stool, she went back to painting her toenails.
Slow night, she said, which Conner tried his damnedest not to picture the meaning of. But trying made it happen. Fuck, he hated that place. Didnt know why she didnt just sell it and do something else with her life. Anything else. I dont have a coin to spare, she told him.
Whens the last time I came here asking for coin? Conner asked, offended.
She glanced over at him. He still hadnt stepped inside. Wednesday before last? she asked.
Conner remembered that. Okay, fine, but when before that? And that was for Rob, just so you know. The kid has fucking holes in his kers.
Watch your language, his mother said. She jabbed her tiny brush at him, and Conner resisted the urge to point out that her profession sorta depended on that word.
I just came to see if youd heard from Palmer. Or maybe even Vic.
His mom reached for the bedside table where a curl of smoke rose from an ashtray. She took loud, popping tokes and got the cherry glowing again. Exhaling, she shook her head.
Its that weekend, Conner told her.
She turned and studied him for a long while. I know what weekend it is. A column of gray ash fell from her cigarette and drifted to the floor.
Well, Palm promised he was coming this year
Didnt he promise last year? She blew smoke.
Yeah, but he said he was really promising this time. And Vic
Your sister hasnt been out there in ten years. His mom coughed into her fist and went back to work with the little brush.
I know. Conner didnt bother correcting her. Itd been eight years, not ten. But I keep thinking
When you get older, youll stop going out there too. And then poor Rob will go out on his own, and hell make you feel bad for not going with him, but its him youll feel sorry for, and youll sit around and wait for him to grow up and figure out what the rest of us know.
And whats that? Conner asked, wondering why the hell he even tried anymore.
That your father is long gone and dead and the more you go on wishing he werent, the more sick you make yourself for no good reason. She studied her handiwork, wiggled both sets of toes, and screwed the small brush back into its little bottle. Palmer tried not to think where she got little artifacts like this. Scavengers and divers trading for her wares. Fuck, his brain was obstinate.
Well, I guess I came by for nothing. He turned to go. By the way, Rob says hello. Which was a lie.
You ever think about what I named you boys?
Conner stopped and turned back to his mom. He didnt answer. Hed never thought about the fact that shed named them at all. They just were.
Palmer and Conner and Rob, she said. All of you little thieves. I named you after your father.
Conner stood rooted in place for a moment. He didnt believe her. It was a coincidence. What about Vic? he asked.
His mom took a drag on her cigarette and exhaled a fountain of smoke. When I had Victoria, I didnt know your father was a goddamn thief. That he was gonna run off and leave us with nothing.
He wasnt a thief, Conner said. He was a Lord. He tried to say it with conviction.
His mother took a long, deep breath. Let it out. Same damn thing, she said.
14 Sandtrap
Palmer, Conner, RobertConner crossed a low dune between a freshly collapsed house and a new one under construction. A handful of men were hauling material from the ruin and nailing it back together two dozen paces away, once again forestalling the inevitable. The most disturbing thing about the scene was how normal it seemed, how many times Conner had watched this play out in Shantytown, a ruin serving as the foundation for new construction. But now his mother had him seeing the commonplace in a new way.
If anything, this alien view strengthened his resolve for that nights plans. It undid what a beer and rabbit stew with Gloralai the night before had started doing to his head.