Generations

Generations Part 1, Chapter 1

Emit crushed the smoldering end of his Pall Mall into the bottom of his shoe and sucked in air like clear, wet ice to replace the taste of tar. He clutched the paper coffee cup with the grip of a child holding his blanket.

"Only for you, kid," Emit called out. His truck was parked in front of the patch-bare lawn of his sister Audree's house. She called the doublewide unit with its concrete foundation a "modular home," which Emit supposed did sound nicer than a trailer.

He held a fresh cigarette in his teeth as he walked toward the door. His legs were still a little too loose, holding the effects of the morning's round of Jack and sodas in their tired muscles. He took a long drink and grimaced. The bitter water in the cup was reserved exclusively for use as a recovery aid.

He slapped the gold-painted knocker hard against the wood. The sound was sharp and loud in the empty morning, a rapid-fire starter pistol. Emit yelled into the door that the great outdoors waits for no man.

Pop had brought Emit to the lake the day after he turned ten. Not Canyon Lake, the clean, pay-per-day beach he would bring Nathan to. The brown circle of water he went to with Pop was more of a pond and never had a name.

It was a big deal. Pop hadn't been around for the last couple of birthdays. That weekend, Pop had taught him how to swear and when it was okay to fight. They spat together into the water, seeing who could get farther, Pop's mouth full of sticky chaw. Sitting by the fire pit at night, sharing his first beer from Pop's cooler, Emit was a pal, a buddy, no different than the men Pop watched baseball games with.

Quick thuds came from inside the house. Emit could see a child's frame from the front window, racing from room to room. The flimsy particleboard door whipped open, banging against the outside wall.

"Uncle Emit, you came!" A nylon sleeping bag hung from the child's balled fist.

"Of course I came. Schedule the whole weekend off from the paper mill. I'm all yours." Emit realized he was spitting a little, and his voice was louder than he meant it to be.

"Uncle Emit..." The boy's expression went slack, concern in his voice. Emit's heart fluttered like a tongue rolling an R.

"Nothing to be down about, Chief. Look, you about ready? I want us on the road."

The boy's eyes looked to the truck in front of the yard. The right blinker was still on. "I should get Mom. She said not to go until she said bye. She said not to leave."

"I'll give her a call from the lake office, promise. Let's just —"

"Nathan? Is that your uncle?" a voice called down the hall. A slight woman, barely a head taller than her son, came padding from the back bedroom in wool socks, torn jeans, and a sweatshirt. At the door, her eyes flicked from Emit's face to his coffee. She leaned forward and sniffed the air. Her face went to stone. "Nathan, go to your room while I talk to your uncle."

The boy stayed still, but the sleeping bag dropped from his fist.

"No, Nate." The muscles around Emit's aching temples bunched up. "We're leaving. Go put your things in the truck while I tell your mom goodbye."

Nathan looked to his mother.

"How dare you, Emit? How dare you put him on the spot like that? Nathan, go to your room right now."

"Jesus, Audree, he can think for himself!" Emit's ears rang with blood. He could feel his heartbeat in his throat. The flare-up surprised him more than his sister, whose face remained still and hard. As kids, she'd always been the one to stay calm when Emit got upset.

Emit kneeled down to speak with his nephew. "Don't you want to go camping? Come on, don't you want to go?"

Nathan looked between his uncle and his mother.

"You don't talk to him, you talk to me." Audree snatched Emit's ear and walked him out of the doorway and into the front yard, swinging the door shut behind her.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, let go!"

Audree loomed over Emit, projecting twice her height. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" Her neck muscles tightened as she struggled to keep her voice low. "Are you really standing here drunk on a Saturday morning? You couldn't lay off for one fucking weekend?"

"That's not fair," Emit shot back. "I am sober."

"Bullshit. You smell homeless. You know he's been talking about this all week?"

Emit searched his mind for the right thing to say back, the quiet of the morning building in his ears. When nothing came up, he spit a fast, angry loogie into the grass and stomped to his truck.