George scanned the edges of the highway, looking for cop cars tucked away in the pines crowding the road. Satisfied that no cops were in sight, George let his foot drop onto the accelerator and the speedometer’s needle arched to 100 miles per hour. At this speed, George would be back in Atlanta in time to watch Barbecue Beauties: George’s favorite TV show, which featured beautiful girls in bikinis demonstrating different barbecue techniques. George didn’t like to cook—the smell of meat cooking made him nauseous—but he enjoyed watching others go through the motions.
George had been dragged from Atlanta to Yatesville this morning to investigate an insurance claim. He’d spent the day talking to Yatesville’s fire department, which consisted of two overweight firemen and one scrawny fire truck, to determine if a house fire had been accidental. The firemen assured George that the fire was caused by faulty wiring, but he knew those two rednecks wouldn’t know arson if its flames were singing their rat tails. He should have stayed and launched his own investigation, but he loathed being out of the city for more than a day, and the ash from the fire still hung in the air, irritating his sinuses.
The family stood in a circle, heads bowed in prayer, as George approached. He didn’t want to interrupt, but he was anxious to finish the paperwork and get back on the road. The woman who owned the house was a single mother of two children. They had all escaped the fire unharmed, except for Piglet, the family cat. George stood outside of their circle and saw they were praying over Piglet’s charred body. Despite the necktie he held over his nose and mouth as he spoke to the mother, he could still smell smoked cat.
George rolled his windows down and let the highway wind brush the ash from his hair and the smell of death from his clothes. Between the rush of wind in his ears and Destiny’s Child exploding from his speakers, he couldn’t hear the odd clicking sound coming from the engine, so he didn’t realize he had car trouble until the power steering gave out, the battery light flashed and the car stopped running.
George banged his fists on the steering wheel and cursed, an expression of frustration he’d often seen acted out in movies. He’d never make it home in time to watch Barbecue Beauties now.
***
George sat on the trunk of his car and watched the tow truck approach. The clank and crash of the engine rambled like a blues guitar riff; the truck was in no hurry to get anywhere. Afraid the truck might pass him by, George jumped up and waved his arms. Slowly, the truck pulled over and the engine died. The driver side door read, “Larry’s Towing Service: He’ll tow you home.” The door swung open and a man dressed in a dark brown polyester suit slid down from behind the wheel.
“Howdy. You George?” the man asked.
George nodded.
“Larry,” said the man as he shook George’s hand. “Nice to meet you. What’s the problem?”
“I don’t know. I’m completely ignorant when it comes to cars.”
“Pop the hood and I’ll have a look,” said Larry. He took off his blazer and handed it to George.
“Did you just come from church? Don’t see many mechanics working in suits.”
“Oh, no. Just always like to look my best. I’m never sure where I’m going, and, next thing you know, I’m wishin’ I had my suit on.”
“Oh, right.”
Larry ducked under the hood and grunted to himself as he inspected the engine. “Looks like your serpentine belt busted. You’ll have to replace it. I can’t get one today, but could have you one tomorrow. Yatesville’s the closest town. I know a woman who’d put you up for free.”
“No. I can’t stay here tonight; I have to get back to Atlanta. Will you tow me there?”
“To Atlanta? That’s 60 miles. It won’t be cheap.”
“That’s not an issue.”
“Alright, if that’s what you want, I’ll take you to Atlanta.” Larry put his blazer back on and went about loading George’s car onto the truck.
George climbed into Larry’s cab and was assaulted by the remnants of Larry’s cigarette addiction. George rolled down the window and gulped fresh air, but it was too late. He could already feel his mother’s black, curly hair on his forehead as she leaned over him to kiss him goodnight. She turned off his bedside lamp, and all he could see was the glow of her cigarette.
Larry climbed in next to George, gave him a big, yellow grin and started the engine. “We’re ready. Gonna be a long drive to Atlanta. You sure you don’t want to stay the night in Yatesville?”
“Yes. I’m sure.”
“What brought you down this way, anyhow?” Larry lit a cigarette and steered the truck onto the highway.
“Work.”
“Ha! Ain’t no work in Yatesville. What you really here for?”
“I work for Unity Insurance. We insure people all over the state, so I often have to leave the city to investigate claims.”
“Oh yeah? I got some Unity insurance. If I ever put in a claim, remember how I helped you out, OK?”
George nodded. His mother was still in the cab; the click of her cigarette lighter kept time with the engine’s melody. “Can I turn on the radio?”
“Sorry, it’s busted. We’ll have to entertain ourselves with old-fashioned conversation. This your first visit to Yatesville?”
George’s mother took a seat between him and Larry. “No, actually, I was born there.”
“No shit? What’s your name?”
“George Ballard.”
“Ballard? Huh. Doesn’t ring a bell. You still got family there?”
“No.”
“All moved up to Atlanta, like you, huh?”
“No. They passed away.”
“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that. Must be why I don’t recognize the name. I lost my momma last year: heart attack. How’d your folks pass?”
“My mother fell asleep while smoking a cigarette. Or maybe it was Dad’s cigarette. The fire killed them both. I was at school.”
“Now that’s a tragedy. I feel like an ass smoking this in front of you.” Larry tossed his cigarette out the window.
“It’s not a problem. Please smoke, if you’d like. I’m going to close my eyes for a little while. I have a headache.”
“Sure thing. I’ll let you know when we’re close to Atlanta.”
George closed his eyes and leaned against his mother. She put her arm around his shoulders and held her cigarette off to the side; she knew how the smoke bothered his sinuses.
