Angels Read Free

hummed to herself, and the man hummed a melody too, interjecting a hissy whistle into the tune.
    â€œNope. Nope. No sir,” the man said, popping his beer can. She glanced at him, but he didn’t continue, and she turned her eyes again to the fields running away beside them. “Nope, Jamie, nobody sees this,” he said suddenly, and kissed her cheek.
    She swallowed beer. “Hey now—quit!”
    â€œQuit what?”
    â€œI’m married!”
    â€œWhere’s your husband?”
    â€œHe’s home.”
    â€œWhere’s that?”
    â€œHe’s home. He’s at the next stop. He’s in Cincinnati.”
    â€œThis bus don’t go to Cincinnati.”
    â€œHe’ll meet us in Cleveland then.”
    â€œNow, I heard you telling your little girl a while back, she won’t see Daddy no more.” He grinned and opened another beer. It hissed loudly opening and she jerked. No one had noticed. The two nuns were asleep toward the back, one leaning against the windowpane and the other resting her head on her shoulder.
    â€œWell,” Jamie said, “I had to leave him.”
    â€œNow we’re getting honest.”
    â€œHonesty is the best policy.”
    â€œHave another beer, before I drink it all up.”
    â€œYou didn’t even say your name yet.”
    â€œName’s Bill. Bill Houston. Told it to your little girl there, and I thought you must’ve heard.” He took her hand in his.
    â€œHey, I can’t use this,” she said. “Specially at this moment. Why don’t you just get straight?”
    â€œOh, all right,” he said. “Forget it. Hey—here. I got something here going to make that beer taste like champagne.” He sneaked a pint bottle of bourbon from his bag, and, catching hold of her wrist, he sloshed some into her can of beer. “That’ll perk her up. Called a Depth Charger.” He slapped his nose with a forefinger, rolling his eyes and allowing his tongue to fall from the corner of his mouth. A little stupid, but Jamie couldn’t help laughing.
    She sipped from her drink and they discussed the passage of eras, the transformation of the landscape, the confusion of people in high places, the impersonality of the interstates. The bus carried them out from under the cloudbank covering Western Ohio into a rarefied light where old patches of snow burned fiercely in the dirt of hillsides. Soon the beer was gone and the cans held only bourbon. “You don’t have to be afraid of me,” Bill Houston said. “I been married three times.”
    â€œThree times? What for?” she said.
    â€œI never could figure out what for myself. After the first time I said, next time you want to do something like that, you better remember. So I got this here.” He displayed a tattoo on the inside of his elbow, a tiny feminine Satan’s face over the motto, Remember Annie. “Didn’t do me no good. Three months later I was right back married again, to a big and fat one. First one, she was little and skinny, so the next one I made sure she was big and fat, sort of for the variety.”
    â€œVariety’s important.”
    â€œYes it is. Variety’s important.”
    â€œCourse, you have to be dependable, too.”
    â€œThird one I married was dependable. I could just never get my mind around it—she was so dependable, but then one day right in the middle of everything she says, what was your first wife’s name. I says it was Annie; she says, oh yeah, Annie what, and I says, Annie Klein! What you asking me for? Well, she was just wondering. So about five minutes later she wants to know what was my next wife’s name. So course I told her, which it happened to be the same maiden name as she had. That why you picked me? she wants to know. What do you mean, I told her, coming up on me all of a sudden with this shit—excuse me. She says, so, I’m wife number three,