Big Guy Read Free Page B

tune, joining Mick Jagger’s as he belts out “Paint It Black
.”
    I’m just turning onto Walnut Street when a pickup truck cuts me off, veering sharply into my lane. I hit the brakes hard. The car swerves and starts to skid. I’m drunk, I think. I take my foot off the brakes and wrestle the car back under control. I pull to a careful stop at the side of the road. I’m shaking all over, sitting with my head against the steering wheel. God.
    Mick Jagger just keeps on singing. I open the door and puke my guts into the gutter. Then I leave the car at the side of the road and walk the last two miles home.

Chapter Five
    The next day I oversleep. I have to catch a bus to pick up my car. Don’t even have time to go online. I show up at work twenty minutes late, with a jackhammer headache and a stomach full of acid.
    Francine greets me coldly. She is wearing mint green today. Her thin blond hair is pulled back tightly, penciled-on eyebrows arching above eye shadow the same color as her dress.
    â€œYou’re with Mrs. Buckley this morning,”
    she says, dropping a stack of papers on her desk but not sitting down. “Cleaning. She’s been hiding food again and her unit stinks to high heaven.”
    My stomach rolls in protest at the thought. “And after that?”
    â€œWe’ll need help in the dining room. We’re short-staffed.” She lifts her chin and, despite being about a foot shorter, somehow manages to look down her nose at me. “I should remind you, Derek, that you are on a probationary period. Further lateness will not be tolerated.”
    â€œSorry,” I mutter.
    I spend a couple of hours picking moldy bits of food out of Mrs. Buckley’s radiators and dresser drawers, and wondering if Aaliyah told Francine that she didn’t want to see me again.
    Mrs. Buckley keeps complaining that I’m trying to starve her.
    â€œYou’re just like all the others,” she says bitterly. “Everyone wants to get rid of me.” Her faded blue eyes brim with tears.The desire to defend myself flickers and dies. We sit in silence for a moment, contemplating half a bagel sticking out from beneath a pile of clothes.
    â€œMrs. Buckley,” I say tentatively.
    She looks startled, as if she had already forgotten that I was there. “Yes, dear.”
    â€œWould you mind, I mean, would it be okay if I just ran out for a couple of minutes? To talk to someone?”
    She pats her white curly hair. “Of course. I’ll be just fine.”
    I wonder if she’ll take all the food out of the garbage bag and hide it again as soon as I leave the room. “Thanks.”
    Out in the hallway, I hesitate. Jesus Christ. What am I doing? But here I am, walking down the hall, knocking quietly on Aaliyah’s door and hoping Francine doesn’t come by and see me.
    â€œCome in,” Aaliyah calls.
    I open her door and slip inside, walk down the hallway to her bedroom. She is still in her pyjamas, lying on her bed reading a book. When I walk in, she puts the book down and stares at me.
    â€œYou again.”
    I shrug. “I’m not supposed to, I mean, I’m not here to help you today.” I wince at my choice of words. “I mean, Francine didn’t tell me to come.”
    She just waits.
    I turn away and put my hand on the blinds. “You want these open?”
    â€œYes.”
    I yank on the cord, pull the blinds up. Outside, the rain pours down.
    â€œIt’s the twenty-seventh consecutive day of rain,” Aaliyah says from behind me. “If it rains for two more, it’ll be a record.”
    I turn slowly back toward her and rest one hand on the edge of her bed. “I’m sorry,” I say. “About yesterday.”
    She looks at me steadily.
    â€œWhen you said you hadn’t always been... you know.”
    Aaliyah shifts her head on her pillow. “Disabled?”
    â€œYeah. And I didn’t say