Rocket Science Read Online Free Page B

trench somewhere in France, I’m just sure of it.”
    “I know. They also serve who stay home and listen to the radio.” I pushed my plate away. “Let’s clean up for your Mama. I’ll bet she’s got her hands full with Mr. Bellamy acting up.”
    “Now that’s the Vernon I know,” laughed Floyd. “Always ready to do someone else’s chores.” He followed me into the kitchen with an armload of plates.
    And yet, underneath the pain of his snippy words, I could still remember Floyd carrying me through summer fields, laughing at the crows and singing campfire songs.

    We went back into town late that afternoon, driving the Farm-All because we couldn’t bring Dad’s truck or the halftrack, and Floyd had left the Willys down at the station.
    “I can’t believe we’re riding fifteen miles on a tractor to go back and get your dad’s truck,” I said, shouting over the clatter of the engine. Mr. Bellamy needed to give this thing a valve job, really bad. A new muffler wouldn’t hurt, either.
    “It’s a longer walk,” Floyd yelled back. “Especially with your leg. I’ll bring the tractor back tonight. You come over tomorrow in Daddy’s truck.”
    By the time we got to the depot, my ears were ringing. Odus Milliken was just locking up for supper.
    “Boys,” he said as we shut off the tractor and got down to stretch. “Pretty strange shipment you got in today.”
    Floyd smiled at me like he’d been expecting the question — which made me wonder if he’d planned to leave the pickup here for this exact purpose.
    “Odus,” he said, taking the railway agent’s arm. “As one veteran to another, let me buy you a beer. The State Street Lounge good enough for you?”
    “Well, I was heading home for—”
    “Nope. Dinner’s on me, too.” Floyd cocked his head at me. “Come on, Vernon. We’ll let you sit in. But Dutch treat for you, mister stay-at-home.”
    I was glad for lengthening shadows. They hid my renewed blush as I limped after Floyd and Odus.

    The State Street Lounge was crowded with roughnecks from the Mobil refinery over on the southwest side of town. The war might be over, but America’s appetite for petroleum didn’t seem to be. The workers seeped in with their greasy overalls and their steel hardhats and took over the place. A lot of the guys were vets like Floyd — the women and kids and oldsters that had run the refinery during the war were dumped for men who needed the jobs as soon as those men had come home, despite Floyd’s fears about employment.
    We wound up in a booth at the back, me, Floyd and Odus, not too close to the radio speakers. Everything was dark red, almost the color of wine, except the plywood floor which was covered with peanut husks. The whole place reeked of stale cigarettes and old beer — that bar smell you probably find everywhere in the world. Floyd flagged down a waitress, who surprised me by laying a big, wet kiss on Floyd’s cheek. I wondered what Mary Ann would have thought about that.
    “Hey, Midge,” Floyd said. “You know Odus Milliken, from the station.” She winked at him. “And my buddy Vern, works over in Wichita.” I didn’t get a wink. “Beer all around.”
    You couldn’t get liquor by the glass in Augusta. A fellow had to drive to Wichita for that privilege.
    Even though Floyd was being free with my Dutch treat money, I wasn’t going to argue about the order — I’d just sip around the edges. It was Floyd’s show, and I wanted to see how he would manage Odus. My buddy could be a real artist when it came to handling people.
    “I thank you kindly, Corporal Bellamy,” said Odus, “but what’s the real story here? You’ve never stood an old man a drink before. Why start now?”
    Floyd leaned over the table with a look on his face like he was going to share the Secret of Life. “Business confidentiality, Mr. Milliken. Commerce in all its glory, bringing jobs and money to Augusta.”
    Odus drummed his fingers on the table for a moment.