She slipped on the other heel. A childhood memory: The park. The cake and red punch. The new shoes. The shiny silver buckle.
“Do you like your shoes, Lily?” her father asked, his face happy and young. “They’re very pretty.”
Right before the ice storm turned the town to stone they laid him off. Most thought the jobs would come back. They prayed. That winter was colder than anyone remembered. Everything was gray and locked in place. Her father waited patiently. He fixed things in the garage, was seen doing the dishes. He listened for the phone. Then one day he picked up the bottle after eighteen years without a drop (he put down the drink the day Harbor Freight hired him).
“That job was supposed to bury me,” he told her, a pint sitting between his legs. “Supposed to pay for your wedding.”
The next winter wasn’t as cold. But when the first snow fell Harbor Freight was no longer and he wasn’t around to shovel the driveway and lay down the salt.
Another memory: Packing his things. A silver watch. A gold ring with a green stone. Some books. His scuffed work boots.
“I’m so sorry,” Uncle Gil told her outside the church, his eyes glossed over, going how his brother went. “It’s all in god’s plan.”
At one time Gil lived next door with his second wife. Jean. Monkey face. Saucer lips. They did two things: They drank and argued. Once Jean was out on the balcony drunk and naked, her big tits taking in the warm Kentucky sun. Another time the cops came and took him away.
“I want my lawyer!” he yelled as they walked him out, feet dragging, hands cuffed behind his back. “Jean! Jean! You bitch! You better take care of my goddamn cat!”
“Lily,” someone said, bringing her back.
She looked in the mirror. The dress was white despite the fact that she lost her virginity the summer before. “The Cincinnati Summer” is what she called her handwritten memoir. She documented everything. The nervous drive to his house. The cigarettes. The hurts-so-good. He reminded her of her father. Even wore the same cologne.
“Wish you were here,” she said and fastened the last buckle.
