Want a Smoke? She Said. That Smile Again

Bobby Ray looked across the kitchen over the beige Formica table, past yesterday’s dirty dishes, and out the window past his Buick Deuce and a Quarter at Barbara Ann’s brand-new Harley-Davidson Night Train. “I believe you, darlin’. I don’t know what made me think something was going on.” Barbara Ann smiled, dropped her cigarette into the sink, hopped down off the counter. She let her hand fall softly on his blue jeans. “Bobby Ray,” she said, “I’m done with being a middle school teacher.” He looked at the red snake tattoo on her forearm and shook his head. A lot can happen in a week. She’ll probably want me to get a job now. Well, hell, there’s always Randeane. He reached into his pocket for his smokes forgetting that he quit three years ago. He looked up and met her eyes. “Want a smoke?” she said. That smile again. “Look,” Bobby Ray said, “you can’t keep the bike. Bring it on back, get your money.” Barbara Ann locked the door, turned, and smiled. “I don’t think so. Did you know that Randeane left for New Orleans this morning with that crooked

deputy sheriff?” She laughed, put her arms around his waist, said, “You best be nice to me, Bobby Ray.”