Delores Parker's Arc

Chapter 2 of 8

Sunday came and went. The jacket fit. Her husband wore it Monday morning to the new garage, sleeves bright with flowers. Delores watched him walk past the heap of rusted gears and coils outside the door, parts she could never name. He had ordered more. A receipt sat on the kitchen counter, waiting. She picked it up. Crisp print, neat columns, numbers that climbed without mercy. Design Tax. Custom Section. One hundred and fifty for something she couldn't pronounce. She tried to guess what was fair. She had no idea. Out the window, her younger two hung from the windows of the blue Ford, shouting like pirates. The oldest leaned on the fender, grinning. Delores carried the receipt outside. She meant to ask, calmly, if these prices were right. Her husband looked up from the open hood, face lit with that quiet weekend joy. He pointed at a small brass part in his palm and told her the seller had thrown in two extras for free. He was proud. He was happy. She folded the receipt in half. She walked back inside and slid it into the drawer with the rest. She would not learn Model A prices. She would not police his receipts. If he was being swindled, she decided, he was being swindled into joy. The drawer clicked shut. That part was over.