Free Somebody Everybody Listens To by Suzanne Supplee Page B

of a drinker,” she added.
    While I ate my lunch Shanay polished off the vodka and read (slurred) the Auto Den’s price list to me. She didn’t touch the sandwich I’d brought, and Ricky was too busy to eat. He had to finish up the Focus then replace the front brake pads on a pickup, all before five o’clock. Every time the phone rang, Shanay and I both reached for it, which was awkward, not to mention annoying. I was relieved when she finally wobbled back to the tattered old sofa in Ricky’s office to take a nap.
    â€œShanay finally leave you to yourself?” Ricky asked when he slid out from under the Ford.
    â€œYes,” I replied. Finally .
    He groaned to his feet and came over to stand beside me. I had taken everything off Shanay’s desk, including a disgusting ashtray piled a mile high with lipstick-ringed cigarette butts (which I emptied, of course) and stacked it all up neatly on the dented file cabinet.
    â€œNo tellin’ when that was cleaned last,” he said.
    â€œIt’s definitely been a while.” The surface was covered with grease and dust and crumbs and ashes and Lord only knew what else. Liberally, I sprayed a thick coat of Windex then wiped it down with some stiff paper towels I’d swiped from the bathroom.
    â€œAw naw,” Ricky said, and plucked the vodka bottle out of the trash can. “Did she drink all this?”
    I shrugged and sprayed more Windex.
    â€œWell, I hope she didn’t drink it and take a pain pill, too.”
    â€œNo,” I confirmed. “She said codeine upsets her stomach.”
    He sighed and shook his head, tossed the bottle into the trash again. “You probably wonderin’ why I let somebody like that work for me.”
    â€œA little,” I replied.
    â€œWell, I wonder the same thang myself.” He pulled a pocketknife out of his coveralls, and dug under his nails with the blade. “I knew Shanay when she was young and pretty. Reckon I keep hopin’ that same girl will show up again one day.”
    â€œHas she always been like this?” I asked, knowing it was none of my business.
    â€œSee, that’s the thang. She was real popular in high school. And she seemed to do okay for a few years after that. Everbody liked her, but then she fell in with the wrong crowd. Started dating some lowlife. Next thing we all knew, she was losing one job after another and in debt. She even got sent to jail once for stealing checks. My ex-wife won’t have nothing to do with her. They’re sisters,” he explained. “That whole family has pretty much disowned her. If it wasn’t for me, Shanay wouldn’t have nobody.”
    Busting Goggy’s oil pan was a terrible thing, but meeting Ricky felt like a blessing right then. “You’re good to do that. Give her a chance, I mean.”
    â€œI don’t know. Sometimes I wonder. The thing is I’m in a heap a debt for second chances,” he said, and flipped the pocketknife shut.
    Â 
    For the rest of the afternoon, I couldn’t stop thinking about Shanay and Ricky and Ricky’s son and the ex-wife and her family. Their stories caught hold of me somehow, filled my mind with song ideas. Shanay’s desk was sparkling clean now. I’d gone out to the ditch and picked some of those little yellow flowers Mama always said were just weeds and stuffed them in a jelly jar with fresh water. The paper clips were untangled, the nonworking ink pens had been thrown away, and the working ones were point side up in an old, chipped coffee mug. Shanay’s thermos was washed out and left to dry on a paper towel, and her wrinkled magazine clipping of Hank Jr. was now proudly tucked in a plastic frame I’d found in the bottom drawer.
    I glanced around the Auto Den. Certainly, there was a lot more cleaning I could do, but Shanay’s desk felt like a big accomplishment for my first day. Besides that, I didn’t want to