Travis had worked with Robert for almost a year. Now he slept on Robert and Sandy's sofa after a series of misfortunes - drugs, loss of a second loser girlfriend, loss of a cheap apartment, and now the loss of his worthless job. Since high school, Travis had never had a great job. Robert and Sandy were older but no better off than Travis was. Everyone in Moundville lived on the edge, just some more so.
Robert worked midnight to eight at the paper mill twenty miles from town. Only the streetlight lit the small living room as Sandy made her way by memory to the galley kitchen. Travis's hand and his cock were best friends and while deep in sleep, the two friends were busy. She ignored him on the way there. Holding a cold beer on the way back to her room, she paused to watch.
Her nightgown dropping on the floor probably was not what woke him or even aroused him from his nocturnal enjoyment. Maybe it was the aroma of her sex or the slurping of her fingers. Most likely, it was her whispering, "Need some help?" There was no thought given to Robert by either.
No one mistook Sandy for a model; even a blind man would not. Few heads would turn as she passed. She could stand to lose a hundred pounds, not have her hair in a crew cut, and other things. She was naked and ready for what Robert had stopped giving her. In the early hours of that morning and the few mornings to follow, they took care of the other's needs until the sun shown though the tattered curtains.
It was too bad that Robert got home early one day. Later the express mail person tried to deliver a letter to Travis. Neither Travis nor Sandy would be there again.
At the Sleepy Inn Motel on the outskirts of Moundville, Sandy lay naked and sprawled across the bed not made for days. The knock on the door did not stir her as she drifted through the high of whatever her drug of choice had been in the middle of the night. Travis sat in the chair wearing only boxers and staring at the vibe peeking between her thighs from deep inside her. He snuffed the joint out and waved his hand though the air as if that would somehow hide the pungent smell of marijuana and sex. There was another knock.
"Just a second!" He struggled to his feet, steadied himself, and then opened the door letting fresh air mix with room air, daylight with darkness.
"Travis Markey?" the twenty something woman with her hair pulled back through the baseball cap in a fashionable ponytail asked as she held the express letter up towards his face. She surveyed the room then Travis then Sandy lying unmoved and unconscious on the bed. "Looks like a rough night," she whimsically said.
"My buddies wife." Travis laughed as if he were unaware of the newly created erection pressing against his boxers. He signed the page on the clipboard and handed it back to her. "Like to join us?" He laughed and watched her long legs move her wonderful body back to the truck.
When Sandy rejoined the world of those awake, she found a note taped to her stomach. "The room is paid for another night. Thanks. Travis." His few belongings and his well-worn Mustang were gone.
--
Grandma Markey had not been a common fixture in Travis' life. The last time he had seen her was high school graduation three years ago. He had fallen far since then. He was the only living child or grandchild. The letter lay crumpled on the passenger seat. The words were already committed to memory and his car was speeding along Highway 43 north. He reached over and fingered the five one hundred dollar bills as he thought about the two-day drive ahead of him. He promised to be a better person. He knew he might fail.
When cleaned up, Travis attracted the attention of women. It was something he had not been. Showered and wearing new clothes and freshly out of the barbershop with shorter hair and well shaved, he was back in form as he strutted into the coffee shop.
Dottie had served many breakfasts and she scrawled his order across the pad while chewing a wad of gum. "That all stranger?" She didn't wait for his answer as she turned and slammed the paper up into the clip and yelled at the cook in an unintelligible vocabulary.
He looked like others, almost normal, as he read the local paper and ate the breakfast. "Where're you off too handsome?" she asked as she filled his empty coffee cup.
"Robbins. Leavin' my past in the rearview mirror." He laughed as he dipped his toast in the runny yellow of his eggs.
"Best of luck. I've tried that too many times. It never works. Whose the new dame?"
"Grandma."
Dottie giggled and leaned her elbow on the counter beside the top of his newspaper. "Hey, if you're into older women, let me know." She giggled and glanced at the man with overalls and baseball hat a few stools away. He smiled as though he knew more about Dottie than others then ate another bite of pancakes.
Five bucks was the largest tip Travis Markey had ever left and Dottie seemed pleased as the door closed behind him. "Anytime!" she said though he didn't respond or even hear the word.
--
Her name was Alice Markey and was Travis' father's mother. Her husband had owned the shirt factory in Robbins until the sale to a company in the Orient. They were suddenly wealthy. That was ten years ago. Now Martin Markey was dead and she needed help taking care of the eleven-acre estate on Lake Wallace and the old Victorian house where she lived alone.
The stripes on the pavement flashed along the car. It was north on Highway 43 then east on Highway 32. He would be there in the early afternoon and he puzzled as he thought about her request. "Hell, who cares?" he loudly said over the wind racing past the open window as fast as the stripes.
--
She was rocking in the whicker chair on the large porch when he walked away from the dirty and bug covered Mustang whose paint job had seen better days. She stood and watched then waved. "Hi!" she said then walked demurely down the steps. He had expected a woman with gray hair in a bun, a long dress, and thick black shoes. Instead, she was nicely dressed in a smart blue skirt that ended at the knees, a white blouse revealing enough of her chest to let him know she was proud of it, brown hair that dangled to her shoulders, low pumps, and lips covered with a hint of lipstick.
The hug was comfortable and so was the peck on the lips. "Damn, what a fine young man you've become." The curse word shocked him as one he did not expect. She leaned in for another hug and another kiss. She squeezed his biceps. "And a hunk too." The third hug lasted for over a minute and he felt her lips against his neck. "Thanks for coming," she whispered before her lips consumed his earlobe.
She pulled back and looked at him while holding his upper arms. "Wow ... haven't felt that way for some time." She giggled and patted her chest as if having trouble catching her breath before turning towards the house. "Bring your stuff in and I'll show you your room."
He paused and watched her older but still lovely body move against her clothes. He thought about Sandy and how it had not mattered what she looked like while they were breathing hard in the darkness. He even wondered about Dottie. He thought about them all until he heard the front door close and that jarred him back into the real world.
The hallway went in two directions at the top of the center stairs of the symmetrical Queen Anne Victorian. "That's my room," she said as she pointed towards one of the two turreted bedrooms. "You can have the other." She led him until they were in a large bedroom. Centered in the room was an older large oak bed. A rounded sitting area in the turret had a loveseat. Several lovely oriental carpets covered some of the oak floor.
"Wow!"
"It is comfortable," she softly said as though it were quite normal a bedroom. "Make yourself at home. That will be your bath." She pointed and leaned against the tall oak dresser. Her arms rested loosely crossed in front of her. "Nice to have you here Travis." He watched his grandmother casually talking to him as though she actually did like having him there. "What do you like to do?"
