Sins & Needles(3)

It took a while to get off of the main street thanks to the new stoplights and plethora of crosswalks, but as soon as I was back on the highway and turning off onto Date Palm Way, a wave of nostalgia hit me. The air even smelled the same as it once did, hot pavement, dried palm husks, and orange blossoms.

The date farm was at the very end of the road, lined with rows and rows of palms. I spied a few clouds of dust rolling up through the sections as laborers rode their tractors along. Judging by the burlap sacks that hung from each palm, the harvest season was fully upon them. Surely he’d be able to give me a job helping the harvesters. It wasn’t glamorous work at all; it was long hours in the hot sun, skin peeling off your nose despite the hat and sunscreen, climbing up and down the trees until your hands were singed by the ladder and sticky from the dates. Luckily, I was the type of girl who liked to get her hands dirty.

It wasn’t until I spied the house where I’d spent my formative years that I started second guessing my decision to just show up unannounced. To put it mildly, it looked like shit. It used to be a well-maintained ranch with terracotta shingles and a beautiful rock garden that surrounded the house like a desert moat. Now it could have passed for abandoned had it not been for the tractor and pickup truck out front. Christ, he still had the same truck I learned to drive in and it barely ran back then.

I pulled Jose to a stop on the street and approached the house with trepidation, wiping my hands on my jeans. I could hear the far-off cries of Spanish from the workers in the groves and the coo of a few ground doves that were walking across the cracked, tiled driveway. An enormous wash of guilt curved over me like the surrounding palm fronds. The last time I talked to my uncle was two years ago, when I was holed up in Vermont. I told him I’d send him some money and he said he was fine and didn’t need my charity. I meant to send him some cash anyway but I never got around to it.

Now it looked like he was in dire straits. And that would make two of us.

I took in a deep breath at the door, noticing the doormat was the same as it was back then, the same thick embroidery that his wife had done up before she died. It was patched with black mold and barely hanging together. I hoped that wasn’t symbolic.

I knocked quickly and snapped my hand back. I waited, taking a moment to look around me. I wouldn’t have been followed but some habits stuck with you. Being extra precautious was a wonderful habit for a girl like me.

I raised my hand to knock again when the door was opened a crack and I spied a familiar looking eye peering through it.

“Uncle Jim,” I said through a broad smile.

He frowned and the door opened fully.

He looked me up and down and said, “Oh shit.”





***





“I’m sorry, but you know you can’t stay here,” Uncle Jim was saying to me in his dusty kitchen as he poured me another glass of iced tea, the undissolved crystals swirling around the bottom like tornado debris.

I breathed out sharply through my nose, trying to hide my frustration. I’d been talking to him for an hour and we hadn’t gotten anywhere except that I wasn’t welcome.

“Look, I get that you’re a proud man,“ I started.

His eyes snapped up. He looked so much older now that it scared me; his dark hair had gone grey, the sides of his mouth lined like canyons, but his eyes were still sharp and determined.

“This isn’t about pride, Ellie. If you were someone else offering to help me, I’d take you up on it. It’s not like I’m not getting enough fucking charity from Betty down the street, bringing me hot meals a few times a week. I know I’m struggling here. But you’re not someone else. You’re Ellie Fucking Watt.”

I wrinkled my nose at his profanity. “I didn’t know fucking was my middle name.”

He raised a caterpillar brow. “No?”

I rolled my eyes. “No, Uncle Jim. That’s not a very nice thing to insinuate of your niece.”

He smiled—ever so briefly—but I caught it. He turned around and pulled open the fridge, looking at it blankly. There wasn’t anything in there except condiments. “Well, I beg your pardon for not being an appropriate uncle. I haven’t seen you since you were nineteen, you know.”

“Oh, I know.”

He seemed to think about pulling out a jar of mustard but decided against it. What, was he going to make me a mustard milkshake? He slammed the door shut and leaned against the counter.

“I’m sorry I can’t offer you anything to eat.”

“I had some beef jerky in the car.”

He looked me over and shook his head. “You’re too skinny, Ellie.”