Page 46 of The Serpent King

“Not a word.”

“Don’t you think you should say something?”

“What would I say?”

Travis fiddled with the heater and craned to see any oncoming traffic before turning left. “I dunno. Sorry?”

“I’m not.”

“You should be.”

Dill snorted. “How you figure?”

“You sorta freaked out on her.”

“Yeah, so? I was having a bad day.”

“Even if I were having a bad day, I wouldn’t take it out on you or Lydia.”

“Don’t you think Lydia’s been acting different this year?” Dill asked. “Ever since she realized that she’s getting out of here? Snobbier or something?”

“No, not really. Maybe it’s your imagination.”

“I swear it’s not, dude. I swear she’s being different.”

“Man, I think you’re being hard on her. I mean, it’s good she’s getting out of here to go to a bigger city with lots of fashions, right? Be happy for her.”

Dill frowned. “Speaking of, do you ever read her blog?”

“Yeah, sometimes. Not religiously.”

“Doesn’t it bother you that for all the pictures she takes of us, and all the stuff we do together, neither of us has ever once been mentioned on there? Like she even put up pictures of the lady who owns that store in Nashville. They were friends for fifteen minutes. Doesn’t it seem like she’s embarrassed by us?”

Travis shrugged. “That lady was really pretty, though, and she wore nice clothes. You and I aren’t big fashion guys. Why would we be on there?”

“I guess. Still bugs me. Makes me feel like she thinks we’re less than her or something.”

They pulled up to the auto parts store and went in. An older man and a younger man, both wearing green vests and baseball caps, stood behind the counter, chitchatting.

“What can I get for you, bud?” the younger man asked.

“Need a starter motor for a ’92 Chevy Cavalier. Four cylinder,” Travis said.

“See what my computer tells me.” He squinted at the screen. “Says we got one in stock. Wait here a sec, let me put my hands on it.” The man wrote something on a slip of paper and headed for the back.

The older man nodded at Dill. “ ’Scuse me, young man, you don’t mind my asking, you ain’t Dillard Early’s grandson, are you?”

Apprehension flashed across Dill’s face. “Yessir, I am,” he said quietly. He seemed to be hoping the old man would be careful with what he said. Travis had never mentioned to Dill that he knew anything about the Serpent King. Dill surely preferred it that way.

“My goodness,” the man said. “I used to work with your papaw. At the old Gulf station on North Church. It’s a Conoco now.”

“Yessir,” Dill said, looking at his feet.

“He was a hell of a mechanic, by God,” the man said with a nostalgic chuckle. “Fix anything. Could sense what ailed a car. Good with his hands. And he could sing. Sang the old-timey songs while he worked. Lord, he could sing. You take after him that way, son?”

“Which way?”

“Any way you please.”