“It’s close to Noah’s school and close to my job.”
“Oh,” he said with exaggerated emphasis. “Your job. Right. FoodWorld! Nobody beats our meats!”
“Why are you busting my balls?” I asked.
“Wiley, when are you going to get a decent job? Stop living in public housing? Make something of yourself? It’s not that complicated, bro.”
“I’m a single father, in case you forgot.”
“So?”
“I’ve lost out on a lot of jobs because I have to take care of Noah. I can’t work any shift, any hours, any day, weekends, holidays—and that eliminates a lot of decent jobs. I’m doing the best I can.”
“We have company, you guys,” Mary said primly.
“Oh, to hell with that,” Bill said, shooting a nasty look at Jackson, who seemed extremely uncomfortable as he picked at his roast.
“You know how he is when he gets a burr up his butt,” Papaw observed. “When he was a little boy, we had to tie his hands to a fencepost to keep him from digging around in his own butthole.”