Hi, my name is Kristin FitzPatrick, and I'm going to be reading from my collection of
short stories called My Pulse is an Earthquake, published in 2015 by West Virginia
University Press.
I'm going to read a couple of pages from a story called "Canis Major."
I lied about Vivvi.
She had a date once, if you can call it that.
It happened earlier this summer, after the four of us had gone next door to welcome Officer
Ryan to the neighborhood.
To show his thanks, he said he'd have us all over for supper sometime.
Mama said he should just have Vivvi over for her birthday, which meant he'd have me there
too, as her chaperone.
While we waited on the porch for him to open the door, Vivvi said, "A half hour's plenty long to eat supper
isn't it?" Officer Ryan opened the door just then,
so I reached into my pocket and hit the start button on my stopwatch.
Inside, an Elvis record was playing "Return to Sender" just loud enough to drown out
the ticking of my watch.
The house still smelled of moth balls and Pine-Sol.
We used to go over there to check on Officer Ryan's grandma before she went into the
old folks' home and left her house to him. Her big wine goblets were still collecting dust on the mantle.
Her rusty candle sticks, still mounted on the walls.
Soon as we sat at the table, a young lady entered from the kitchen and served us dinner,
so we could all get it over with.
She wasn't much older than Vivvi, and despite the blond dye in her hair, she was even uglier.
Officer Ryan picked up his fork and knife. "This is my housekeeper, girls. Grace."
The girl nodded and rushed back into the kitchen.
"Pleased to meet you, Miss Grace," I said. "Her name ain't Grace," Officer Ryan said.
"I meant, let's say grace." I laughed, but Vivvi didn't.
We bowed while Officer Ryan prayed over the chicken fried steak and the perfectly shaped blobs
of mashed potatoes and peas—TV dinners.
We ate in silence while Elvis thanked the rolling sea.
Before long, Officer Ryan opened his mouth sideways.
He stuck his finger in there and pulled a string of meat free and licked it off of his fingertip.
He pushed his plate forward.
"Anyway," he said.
"Enough about the help.
She only comes over once in a while.
I want to know about Vivian."
He looked at my cousin like she was an old pickup for sale, and he just might be interested
in making a deal.
Vivvi coughed and said, "Not much to say."
She kept eating.
So, over "Song of the Shrimp," I told Officer Ryan about me: that I was aces in
school, and I trained the dogs to jump yay high, and I could ride Vivvi's ten-speed
no-handed all the way around the block.
He actually listened to my lies, smiling and nodding, putting his fork down and looking
right at me with those gray eyes, until I noticed a golden ring around each pupil.
Vivvi reached into my pocket and we both peeked down at the time.
Eleven minutes of her time wasted.
The walls have ears, Elvis sang.
I stopped my watch.
Me and Vivvi both sat up straight, hands on armrests, waiting to be set free.
Officer Ryan leaned back and sized up Vivvi's worth again: matted hair, high forehead,
long nose, soft chin.
What purpose could the homely girl serve?
He pointed to her throat and said:
"I hear you got a set of pipes in there. Can you sing to this record?"
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