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TED SCOFIELD
Evan looked at him in complete awe. Did his jaw actually drop? “ ’Cause my mother-in-law had bunion surgery this mornin’ and Sheila is supposed to drive her home this evenin’ but that can’t happen if I’m sittin’ on 71 so I might as well be sittin’ here waitin’ fer her to clear.” Deep breath. “I’m Jerry Shoemaker like the jockey. You in town for business? I see the report you’ve got there. The devil finds work for idle hands, huh?” Evan flashed a mental picture of his mother, standing at the kitchen sink, her assigned station in the double-wide and in life, barking orders at him and his half sisters. “My mother used to say that, the devil finds work for idle hands.” “I think every mom does,” Jerry replied with a satisfied nod. “But it’s the idols in your heart you really got to watch. They’ll getcha, eat you alive. Every time.”
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After a painfully scintillating back-and-forth about New York, feet, Medipharm, the sorry state of health care reform in America, bike-sharing programs, marriage, moving Derby to prime time, the new college basketball coach, the origin of a mysterious dish called a hot brown, and something awful named “spaghetti junction,” Jerry finished his Lite and ordered another. “Where are your folks from?” Evan winced. “Long story.” “Just ordered another beer. Mine are both from E-town about fortyfive minutes south of here but moved to J-town years ’n’ years ago. Sheila’s are natives, went to Atherton High School class of ’57.” “Okay. Good to know.” Jerry smiled and took an approving gulp of his fresh beer. Then he looked at Evan and waited for more. Why? Why does he want to know? Evan considered asking him, but again thought better of analyzing the indigenous species. What the fuck? Could be cathartic. “My mother, stepfather, and two half sisters live in South Paterson, New Jersey. George adopted me so I have their last name.” Jerry raised his eyebrows and gently lowered his chin, a subtle invitation.
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