“No, I mean really, Byron.”

“I don’t know,” he said. “It just kind of got so it seemed like a good idea.”

“Do you still think it’s a good idea?”

He cocked his head at her, but stopped short of whatever he had thought to say. After a moment, he pushed himself up out of the car. He pulled up his shorts and pants at once, and zipped up. “Usually, Doll,” he muttered then, fastening his belt.

She sat up. Her stomach hurt. She knew she was making him mad, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. “Why do you avoid me, Byron? Why do you work late all the time? And then come out here like you can’t stand to be in the same house with me?”

He rested his fingers on his hips. “You don’t know how it is, with a new business.”

“Well, you don’t know how it is, being left alone all the time. I used to have my family, and now you’ve made it so I don’t have anyone but you. And you’d rather be with Roy and your cars than with me.”

“That isn’t true.”

“How do I know?”

He looked at her, narrowing his eyes. “Put your clothes on, Doll,” he said then, swooping down to pick up her panties and bra where he’d dropped them, tossing them at her so quickly she had to think fast to catch them. “Anyone could walk up and see you.”

She stood up. She stepped into her panties, her shoes, then put her arms through her bra, hooked it in back, and adjusted it in front, watching as he walked around to the front of the car to pick up her slip and dress. He tossed them at her, too, then plopped down at his workbench, his back to her. A screw jangled into a jar. She put on her slip, then her dress. Another screw jingled. She began buttoning her dress. Her fingers were trembling, but she pointed her chin at his back, ready to continue the fight.

“Why don’t you go in the house, Doll?” he said, tossing another screw into its new home.

As she buttoned the final button, a vision flashed in her mind: striking the back of his self-righteous head. Any implement would do.