Prayer

"You know, you do favor your mom some."

Jason knew that look. It meant that Malcolm was considering on something. What that did was make Jason want to run off just like his mom had—only he didn't. Somebody had to look after his kid sister.

Lots of teens run off at sixteen, Jason had reasoned. But Prissy was only ten and there was no way of telling what their stepfather might do with no witnesses about.

"Thank you, sir." Jason said, then softly to his sister, "Eat your greens, Prissy."

"Prettier," Malcolm chuckled. "And a hell of a lot better mom than your mom too."

Malcolm didn't say anything more for the brief spell it took him to wolf down his chow. When he was done he leaned back, his chair balanced on its hind legs and poked a toothpick through the gap between his front teeth–quite pleased with himself.

"Scrawny boy like you—it just might work. You know what I saying?"

"No, sir," Jason said, clearing away the dirty dishes.

"Course not. That's because you're an empty headed thing­­ just like your Jezebel of a mother. Noggin full of Good Book nonsense and not much else."

Malcolm leaned forward and pounded on the tabletop rattling the kitchen.

"Money! Food in your mouths! That's what I'm talking about. Those jerks at the bank wouldn't let me cash my check."

"From our dad's life insurance?" Jason asked.

"Shut the fuck up. I'm your daddy now."

Jason placed the worn and faded plates and flatware in the sink and started scrubbing them, making sure not to drop or clatter a thing.

"It's your faults I can't get a job in this stupid excuse for a town. I'm stuck here out of the Christian goodness of my heart looking after two brats not even my own. So it just seems proper that one of you fix it."

"Yes, sir," Jason agreed. The trembling of his hands was hidden beneath the sudsy water.

"A little make up a frilly dress you'll pass for your mom no problem."

"But I don't--"

"Shut the fuck up!"

"I'll help him, Daddy," Prissy smiled. "I watched momma millions of times. I'll learn him how."

"That's my little girl. And pretty soon your daddy's going to have two girls. Jason you start practicing tomorrow. This Friday you cash that check."

That said Malcolm shoved the dinning table away from him, heaved his bulk up and headed out the front door headed for the Dew Drop Inn.

Late next morning after Malcolm was gone to wherever it was he went to during daylight hours Prissy and Jason went up into the attic. Jason sat on a ratty trunk in front of the dusty dressing mirror thinking about nothing in particular. Prissy pulled their mom's stuff from out of the boxes where Malcolm had stuffed them.

"We'll do your make up first," Prissy smiled, holding a brush purposely in her hand.

Neither of them was much pleased with the outcome when she was done. What Jason looked like was what some ten-year old girl thought a pretty mom should look like.

"Let me try," Jason smiled. He wiped away what Prissy had done. Then he painted a portrait of his mother as he remembered her at her prettiest overlaying her eyes, lips, and mouth on his own in paints and powders.

"There," he said, turning to his sister.

Prissy looked at him real funny for a space, her eyes all misty. Then she said, "I sure miss momma."