Chapter 9 #2
“It’s a hard thing, kid.” Something flashed through his eyes that almost looked like regret, but then his sly grin wiped it away. “You’re a pro athlete now, huh? You could help me out. A little inside info. Who’s injured or playing like crap? Give me a tip now and then.”
“I thought you just said you weren’t gambling anymore.”
“Only on a sure thing. That’s not gambling. It’s raking in the money.”
“I’m only in the PHL,” I said. “No one bets on us.”
Uncle Wayne laughed. “Sure they do, kid. Online, you can bet on anything. I can point you the right way, if you want a cut.”
Fury flooded me, heat like liquid fire in my veins.
Nothing would end my career faster than being caught betting on my games.
“You stay away from me and shut your face.” I raised a trembling fist. “Treat Grandpa right, and if I catch you so much as betting on which raindrop gets to the windowsill first—”
“You’ll what?” Uncle Wayne stared into my face, his faded blue eyes so like Grandpa’s, and yet so unlike. “What do you imagine you’ll do?”
Before I could answer, I heard steps on the uncarpeted stairs, and then Grandpa appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Callum, you’re home. Did you have a good game?”
“Not really,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” Grandpa smiled at me, soft and kind, but only half-wattage.
“Look who’s back with us at last, though.
” He gestured at Uncle Wayne. “Wayne’s going to be staying for a bit, till he gets back on his feet.
You can give him that chore list you’re working through.
More hands make faster work. I know he’ll be happy to help. ”
“Sure thing,” Uncle Wayne said. “Looking forward to it. Thanks, Dad.”
Grandpa looked back and forth between us.
He’d have to have been blind to miss the way we’d rubbed each other wrong for years, but he was an optimist and he loved us both.
He’d tried so hard to mediate and create a happy family.
I’d faked it for him, more often than not, but Uncle Wayne hadn’t been living in my space back then.
“Hopefully, he’ll find a job and a place of his own soon,” I said, trying to keep a level tone.
“Although…” Uncle Wayne gave me a sideways glance before smiling at Grandpa. “You’re not getting any younger, Dad, and this is a big house, even for two people. And if Callum gets traded, then you’d be on your own. Might be best if I plan to stay for a while.”
Grandpa nodded but his return smile was a little wan. “We’ll see how it goes, son.”
I hated hearing him use that word for Uncle Wayne, the one I’d come to cherish as a boy. No matter how true it was.
Uncle Wayne told me, “I’ve taken the attic suite for mine. Privacy, you know.”
I stared at Grandpa. That suite had been where my parents stayed when we’d visited before they died. I’d gone up there now and then through my preteens, wishing some part of Mom and Dad had permeated those walls and could see me. There were two other guest rooms in the big old house.
Why did he give Uncle Wayne that space? Although maybe Uncle Wayne had chosen it without asking. Or maybe Grandpa wanted him as far from me as possible.
Either way, the thought of Uncle Wayne sticking his clothes in the old wardrobe up there, and sleeping on the wide, creaky bed, made my stomach heave.
Suddenly, I couldn’t be there, couldn’t go up to my room and undress and fall asleep with Uncle Wayne overhead. I said, “Hey, it’s my night to go hang out with Jos next door. You two get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“It is?” Grandpa frowned at me, then his expression sagged into fatigue. “Oh, of course. Sure. Give my regards to Jos and Zeke. Sleep well.”
Uncle Wayne looked back and forth between us. “Who are Jos and Zeke?”
“I’m babysitting the neighbour’s kid,” I said. “Don’t steal anything while I’m gone.” I whirled and stalked out, ignoring Grandpa’s soft, “Now, Callum,” and Uncle Wayne’s smarmy, “Don’t worry, Dad. Words can’t hurt me.”
Words can’t hurt me. The biggest lie in the universe.
Uncle Wayne had never hit me, never touched me.
He hadn’t even grabbed me too hard, the way my friend Nick’s father used to handle him, leaving bruises that ringed his wrists.
But his words, murmured in the shadows, whispered near my ear a minute before Grandpa would appear, had cut deep.
I plunged out the door and down the steps.
The cool of the early March evening chilled my back through my dress shirt, but I welcomed it against the heat of my blood.
I wanted to hit someone, or something, just punch away till my hands bled.
But if Uncle Wayne was back, invading Grandpa’s house, I needed to be smarter than that.
Hobbes was right when he said I couldn’t afford to be injured.
I couldn’t let the motherfucker get to me.
Before I could think better, I’d pounded on Zeke’s door too many times, too loudly.
He yanked the door open. “What’s wrong? Do you need help?”
I realized how I must look, still in my dress shoes and half a suit, with my hair no doubt a mess and no jacket. “No, sorry. I… Can I stay here tonight? I’ll get out of your hair in the morning.”
He pulled the door wider. “Hey, it’s no problem. Did you have a fight with your grandfather?” He looked puzzled, which was fair because Grandpa wasn’t a guy anyone would fight with.
“I played like a fucking loser, and now my uncle Wayne is home,” I said. “And I don’t want to be. Not tonight.”
“Sure.” He stepped back. “Come on in. Watch a movie with us. Unless you want to go home and fetch your stuff first?”
“No way.” I squeezed past him. “But I’m not inviting myself into your—” At the last moment, I spotted Jos and changed “bed” to “evening routine. Just want to beg a spare room.”
“You’re always welcome. Jos appreciated having someone around when I was on evenings earlier in the week.”
I shivered and rubbed my arms as I made my way to the living room. “Worked out for me. Your TV is awesome. You do nights next, right?”
“Yeah. Early nights starting Tuesday. Five p.m. to three-thirty a.m.” Zeke glanced at Jos. “Still haven’t figured out what to do.”
Jos wrinkled his nose. “I’m getting used to you being gone. I’ll be fine.”
“Hey,” I said, grabbing for a lifeline. “Great! I’m not on the road till Friday. I could sleep here the first three nights, if that helps.”
“Sure—”
Zeke was cut off by Jos’s “I don’t need a babysitter!”
Zeke grabbed Jos’s hoodie sleeve and said, “Hey, come on. Let’s make some popcorn.” He towed the kid toward the kitchen. Jos frowned but didn’t resist.
I dropped onto the couch, trying to get my shit together. In the kitchen, I heard the microwave go on, but not enough to drown out Zeke saying, “I’m not just doing it for you. It sounds like Callum needs somewhere to stay that’s not home. Let him feel like he’s useful.”
I figured that for reverse psychology or something, but that didn’t make it not true. For the first time, a road trip didn’t sound like a pain in the ass, but I had five days to get through before I had the excuse to leave town.
I’m such a coward, leaving Grandpa alone with Uncle Wayne. Except that was Grandpa’s choice. Wasn’t it?
Zeke and Jos came back in with a big bowl of popcorn.
Zeke set it on the coffee table in front of me, and dropped onto the couch at my side, just far enough away not to touch me.
Jos grabbed a cushion and sat on the floor at the end of the table, in easy reach of the popcorn.
Zeke unfroze whatever movie they’d been watching and over the buzz of a pair of motorcycles on the screen, said, “Tell me about your uncle. Should I be worried?”
“He’s not dangerous,” I said. “At least, he wasn’t before he did five years in prison.”
Zeke’s gaze sharpened. “For what?”
“Fraud. Identity theft. Actual theft. I’m not sure what else. Money, not violence. And he’s interested in blonds with big boobs, not kids. He never touched me when I was young, not even a slap. But he’s mean with his words, and he’s not honest, and you can’t trust him.”
“What’s his full name?”
“Wayne Richard Fitzpatrick. Why?”
“Date of birth?”
“Sometime in September 1979.”
Zeke pulled out his phone and tapped in a note. “I’ll check up on him, make sure there’s nothing on his sheet worse than what you told me.”
“Let me know if you find something.” I realized I was hugging my arms around myself and made an effort to relax. “Either way, Jos shouldn’t go over to Grandpa’s when Uncle Wayne is there.” I glanced at the boy. “He’s real good at figuring out your tender spots and digging at them.”
Jos craned his neck to look at me. “Then why does Mr. Roy let him hang around?”
“Well, you may’ve realized that Grandpa likes to think the best of everyone.” Jos had wandered over several times in the last two weeks, to where Grandpa had become “Mr. Roy” to him, and just “Roy” to Zeke. “Grandpa’s a real easygoing guy.”
“Yeah. But he wouldn’t let someone be mean to you.”
He did. So many times. Except he hadn’t known the extent of Uncle Wayne’s bullying.
When Grandpa was around, Uncle Wayne had always been jokey but friendly, not crossing any lines.
And I’d never snitched. “Grandpa wasn’t around when Uncle Wayne was at his worst, so he didn’t know. Plus, Uncle Wayne is his kid, right?”
Zeke asked, “Your dad’s brother?”
“Yeah. Grandpa lost my dad fourteen years ago. Uncle Wayne’s the only kid he has left, and he loves him.
That’s what a good parent does, right? Loves their kid even when they screw up or do something bad.
He was super disappointed in Uncle Wayne when he went to prison, but I don’t think Grandpa ever stopped loving him. I don’t think he knows how.”