Chapter 19 #2
That was the last thing I wanted. “You want to spend four hours of your day driving to and from Dayton?”
He had to have better things to do.
“I have a free weekend, thanks to the suspension. And Hendrix has been a whiny ass about me not visiting.”
So, he’d be staying in Dayton. Why did that bother me?
It wouldn’t change my weekend at all. I wouldn’t see him, but he’d be in the same town, stealing the physical distance I wanted.
Still, it was that or stay here… And seeing as he evidently had nothing going on all weekend, I really would have an entire two days with him.
In that house. It was the lesser of two evils.
“Okay. Thank you.”
He already had his phone out, fingers tapping the screen on his way up the steps. “Let me just go grab some stuff…”
The door banged closed, and I sat there, dreading the next two hours. Wolf came out a few minutes later with a gym bag slung over one shoulder and Squishy on a leash. At least I’d have the dog to distract me.
“Just need to drop him at Mrs. Seaton’s on the way out.”
I followed Wolf to his truck. “He can’t come with us?”
“No. Hendrix said there’s a party tonight.” He nodded toward Squishy, waiting beside the passenger door. “He hates parties. Just like you.”
And unlike Wolf. I tried not to imagine the girls who would be there. At least tried not to let it bother me. I failed on both fronts.
When Wolf’s truck puttered to a stop outside my parents’ home a few hours later, I didn’t want to get out. Even if the ride had been painfully silent and awkward. The usual anxiety of seeing my dad settled over me, pinning me to the seat. Each time I came home, he looked worse, more ill.
The little house was a sad sight. The usually mowed lawn and weed-free flower beds were overgrown, with tufts of grass erupting through the cracked driveway.
My parents used to be out in the yard most weekends, Mom tending to flowers while Dad bitched about having to mow the lawn.
Now, it seemed as if the sickness inside had spread to the exterior.
“Thanks for the ride,” I said, reluctantly opening the door to the stifling heat. The faint scent of trash and distant roadkill greeted me. Ah, home, sweet Dayton.
“No problem. See you tomorrow?”
I turned to look at him, wondering whether he felt anywhere near the same turmoil as I did about what had happened in that barn.
His eyes were the same unreadable blue, his face smooth and calm and perfect.
No, he didn’t know what rejection felt like.
He’d probably turned down hundreds of girls. Just an average Friday night for him.
“I’ll get a ride back with Monroe,” I said, although I’d likely need to go back earlier than her to do Rogue’s stupid chores. I’d beg her to go early if I had to.
“Well, the offer’s there.” Of course it was because he wasn’t bothered by sharing a car with me for two hours.
“Thanks.” I shouldered my backpack, slipped out of the truck, and went inside the house.
The air inside was humid and close. If I had to guess, Mom was trying to save money on the electric bill and keep the air off. “Mom? Dad?”
“In the kitchen, sweetheart.”
I passed through the small living room and into the kitchen. Mom stood at the stove, her full focus on the pot she was stirring. She glanced over her shoulder when the floorboards creaked beneath me, her pale features breaking into a half smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” She moved away from the stove and pulled me into a hug. She felt thin, like less of a person in my arms.
I didn’t comment on her weight. Knowing Mom, she’d take it as a compliment. If there was one thing she always wanted to be, it was skinny. No matter if it wasn’t healthy.
She asked me about school and gave me the latest gossip from her church group—evidently, the deacon’s wife was having an affair with one of the members… She went on like everything was normal. I guessed it was her way of coping.
She grabbed a jar from her spice rack and sprinkled something green into the boiling pot. “Want some lunch?”
“Sure.” I eyed the stove.
Dad was forever telling her that soup was not a meal. If he was eating it, I worried either they were that poor, or he was struggling with actual food.
She went to the fridge, giving me a once-over as she passed. “You look great. Did you go on a diet? Or start working out?”
Nope, just the same poverty-driven starvation she’d evidently been doing. The only time I ate anything substantial these days was at work. Or when Wolf bought me breakfast.
“Didn’t I tell you?” she said, bumping the fridge closed with her hip. “How good you’d look if you dropped ten pounds…”
I loved my mom. She was kind and wanted the best for me.
Sadly, that tended to be what would have been best for her at my age.
My mom was beautiful. I hadn’t inherited her blond hair or her naturally athletic, pageant-winning physique.
Instead, I had gotten my grandma’s big boobs, hips, and ass.
Mom meant well, but she’d passed down all the insecurities she would have had if she had my body.
Insecurities that had certainly factored into mine and Wolf’s relationship over the years.
In her eyes, Wolf Brookes was a prize, a gift that I—even with my extra ten pounds—had been bestowed.
But I didn’t have time to dredge up the past or my complicated relationship with my mother.
I had to focus on actual, real-world problems. I fished the two hundred and fifty bucks from my pocket.
“I got some extra tips this week.” The lie fell from my lips too easily. “This should cover Dad’s meds.”
Mom placed the wooden spoon on the counter, her gaze dropping to the cash in my hand.
“Sweetheart, we don’t need your money.” If only she knew how untrue that was, but I never wanted her to.
Better she think a crazy lady on a spin bike had paid their mortgage.
She pushed my hand back toward me. “A child shouldn’t have to provide for a parent.
I know you’re barely scraping by with books and rent and things. ”
“I work?—”
“No.” She lifted a stern brow, then turned back to the stove. “We already feel horrible that we couldn’t help you with college. Your father will find work soon, you’ll see.”
Dad wasn’t getting work. At least none that would last more than a week or two before his symptoms had him either calling in sick or throwing up on the clock.
“Where is Dad?” I asked.
“Back porch. Lunch will be ready in fifteen minutes.”
I slipped through the screen door and found Dad in the worn rattan chair he’d saved from the dump. I still wasn’t convinced it didn’t have fleas living in the cushions.
“Hey, honey.” His brows pulled together over his gaunt face. “You look skinny.” Now, when my dad said it, it wasn’t a compliment. It was a concern.
“Look who’s talking.” I leaned against the siding of the house. “Besides, Mom already said I look great.”
He’d know exactly what I meant by that. He shook his head, mumbling something under his breath.
“How are you feeling?” I asked.
“Fine. Got new pills for my stomach ulcer. I should be right as rain soon.” My parents and their eternal optimism. Or maybe it was just denial.
“Is it actually a stomach ulcer, or is that just their best guess when you won’t get the tests?”
He let out an exasperated sigh. “Jade, I told you, I don’t need all those expensive tests. I’ll be fine.”
I was exasperated, too. I’d had this argument with him a hundred times over the past two years, but since he’d lost his job and had no insurance, he refused to go into debt for what he said was “nothing.” One look at him was all I needed to know that it was more than a stomach ulcer.
A stomach ulcer wouldn’t reduce my father to the shadow of a man he once was. But as far as he was concerned, his issue was being unable to find a job. Never mind that he’d had—and been sacked from—two jobs since his workplace of twenty years let him go.
The thought that kept me up at night was that Dad knew there was something very wrong, and he didn’t want to leave my mom with medical debt if he died.
I didn’t want to admit the possibility of my dad dying, though, not even to myself.
So, I pushed away the thought that plagued me every night and chatted with him like we always had.
All the while, pretending the sight of him didn’t break my heart.