This makes me laugh. A real one, and I don’t think I’ve done that since Johnny died. Not even imagining Nancy getting chased by a rabid duck. “Yeah, Mama’s their biggest fan.”
She waves and walks inside, and when I turn to her mother, she’s not very happy with me. What the hell I did to deserve it, I don’t know, but she stands with her arms crossed over her chest as she glares at me.
“My daughter’s usually a better judge of character than this.”
My eyebrows lift. This bitch doesn’t even know me. “Excuse me?”
“She knows better than to talk to strangers. Especially ones who look like you.”
Like me? “I live across the street. I don’t know that I’d say I’m a stranger.”
“We don’t know you, and you don’tknow us.”
Sassy. I kind of like it. “Well, her name is Bernie, and she got out of school early today while you were working. You know my name is Zep, so I’m not really sure what the issue is.”
“I don’t know you, and people I don’t know don’t typically get access to my daughter. Sometimes knowing them doesn’t, either.”
She looks a lot like Gloria. Many years younger, but she has to be the granddaughter. “Misty, right?”
“How’d you know that?”
“I was friendly with your grandma. She talked about her granddaughter, Misty, and her great-granddaughter a lot. Expected to see you at the funeral, but I must’ve missed you. I was a pallbearer. How old is Bernie?”
Blinking, she looks taken aback. “Eight.”
Yep. Doesn’t make sense, and I try to do the math. She doesn’t look like she could be more than twenty-five.
“I got pregnant at fifteen.”
“I didn’t ask—”
“I saw the smoke coming from your ears as you tried doing the math. Not your strong suit, huh?”
Not just sassy. No, she’s got a sprinkling of bitchy in the mix, too. Unfortunately, that’s my favorite combination. “No, not really.”
“I would appreciate it if you didn’t talk to my daughter alone. It’s a comfort thing.”
“What’s she got?” I ask as she walks up the steps.
Turning, she narrows her eyes at me. “Excuse me?”
“She just looks… She’s unique.”
“Wow,” she says. “You know what? Don’t talk to my daughter. Ever.”
“I didn’t mean anything by it,” I say. “I remember Gloria talking about Bernie, but I can’t remember what she said she has.”
She sighs and gives me a look that feels like actual hatred. Pretty sure I can taste it, somehow. It’s kind of bitter. “Down Syndrome.”
“That’s right. That why she has the Coke-bottle glasses?”
“Yes.”
“They’re cute,” I say. “She didn’t inherit her friendliness from her mama, though, did she?”
Misty’s jaw drops to show perfectly straight teeth except for one on the top that sticks out just slightly. It makes her even more endearing. “Screw you.”
“Zeppelin Molloy. I’m across the street if you ever need anything. And I do meananything.”
