“And what about yesterday?” He tries to catch me on my lie. “Let me guess, dead, too?” He throws up his arms.
“Yep,” I retort.
He points toward my truck. “What about that?” He crosses his arms, coughs. “Don’t tell me, no gas?”
I simply smile. Billy could tell himself whatever he needed to tell himself.
The old man turns, scurries through one of the drawers behind him, then spins back, throwing a pack of cigarettes down in front of me. He punches everything into the till, and I watch the cash drawer open before he shoves it closed and looks toward me, pulling the brown and white striped handkerchief from his front pocket, blowing his nose with a loud honk.
“I missed my wife’s birthday dinner,” he says slowly, another blow out of his nose before he scrubs it and places the dirty piece of cotton back into the pocket of his dark denim jeans.
“Fuck—” I start, but he cuts me off with a clearing of his throat and a shake of his head.
“Language, son,” he scolds.
And I can’t help but laugh.
Billy walks around the counter and pinches my shoulder. I’m looking down at him, and when he exhales, it’s in exasperation.
“It’s fine. She was in one of her nagging moods, anyway.” He takes a breath. “Any advice you take from me, let it be this one: don’t get married. One minute they're all over you, then the next they couldn’t be more…” He stops himself, shushes another breath out, thumbs his right brow, asks instead, “How’s Jade?”
The question has me kicking the toes of my Vans into the ground, squeaking the rubber back then forward, then back again when the image of her crying as our father gripped her jaw less than an hour ago snaps behind my eyes.
I shrug. “She’s alright.”
“Just alright?” he questions.
I sniff, palm my chin, crack my neck. “You heard me. She’s fine.”
“Okay, okay, settle down, son,” Billy tries to placate me with a nod and another squeeze of my shoulder. He walks in front of me, takes a packet of strawberry chewing gum and a caramel chocolate bar. “Give these to her, I know they’re some of her favorites.”
I swallow, stuffing them into my pockets, then turn to grab my things from the counter. Billy walks with me toward the door, his hand back on my shoulder.
“Just remember, if you, your sister…or your mother,” he says warily. “If you ever need a place to stay, you are always welcome at ours.”
I suck on my front teeth.
It was a way out, but my mother wouldn’t take it.
I had never told Billy about our father, what he did to me, my mother, and now, what he’d done to Jade. But when you turn up to work beaten more often than not, I can imagine it would be hard to believe that it was another fall or brawl.
I walk out, a bead of sweat rolling toward my temple, even though it had been freezing inside.
My palm lays against the horn.
I drop my arm to the open window, tapping my fingers against the outside of my truck, waiting for the steel gate to creak open.
When it does, I roll through, park in the back, snatch the now sweltering cans and bags of chips, moving toward the large brick building that is the Devil’s Peak MC clubhouse.
I’m forced to squint. The last of the day's sun spears me in the eyes as it glints off the yawning dented steel door in the back.
I watch Harlen come through it, the metal creaking before thudding shut. He takes a seat on an upturned black crate beneath a large, thick tree that weeps its long gangly limbs over the lot. He is yawning, knuckling his eyes, stretching. I throw him the energy drink, along with the bag of chips. He catches both, pops the can, mumbles his thanks into the top.
I drag one of the broken crates beneath my ass, take a seat and crack my own.
“Let me guess…” I say, as I down half the can, wiping my mouth across my forearm. “You just woke up.”
Harlen laughs, it sits beneath his breath, barely there. “Right on.”
