“I never swore to play fair, sweetheart,” I murmured.
• • • • • • • • • •
Dr. Frank called me Friday to tell me that he, his accountant, Barney Amos, and my mother had met and reached an agreement for a cash purchase of the property and everything on it. “We’ll meet Monday afternoon to sign the papers and hand her a cashier’s check. She’s agreed that she and Riley will vacate the premises as soon as they have the check in hand.” What he thought of Mom’s boyfriend was plain, just in the way he spit that douchenozzle’s name. Like it left a rotten taste in his mouth.
I knew the feeling. “I’d feel better if she was getting the money without him, but I guess that’s her business.”
“It is. I agree that he’s a piece of work, but it’s her decision what she puts up with—unless you’ve seen his ill-treatment turn physical.”
Riley must’ve felt small, sitting there with a doctor, a lawyer, and an accountant—like he was the butt end of that joke. All it lacked was a bar and a punch line. When men like him felt small, they got meaner. He’d probably been all spit and swagger in front of them—lording over her.
“If I’d seen any evidence of that, he wouldn’t have been at that meeting because he’d be in the hospital. If he smacks her around, they’ve both hidden it damn well from me.”
“Damn shame when a woman puts up with that kind of treatment. I’ve seen it time and again in my line of work, but I’ll never understand it.” He heaved a sigh, switching gears. “So. Are you sure about purchasing Wynn’s? I’m prepared to have you work for me instead, if you’ve had second thoughts about taking on that loan. Now’s the time to speak up.”
“No, sir. Truth is, I think abiding this hardship to get that garage has been a good thing, in a way. Instead of feeling that the place was dumped on me like a ton of bricks, I not only chose this, I’m gonna earn it. Thank you for offering me the ability to do that. I want Wynn’s to be mine. I’m sure.”
“All right then. Give me a couple weeks or so to get everything filed and clear, and we’ll proceed with your loan from there.”
• • • • • • • • • •
I’d insisted that Pearl text me when she left her house so I could walk directly out the door without her coming up to knock. Half an hour ago—when I started packing—I’d realized I had no luggage. In the back of my closet, behind the box of photos I’d gleaned from Dad’s room, I unearthed my high school backpack. Luckily, I’d barely used it in high school, so it wasn’t in the nasty shape it should have been. I was a grown man—going on an overnight trip who knows where—stuffing my shit in a backpack. Jesus.
I hitched it over my shoulder and said, “Back tomorrow,” to Mom and Riley, who were sitting on the sofa, smoking. It wasn’t yet noon, so they weren’t roused enough to respond before I jerked the door shut behind me.
Pearl pulled up and popped the trunk on her little car. I tossed my backpack next to her leather duffle, which had some kind of initialed design all over it and probably cost more than a new set of tires.
“Have I ever driven you anywhere?” she asked when I folded myself into the passenger seat and slid it back so my knees weren’t under my chin. She was a sight with her hair pulled into a ponytail, big dark sunglasses, and a little sundress showing off her smooth bronze legs and shoulders.
I slid my aviators on. “Nope.”
“Well, settle in. We’ve got a three-and-a-half-hour drive—after we get off the ferry, which currently has a forty-five-minute line, according to the website.”
Three point five hours… “Houston?”
She sighed. “Wow—yes. Bonus points for speed. I knew you’d figure it out once I got on 59, but sheesh. We aren’t even to the first stoplight.”
“Bonus points, eh? What exactly do these points go toward?” I asked. “I might want to rack up a few more before we reach our destination.”
Sitting ramrod straight, her full pink lips pursed tight, she slid me a sidelong look over the top of her sunglasses and then scrutinized the road ahead like we were battling rush hour traffic. “Maybe you won’t need any points tonight.”
Whatever smartass retort I might have prepared went up in flames.
It’d been years since I’d gone farther out of town than Corpus. The long stretches of highway with nothing for miles in every direction but grass and crops and cows felt cosmic—as if there was nothing beyond any of it but more of the same, forever. And then we’d go through a town so small that if you blinked you’d miss it, or I’d spy a big decrepit barn set back from the road—roof half caved in, paint peeling—and I’d think, Somebody used to keep livestock in there and now they’re all gone. Did they move? Die? Did they live a good life, out here in the middle of bumfuck nowhere?
We stopped for gas and barbeque in Wharton.
“Still not going to tell me what we’re doing in Houston?”
She took a huge bite of her turkey sandwich, a bit of barbeque sauce running down the side of her hand. “Uhn-uhnn.” She licked the sauce off her hand—her pink tongue darting out to catch it before it got far—and I contemplated my potato salad like I was trying to figure out the recipe. Goddamn.
I took a bite of my sandwich. Took a sip of iced tea. “There’s a game at Minute Maid Park tonight.” I grinned. “Pirates are in town for a four-game series.”