Page 39 of Rough

“Yeah,” he said with a laugh. “We try to.”

“Makes sense. It’d be easier to aim.”

I took another sip, and then looked at the cup. I’d finished a quarter of it without realizing it. I set it aside and folded my hands together.

“Pop says you’re a good nurse.”

I sat up excitedly and then realized I’d done so, but it was too late to fix it. “Did he?”

“Sure did.”

“That was nice of him.”

“He says nice shit from time to time. Ain’t very often, but he does.”

“I like him,” I said. “A lot. I’ll be glad when he’s better, but it’ll be sad not to see him anymore.”

“Nothing saying you can’t stop by and see him sometimes.”

I realized he didn’t know the entire truth about his father’s heart. I forced a smile, and wondered if he could tell the difference. “That’d be nice.”

We sat there for a moment in awkward silence, and I reached for my drink. After taking a sip of the sweet concoction, I met his blank stare.

“My father left when I was young. I think being around yours makes me wonder what things would have been like, if, you know. If he hadn’t left.”

I hadn’t planned on saying it, but somehow it just slipped out. Typically, I didn’t talk about such things, especially with people I really didn’t know or trust. For whatever reason, though, it happened.

“Sorry,” he said. “Lot of the fellas only have one parent, and I’ve always been kind of glad I’ve got two. Couldn’t imagine it any other way.”

I smiled and nodded, feeling curiously more empty than before. “Your mother’s nice, too. I met her over the weekend. I know now why he needs someone to care for him seven day a week. She’s pretty fragile.”

“Yeah, tough for her to move him from the recliner to the wheelchair.” He took a sip of his drink. “So, you got a pen?”

I watched him rake his fingers through his beard as I fumbled blindly for the pen, and wondered what he’d look like without it. At the instant I found it, he kicked his feet onto the chair beside him, locked his hands behind his head, and flexed his biceps.

Dear. God.

With my hand still out of his line of sight, I released the pen and dropped it back into my purse.

“I thought I did, but I don’t. When we’re done, I’ll go inside and ask if they’ve got one I can use.”

“So, is this your only gig? Watching my pop?”

“Seven days a week’s pretty much all of them. I’d work more if I could, believe me.”

He pointed to my purse. “How much you giving me today?”

I had planned on paying him $1,000, but after taxes were taken out of my first check, I barely had $1,000 left. His having already spent the money to repair the motorcycle made me feel ill.

“$760. It’s all I can afford right now,” I said. “When I get caught up on a few other things, I might be able to pay a little more.”

He tilted his head toward the parking lot. “Ever ridden on a bike?”

I loved riding, and that would never change. Hiding my excitement was impossible. “My old boyfriend had one,” I blurted. “We rode all the time.”

It came out much easier than I expected. I hoped he didn’t try and pry more from me about the boyfriend, or the relationship.

“Crotch rocket?”