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“I’m okay. Stupid as fuck, but okay.” The note of humor in his voice was more reassuring than his actual words. “I lost it with my dad. Marshall. I punched first, then he fought back and it turned into a real brawl. How are you here? How’d you know? Did the jail call you?”
“Your father did. He had your phone, but he said to make sure you get it back from the guards.”
“Yeah, I got it.” He lifted the plastic bag that held his belongings.
“Why didn’t he get arrested too? He hit you!” She traced a finger over his bruise.
“I said it was all me. He has a parole issue. He’s still my father,” he added when he saw her expression.
Heart of a grizzly, she thought. Always protecting.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here. I want a shower. I smell like pissed-out liquor.”
She took his hand as they hurried toward the exit.
Once they were outside in the city air, he stopped and turned to her. His eyes were shadowed. “You should have sent one of my brothers. I hate to see you caught up in this.”
“I wanted to come. Besides, caught up in what? You fought with your father, and I bet you had good reason. Is he pressing charges? Is that why you’re in jail?”
“The fuck if I know.”
“Well, I think he must be, because I had to post bail to get you out.”
He plunged a hand into his thick hair and groaned. “I should have never come here.”
“Let’s not worry about it tonight. Let’s just go back to your hotel and get you a shower, and some sleep. Are you hungry?”
“Starving.”
“It’s a good thing there are cabs waiting outside the jail. I guess they do good business here.” She waved to the first one in line, and the driver stepped out. He was a young Black man with beads woven into his hair.
“I don’t give rides to pimps,” he said with a Caribbean accent. “And no murderers.”
“All he did was punch out his father because he abandoned him twenty years ago,” Brenda explained.
“Get in, then, you. The father-son relationship, that be a tough one. Where are you going?”
“What’s the nearest drive-through? We’re hungry,” Brenda said when they’d both put their seat belts on, and joined their hands together again.
“Are you vegetarian? Vegan? Gluten-free?”
“No, we eat everything.”
“We have a Micky D’s, a Carl’s Junior and a Del Taco right on this street.”
“Those all sound good,” said Galen. “Whichever one we pass first as long as the line isn’t too long.”
They wound up at a Carl’s Junior, where Galen bought dinner for all of them. The chatty driver told them about moving to the U.S. so his four-year-old son could see the snow.
“Snow in LA?” Brenda asked, puzzled.
“You got to drive to see it, and that’s close enough for me.”
When they told him they lived in Minnesota and had snow for six months out of the year, he was fascinated. By the time he dropped them at the Safari Inn, they’d exchanged numbers with him and he’d offered to be their personal driver for the rest of their stay in California.
That driver must have been some kind of angel, because Galen looked much more cheerful by the time they reached their hotel. It was built around a swimming pool, with palm trees lit by lights embedded in the ground. He led her into the room and disappeared into the shower, while she inspected the bed and all its bedding to make sure it was acceptable. In some ways, she absolutely was her mother’s daughter.
Then she collapsed onto it, still fully clothed, and looked at the time. Three in the morning. Her grandmother must be home by now. She’d been visiting Bryce at the home for seniors when Brenda had gotten the call from Marshall. She’d asked Kendra to pick her granny up, thrown some clothes into a bag, and hit the road. She hadn’t even called either of Galen’s brothers. She figured that he could call them if he wanted, once she got him out of jail.
