My Kind of Crazy - Robin Reul Page 0,61
refilling his mug of coffee. He’s dressed in that same nice button-down shirt and pants he wore the other day. Either he’s run out of clean clothes or maybe he has another interview. I’m hoping for the latter, which would be good news and also mean he’ll be leaving the house soon.
“I met your friend this morning.” He gives me a knowing smile and raises his eyebrows, then lifts his mug as if he’s toasting me. “It’s about time someone popped your goddamned cherry. I was starting to wonder about you.”
He chuckles and sips his coffee. Subtlety has never been his strong suit. I’m hoping Peyton can’t hear him, but I don’t bother to correct him because this information seems to put him in a good mood and I don’t want to jinx it.
I try to laugh it off instead. “Yeah, about that. Listen, Dad. Peyton…the girl upstairs… I need to ask you a favor. She needs a place to crash for a while, and I was wondering if she could stay with us.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know.”
“What about her family?”
“Her family is why she’s here, Dad.”
“She a runaway?”
“No, not exactly.”
His brow furrows with concern as he shakes his head. “I don’t know, Hank. I don’t want to get mixed up in any family drama. I don’t need someone to come looking for her and start trouble.”
“No one will come after her.” At least, I hope not.
“I’m not blind, Hank. Someone knocked her around pretty good. I don’t know her story, and it’s none of my business, but I want to make sure that if I agree to this we’re not putting ourselves in a bad position. I’m trying to get my life back on track and I don’t need any setbacks.”
“Dad, I swear, you’ll hardly know she’s here. I promise. It’s only temporary, until she can figure things out.”
He considers it and then nods reluctantly. “Okay. But I mean it, Hank. Anyone comes nosing around for her, she has to go.”
I bob my head. “Absolutely. Hey, you got another interview today or something?”
He glances at the clock on the wall, downs the rest of his coffee, and smooths his hair with his hands. “I’m going down to the factory to talk to my old boss about getting my job back. As much as I don’t want to give those bastards the satisfaction of crawling back to them on my hands and knees, sometimes the devil you know is better than the one you don’t.”
“That’s good, Dad. Good luck. And, um…thanks.”
“Yeah, yeah. You keep chatting me up and I’m gonna be late.”
We’re not good with the sentimental shit, maybe because it doesn’t happen too often, or like…ever, so that was as close to a father-son moment as any.
As soon as he leaves, I make the executive decision that given the circumstances, there will be no school or work today. First I call O’Callaghan and give him some bullshit excuse, but I need something legitimate for school in case I need to stretch it out for a while.
I call the attendance office and lower my voice two octaves, thickening my New England accent to play Dad. I go with the first thing that pops in my head. I tell the woman that my son, Hank, is very ill. It could be flu, but there’s a possibility it could be encephalitis. The woman sounds shocked and concerned, so I know I’ve picked a good excuse. When I hang up, Peyton starts cracking up.
“What? What’s so funny?”
“Encephalitis is brain inflammation.”
“Shit, I overdid it. I meant bronchitis. All I know is, there’s no way I can deal with school today.”
“Definitely.” She shakes her head. “What the hell am I gonna do, Hank? I need to figure out how to get my stuff from my house. I need to figure out the rest of my life. And I’ve got to find a way to fix this.” She holds up a butchered strand of hair and then drops her hand into her lap. “I can’t walk around like this.”
And then it hits me.
“I think I know someone who can help.”
• • •
Mo’s Boobie Barn is on the outskirts of town, sandwiched between a Motel 6 and a check-cashing shop that also offers bail bonds. Talk about knowing your target audience. The Boobie Barn is literally an old renovated barn, painted red with white trim, but the silo out back is bright pink, like a giant schlong. You can’t miss it.
I gamble that Monica’s there, even though