of a disaster Brian left.”
“I’ll do it,” I say because I know Brian probably really did leave a disaster behind and because sometimes I’m not an asshole.
She shakes her head. “No, I’d rather do it. I have a method of organizing the stock. First I count all the existing inventory and record it on a spreadsheet and then I compare this to the sales record in case there’s any discrepancies and then-“
“Fine, you do it.”
She looks miffed and stalks away but if I hadn’t interrupted her then she probably would have kept going on about spreadsheets for twenty minutes.
After Camden disappears into the stockroom there’s a flurry of activity. A couple of guys from Korbell’s Garage stop by for gas and to load up on hot dog dinners. Some kids roll up on their bicycles, carefully browse the candy aisle and then slowly count out their change to pay for their goods. Two tenth graders try to get away with buying a forty ounce bottle of liquor. The six gas pumps are active as everyone fills up for the weekend. Diane mentioned that the tanks were just filled last night so I don’t need to worry about any of the pumps running out. Customers drop in to buy gum and beer and corn nuts and chocolate bars. A few of them search through the racks of cheap Christmas gifts in case anyone on their list needs a rhinestone keychain or a pleather bible case or a Devil Valley t-shirt. The brisk business makes the time fly by and the only time I see Camden is when she visits the hot food counter to add more hot dogs on the rolling heater. The next time I look up she’s nowhere in sight.
And then the evening takes a rotten turn because Dirtbag walks in.
“Ben,” he says and tries to give me a fist bump, which I ignore.
“What the hell do you want?”
There’s no reason to pretend we’re buddies just because my mom is lonely enough to cling to him. His name isn’t Dirtbag, of course. It’s Darren. He’s been hanging around for about four months and even though he bobs between temp jobs that never last longer than two weeks and lives in a basement room in his sister’s house, my mother seems to be crazy about him.
Dirtbag points to the wall behind me. “Two Outlaw Dip.”
That’s another gross thing about Dirtbag. He always has a wad of tobacco in his cheek and often doesn’t bother to use a trashcan when he spits.
I slide the cans across the counter. Dirtbag paws through his wallet. “Shit, I thought I had a twenty in here.”
My arms cross over my chest and I know there’s a scowl on my face. I’ve seen this act before. He pulls it with my mom all the time.
His eyes are the color of swamp mud and there’s no friendliness in their depths even though he smiles. “Hey kid, you think you can spot me?”
“Hell no.”
“Come on, Ben. I’ll get you the cash tomorrow.”
I take the dip and toss it back on the shelf. “Come back when you can pay.”
The swamp eyes narrow. “Your mom’s working over at Imogen’s tonight. I can just walk over and get the cash from her.”
It kills me to know that he’s right. My mother’s probably been on her feet at the diner for eight hours and she’s got a few more hours left. But Dirtbag knows all he has to do is wrap his arms around her waist and whisper in her ear and she’ll hand over her hard earned tip money.
I don’t have enough cash on me for both tobacco tins but I can repay the register for one. I practically throw it at him.
“Take it. Just don’t come around the house tonight.”
Dirtbag pockets the tobacco and grins. “Hate to break it to you, but your mom’s expecting me to pick her up after work. Then I know she’s gonna want me to rock her sweet ass until she passes out. If you won’t want to listen to the soundtrack then don’t fucking come home.”
I’m tempted to jump over the counter and strangle him. “You piece of shit.”
He laughs and then something catches his eye. Camden is back. She’s still wearing her Black Mountain Academy plaid skirt so it’s obvious she’s in high school but goddamn if that motherfucker doesn’t look her up and down with disgusting greed. I have to give her credit, though. Rather than shrink under his stare she straightens