up, they wouldn’t know. Didn’t really care, either. Just making ends meet and making sure I had a roof and food was all they had time for. They cared about me, but keeping me fed, housed, and clothed was their only real concern. What I did otherwise was up to me. ‘Just don’t get killed, don’t end up in the hospital ’cause we don’t got money for no stitches, y’hear? And for god’s sake, don’t get your dumb ass arrested.’” I said that last few sentences in my dad’s backwoods drawl.
She frowned. “So your mom would sell herself to make ends meet, sometimes. And your dad…knew?”
I shrugged. “I dunno how that worked. I think it was something they just didn’t talk about. Mom would do what she had to do, and if she brought home extra money, great. He wouldn’t ask how.”
“Did they love each other?”
I wanted to laugh at that, but it was an honest question. “Love is a luxury they couldn’t afford, I think. They respected each other. Liked each other. Didn’t fight much and got over it quick. They rarely saw each other, really. Dad worked six in the morning till six at night most days. Sometimes later. And Mom worked from eight till four at the gas station, and five thirty to past close at the bar. So they might see each other in passing, or on the weekends. Sunday mornings, mostly, was their time together.” I winced, and she caught it.
“What?” she asked.
“Well, I learned real early on to get the hell out of the house on Sunday mornings. Those walls weren’t much but two-by-fours and shitty fake wood paneling. Didn’t baffle the sound at all.”
She widened her eyes. “Ohhh. So, they still had that together, at least? Trying to find the good.”
I laughed. “Bless your heart for that, Torie. Yeah, they had that. Loudly. Every Sunday morning at nine. You coulda set a clock by it. So I’d get up early and go fishing, most Sundays. Once I could drive, I’d go salvaging.”
She was quiet, thoughtful, her eyes on me.
“What?” I asked. “You got somethin’ to say, I can tell.”
“When you talk about your parents or Kentucky or your past, you sound more southern again.” She shrugged. “That’s not what I was gonna say, though. I guess…I’m just wondering how you feel, about…your mom. And what she did.”
I scratched the back of my head. “I dunno. Try not to think about it much, honestly. I guess I don’t like it, as you might guess. Everybody knew. It was a tiny place, where I grew up. Not on most maps. Not really even a name to it. No mayor, just a few old retired folks who called themselves the city council made sure there was a stop light and all that municipal shit. So, everybody knew my mom was, literally, the town whore. She wasn’t on the street corner, maybe, but it was common knowledge. You needed your rocks off and had some cash to burn, Della Frost down at the Crooked Barstool on the county line would go home with you.” I gripped the shifter with white knuckles, barely feeling it. “Got teased some for it. But hey, knock a few teeth out and the comments stopped. To my face, at least.”
“God, Rhys.”
“She’s a good woman. Took care of me and Saoirse. Of Dad. Made dinner. Kept the place clean on top of two jobs. I got respect for her, for how hard she worked. But it’s…it’s a complicated thing. I know she didn’t want to. But it was that or we starve, or don’t take a shower for a month ’cause the water bill was so damn expensive. As it was I’d go to school early and take showers in the locker room ’cause it was free there.”
And, of course, at that exact moment, my phone rang.
And who was it?
My dad.
Dammit.
I hesitated and then glanced at Torie.
She shrugged. “Don’t mind me. I’ll just be over here minding my own business.
I chuckled. “Yeah, well, you’re about to get an earful.” I accepted the call and turned it onto speaker and tossed the phone up onto the dash so I could drive hands-free. “Hey, Dad.”
“RJ, how are you son?” Dad’s deep, pack-and-a-half-a-day voice.
I hated that nickname. “I’m all right, but I’d be better if you called me Rhys. How are you?”
“Fuck that, boy. Been callin’ you RJ since you were a day old. You think I’m gonna stop now, you best think again.”
I half sighed,