change my mind.
“Duchess,” he calls after me. I duck down to the open window. “Check your phone.”
Jogging across my neighbors yards, I can feel him watching me from the car. He turns on the headlights to guide my path, but I don’t hear the engine roar back to life until I step inside the house. I pause for a moment, catching my breath against the door, then I remember what he said.
My phone is waiting for me on the kitchen counter. Sliding it on, I search through the messages, but there’s nothing there. What is he hoping I’ll find? Then it hits me and I open my contact list. Skimming through it, I get to ‘J.’ He’s typed in his full name. I select it and find a note written in the contact information. “Call me Duchess, please.”
“What have you gotten yourself into?” I say to the empty kitchen for the two-hundredth time today. He’s left what happens next up to me, but I’m not stupid enough to believe I have a choice. I should stay away from him. It’s the smart thing to do. It’s what I’ve always done, keeping my distance is a safe bet. Too bad I can’t.
Chapter Twelve
Monday, it’s back to routine. I’m switching gears despite my dad’s constant absence from work. Pawn shops thrive on their own in Las Vegas. There’s always someone willing to gamble on their own treasures. Ninety percent of people don’t come back, which means we have an unusual and original stock of junk for tourists to peruse. Nothing thrills a Midwestern farmer more than taking home a Billy Joel tour jacket. I’ve never claimed to understand it, but if it keeps the lights on and my stomach full, I can work with it.
Jerry is already waiting by the door when I pull into the lot. When I was a lot younger, Dad kept the place open 24 hours. He did some pretty good business considering he didn’t mind taking items off drunk people’s hands. He also got robbed a few too many times. Then Mom walked out, and he had to be practical, not that there weren’t many nights that Becca and I spent sleeping on cots in the warehouse.
“Hey, Emma,” Jerry greets me, holding out a Starbucks cup. “Cappuccino, right?”
“Jerry, if you’re trying to get on my good side, it’s working.” I take the cup from him, and he starts to unlock the door. It takes longer to roll up the metal security gates than it does to turn on the computer, but there’s little else that we have to worry about. The shop has a bookkeeper, a toddler could run a transaction. The rest is all instinct.
“Is your Dad coming in?” Jerry asks as I rearrange a pile of Star Wars memorabilia. I put Princess Leia in the front of the case because she’s my favorite. I shrug in response to his question. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“I just thought maybe...” He trails off before he wanders away.
I’m not sure, but I think I make him nervous. I can’t exactly blame him for assuming that I might know if Dad was coming in, but as usual I left him snoring off a hangover on the couch. The shop is closed on Sundays, and through some miracle Dad hasn’t heard about what happened to Nathaniel West, which means he doesn’t know that I was there that night. I guess Mom has been keeping secrets from him long enough that it didn’t occur to her to mention it. Not that they’re on speaking terms unless major parenting intervention is required.
I’d taken the coward’s path and decided to stay in my room all day. We’d passed each other a few times coming in and out of the kitchen, but he’d been asleep before I’d put dinner in the oven. Usually I’d push it and wake him up, but I figured I’d better enjoy the calm before the storm. I have no idea when Jameson is going to show back up, but I have no doubt that he will. Eventually, even that will filter through Dad’s alcohol-soaked brain.
By 2:00 pm I’ve bought a handful of old Beatles records and calmly informed a hysterical woman that her five carat diamond was a knock-off. I’d count it as a successful day except Dad still isn’t here. Apparently, I’m going to be doing more than help out in the shop this summer. The melodic tingle of bells alerts me to a new customer,