Page 7 of Secret Obession
I snorted and went to my locker to retrieve my tools. “More like he wanted to get in touch with his old buddies.”
Cole shoved his phone in my face. “No, see?” He thumbed through several pictures of “we’re hiring” signs from all over town, all sent in the last hour.
“Great. He’ll find something in no time.” If he actually bothered, that was.
“Why not hire him here? He already knows how to do everything.”
I dropped my toolbox on a workbench and glared at him. “I did that once already, and he stole a bunch of my tools and sold them for drug money.” Those were expensive tools, and Hunter had sold them for a quarter of what they were worth, shot the whole thing in his arm, and been too high to tell me a damn thing about who he might have sold them to. Replacing them had taken months.
Cole had still been in college, taking auto-mechanic classes and working here part time, so Hunter’s issues hadn’t been his focus, but even he must remember the fight Hunter and I had when I’d discovered it. I’d kicked Hunter out of the house that night, and we didn’t hear from him for three months.
I’d worried he’d died, and I hadn’t known how to feel about it.
Cole’s mouth tightened. “He’s changed. You know he hasn’t used in three years. If it bothers you that much, don’t let him near the till or let him borrow your tools.”
It was true; for the last three years of visits, Hunter had shown no signs of using. He’d put on weight, he was alert, and no new track marks marred his arms. “Staying clean in prison is completely different from staying clean in the real world.”
“How’s he supposed to figure out how to do that when his own family doesn’t believe in him? Won’t give him another chance?”
“Another chance? He’s got a roof, food, and doesn’t have to worry about rent or bills.”
“Yeah,myroof andmyfood.”
“What do you think I slipped you five hundred bucks last night for? It wasn’t for your sweet attitude.” It had been to assuage my guilt for not being willing to put up with Hunter myself, plainand simple. And I’d practically had to shove the cash into Cole’s pockets.
“Whatever, dude. I’m taking my lunch break.” He flung a towel on the floor and disappeared out the door. Probably to that little cafe Savannah worked at, so he could make eyes at her when her back was turned.
I’d make fun of him for pining after a girl who didn’t want him, but I wasn’t that much of a hypocrite.
Yanking open the car hood, I stared down at the engine of the beat-up Ford I’d told Mrs. Peters to replace two years ago. Fixing her mysterious clicking sound would be so much more straightforward than dealing with my brothers.
Within a few hours, I still hadn’t figured out what was causing that damn click, and I was confronted with one of the few things I missed about working with Hunter. He was always better at figuring out the weird shit than I was. But I’d figured out how to get along just fine without him.
3
Iris
Saturday morning, I did some housekeeping of all kinds. The house needed cleaning, the grass needed mowing, and the guest bathroom sink had a small leak that needed fixing. I tried to keep on top of things so this place didn’t fall apart while Travis was gone. We’d inherited it from our dad when he passed, but with my brother out of the country as often as not, most of the day-to-day stuff fell to me.
Just after eleven, I pulled out some ingredients and started cooking. Normally on Saturdays, I stuck to sandwiches and leftovers, but if Mom had turned over a new leaf, I wanted her to feel welcome.
As the clock hit noon, herbs perfumed the air, and I finished cleaning the dishes, shooting glances at the oven. I’d deviatedfrom the recipe a bit, but cooking was more an art than a science anyway.
No sign of Mom yet.
That’s okay; we never fixed on a time.After peeking out the window one last time, and checking my phone for messages, I set lunch in the warming drawer.
By one o’clock, my baseboards were spotless, my mom still hadn’t shown up, and I felt like I was eleven years old again: staying up late, listening for the sound of the front door opening because Mom was out with her friends and Daddy was already asleep and I thought someone ought to be awake when she came home. Only to find out the next morning that she’d skipped town yet again.
When my dozenth glance at my phone in ten minutes revealed no new messages, I pulled the chicken out of the warming drawer and took my time plating it up all pretty. The whole time, I felt strangely empty and distant, like I was watching the world from behind a pane of glass.
At least the chicken turned out okay, although maybe I shouldn’t have thrown that curry powder over it at the end. It didn’t seem to pair well with the Italian seasoning the recipe had called for. But that was art, right? Experiment and see what works. And what doesn’t.
As I was drying off my plate, someone knocked on the side door—the one we used ninety-five percent of the time since the driveway ran right up to it. The front door was for company only.
A flash of brown hair, teased to high heaven, told me exactly who it was, and my heart leapt in my chest.Mom.
When I flung open the door, she waltzed right in, a smile on her face. “Hey, baby.”
