Page 45 of Under Rusted Stars

I texted Dad and told him that Olivia was coming with me, and I would hide all his beer if he were an idiot. He just replied with “Fine,” so I don’t think he will throw anything, but who knows what he will do.

I get back into the truck with the tray of food. Olivia is on her tablet, drawing something. “That smells good,” she says, glancing over. “What?”

“Are you sure you want to come with me?” I ask.

“Yes,” she says. “He doesn’t scare me. I’ll just beat him with his cane if he annoys me.”

“I’d pay money to see that,” I laugh. “Alright. Just don’t sit down anywhere. He has roaches, so leave your bag in the truck. I’ll lock it so a crack head doesn’t steal it.”

“Good to know,” she laughs.

We hold hands as we drive. Music plays through the speakers, and we have the windows halfway down. Life is good and calm right now. We all know that will change.

When we pull into the trailer park, Olivia sits up a bit to look around. When I park, she looks at me. “This is where you grew up?” she asks.

“Mhmm.”

“I bet it was nice to have people around to play with as a kid,” she says.

“It was,” I admit, watching her.

“What?”

“Mmm. Nothing. I guess I just expected something different,” I say. She raises an eyebrow at me. “Pity.”

“You forget I lived in this park before I went into foster care,” she says. “I don’t pity anyone but the helpless.”

“Ready?” I ask her, and she nods. We get out, and I grab the tray of food. As we walk up to the house, I make sure I am the first through the door.

“Hey, Dad,” I say. He looks up at me, then looks at Olivia.

“You got my food?” Dad grunts.

“Here,” I say, setting the food down on the table next to his chair.

“I thought you hated her?” Dad asks me.

“No, Dad,” I say. “Need anything else?”

“Not going to bug me about blood work again?” he asks.

“No,” I say. “All you do is throw a tantrum, so you can die in peace if you want.”

“Fine,” he says, opening his tray. “Good to see you, Olivia.”

“I can’t say the same, Mr. Jensen,” Olivia says sweetly. I am afraid he is going to snap, but he just chuckles.

“You still a bitch?” Dad asks.

“You still a rapist?” she counters. He looks at her, and he looks genuinely… sad.

“No,” Dad mutters and looks back at his food. He doesn’t touch it, and I’m confused. I look around, and the counters are empty. His table is empty. I walk over and look into the trash can, and it’s empty.

“Dad?” I ask.

“What, Bodhi?” he sighs.

“You out of beer?”