Regretting You(9)

My eyes scroll around Miller’s room. Again, it is not reminiscent of the condition of the outside of his home. There’s a bed, full-size, flush against the far wall. He sleeps there. Right there, in that bed, tossing about in those white sheets at night. I force myself to look away from the bed, up at a huge poster of the Beatles hanging where a headboard would normally be. I wonder if Miller is a fan of older music, or if the poster has been here since the sixties, much like the living room furniture. The house is so old I wouldn’t doubt it if this was his grandfather’s room as a teenager.

But what really catches my eye is the camera on his dresser. It’s not a cheap camera. And there are several different-size lenses next to it. It’s a setup that would make an amateur photographer envious. “You like photography?”

He follows my line of sight to the camera. “I do.” He pulls open the top drawer of his dresser. “But my passion is film. I want to be a director.” He glances at me. “I’d kill to go to UT, but I doubt I can get a scholarship. So community college it is.”

I thought he was making fun of me in the car, but now that I’m looking around his room, it’s sinking in that he really might have been telling me the truth. There’s a stack of books next to his bed. One of them is by Sidney Lumet called Making Movies. I walk over and pick it up, flipping through it.

“You’re really nosy,” he mimics.

I roll my eyes and set the book down. “Does the community college even have a film department?”

He shakes his head. “No. But it could be a stepping-stone to somewhere that does.” He walks closer to me, holding a ten-dollar bill between his fingers. “Those shoes are five bucks at Walmart. Go crazy.”

I hesitate, no longer wanting to take the money from him. He sees my hesitation. It makes him sigh, frustrated; then he rolls his eyes and shoves the bill in the front left pocket of my jeans. “The house is shit, but I’m not broke. Take the money.”

I swallow hard.

He just stuck his fingers in my pocket. And I can still feel them, even though they’re no longer there.

I clear my throat and force a smile. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

He tilts his head. “Was it? Because you look hella guilty for taking my money.”

I’m usually a better actress than this. I’m disappointing myself.

I walk toward his doorway, even though I’d love a better look at his bedroom. “No guilt here. You ruined my shoes. You owed me.” I back out of his room and begin to walk down the hallway, not expecting him to follow me, but he does. When I reach the living room, I pause. The old man is no longer in the recliner. He’s in the kitchen, standing next to the refrigerator, twisting the lid off a water bottle. He eyes me with curiosity as he takes a sip.

Miller sidesteps around me. “You take your meds, Gramps?”

He calls him Gramps. It’s kind of adorable.

Gramps looks at Miller with a roll of his eyes. “I’ve taken ’em every damn day since your grandma skipped town. I’m not an invalid.”

“Yet,” Miller quips. “And Grandma didn’t skip town. She died of a heart attack.”

“Either way, she left me.”

Miller looks at me over his shoulder and winks. I’m not sure what the wink is for. Maybe to ease the fact that Gramps seems a little like Mr. Nebbercracker, and Miller is assuring me that he’s harmless. I’m beginning to think this is where Miller gets his sarcasm from.

“You’re a nag,” Gramps mutters. “Twenty bucks says I outlive you and your entire generation of Darwin Award recipients.”

Miller laughs. “Careful, Gramps. Your mean side is showing.”

Gramps eyes me for a moment, then looks back at Miller. “Careful, Miller. Your infidelity is showing.”

Miller laughs at that jab, but I’m kind of embarrassed by it. “Careful, Gramps. Your varicose veins are showing.”

Gramps tosses the water bottle lid and hits Miller square in the cheek with it. “I’m rescinding your inheritance in my will.”

“Go ahead. You always say the only thing you have worth any value is air.”

Gramps shrugs. “Air you won’t be inheriting now.”

I finally laugh. I wasn’t positive their banter was friendly before the lid toss.

Miller picks up the lid and fists it in his palm. He motions toward me. “This is Clara Grant. She’s a friend of mine from school.”

A friend? Okay. I give Gramps a small wave. “Nice to meet you.”

Gramps tilts his head down a little, looking at me very seriously. “Clara Grant?”

I nod.

“When Miller was six years old, he shit his pants at the grocery store because the automatic flusher on public toilets terrified him.”

Miller groans and opens the front door, looking at me. “I should have known better than to bring you inside.” He motions for me to head outside, but I don’t.

“I don’t know if I’m ready to leave,” I say, laughing. “I kind of want to hear more stories from Gramps.”

“I’ve got plenty,” Gramps says. “In fact, you’ll probably love this one. I have a video from when he was fifteen and we were at the school—”

“Gramps!” Miller snaps, quickly cutting him off. “Take a nap. It’s been five minutes since your last one.” Miller grabs my wrist and pulls me out of the house, closing the door behind him.