Run(59)

I get up to look for the bathroom. I forgot to ask where it’s at, but this house ain’t real big. I head down the hallway, trying to be quiet so I don’t wake up Daddy and Vera. But I find out pretty quick that they ain’t sleeping yet.

“What am I supposed to say to her?”

Daddy’s voice. Coming from behind the closed bedroom door. I don’t wanna eavesdrop. Not the best foot to start off on. So I’m about to keep walking when I hear Vera, too.

“That ain’t my problem, Wayne,” she says. “I don’t care what you gotta say—she ain’t staying here.”

I freeze, my heart sinking down, down into my stomach.

“Vera—”

“I don’t want her around Brent.”

“She ain’t gonna hurt Brent. She’s a good kid.”

“How do you know?” Vera demands. “You ain’t seen her in years. You didn’t even tell me about her. The hell is wrong with you, Wayne?”

Daddy sighs. “I thought her mama was taking care of it.”

It.

Not her. Not my daughter.

It.

“Well, she ain’t. And neither am I, Wayne. This is my house. I pay the bills. I’ve been letting you freeload off me for six years. I ain’t taking in nobody else.”

I wait. Wait for him to stand up for me. Wait for him to say I’m his kid. Wait through the long space of quiet for him to be my dad. Just like I’ve been waiting for years.

But it sounds like I’m gonna have to keep waiting.

“All right,” he says, sounding defeated. Not defeated enough, though. “I’ll do it in the morning. I’ll get rid of her.”



The sun ain’t even risen over the mountaintops when Daddy comes to talk to me the next morning.

I couldn’t sleep. Not after what I heard. So I just been sitting here, staring out the window. Besides the smoky hills, surrounding the town like an army of shadows closing in, this place don’t look too different from Mursey. Trailer homes, houses that look like they’re about to fall apart, a church right down the road …

It’s almost like I never left.

Like I did all that running and only ran myself in a circle.

“Bo,” Daddy says.

I look up from the window and see him standing there in his old T-shirt and boxers. He ain’t even gonna get dressed for this.

“You’re kicking me out, ain’t you?”

He sighs. “I’m sorry.” And the way he says it, like he means it, like he thinks it makes a difference at all, makes it so much worse.

“How come?”

He scratches the back of his head. “I gotta think about my family, Bo. I gotta think about what’s best for them.”

“But I am your family.”

He opens his mouth, about to answer that, then shuts it again. Swallows. “Sorry.”

“Where am I supposed to go?” I ask. “They’ll put me in foster care, Daddy. Last time I went it was … it was so scary.” I didn’t wanna start crying. Didn’t wanna beg. But without warning, there are tears streaming down my face, and a tiny voice scrapes out of my throat, against my will. “Please don’t make me go.”

“Look, your mama and I had a deal.” He just sounds annoyed now, and it makes me cry even harder. “She was gonna take care of you. That was what we agreed on. You living with me was never part of the deal.”

I wipe my eyes and take a few shaky breaths. “Was you not paying a dime of child support part of that deal?” I ask.

He ignores me. Just like I expect him to.

“Brent’s gonna wake up soon,” he says. “If you’re here, he’s gonna have … There’ll be questions, so …”

“So you want me to leave right now.”

He opens his mouth again, then shuts it. The man’s got a lot of words he ain’t saying, it seems. Instead, he just nods.

“Can I at least eat something first?” I ask. “I ain’t had nothing to eat since … night before last, I guess.”

He hesitates, like this might be asking too much. But then he sighs. “There’re Pop-Tarts in the cabinet over the stove.”

I almost say thank you out of habit, but I bite my tongue. I ain’t thanking him. I ain’t thanking him for nothing.

I find the Pop-Tarts in the kitchen. I also find an unopened bottle of bourbon sitting next to the fridge.

I ain’t sure why the thought crosses my mind. But when I look back and see that Daddy ain’t in the living room no more, I decide I’m taking that bourbon with me. I grab the bottle and my Pop-Tarts and run to the front door, where I left my bag last night. I shove the bottle into the bag and zip it up real fast.

When Daddy comes back down the hallway, I’m sitting on the couch, eating my breakfast.

He watches me until I finish. And when I finally stand up, he looks relieved.

I walk back to the door and sling my bag over my shoulder. I ain’t gonna say good-bye.

I ain’t gonna say good-bye, and I ain’t gonna break down. Not again. Not for him.

My hand’s on the doorknob when he says, “Bo?”

I stop. And for a stupid, breathless second I think he’ll ask me to stay. I think he’ll realize how awful he’s being. I think he’ll say, “Fuck Vera,” and put me first. I’ve been waiting so damn long for him to put me first.