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“No,” I lie. “It’s nothing.” She deserves to have some time with ole Betty Matthews from the HOA. Trash cans get left out overnight and that old broad gets heated.
The evil little guy in my head rubs his hands together with glee. It’s going to be great. In fact, I think I’ll plot the time to watch from my window into tomorrow morning’s schedule.
Red hair swinging back and forth slightly, the pretty thief smiles then and sticks out a hand, leaving the other in place to keep doing the hard work of concealing her breasts. “I’m Carly, by the way. This is my mom Stella’s house.”
I take her petite, warm hand in mine and return the sentiment. “Ryan. My dad, Sal Miller, lives here.”
“Oh my God,” she says suddenly, looking between my dad’s house and her mom’s. “Is your dad the neighbor who got hurt helping my mom with decorations?”
My eyebrows draw together. “Is that what happened? My dad’s been pretty tight-lipped about the specifics.”
“Yes!” she cheers. “Oh my God, how crazy. Yeah, she said he was helping her take down some holiday decorations, I think.”
My chin jerks back. “Holiday decorations? In September?” That’s weird. “What holiday?”
Carly’s face scrunches into a laugh, surprised I’m questioning it at all. “I don’t know. Labor Day, I guess.”
Decorations for Labor Day? That’s a new one.
Whatever. Since it really doesn’t matter, I decide to let it go.
A peculiar bang sounds from the inside of my dad’s house, and both of us whip our heads toward it in synchrony.
“What was that?” Carly asks, and all I can do is laugh.
“I don’t know. But I better go find out.”
She nods enthusiastically, jerking her thumb toward the inside of her mom’s garage. “I should probably do the same. Anyway. See you around, I guess. Oh, and sorry again about the whole taxi thing.”
I nod. “Water under the bridge.” Sort of. I have a feeling Betty will ensure payback is achieved tomorrow, and after that, I should be able to fully let it go.
I watch as she makes her way back into the garage and closes the door. One glance to the end of the driveway and I note the trash can still sits haphazardly at the street.
Yeah, tomorrow morning is going to be good.
When another bang sounds from the inside of my dad’s house, I turn and take off at a run, smacking the button to roll down the overhead garage door as I go. When I get inside, it sounds like a vacuum is running in his bedroom at the back of the house, so I hurry down the hall.
Theoretically, a vacuum wouldn’t be a normal cause for concern, but the man already has a severe groin pull and limited mobility. Add in two strange, loud noises, and I’m slightly terrified of what I might find in there.
The door is closed when I get to it, so I hammer three hard knocks into the surface, yelling, “Dad, what’s going on? Are you all right in there?”
I put my ear to the door to listen, but all I hear is the forced air of a still-sucking vacuum. For all I know, he could have fallen and hit his head or something, and the damn thing is just chugging along beside him while he bleeds out.
Resigned to the fact that I’m going to have to go in there, I knock one more time and test the knob, only to find it locked.
I back up quickly, three short steps, and then take off forward again at a jog, slamming my shoulder into the surface of the wood and popping the lock free. The wood is splintered, but I’ll worry about that later.
The door swings freely as I shove it out of the way and stalk into the bedroom, my chest rising and falling rapidly as I consider all the possibilities of what I might be walking into.
The bathroom door is cracked, and the sound is clearly coming from there, so I cover the distance quickly, not bothering to pause before swinging it open to see what’s inside.
The truth is, if my dad is in dire need of help, I’ve already wasted enough time.
It’s just so, so unfortunate that what I find is a hell of a lot worse than a bloody, cracked-open head on the floor.
“Hey!” my dad yells in surprise from his position, perched on the edge of the tub with his grooming clippers in hand. “What in the hell are you doing, Ryan?”
He’s as naked as the day he was born, and my eyes—my eyes will never be the same.
“Oh my God, Dad, what the fuck?”
“Can’t a man get some privacy while he shaves his fucking nuts, for Christ’s sake?” he yells back.
The vacuum is still running in the background, obviously being used to suck up the clippings of body hair—oh my God—as they drop to the ground after he shaves them off.
