Page 42 of These Secret Years

It’s stagnant. The first thing I do is crack a window.

“There he is.”

I don’t turn until I have two more windows open. When I do, there’s Dad. He doesn’t look any worse than he did at Christmas, and I guess that’s a good thing. His dark hair is overlong, needing a cut, and it’s dirty, too, showing all the finger tracks he probably just made trying to straighten it up, but he looks more or less his age. He’s still got his teeth, and they’re in decent shape for someone who probably hasn’t seen a dentist in more than a decade, but that’s because he doesn’t smoke his drugs. He snorts and injects.

He’s got a slight glaze in his eyes now that tells me he’s not entirely sober, but he’s up and moving like this is whatever his maintenance mode is. He gives me a hug, covering me in the horrible scent of this place. “You met Davy.”

“The one who called you babe?”

Dad chuckles, pulling away from me and holding me out for his inspection. “You’ve lost more weight.”

“You’ve got more gray,” I counter.

He lets go of me to run a hand over his speckled beard. “I like the gray.”

“How are you?”

“You know, we’re hanging in there.”

Davy has plopped himself down on the couch and lit a cigarette.

I look from him to my father with a questioning glance. “Just friends,” he says with a wink.

“Uh-huh.” I’ve learned that when it comes to my father, it’s better not to ask questions. He’ll say enough eventually anyway.

Davy’s cigarette smoke quickly fills the cramped space.

“How’s school?” Dad asks.

“I flunked algebra.”

“I wish I could help you there. I was never much good at math.”

“I get that from you, then, I guess.”

“And your mom and sister? How’re they doing?”

“The same,” I say. “Hanging in there.”

“Is she still working at the middle school?”

“Yep.” My mom works part time as a special needs aide at the regular middle school, too. Never in my life has she worked one job at a time.

“Can I get you something to drink? I think I have some Pepsi.”

“No thanks.”

“Why’re you so skinny anyway?” Dad asks.

“It’s a new look I’m trying out. And I’m not that skinny.”

He gives my bicep a squeeze, and I flex it to prove a point. “Is this your bow arm?”

I nod looking directly into his watery gray eyes.

He grins with pride, and goddamnit, it lights me the fuck up. “My brilliant boy.”

My heart softens as it always does after a few minutes in his presence. “Want to go for a walk?” I ask.