Page 12 of The True-Blue Romance

“Oh wow,” Trevor says in obvious disbelief.

“Really?” Beau asks, clearly a little more hesitant in believing everything can work out just like that.

I shove the forms the nurse handed me against Beau’s chest. “Here. I gotta, like, figure out his Social Security checks, probably sell the trailer. It’s a lot of shit. And ’cause his parents are dead, and his brother, and he’s single, that leaves me to make all the fucking fun decisions.”

“Lee,” Beau says softly, probably because he can hear the hysteria rising in my voice.

Sometimes I’m so sad I could cry, but sometimes I’m so angry I could punch the moon. It’s a thin line these days.

“Can you just… stay and help me deal with getting him into this damn home?”

“Of course,” Beau answers quickly.

Trevor and Beau exchange a look, then Trevor presses his shoulder into mine. “Come outside with me for a minute?”

I nod, because why the hell not. I follow Trevor into the elevator, then out into the bright March sunshine. It’s a nice day outside; it was when I woke up and tended the garden and goats, and still is as I prepare to send my abusive father off to a home, a better place than he ever deserved.

Trevor leads me over to a small garden to the side of the hospital, pulls out a box of clove cigarettes, and taps one out. A few loose tendrils of hair blow softly in the gentle breeze as he cups his hand around the lighter and carefully lights the fragrant cigarette. I thought he’d quit, but what do I know. He takes a gentle inhale, then turns his head and releases the smoke over his shoulder. He holds his hand out in a clear sign for me to take the cigarette, and I’ve smoked much worse, so I take it from him. The smoke is sweeter than a tobacco cigarette because of its autumnal smell and taste. I calm as I take a few inhales, letting them out over my shoulder just as Trevor had.

“Your father, he’s a piece of shit, yeah?” Trevor asks as he takes the cigarette back from me. His light blue eyes are squinted, probably from the sun, but also a little in suspicion.

“You could say that.”

“My parents were pieces of shit, too, and now they’re in prison. Not too dissimilar from yours. Although, he’s now imprisoned in his head until he dies, instead of federal lockup.” Trevor uses the hand holding the cigarette to point at me, eyes even more squinted and a little angry. “This isn’t your fault. You’ll have to let that go.”

“Is this psychotherapy time?”

“Nah,” Trevor says with a rueful shake of his head. “If it was, I’d be charging you a hundred and twenty-five bucks a session, my friend. This is friend-to-friend advice. Also, why isn’t Joey here?”

I can feel the blush spill across my cheeks. Trevor’s gaze turns knowing just as he hands the cigarette back to me. I take a few quiet pulls, closing my eyes and tipping my head back to feel the sun’s warmth across my face.

“You’ve got some shit to work on, Lee.”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“Some more than others. Beau knows, you know.”

I finish the cigarette and toss it to the ground, using my work boot to stomp it out. “He’s not stupid, so I’m not surprised.”

“But you think Joey doesn’t know?”

I quirk one eyebrow. “Joey never sees anything unless he wants to see it.”

“Tackle your dad first, then tackle Joey.”

“I’ll never tackle Joey. That’s so far gone, there’s no saving it. Now if Jackson were single…”

Trevor laughs, loudly, a bend-over-a-little-and-slap-his-knees kind of laugh. “You’re hilarious. If Harper heard you…”

“He’d kill me, yeah.”

“Feel better?”

I nod because words have suddenly fled me. We walk back into the hospital and head to the floor my father’s on. We find Beau and Ms. Cindy talking in a low whisper in the waiting room.

“The evaluator showed up while you were outside,” Beau says in a low murmur. I start to walk toward the room, but Beau’s gentle hand on my arm freezes me to the spot. He shakes his head when I look over at him. “They want to meet him alone, then with the doctor, then you. They said it’ll be an hour or so.”

Great. We all silently sit down in the uncomfortable waiting room seats. I slouch down in the chair and lean my head against the cold wallpapered wall behind me. I go where I always go in my brain when I’m anxious or scared—my backyard when Savannah was just learning to walk. She’d stumbled and gleefully tumbled into the grass, unafraid of being hurt because she knew I was there to catch her. I can see the memory perfectly when I close my eyes tight. The sun was setting beyond the tree line of my property, all oranges, pinks, and rust, and Savannah had smiled brightly as I held a dandelion out to her. I’d taught her to make her first wish that day, the first of what I hope will be millions. Her laughter had rung out among the calm, breezy summer day, and when I’d looked over my shoulder, Joey had been watching with a content smile on his beautiful face.