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“Probably.”
Shit. We had no towing service in town. Big Bob, the old cheapskate, refused to pay for one as he spent most of his money on Civil War-era guns and artillery. This meant we’d need to call for a towing service from one or two towns over.
“Call it in,” I instructed Big Bob, running him ‘round as though I were his boss and not the reverse. “You set up the tow, I’ll grab the ladies.”
He simmered. “That ain’t fair, I want the ass.”
“Then maybe,” I replied through gritted teeth, “you should’ve thought of that when you left them there alone.”
Big Bob looked about ready to pick a fight when Henry spoke up. “You gonna help some girls, Daddy?”
“Yeah, kid.”
I leaned down and gave him a kiss on the forehead. Listen, I’m all for rescuing damsels in distress, but could they be distressed when I wasn’t spending time with my kid? It was just another searing reminder that no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t give Henry all the attention he deserved. I would never be enough of a father for him.
I’d help these girls all right, but it didn’t mean I had to be happy about it.
“All right, Henry, you stay here.”
“Can I watch some TV with Big Bob ?” he asked hopefully, standing up on his tippy-toes.
“Nu-uh. Read your book.”
“But I don’t wanna.”
“But you gotta.” I turned to Big Bob. “Please don’t let him watch anything.”
Big Bob ignored this, and I knew with a sinking resignation that he would turn on the TV the minute I left. It was just another little way for him to exert his power over me and remind me that, above all else, he really just didn’t care.
There’s only so much you can control, I reminded myself. You are doing your best.
Was this my best?
The thought stayed with me as I hopped into my truck and drove off to welcome some strangers to Rough and Ready.
CHAPTER 3
Phoebe
“FUCK,” Jo-Beth snarled, leaning over the hood of the car, her denim shorts riding up, her white sneakers covered in dirt.
“What is it?”
She stood up. “Well, we’re screwed, that’s what.”
“Why?” I asked, my hand shielding my eyes from the sun as I walked to the car. “Can’t we do anything?”
She threw up her arms. “The engine is fucked, and I know a little about cars, but not enough for this. We need some serious repair, if not on the body, then at least on the motor. I’m…”
Without notice, Jo-Beth plopped down into the dirt, but her face between her knees, and screamed with frustration. This was what my psych professors would call Jo-Beth’s classic coping mechanism. She was kind of a screamer. Not to psychoanalyze her or anything, but I thought maybe she could work on a coping mechanism that didn’t involve rasping her vocal cords dry and raw.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” I told her, wrapping my arm around her shoulder and squeezing her tight. Jo-Beth’s love language, to use the term loosely, was touch. She could always be soothed by skin-on-skin contact. Knowing these kind of psychological details about my friends sometimes made me feel like I was overstepping, but it was always good in times of crisis.
“Why did I have to do physics?” she moaned. “Why couldn’t I do good, practical science?”
“Because you had to be a smarty pants show off,” I reminded her.
“Oh yeah, right.”
Her hands clenched in the dirt, her jaw locking. I knew I couldn’t let Jo-Beth have a meltdown, because then I would have a meltdown, and of way more epic proportions. Unfortunately, I have panic attacks that feel like the end of the world, and my daily anxiety runs to the “quivering hands” variety. And please don’t tell me to use CBD, because trust me, I’ve tried everything.
In that moment, I was keeping it together by the skin of my teeth.
“Let’s stand up,” I suggested, offering Jo-Beth my hand. She considered it for a moment, then reluctantly took my outstretched palm and levered herself upright. “That’s better.”
“Now what?”
I paused, and thought. “Now, we wait.”
“That last truck past us,” she scowled, referencing the shiny white Chevy that had driven by fifteen minutes ago.
“Then we won’t let the next one go by.”
“And how do you plan on doing that?”
“Simple psychology,” I said with a wink.
I reached over to Jo-Beth and began to adjust her clothing. I rolled her shorts up three more inches until they were covering her pussy and little else, tied the hem of her T-shirt up, and let down her ponytail. Within moments, I’d transformed my dirt-covered friend into a blonde Daisy Duke.
She laughed. “You think we’ll get a truck to stop just by sticking my tits out?”
“Uh, yeah. Duh.”
Jo-Beth rolled her eyes, but obliged. She was a good sport. “Your turn. Let’s see that belly.”
“Nobody cares about my body,” I reminded my friend.
