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“Is there anything I can do?” she asks.
And now the tears come. Dammit. The last thing I want is to let her know how messed-up Pops’s situation is. Why make her worry? It’s not like she can do anything to help, much as she might like to.
“Thanks so much, Luci. I really appreciate it. It’s just been… a lot, you know. A lot with staying on top of school, keeping Evie out of trouble, and now my dad.”
She nods. “Hang in there, honey. You’ll come out on top. I know you will. When it comes down to it, we have no other choice.”
She’s right. There is no other choice for people like us.
* * *
CHAPTERTEN
Charleigh
I pull into the dumpy strip mall where Pops’s pawn shop is. All the other businesses—two nail salons, a laundromat, and a shady-looking tax preparation service—are dark, long since having closed up for the day. My father’s is the only one with lights still on, the last beacon of commerce in this sad little shopping center, with its weedy, pot-hole-filled parking lot.
I park my beater car next to his. Victoria must be gone for the day. My car is a hand-me-down from him, really a piece of crap vehicle that was considered a beater whenhegot it several years ago. The car he’s driving right now isn’t much better, but a good couple months in the shop last Christmas season left him with enough extra cash for a long-overdue upgrade.
So, the beater was passed down to me, and I was thrilled about it. The fact that it just keeps running and running with minimal effort on my part—gas and oil changes, of course—is something my mother would have called a miracle. Proof that ‘someone’ out there is looking out for me.
At one time I might have believed that. Now, I call it dumb luck.
At this hour of the early evening, Pops’s business is usually closed up too. He’s typically tinkering in the back of the store with whatever merchandise came in that day or doing a little light accounting. Since I’ve been working on my bookkeeping certification, I offered to help him with this task. But he won’t hear of it.
Which I think is strange. I guess he has his reasons.
Since the shop is closed for the day, there should be no other cars in the lot aside from ours. And yet there is one in the far corner, parked in the shadows. It’s too dark to identify its make and model, but I am pretty sure it’s black or at least a dark blue or grey. It’s nice. Not like mine and Pops’s.
I pray that doesn’t mean what I’m afraid it might.
I knock on the shop’s door and my father answers it in an instant, letting me in and locking it back up behind me. While I give him a kiss on the cheek, avoiding the side of his head that was bleeding so badly only the day before, I scan the place. Thankfully, no one else is there. Yet.
“Pops, they didn’t come back,” I say, looking around like I can’t believe our luck. “Is everything okay now?” I hold my breath for good news.
He looks at me, his once-bright blue irises having faded like a piece of newspaper too long in the sun. He was quite the looker in his younger days, but when life has given you more than your share of unkindnesses, this is one of the places it shows. These days, when I’m running around all the time, busy with my course and chasing after my younger sister, I don’t often take the time to look—really look—at my father’s face. And now that I do, I see a roadmap of all the crap that’s come his way. His eyes are heavy-lidded, his brows grey, bushy, and wild, and it looks like he shaved that morning in the dark. There are some smooth spots on his face and some with uneven stubble. His complexion is a sort of grey-yellow, what I would expect of someone sick in the hospital.
A sadness grips my heart and I feel for the man. He’s not been much of a father, but he sure has had his share of life’s crappy handouts.
In answer to my question about visitors, he says nothing, only looks down at his feet, unintentionally bringing attention to his Hush Puppies, which are in desperate need of replacing.
That’s the first thing I’ll do when I get a job. A real job. I will buy my dad new shoes.
When it finally dawns on me that Pops isn’t answering because he has only bad news to share, all the mountainous hope I have, that he can get himself out of the mess he’s in, melts into a puddle of nothingness.
And manifests itself as a knot in my stomach so tight it takes my breath away, as the three Alekseev brothers appear from the back of the shop like some sort of nightmarish apparition. Only this is no dream. Without thinking, I position myself between my father and them. I know I can’t stop them doing anything, but maybe I can be an obstacle, however temporary. Give my father time to get away.
Who am I kidding? Charleigh, the badass.
Not.
Instead of going after Pops like I’m sure they’re going to, I find my feet leaving the floor as I am hoisted over someone’s shoulder.
“Vadik, no,” my father hollers.
“Oh my god,” I scream, but it’s hard to push out much air when all your weight is on your diaphragm, supported only by some beast’s brawny shoulder.
So, I kick my legs around and pound on the man’s back. If I can squirm enough to throw him off balance, he may drop me, giving me the chance to fight back.
