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“Yeah,” I said.
“Why?”
“It’s over.”
“What’s over?” she asked.
I looked out the side window. “All of it.”
“Jet—”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Jet—”
I turned to her. “I said, I don’t want to talk about it.”
She gave me a glare. “You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?”
“Yeah,” I said, my heart breaking. “I know.”
* * *
We luggedmy stuff up the stairs.
I avoided a Mom Talk (even though I could tell she really wanted one) by putting in a load of laundry and hightailing it back out.
I got in my car for the first time in two weeks and started it.
It purred like a kitten.
Wonderful. Who would have ever thought I’d want my car to be cantankerous?
I went to the Credit Union and waved to Jody and Amy and knocked on Nicki, the manager’s, door.
“Hey, Jet!” she exclaimed when she saw me then her eyes got big, “Holy cow! What happened to your head?”
“Gunshot wound,” I replied as if I suffered one every day, and her big eyes nearly popped out of her head.
I ignored it.
“Can I talk to you?” I asked.
We talked. I asked for my job back. She said they didn’t have any positions open. Then she told me she’d give me a call when they did.
I talked with Jody and Amy for a while, keeping the subject off my recent travails and my gunshot wound even though both their eyes kept straying to it.
Then I went to Smithie’s. Smithie was open all day, but his day crew was second string. It wasn’t a nice thing to say, but it was an honest thing to say.
I swung in.
“Well look who’s here. I hear you got your shit sorted last night,” Smithie remarked when I walked in.
I was learning quickly that Darius had a big mouth.
I nodded to him.
LaTeesha, one of Smithie’s women, was standing in front of him at the bar. Smithie had clothes in the closets of four different women and they didn’t seem to mind sharing. This could be because a little of Smithie went a long way. It also could be that Smithie had a big enough heart to keep them all happy. It could be a bit of both.
