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There’s no reason to pretend we’re buddies just because my mom is lonely enough to cling to him. His name isn’t Dirtbag, of course. It’s Darren. He’s been hanging around for about four months and even though he bobs between temp jobs that never last longer than two weeks and lives in a basement room in his sister’s house, my mother seems to be crazy about him.
Dirtbag points to the wall behind me. “Two Outlaw Dip.”
That’s another gross thing about Dirtbag. He always has a wad of tobacco in his cheek and often doesn’t bother to use a trashcan when he spits.
I slide the cans across the counter. Dirtbag paws through his wallet. “Shit, I thought I had a twenty in here.”
My arms cross over my chest and I know there’s a scowl on my face. I’ve seen this act before. He pulls it with my mom all the time.
His eyes are the color of swamp mud and there’s no friendliness in their depths even though he smiles. “Hey kid, you think you can spot me?”
“Hell no.”
“Come on, Ben. I’ll get you the cash tomorrow.”
I take the dip and toss it back on the shelf. “Come back when you can pay.”
The swamp eyes narrow. “Your mom’s working over at Imogen’s tonight. I can just walk over and get the cash from her.”
It kills me to know that he’s right. My mother’s probably been on her feet at the diner for eight hours and she’s got a few more hours left. But Dirtbag knows all he has to do is wrap his arms around her waist and whisper in her ear and she’ll hand over her hard earned tip money.
I don’t have enough cash on me for both tobacco tins but I can repay the register for one. I practically throw it at him.
“Take it. Just don’t come around the house tonight.”
Dirtbag pockets the tobacco and grins. “Hate to break it to you, but your mom’s expecting me to pick her up after work. Then I know she’s gonna want me to rock her sweet ass until she passes out. If you won’t want to listen to the soundtrack then don’t fucking come home.”
I’m tempted to jump over the counter and strangle him. “You piece of shit.”
He laughs and then something catches his eye. Camden is back. She’s still wearing her Black Mountain Academy plaid skirt so it’s obvious she’s in high school but goddamn if that motherfucker doesn’t look her up and down with disgusting greed. I have to give her credit, though. Rather than shrink under his stare she straightens her back and glares right back, as if she’s silently telling him she knows what’s on his mind and she’s not amused.
Dirtbag finally looks away. He belches and scratches his stomach. Then he flips me off and stalks out the door. I really hope I don’t run into him again later. If I do then I might decide to give in to some violent urges.
My fist clenches and I hit the counter before I remember that Camden is still standing there. She’s looking at me and now there’s pity in her eyes. Wonderful. She must have heard everything.
After I manage to relax my balled up fist I pull the cash out of my wallet and dump it in the register to pay for Dirtbag’s dip.
Camden has crept close enough to lean her elbows on the counter.
“I’m sorry about that, Ben.”
Diane keeps a swivel chair behind the counter when she works and she left it here. I pull it over and sit down.
“What the hell are you sorry for? Are you related to him?”
The pity remains. “I just meant I’m sorry you have to deal with that. Sounds like things aren’t great at home.”
Things haven’t been ‘great at home’ since my dad took a bullet to the head.
Camden uses my silence as an opening. “Do you want to talk about it? I promise I won’t judge.”
No, I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to examine my feelings with Camden or anyone else. If I start to do that I might begin punching the counter again. And I might never stop.
“Ben?”
I look at her. “Is it really your birthday today?”
“It’s actually tomorrow.” She makes a face. “Seriously, I can’t believe I’m eighteen. I remember when age eighteen sounded so old.” Her head cocks. “When do you turn eighteen?”
