Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 91170 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91170 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
The week? I have twenty-seven dollars to my name and absolutely nowhere to go.
“Can I have two months? I leave for college in August.”
“Maybe if you weren’t already three months behind. But that’s three months on top of two months and I can’t afford to give anybody almost half a year of free rent.”
“You’re such an asshole,” I mutter under my breath.
“We covered that already.”
I go through a mental list of potential friends that I could possibly stay with for the next two months, but Natalie left for college the day after we graduated to get a head start on summer classes. The rest of my friends either dropped out and are on their path to becoming the next Janean, or they have families I already know wouldn’t allow it.
There’s Becca, but she’s got that sleazy stepfather. I’d rather live with Gary than be near that man.
I’m down to my last resort.
“I need to use your phone.”
“It’s getting late,” he says. “You can use it tomorrow.”
I push past him and walk down the steps. “You should have waited until tomorrow to tell me I’m homeless, then, Gary!”
I walk in the rain, straight to his house. Gary is the only one left in this trailer park who still has a landline, and since most of us here are too poor to have cell phones, everybody uses Gary’s phone. At least they do if they’re caught up on their rent and aren’t trying to avoid him.
It’s been almost a year since the last time I called my father, but I have his number memorized. It’s the same cell number he’s had for eight years now. He calls me at work about once a month, but most of the time I avoid his call. There’s not much conversation that can be had with a man I barely know, so I’d rather not speak to him than spew lies like, “Mom’s good. School’s good. Work’s good. Life’s good.”
I swallow my thick, compacted pride and dial his number. I expect it to go to voicemail, but my father answers on the second ring.
“This is Brian Grim.” His voice is scratchy. I woke him up.
I clear my throat. “Um. Hey, Dad.”
“Beyah?” He sounds way more awake and worried now that he knows it’s me. “What’s wrong? Is everything okay?”
Janean died is on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t seem to get it out. He barely knew my mother. It’s been so long since he’s been to Kentucky, the last time he laid eyes on her, she was still kind of pretty and didn’t look like a shallow, stumbling skeleton.
“Yeah. I’m fine,” I say.
It’s too weird telling him she died over the phone. I’ll wait and tell him in person.
“Why are you calling so late? What’s wrong?”
“I work late shift and it’s hard for me to get to a phone.”
“That’s why I mailed you the cell phone.”
He mailed me a cell phone? I don’t even bother inquiring about that. I’m sure my mother sold it for some of the stuff that’s sitting frozen in her veins right now.
“Listen,” I say. “I know it’s been a while, but I was wondering if I could come visit before I start college classes.”
“Of course,” he says without hesitation. “Name the day and I’ll buy a plane ticket.”
I look over at Gary. He’s just a few feet away, staring at my breasts, so I turn away from him. “I was hoping I could come tomorrow.”
There’s a pause, and I hear movement on the other end, like he’s crawling out of bed. “Tomorrow? Are you sure you’re alright, Beyah?”
I let my head fall back and I close my eyes while I lie to him again. “Yeah. Janean just...I need a break. And I miss you.”
I don’t miss him. I barely know him. But whatever will get me a flight out of here the fastest.
I can hear typing coming from my father’s end, like he’s on a computer. He starts muttering times and names of airlines. “I can get you on a United flight to Houston tomorrow morning. You’d need to be at the airport in five hours. How many days do you want to stay?”
“Houston? Why Houston?”
“I live in Texas now. Have for a year and a half.”
That’s probably something a daughter should know about her father. At least he still has the same cell phone number.
“Oh. Yeah, I forgot.” I grip the back of my neck. “Can you just buy a one-way ticket for now? I’m not sure how long I want to stay. Maybe a few weeks.”
“Yeah, I’ll buy it now. Just find a United agent at the airport in the morning and they’ll print your boarding pass. I’ll meet you at baggage claim when you land.”
“Thanks.” I end the call before he can say anything else. When I turn around, Gary throws a thumb in the direction of the front door.