Page 57 of Jackass

“That’s why we’re here,” I bragged. “To pack up Sammy and Charlie and move them to the clubhouse.”

Carrie turned her head slowly, like she hadn’t noticed I was there.

Her demeanor changed in an instant.

“Jack, I didn’t notice you were here.”

“Clearly,” I snarked.

“Jack,” Sammy reprimanded, and I looked at her.

Don’t start,she mouthed. I shrugged at her.

“Sam, there was a note,” Carrie said.

Sammy froze.

I watched her throat as she swallowed slowly.

“I am so glad you came home. We can get packed up and on the road in an hour. We’ll pick another small town. It will make it harder for us to be found.”

“What the hell is going on?” I questioned.

Sammy turned to me, her eyes wide with fear. “He found us,” was all she said before she started grabbing up her things.

“Sammy, stop.” I seized her hands, pulling her in front of me. “I told you. You and Charlie will be safe. He can’t get to you at the clubhouse.”

The tears in her eyes broke my heart. Once this shit was over, I would make it my mission to ensure she never cried again.

“Come on, let’s pack everything up and get you both settled. Where’s all your stuff?” I asked.

Looking around the room, it was sparse. It wasn’t much bigger than my room at the clubhouse. There was a small, faded couch against the wall on one side, no TV. The other side had a small round table with four chairs. The only other thing I saw in the room was a small pile of clothes. No toys. They must be in Charlie’s room.

“Where’s Charlie’s room? I can pack up her stuff while you get yours.”

“Wait, Sam, we have to leave!” Carrie urged.

I growled. “My family isn’t fucking leaving.”

Taking a deep breath, I called to my daughter, “Charlie, can you show Daddy your room?”

She grabbed my hand, pulling me down a narrow hall.

“Down here, Daddy.”

I followed my daughter into a room that was the size of a large closet. It was barely big enough to fit the toddler bed, which was pushed against the wall. A small tote bucket sat in the corner and had what looked like clothes in it.

“Charlie, where are all your things?” I asked, searching the room.

“These are my things, Daddy. That’s my bed, and this is my clothes,” she said, standing by the small tote.

“Where are your toys, Shortcake?”

Charlie reached over her bed, grabbing the small doll that laid against her pillow. She showed me her doll with the proudest smile.

Jesus Christ, my little girl didn’t have any fucking toys.

I slid the lid on the top of the bucket and took her hand, guiding her back to the living room.