Page 35 of Unlucky Like Us
I give him another once-over. The fourth one since we left the Cobalt Estate.
“If you want to keep staring at me, we can make a pitstop and get you a magazine,” he says, hands tight on the steering wheel. “Pretty sure I’m in at least two at the grocery store checkout.”
“Figured you’d be used to staring.” I rotate back to the windshield.
“Being used to it doesn’t mean I like it.”
My mind is stirring up dust. “What’d you want—to chaperone me? Keep an eye on me? Look out for me?” I turn to him again. “Why drive me?”
“All of the above, Paul.” He flashes a half-smile.
I lean back, trying to accept that as an answer, even if it doesn’t feel like one. “Alright, Xander’s dad.”
He makes a noise, sounding like a trapped laugh. And then he takes a sharp right turn. We’re nearing my old neighborhood. I picked a neutral spot for lunch. Not one of my favorites. I don’t need my dad ruining the greats. It’s just a deli with a couple benches outside.
My nerves start getting the better of me, and Connor is right—it’s better if my dad doesn’t spot Lo. “Stop here, I can walk the rest.” I unbuckle my seatbelt.
“No. I’m dropping you off.”
I don’t listen. I open the door of the moving car.
“Jesus Christ.” Lo slams on the brakes, slowing down immediately, but I’m already hopping out, my feet catching the pavement with ease.
“See ya.” I shut the door.
Lo rolls down the window, glaring at me like a screw is loose. “Neverdo that again.”
I flash him therock ongesture, not lingering.
He mutters something before driving away. He’ll likely do a loop, then find parking near the Acme. He’ll know when I’m done with lunch because of the wire.
He’ll be listening.
So will Connor Cobalt and security.
I wonder if they can hear my heart hammering. The only thing keeping me cool and calm is Luna. I picture her licking out a pudding cup and laughing. I picture her dancing toThe Whowith me. I picture her twirling a lightsaber and pretending to save Orion from invisible aliens.
I picture her lying in bed next to me. Gazing up at stars projected on her ceiling.
Memories aren’t all bad. Some comfort me. These ones also guide me.
She’s why I’m here.
I push back the brewing nerves while I stroll along the cracked sidewalk. Old brick shops line both sides of the street, apartments above them. I spot The Deli up ahead. That’s what it’s called by the way.
JustThe Deli.
Like they couldn’t think of an adjective or a creative word. Hell, name it after a person and it’d have my stamp of approval.
My pace is leisurely, and I wonder if I’ll beat my dad here. But then I see him. He’s sitting on a wooden bench outside The Deli. Sleeves of a black flannel are rolled to his elbows, a gray tee underneath. He’s older than the last time I saw him.
Can’t be certain if the wrinkles at the edges of his eyes are from age or from the meth. He’s only forty-three.
His chestnut hair is a darker shade than mine, and his goatee hasn’t grayed. He’s still scrawny looking, and there were a few times growing up that I thought I could take him.
He taught me that some people look like easy prey, but they’re anything but.
I close the distance. And then he swings his head, and we make eye contact. He straightens his spine, and I let out a rough breath. Every step towards my dad feels weighted by quicksand.