Page 37 of Really Truly Yours
I guess I was too distracted to notice him.
“I was going to ask you about it, but I figured it must’ve been Tommy you were with.”
I press against the door. “Tommy? Why would I be anywhere with Tommy?” A sort of friend of our older brother’s, Tommy lives one street over and stops to talk any time he catches me outside.
I check the street every time I walk to the mailbox. Max’s friends have never been my friends.
Sam shrugs a greasy sleeve. “He’s always had a thing for you. I figured you finally said yes. He said it was a real big guy.”
Big can—and does in this case—mean different things.
Anyway, does my brother not know me at all? Tommy is a little too fond of his beer and his pot for my liking—which is no liking at all. Honestly.
“Seriously, Sam, please don’t go spreading Grayson’s name around, not yet. Things are unsettled, and it might complicate things.”
“Like how?”
“Like none of your business. An estranged father and son are trying to reunite. Promise me, Sam.”
He turns onto Main Street, quiet.
“Sam?”
“I still can’t believe you weren’t going to tell me.”
“I’m sorry, but please promise.”
“Whatever,” he grumbles, as he parks on the street in front of the fifties gas station-turned-auto shop. From him, that’s the best I’ll get.
The afternoon drags. I enter a stack of receipts, record some deposits. I’m not a bookkeeper by training, so I’ve learned what I know watching internet videos. Math and computers, really anything remotely academic, have never been Sam’s thing, so when he bought the garage last year, he enlisted me to help with payroll and such. So far so good.
I cut checks for him and his two employees, one fulltime, one parttime—plus one for the handful of hours I put in each week. The meager sum I earn here makes the difference some months on which and how many medical bills receive payment.
Shortly before five, the guys descend, snatching up their envelopes. Frank lingers. “I hear you had a big day yesterday. Grayson Smith? Wow! I seen him pitch once when they played up in Dallas. Tammy and me got tickets, and he was on the mound that day.”
I make myself smile politely. Sam…
I guess the word is out. I won’t fool myself that Frank will listen to a plea for discretion, and obviously, talking to my brother is pointless. I’ll give Donny a heads-up and hope for the best.
Maybe Sam is right. Maybe I’m the one who has the problem with word getting out. I don’t like attention of any kind drawn to myself. Donny won’t mind if the spotlight finds him. He’ll be the proud papa no matter who asks about his son.
Not a fan of beating my head against the wall, I stuff my irritation and don’t bring the subject up when Sam slumps his grimy self into the spare office chair at six o’clock. At least it’s his chair for once.
“Oh, hey. Here’s my check. It wasn’t in the stack yet when you signed the others.” I slide it and a pen across the desk.
A shift in his expression blinks a warning. “Yeah, uh, Neenee, I gotta talk to you about that.”
“What?”
“You saw the books. It’s tight this week. The credit card processor is holding up funds on a couple transactions they want to see receipts for, and I got parts to order for a couple jobs next week.”
“And?” Yeah, I know what he’s getting at, but he should at least have the decency to sit up straight when he tells me.
“I was hoping you’d, well, take a raincheck. I’ll pay next time!”
Next time? Will that be like last time, by chance? Six months ago this happened, and he finally made me whole on that miss two weeks ago. Barely apologized, too.
“You paid yourself.”