Even as the thought crossed my mind, I found myself holding onto the business card when Jimmy went to take it from me. I knew better, but I held onto it anyway.
I had no idea why.
Yes, you do.
I released the card like it was burning my fingers, but fortunately, Jimmy was already too far gone to notice my momentary lapse in judgement.
“Fucker,” Jimmy muttered as he eyed the card before taking a swig of the beer in his hand. It wasn’t even nine in the morning, but he was already on his second bottle. But it didn’t surprise me. The alcohol likely helped dull his need for his next fix and while most people would be stumbling around after a handful of beers, Jimmy had been drinking for so long now, it took a lot of alcohol to dull his senses.
Which meant I rarely found any peace until late into the evenings.
I lived for those moments, because with a very drunk Jimmy snorting and shooting drugs all night and my mom and stepdad tucked away in their bed long before the stroke of midnight, I usually had a few hours where I could sneak off to my studio to work.
Well, work wasn’t really the right word for it.
Escape.
I internally sighed at my inner voice’s suggestion.
“You tell the piece of shit pig anything?” Jimmy asked as he turned away from me.
“Nothing to tell,” I said quietly.
“Damn straight,” my brother muttered as he eyed me over his shoulder approvingly. He took another tug on the bottle. The long-necked, dark brown bottle was nearly empty by the time he lowered it. “Asshole’s got it out for me and Uncle Curtis,” he added as he wiped at his mouth with his sleeve. I stiffened when he turned the business card over. “What’s this number?” Jimmy asked, his voice dropping as his mouth pulled into an even tighter frown.
I thought about lying and saying the sheriff’s business number had changed and it was the new one, but since there was a possibility Jimmy could find out the truth, I knew it would likely just come back to bite me in the ass.
“It’s his cell phone number,” I said.
Jimmy’s eyes went impossibly dark. His gaze held mine as he downed what was left of the beer. A shiver traveled up my spine. Maybe he’d do me a favor and punch my other eye hard enough so I’d have an excuse to not have to see any future blows coming for a while.
“What’s he doing giving you his personal number?” Jimmy asked as he stalked toward me. He was in my space before I could answer and I knew better than to cut him off during his tirade. “Maybe you asked for it?” Jimmy mused. “Maybe you ain’t as cured as you’ve been tellin’ Mom and Reverend Page you are.”
“He gave it to me because of Mr. Pascal,” I blurted, sending a silent apology to the older man next door for using him to get out of what was sure to be another altercation that would end up with Sheriff Wells getting a call before he even made it back to the station.
“Why?” Jimmy snapped. Luckily, he’d overlooked my interruption.
My muddled mind worked to come up with a reasonable explanation. “They’re friends and he knows I help Mr. Pascal out once in a while, and he wanted me to call him if I noticed Mr. Pascal’s oxygen tank running low like last time.”
I doubted Jimmy even had a clue what I was talking about, since he had no interactions with Mr. Pascal whatsoever. He wouldn’t know that the old man’s nurse wasn’t always as alert as she should be and often forgot to check the tank regularly so she’d know when a new one would be needed.
I wasn’t sure if Jimmy bought my story or not because the sound of our mother’s voice rang out and Jimmy instantly pulled back from me and put a few feet between us. He also lowered the bottle of beer until it was discreetly tucked behind him.
“Ford, did you finish emptying the dishwasher?” my mother called from the top of the stairs.
“I’m just about to do it,” I said.
Even from the bottom of the stairs, I could hear my mother sigh in the put-out way she so often did. My belly clenched at the sound.
“It’ll just take a minute,” I offered. “And I’ll, um, start the car so it’s warm by the time you’re ready.”
I heard her descend the stairs. When she came into view, her flinty eyes fell on me. “I want that glass cleaned up,” she said frostily. “And since you broke it, you’re going to pay to fix it.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I had no doubt somewhere deep inside my mother knew I hadn’t broken the window, just like I hadn’t fallen or run into the wall or any one of the many excuses I’d so often used to explain the bruises on my body. She hadn’t even asked me this time what had caused the new wounds. She’d merely told me not to roughhouse with my brother inside the house. Most times, Jimmy was careful not to strike me in front of her. But on the rare occasions that she was in the room when he lashed out at me for some infraction, she still called it the same thing.