“So am I.”
We come to a stop in the middle of the hallway. The doors to the parking lot are on the left and the cafeteria is to the right. I turn to face her and for a moment we just look at each other. Then we start talking at the same time.
“I really should—”
“Would you like—”
We both stop mid-sentence and I can’t help wonder what she was about to ask me. Katrina laughs and shakes her head.
“Of course.” She sticks out her hand and I clasp it, liking how it feels in mine. “Thank you again.”
“Don’t mention it.”
I reluctantly let her go. She flashes a smile and turns toward the cafeteria.
“Hey, Katrina?” I find myself calling after her and she immediately swings around.
“Trin,” she corrects me. “Everyone calls me Trin.”
I grin.
It suits her.
I close the distance between us.
“Trin,” I echo. “Can I take you out for dinner sometime?”
She opens and closes her mouth a few times, which is all kinds of cute.
“I’m…uh…flattered,” she finally manages and it’s not a promising start. “My life is a bit chaotic. I recently moved here, and with my sister back at work, and my dad…well, you’ve been witness to that. I just don’t know if—”
“I get it. No need to explain,” I stop her as I hold out my hand, palm up. “Can I have your phone?”
Her face expresses her confusion.
“My phone?”
“Yeah. I want to leave you my number so if at any time you feel you might have room for a new friend, feel free to give me a call. No pressure.”
She regards me for a moment and then pulls her phone from her pocket, handing it to me. I fight to keep the smug grin off my face as I enter my digits and hand it back.
“See you around, Trin.”
She bites her bottom lip to hide her smile.
“You too, Bodhi.”
When I crawl behind the wheel of my Jimmy, I’m feeling pretty good about the way this morning turned out.
Chapter 4
Trin
“Mom!”
Tuck comes running into the kitchen where I’m propped up against the fridge, my ass on the floor amid shards of broken plates. He must’ve heard the crash.
“Are you okay?”
Pops is looming by the sink, his fists clenched by his sides.
“It’s fine, kiddo. I…slipped. Fell on my ass and dropped the damn dishes.” I reach up a hand. “Help me up, will you?”
My boy, already as tall as I am, hoists me to my feet while I keep an eye on my father. Tuck, apparently is watching me.
“If you fell on your ass then how come one side of your face is red?”
My hand automatically comes up and I wince when I touch my swollen jaw.
“I must’ve bumped it.”
His eyes slide to my father, who hasn’t moved yet and is still glaring at me.
“What’s wrong with Gramps?”
“Hey, you have to hustle if you wanna catch the bus. You’re already on thin ice at school, you can’t be late.”
The same suspicious glance he aimed at Pops is now directed at me. The kid’s too smart. I’m sure he sees right through my attempt at diversion, but he still heads down the hallway and grabs the backpack he dropped at the base of the stairs.
“Sure you’re all right?” he asks again, looking back at me.
I plaster a smile on my face, grinding my teeth not to flinch at the pain.
“You bet.”
He casts one last glance at his grandpa before walking out the door.
Shit.
I turn to my father and hold up my hands, palms out. I’m trying to put on a calm front but inside I’m still shaking.
“Pops, why don’t you sit down at the table and I can grab you some orange juice.”
“I. Want. Coffee.”
He grinds the words between clenched teeth.
He can’t have caffeine with the blood pressure medication he’s on and it was easier for all of us to switch over. We’ve gotten used to drinking the decaffeinated stuff, and if either Vic or I need a jolt of the real stuff we go out and grab one at the coffeeshop on Main Avenue. Unfortunately we ran out yesterday and I forgot to pick any up. Earlier I offered him decaf tea instead, but that didn’t go over well. He accused me of trying to poison him. Came after me when I carried the dirty dishes to the kitchen, grabbed my arm, swung me around, and backhanded me across the face.
I’ve read enough to know these mood swings and personality changes are part of the scope of dementia, but I hadn’t expected the violence.
Never in my entire life has Pops ever lifted a hand to me or my sister. Not ever. But this morning he hit me so hard I hit the floor.
“Okay, tell you what, why don’t I give Vic a call and ask her to pick some up on her way home tomorrow.”
I’m shocked to find myself backing into the hallway to grab my phone from my bag just so I can keep an eye on him. From one moment to the next I no longer feel safe around the man who’d always represented the epitome of safety to me, and it breaks my heart.
After leaving a message—she wasn’t answering her phone—I grab the remote and find Grand Torino. I recorded it the other day when I was scrolling after Pops went to bed. Then I sit down on the stairs and wait.
It takes a few minutes for his attention to focus on the screen instead of me and slowly I see his body relax. Eventually he ends up on the couch, but I don’t move until I hear his soft snores, indicating he dozed off for a nap.
“Hey, Tuck. How was school?”
He kicks off his shoes, as usual, leaving them in the middle of the entryway and tossing his backpack halfway up the stairs.
“Fine.”
His eyes narrow on me and his mouth thins. I tried to cover the evidence with makeup as best I could but, judging from the look on Tuck’s face, the bruising is still visible. He doesn’t say anything but walks to the fridge and pulls the doors open, just standing there contemplating the contents like he does every day when he comes home.
“Bud, pick something and close the damn door, will ya?”
“We’ve got nothing to eat,” he grumbles, slamming it shut. My face forgotten for the moment.
“There’s cheese, smoked ham, you can make a sandwich.”
“Too much work. Can I have Pop-Tarts?”
He throws me puppy eyes, complete with pout, something that isn’t half as cute as it was when he was still my little boy.
“Gramps ate the last one before he went down for his nap. Why don’t I make you a grilled ham and cheese sandwich instead?”
“Fine.”
He stomps off to the living room and plops down on the couch, flicking the TV on.
Wonderful. His attitude hasn’t improved since the incident at the school a few weeks ago. He was lucky he got off with a three-day in-school suspension, but he still won’t talk about what happened. I’ve tried.
I grab the cheese and ham from the fridge and slap Tuck’s sandwich together with jerky movements. I feel like I’m walking on eggshells around everyone these days. Vic, who’s still on my case about not locking the door, I’m worried about what’s going on with Tuck, and now Pops is getting violent. This move was supposed to improve everyone’s life, but instead things seem to be going downhill. I’m starting to wonder if I made the right decision coming here.