Page 70 of Unhinged

Simone nods but looks almost lost. Now I feel like I used her, which I guess I did. Leaning down, I say, “Wear a skirt.”

Before she answers, I go out the door, feeling great yet different. I just don’t know what the difference means.

Chapter 13

Shoving my new Greg name tag into the plastic slot of my apron, I thank the competent customer service clerk and head back to Hardware. On my way, Kip Dingleberry joins me as I yawn. “Rough night, Rod?” I grit my teeth. No matter how often I remind him not to call me that anymore, he ignores me.

“Somewhat.” The total opposite. When I got home, I couldn’t stop grinning until I ran into my mother in the kitchen, who questioned why I wasn’t home an hour before. Sorry, Mom. Your intern gives damn good head.

“Well, it’s about to get rougher. I need you to work an extra two hours.”

I stop walking, but he doesn’t. When he realizes it, and I don’t budge, he walks back to me as I say, “Can’t do it.”

“But you will.”

“I have two jobs.”

“This is your primary job. Is it not?”

“Yeah, but I can’t just not show up.” I could.

“This is non-negotiable. Chin up. You can have another break.” Fuck you and your Q-Tip head.

Damn it. I was looking forward to Simone’s skirt.

Kip walks away, and I flip him off, taking another break now. Someone else has been on my mind: Birdy. I’ve failed her in so many ways, but I need to at least face this part. I can’t live in denial any longer. Going out to the loading dock, I sit on the ramp, dangling my legs off the cement. It’s quiet back here today, and this call won’t be easy.

Putting it on speaker, I wait for her to answer, “Brandon Rhodes’s office.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s Rod.”

Shasta squeals, and I hold the phone further away. “Where are you?”

“Don’t worry about it right now. How’s Birdy?”

“Now, you ask?”

“I’m sorry. I’ve been trying to get my shit together. After my sister died, things fell apart for me.”

“Well, you can’t use that as an excuse for the rest of Birdy’s life. Man up.” Christ Almighty.

“Yeah, I know. That’s why I’m calling. My sister died of cystic fibrosis. Have you ever had Birdy tested for CF?”

“Um, probably.”

“You need to know for sure. Get it redone if you have to.”

“I’m not paying for that shit again.”

“Fine. I’ll come to Richmond and get her tested.”

Shasta clears her throat. “You have no right.”

“Don’t give me that shit! She could be a ticking time bomb!”

“You gave my daughter a terminal disease? Is it contagious?” What a dumb fuck.

“It’s genetic, and it’ll eventually kill her. You should get tested too. You could have the mutation. If she inherits only one mutated CFTR—”

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