Page 52 of Dirty Secret

CHAPTER 18

Max

5 months later

"What's the weather forecast in Mexico?"

I stared at the lump of blankets on Heidi's bed but remained at a safe distance across the room.

"I'm not going to Mexico. What do I care what the forecast will be?" There's a rough edge to Heidi's muffled voice.

"Come on. You have to help me out. What sort of dad am I if I can't tell stupid dad jokes?"

A loud groan rose from the bed and seconds later, the comforter flipped away. An aroma filled the air, and I covered my nose—a smell so powerful that my eyes began to water, and I couldn't escape it. My girlfriend who has been marinating for three days in ratty, unwashed flannel pajamas with flying donuts on them was making me cry.

"I don't know, what's the weather in Mexico, Max?" Heidi lay there and stared at the ceiling.

"Chili today and hot tamale! Huh. What do you think?" I added to the ridiculousness of the joke by shaking my hands, jazz-hands style.

"Wow. That's terrible. And not only that, but it might even be a little offensive. I'm a senator's daughter, I know what might come off as objectionable."

I stiffened. The last thing I wanted to remind her of were her parents.

She flung her arm over her eyes and began to wail. Shit. I messed this all up.

Her father's trial ended on Monday. Heidi watched as he was driven off to jail. Her mother's hearing was scheduled for next month, and she was currently on house arrest.

Heidi tried to visit her mom several times, but she refused to see her daughter. By Monday evening, Heidi had locked herself in her room only ordering from Bake & Takeand calling in sick to work.

She sat up abruptly, causing the bed to rattle and another puff of Heidi's essence burned my nostrils.

"It's Thanksgiving, isn't it?" she asked.

"Yes, that's why I think it's time to get out of bed and come downstairs. Preferably, after you've showered," I whispered the last part under my breath.

I loved Heidi, and the last half of this year had been the greatest of my life. But even I had my limits—scent limits. As in, I could only get so close to someone who smelled like a week-old trash can.

"I'm going to be an orphan, Max. This will be the last Thanksgiving I will have with a parent. A parent who won't even see me." Tears fell again, and I raced toward her. I held my breath as my arms wrapped around her shaking frame.

"Technically, you won't be an orphan."

With a large intake of breath, she pulled back. "I'll have no parents in two weeks. That's means I'm an orphan."

I gasped for air only to swallow her rancid breath.

When Kat was a baby, I had changed many a terrible diaper. Her entire backside—up to her neck—was once covered in poop after a long car ride. I had to change and clean her in a convenience store parking lot in the height of summer using only napkins from a fast-food restaurant. But never had the smell been so foul that I gagged and wondered if I would make it to the bathroom in time to throw up . . . until this moment.

I turned my head until the nausea subsided. Then I pushed back, sitting on the far end of her bed and out of her stink radius.

"Number one, you're an adult. And number two, your parents aren't dead. Those would both have to be true for you to be an orphan."

There was a knock on the door.

"Go away," Heidi shouted just as I yelled, "Come in."

The door creaked, and my father popped his head. A limp smile curved his lips. "Would it be okay if a regretful old man came in to . . . oh God, what's that smell?" My father's hand covered his nose.

I stared at my dad shaking my head. Now was not the time to inform Heidi that she required a bath, maybe two . . . okay, three for good measure while her clothes were incinerated.

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