Page 26 of Spike

“Where was yourdad?”

“Who knows?Probably dead or in jail by now. He certainly wasn’t around to help raise me.When my mom was having a bad spell or locked up I’d be passed around amongwhatever friend or family member was available. I slept on more couches, lumpyguest beds, and in sleeping bags on floors than I can count. By the time I wasfifteen it was ‘three hots and a cot’ seven days a week, three hundred andsixty five days a year.”

“And then your motherdied?”

“She committedsuicide while I was serving my third year. An intentional overdose of themultitude of pills she’d been prescribed.”

Trixie’s eyesfilled with tears. “Oh, my Lord, I’m so sorry.”

“There had beenmultiple attempts over the years, but this time she succeeded. A temporarysolution with permanent effects.”

Trixie placed herhands on mine, and a charge of electricity surged through me. It was the firsttime our skin had made contact and I was already hungry for more.

I sighed. “I hopeI didn’t spoil our good time.”

“No,” she said,reassuringly. “I asked, and I’m really glad you told me. You’re so easy to talkto and the more you tell me about yourself, the more I feel I want to reveal toyou. That probably doesn’t make any sense, but—”

“You don’t have toexplain. I know exactly what you’re talking about.”

I couldn’t keep myeyes off of her. I tried my best not to stare, but I could barely believe shewas actually sitting across the table from me.

“I looked for you,ya know,” I said, changing the subject.

“What?”

“After I got outof Lakewood. The second I had access to a computer I started searching for you.I combed every social media platform, job link database, and school reunionsite I could find looking for, and tracking down every Trixie I could find inthe country.”

“Seriously?” sheasked.

“Oh, shit. Doesthat creep you out?”

“No, no,” she saidreassuringly. “I just can’t believe you even remembered me, let alone lookedfor me.”

“Are you kidding?Of course, I remembered you. How could I possibly forget?”

Trixie studied myface. “What is it with you?”

“What do youmean?”

“How is it thatyou see me so differently than everyone else?”

“Do I?”

She nodded.

“How so?” I asked.

“Most people treatme like a fragile, sheltered, little pastor’s kid. The model child, placed ondisplay for all to see. The living example of my parents’ stellar Christianchild-rearing.”

“I didn’t know youwere a pastor’s kid when I met you.”

“Yeah, but youknow now and that hasn’t changed the way you talk to me. The way you jokearound and tease me. The only other person that’s ever done that is Gemma, andshe’s been my closest friend forever.”

“Are you tightwith your family?”

“With my brothers,yes. My parents have absolutely no interest in getting to know who I am andnever have.”

“How is thatpossible? You’re amazing.”

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