Page 39 of Dizzy

“Why does she get her own room? That’s bullshit,” Parker explodes. “Putherdownstairs.”

Dizzy’s eyes widen, his expression going terrifyingly dark and still. Carson gasps.

Parker’s lips contort all sorts of ways as he tries to suck those words back down. “I mean, she could take the downstairs. Sir.”

“Her name’s Fay-Lee.”

“Fay-Leecould take the downstairs.”

“Fine. But you can’t play your video games all hours if she’s down there.”

Parker’s face is turning purple. “I could just go back to Steve’s.”

“You can’t. Mom and Steve went away for the weekend,” Carson offers, mouth full of pizza.

Parker’s on the verge of tears. I’d offer to take the sofa so as not to put him out. If he had been the slightest bit nice. Since he hasn’t, I’m watching this ride out.

“Why’s she need a room?”

“She’s a girl,” Carson says.

“It ain’t fair.” Parker glowers.

“You can roll with it for a few days.”

“Ain’t never a few days, is it?” Does Parker know something I don’t? Am I the most recent in a line of house mice? Or is he talking about something else entirely?

Dizzy’s jaw tightens, but he’s not mad. His brown eyes gentle. “Man has to take what comes.”

“That’s crap.”

“That’s life.” It’s a dickish thing to say, but the way Dizzy says it isn’t dismissive. More regretful.

Parker lets out a long-suffering sigh. “I’ll take the downstairs.” He pushes back from the table and stomps off, all sixty pounds, four-and-a-half feet of him.

Dizzy lowers his head. Carson uses the distraction to nab the mushrooms left in the box.

I attempt to lighten the mood. “If I’m causing trouble, you can always slip me a few hundred. I’ll get right out of your hair.”

Dizzy looks up. He’s bothered, but not by what I said. “That wasn’t about him sleepin’ downstairs.”

“Seemed like it was.”

“It wasn’t. He don’t like shit getting switched up on him. He’ll settle down.”

“If I find frogs in my bed, I cannot be held responsible for my actions.”

Dizzy’s brow knits.

“You didn’t seeThe Sound of Musiceither?”

“That movie with the kid who delivered telegrams on his bike and the dad drove a Mercedes-Benz 540K Cabriolet?”

“Yes?”

“Once when I was a kid. I don’t remember it much.” He shrugs and stands. “Come on. I’ll show you which room. Carson, you break down the boxes, and take ‘em out to the trash. Make sure you get the lid back on tight. That raccoon’s back.”

Carson’s eyes light up like it’s Christmas morning. “I’ll get the BB gun.”

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