Page 49 of Dizzy

Neither boy remembers when their mom and I were together. For them, Steve’s always been there. I’ve always been a weekend dad. Until this past year or so.

“No. I can’t.” He sticks his nose up the air.

My blood starts flowin’. This child and I are gonna have a thrown down if he don’t check himself.

“He’s just mad he’s missin’ that football video game party,” Carson pipes up.

Parker huffs and casts his brother an evil glare. Well, guess that’s it, then.

“What party?”

“Carl Baker’s.” Carson’s bein’ real helpful. He gets to pick the radio station when we get in the truck.

“Who’s Carl Baker?”

“He’s a kid from school.”

“Shut up,” Parker mutters, but you can tell, he wants the story told.

“Carl Baker is having a birthday party with video games, and Parker was supposed to go, but Mom said he couldn’t go since she couldn’t take him.”

“Why can’t I take him?”

“She said—” Carson suddenly runs out of steam. He looks to Parker. Parker scowls and stares a hole in the carpet.

I sigh. I’m sure this has something to do with how I’m a greasy gearhead and petty criminal with no redeeming qualities.

“Carl Baker got money?” I ask.

I do, too, now that Steel Bones Construction pays dividends to the patched-in members, but for Sharon, it was always about looks. Back in the day, she wanted me ‘cause my tattoos and my cut pissed off her daddy. Eventually, they pissed her off, too.

Irony’s a son-of-a-bitch.

“Yeah. They live in Gracy’s Corner.” Parker toes a loose string in the carpet.

This is bullshit. There’s no shame in honest work and dirty hands. What kind of man is he gonna be if starts believin’ other people’s opinions of him are worth a damn? That people who live behind gates in big houses are better than other folks?

This is the regret. I don’t regret marrying Sharon. I love my boys. Without her, I wouldn’t have ‘em. Period. And I sure as shit don’t regret the divorce. I hate not having my kids all the time, but as the years go on, Sharon has me “watch them” more and more, so the time’s fairly even now. I actually have ‘em more than fifty percent these days.

But I deeply regret the fucked-up shit they’re learning. The Carl Bakers of the world—and their fine, upstanding parents—ain’t worth a dime more or less than any other man. Despite what Sharon and Steve think.

“You want to go to this party?”

Parker raises his head. “Yeah.”

“You give a shit that I take you lookin’ like this?” I watch his face real careful.

He snorts. “You’re dressed.” That’s my boy.

“When is it?”

“Three o’clock.”

I check my phone. We can pick up the coyote urine and get him there on time. We need to get a move on, though.

I head into the changing room. No one else’s been in or out, so it’s easy enough to figure out which curtain Fay-Lee’s behind. It’s more than a little satisfying to yank the curtain aside and hear her yelp. She pulls a dress up to her bare tits. Like I ain’t seen ‘em before. Like they ain’t burned into my brain.

“What are you doin’?” she hisses. Her cheeks and chest flame bright red. I love it.

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