Page 77 of Dizzy

“I like Story and Crista.”

“Not Harper.” He’s teasing me.

“I don’t like lawyers.”

“Smart.”

“Yes, I am.” I rest my head on his shoulder and tilt to ease the pressure on my butt cheeks. The ground is hard. “I wouldn’t mind an office job. Or a job in a store. Where you work with people, and it’s okay to chat.”

“I got an idea.”

“Yeah, what?”

“Lemme talk to Big George. I don’t want to get your hopes up if it don’t pan out.”

“You’re gonna help me get a job?”

“Yeah.”

There are shouts in the distance. Carson. But it’s rambunctious, not cause for alarm. Sounds like the boys are heading back this way.

“Okay. I’ll stay. What will the boys say?”

“They seem to like you fine.”

“They do? Parker doesn’t seem too happy.”

Dizzy lumbers to his feet and stretches his back. “He’s got some shit goin’ on. Don’t have to do with you. He likes you fine.”

“Could have fooled me.”

Dizzy snorts. “I brought a woman named Faith home about two years ago. They didn’t take to each other. Parker told me he’d sleep out in the garage ‘til she was gone. I do believe he would have done it.”

“There they are.” I catch flashes of neon green through the trees. They come tumbling into the clearing, ruddy-cheeked and laughing, talking over each other. Apparently, they caught a salamander, and it got away.

They’re happy in a way that my sisters’ kids never are. Confident. Carefree.

They want us all to race back to the clubhouse, but Dizzy says I’m not a good enough rider. He may be right. He tells the boys they can race each other, but they stay with us, circling and looping and waiting in the trail when they get too far ahead.

They want to go to a place called Duck’s Diner for lunch, and Dizzy agrees like it’s not a thing. We only get sandwiches, and it still costs thirty bucks with tip.

Afterward, we stop by the kid’s elementary school and let them run off some more energy on the playground. Parker’s a brand-new kid. In the outdoors and sunshine, he’s finally shaking off whatever’s been weighing him down. When I show them how I can flip over the monkey bars, he even flashes me a shy smile, identical to his daddy’s.

That kid’s got big worries. I recognize the slump in his shoulders. It’s a cryin’ shame. He has everything he could possibly need, and still, the world’s messin’ with his mind somehow. It ain’t fair, but it sure is how life goes.

Dizzy and I are sitting side-by-side, and I’m tucked as close to him as I can get. I’ve got my arms wrapped around my knees, and he’s manspreading with his arm resting on the back of the bench.

We’re alone except for two mothers with their little girls. They steer clear of Parker and Carson, sticking to the swings, and their mothers steer clear of us. They’ve got their heads together, casting Dizzy dirty looks.

Could be ‘cause even without his cut and his ride, he’s every inch an outlaw biker. But I guess it could also be ‘cause he’s so much older than me. These past few weeks, we’ve stayed home or gone to the clubhouse. We haven’t been in public together much at all.

“They’re talking shit about us.” I jerk my chin toward the women. Dizzy’s had his eyes on either the boys or me. I don’t think he noticed.

He sniffs. “They’re talkin’ shit about me.”

“They should find somethin’ better to do.”

“Let ‘em have their fun.” Dizzy stretches his legs and raises his face to soak in the sun. Then he winds his arm under my braid and drapes it around my neck.

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