Page 79 of Dizzy

Chaos was fixated on his own business. I was lucky he agreed to give me a ride. He didn’t ask me shit but for a blow job one night, and then he passed out before I had to come up with an answer.

I never told the ladies at the clubhouse. I needed them for cover, so I kept it light. No one wants to hang out with a downer. And my story is a downer.

But I’ve wanted to tell. I’ve wanted so bad for someone to care enough to ask.

Dizzy’s body is tensing beside me every second I don’t speak. I think if there were a villain in my story, he’d go after him. I hold that thought tight, pack it away to take it out and admire it later.

“The house I grew up in is like the old lady who lived in a shoe. Mama has six kids, and except for Robbie who left for Florida, all of us live at home. I mean, we’ve all moved out at some point, but shit falls through. And Mama’s house is big. She got it from my Gram when she passed. I’ve got—”

I take a second to make sure my counts right. Folks are always coming and going.

“Three nephews and four nieces who live with us. Dee’s oldest lives with her baby daddy’s parents, and Carol’s oldest moved in with her boyfriend.”

I pause for breath. Dizzy’s following. Listening. It’s heady, having this huge, scary man hanging on my every word.

“So it’s crowded. Hectic. Everyone doubles up. Or triples up.”

“You wanted space.” It’s a question.

I shake my head. “I was accustomed to it. I don’t . . . didn’t know another way.” Not until the week camping alone under the stars. Now that I’m forgetting what it feels like to freeze to death, it might be one of my top memories of all time.

“Anyway, we have a shed out back. No windows. It’s made of corrugated metal on a concrete slab. We keep the push mower in it, busted bikes, stuff like that. There’s a padlock on the door ‘cause of the mower.”

Dizzy’s jaw tics under his beard. If I were any further from him, I wouldn’t be able to tell. I love that tic. I barely resist reaching out and touching it. To make sure it’s real. But I got to get this out.

“Kayden’s boy needed a tire for a secondhand 10-speed a neighbor gave him. I thought there was one on Dee’s old bike. I went to check the shed. I was in the back, rummaging behind some boxes. Someone didn’t realize I was in there and locked the door. By the time I hollered, they were gone.”

Dizzy sucks in a breath.

“No one noticed I was gone for over two days. It was September. There was a heat wave. I almost died from dehydration.”

“Fuck.” He tugs me so I’m sitting on his lap, so he can hold me. The ladies across the playground recoil.

I see what he means. I don’t care what they think. I like where I am, these steady arms, the heat of this solid chest.

“I was missing for fifty-three hours. I was in what the doctors called hypovolemic shock when they found me. They had to call an ambulance and everything.”

A thought occurs to me. “That bill’s gonna be a doozy. Gonna be tough for them to collect.” I smile, bitter. “They were real nice at the hospital. The paramedics were dicks, though. They thought I had OD’d out there. No one has much patience for junkies anymore in Dalton.”

Dizzy’s grip tightens. His arms are so strong. He could’ve gotten out of that shed. I hold up a hand, examine my fingers. I ripped out most of my nails trying to claw my way out. I couldn’t get the metal to give an inch.

“I took care of all those kids. Their boyfriend’s kids even. I made food. Patched up boo boos. Washed clothes. Tied shoes. I shared a goddamn room with Keira. She slept like a baby, didn’t even ask where I was. No one noticed I was gone for more than two days. They only found me ‘cause my nephew got sick of waitin’ for me to show up with a tire and came lookin’ for one himself.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Yeah. As soon as I was discharged and I got my strength back, I left.”

“I’m so fuckin’ sorry, baby.”

And he’s not just saying that. He’s so stiff his biceps are twitching. I glance up at him. His expression is stern like he gets when he’s had words with the boys. Like he’s hiding what he’s feeling in order to take care of business.

I cuddle closer, breathe in the smell of oil and a hint of the hot sauce he put on his sandwich at lunch.

I love this man.

I don’t care if it’s too soon, and he’s too old, and I’m on thin ice with his club. I know my mind.

“I hear what you’re sayin’ about folks moving in different directions, and I’m sure that’s true and all for them, but that’s not how I see things,” I say.

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