Page 11 of One Hell of a Deal

“What do you mean?”

I squirm, unsure of how much to share with her. “Growing up in the Sliver was hard. And my parents made things harder than they had to be.”

“I still don’t get it,” she says, turning toward me. “What does having shitty parents have to do with learning when to walk away.”

Gripping the steering wheel tighter, a fire builds in my guts. This is something I don’t like to talk about. “My dad was a drunk. He was always coming in and out of our lives, at his convenience. Like if he needed money or a place to stay. And my mother always let him. Every single time. And being the stupid kid that I was, every time he showed back up, I thought I could convince him to stay. I thought if I showed him my good grades, did well in sports, helped mom around the house, whatever, it would be enough to make him want to hang around. Again and again, he disappointed me. I took it as my failure. I wasn’t a good enough son for him to want to stay.”

“I don’t know much about humans, but it seems like he was the problem, not you,” she says, placing her fingertips on my shoulder, which sends a wave of unexpected emotion through me. I ignore it as best as I can.

“Anyway,” I say, shrugging my shoulders in an attempt to appear nonchalant, “I eventually concluded that there was no point in trying anymore. I learned to walk away. I haven’t seen the sonofabitch since I was fourteen. He’s most likely dead. He wasn’t one to let a case of beer stop him from getting in a car.”

She nods and sits back. I’m grateful she doesn’t press.

Staring at the road ahead, the fire burns hotter in my stomach. It happens every time I return to the Sliver. I look forward to the day I don’t have to go back.

“What about your mom?” Daphne's question snaps me out of my wandering mind. “What happened to her?”

“She died when I was seventeen,” I say flatly, hopeful to end this conversation. “Cancer.”

“Oh,” Daphne whispers. “I’m sorry.”

I don’t reply; my capacity for past drama is at its limit. Thankfully, she picks up on this and stays quiet. But after twenty minutes or so of nothing but road noises, she drops another question.

“What can you tell me about Garett’s mother? I’m a little nervous going in there blind.”

“She is quite the character, you will see. I promise there is absolutely nothing intimidating about her, though, so don’t worry.”

“But is she nice?”

“She’stoonice,” I tease. “But you’re just going to have to see for yourself.”

“You are no help,” she snaps, playfully slapping my arm. “The suspense is making me crazy.”

Glancing over at her, I can’t help but laugh at how frazzled she looks. She is clenching her jaw, and her eyes are wide. “Don’t worry, Daph. It’s not much longer until we are there, and you will see you are worried for no reason.”

If anything, I know she will find the Sliver depressing and unexciting, like I always have. Garrett’s mother, Lulu, however, will be the highlight of her experience there.

It’s never dull at Lulu’s.

Chapter Eleven: Daphne

The clouds rolled in the moment we turned off the highway, draping the already depressive landscape in drab shadows. We make a few turns, passing a worn-down gas station and a junk yard with dozens of rows of rusty, broken cars and farm equipment, before we arrive at the entrance to a fenced-in lot. The front gate is wide open, so we drive through, and I’m surprised there is no sign out front to let people know where they are.

“Welcome to the Sliver,” Max groans as he takes the first right turn. “They call this kind of place a trailer park.”

I take it all in. The houses all look the same for the most part. Long skinny rectangles, with a small porch, and a narrow patch of grass between each one. Some have collections of mechanical parts and tools, in piles surrounding their homes. And some yards are littered with kids' toys. Glancing over at Max, I am confused by his expression. His brow is furrowed and his jaw clenched. I wonder if coming home is harder than he lets on. It doesn’t seem so bad to me.

“It must have been fun growing up so close to the neighbors,” I say, in an effort to lift his mood.

He cocks his eyebrow and smirks at me. “This place is a dump. And it's okay if you think so too. You aren’t going to hurt my feelings.”

“Well, I don’t think it’s a dump,” I retort. “From what I understand, and I know my knowledge is limited, is that a lot of people struggle to get ahead, and many don’t even have a place to live. This seems like a good option to me.”

“You make me sound like a snob,” he says as he visibly deflates. “There are many wonderful communities like this. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with living in a trailer park. Butthisone in particular is the absolute pits.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means the people here are mostly drug addicts and alcoholics. And the kids who grow up here don’t have a chance to get out of this cycle of shit they’re born into. There is no room for dreams in this place. There is no way to get out.”

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