Page 64 of Secondhand Smoke
“Damn right, I did. So I get all the say in what to do with it.”
Ron opened his mouth to argue with him but gave up before he could. He sighed and dropped his head. “You could use this to move to Bellevue. Or somewhere bigger where they’ll pay you better than a gig at The Pour House. There’s a million places better than here for you.”
Barrett’s delight plummeted. “Now why the hell would I want to leave this lovely place?”
“If it’s because of me”—Ron paused, taking a deep breath—“I don’t want to hold you back.”
“You give yourself too much credit, old man. I’ve got plenty of things here,” Barrett lied through a nonchalant, ribbing smirk.
“Like what?”
Leave it to his uncle to ask the hard-hitting questions.
Truthfully, nothing held Barrett there. His band would follow him out of there in a heartbeat. He could play his music anywhere, make money anywhere.
The only thing he could not take with him was the man sitting next to his cheap, half-finished bowl of cereal and looking guilty like he’d done something wrong. Ron had been his rock, his savior. But he was set in stone in this dead-end town. He was content with his home and his job, and staying there for the rest of his life. Barrett had zero chance of convincing him to follow him along into big cities and concert venues on some music-induced daydream.
So yeah, he didn’t plan on leaving any time soon. He wasn’t leaving the one person who’d been there the whole time.
Plus, he was finding there were some other things to look forward to here. Pretty, blue-eyed things.
“Call in sick and play hooky for a few days. Sleep in, take a trip . . . I don’t care. Just take a break.” Barrett left Ron there so he could take a shower and wash away the scent of pot.
He stared at the shower wall, with his back to the steaming hot water as it ran down his bare body.
Yeah, he was content staying here, making decent bucks handing over baggies in forests and picking out records for old ladies.
He wasperfectlyhappy playing Tuesday night gigs at The Pour House to a half-interested crowd.
In perpetuity.
25 - Nell
“I ain’t buying anything.”
Nell had thought that since Barrett’s van wasn’t in front of the house, like usual, no one was home. Instead of knocking, or wandering around until he arrived for their scheduled guitar lessons, she’d thought it would be nice to take a seat on the wooden steps after her bike ride and catch her breath.
As fast as she’d sat down, the front door had opened and nearly startled her off the top step.
Now, she stared at a man with deep, annoyed wrinkles glaring down at her through the screen door. He was half bald, with hair clinging to the edges of his scalp. Under gray, scruffy facial hair was a deep scowl.
She knew, immediately, that this was Ron.
Barrett talked so much about him, spoke so highly of him, that she felt she practically knew him. Yet this was her first time meeting him, and the image she’d created based on Barrett’s descriptions didn’t quite match the man. For one, she hadn’t expected him to be glaring at her the first time they met.
Nell stumbled to her feet and brushed her hands on her pants. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize anyone was home.”
His eyes narrowed. “You loiter on people’s property for fun?”
“No, no. I’m not loitering.” She wrung her hands in front of her, hating their clamminess. “Ron?”
That glare gave way to a hint of surprise, and his expression softened enough for her to catch it, not for long because he hid it away again. “Yes?”
“Hi, I’m Janelle Duncan,” she said, hoping her smile would ease him the way it had people in the past.
It did not.
Clearly, Barrett had never mentioned her.
