Page 24 of Fury

“What the hell is this? Who’s he?” A tall, pretty, dark haired lady stood in front of us as we got off the bike.

“He’s my kid,” came his reply.

My kid.Heat flared over my face and down my chest.

The woman’s face suddenly turned ugly, and she exploded like firecrackers on the Fourth of July. Nasty words erupted from her mouth, the same kind of words that Mommy always used when she complained about men.

She didn’t want me.

“Meghan, come on!”

“How the hell do you know he’s yours?”

“I just know,” he said.

“That’s bullshit.”

“I couldn’t just leave him. She’d dumped him at a neighbor’s house and took off. Wasn’t right.” He glanced at me. “I couldn’t just leave him.”

I had his dark eyes, thick lashes, dark wavy hair, and a dimple in my chin just like his. He later showed me a photo of himself at my age with his dad. Yep, the three of us looked alike. Same long nose, same moody facial expression. It wasn’t science, but it was enough for him. For me too.

“Well, you can do it on your own,” said Meghan. “You are not bringing your bastard into my house. Not under my roof with my girls.”

“They’re my girls too, you know!” he shot back.

“Oh I know. Do you know?” She charged off.

“Aw, come on, Meghan! Come on, baby. What’s one more mouth to feed?” He stalked off after her, the two of them yelling and lots more bad words splatting everywhere like muddy rain drops.

I stumbled. My back hurt, my legs and arms ached, my head pounded. A young lady took my hand and led me inside a building that was more warehouse than house. We walked into a kitchen with big old fashioned dingy white appliances.

“You hungry, honey?”

I shook my head. My stomach was cramping something awful. “Bathroom please.”

Miss Sally always made sure I said please for everything otherwise I’d get me a dark look along with atsk tsk, a lecture about ungrateful children, and a stinging pinch in my side to drive her point home. I’d learned fast.

The lady took me to a bathroom, turning on the light switch for me. I closed the door. Everything we’d eaten on the road came up and out of me. I cleaned up after myself and scrubbed my hands and face with plenty of soap and cold water.

She knocked. “You okay in there?”

I opened the bathroom door. “Tired.”

“How about you lie down for a bit, huh? Take a nap. They might be a while.”

“Yes, please.”

She opened another door. There was a small room with no window, but a big bed with a bright blue cover, a small wooden table with bad words carved on it, and a crooked lamp. I took off my shoes and socks and fell face down on that bed. The bed cover smelled clean and powdery. Not musty like Miss Sally’s or dirty like Mommy’s.

I slept.

When I woke up, the room was in darkness, and I was alone. I scrounged around for my socks and shoes, put them on, and pressed down the hallway. Where was Dad? He didn’t forget me, did he? No way. He’d brought me all the way here to be with him.

I entered a big, noisy room. Men wore leather vests like my father’s. A lot of them had really long hair, beards and mustaches, big jewelry that looked scary and mean. They played cards, pool, drinking from bottles, watching TV.

“Hey, who’s the kid?”

“He’s Fuse’s,” answered another voice.

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