Sway by Kat Spears Page B

tried to wait patiently for him to make his move.
    â€œTwenty-one to buy alcohol is absurd,” he said, and I covertly rolled my eyes. At the rate this game was going, I’d be an old fart myself before either of us reached five hundred points. “By the time I was twenty-one, I had a wife and a job at a glass-cutting shop. And I sure as hell was drinking before that. That’s how I ended up with a damn kid in the first place.”
    â€œI told you,” I said, “if you want me to bring you some beer and whiskey I will, but I’m not going down to that damn VFW hall again. Those guys in the funny hats creeped me out. Why can’t you drink at a normal place—like an Applebee’s or something?”
    â€œFirst of all,” he said as he studied the cards already in play on the table while I drummed my fingers with impatience, “I’m not letting you bring me beer and whiskey here. If you got caught, we’d both get in trouble. Second of all, I wouldn’t be caught dead in some place called Applebee’s. Sounds like some damn queer joint.” Mr. Dunkelman’s social sense had halted development sometime during WWII.
    â€œYou sound like an old fart,” I said, and he swore under his breath as I put down another thirty points’ worth of cards.
    My phone buzzed with a call from Joey so I answered it while Mr. D swore at me again for distracting him from the game. “What’s up?” I said into the phone.
    â€œWhere are you?” Joey asked, her voice tight with strain.
    â€œI’m at the Sunrise Assisted Living place.”
    â€œThe what?”
    I enunciated clearly: “Sunrise Assisted Living.”
    â€œWhat the hell are you doing there?” she asked.
    â€œIt’s a long story.” I was having a difficult time managing my oversized hand of cards as I pressed the phone to my ear with my shoulder. “What’s up?”
    â€œI need you to come and get me,” she said, and from the muffled sound of her voice, I knew she was chewing her thumbnail with worry. Her voice had a strange echoing quality to it, as if she were calling from inside a well.
    â€œWhere are you?” I asked.
    â€œAt the moment, I’m locked in the bathroom at my house. I need you to come get me. Right. Now.”
    When I pulled up at the curb in front of her house ten minutes later, Joey came trotting out the front door and hurried down the concrete steps to the sidewalk. Joey’s house was part of the historic downtown area, one of the large brick homes that had been divided into apartments for student rentals. I had seen the inside of the first-floor apartment only a half dozen times in all the years I had known Joey.
    I climbed out of the car and leaned one arm along the roof of it so I could get a clear view of the glass storm door, where a man stood watching us. Clad only in a white undershirt and faded jeans, he wore his dark hair combed back off his high forehead. The white T-shirt strained against his beer belly and accented his budding man tits.
    Joey’s eyes were red-rimmed as if she had been crying, and a storm clouded her face. She hugged her sweater tightly around herself, and from the size of her bag I knew she wasn’t planning to come home for a few nights.
    The man and I watched each other for a minute, him eyeing me with suspicion and anger, me studying his face carefully so I wouldn’t forget it.
    â€œWho’s that?” I asked.
    â€œRoy Fucking Finnegan,” Joey spat. “Mom’s latest creepy, dumb-ass boyfriend.”
    â€œYou okay?” I asked as she yanked open the passenger door.
    â€œGet me out of here,” was all she said.
    â€œThat his car?” I gestured to the yellow Chrysler at the curb. Joey only nodded, her lips pressed together in a crimped line. I took a moment to capture a picture of the license plate before we drove away.
    After we stopped at the corner grocery store