Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 119454 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 597(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 398(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119454 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 597(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 398(@300wpm)
“No.”
“Then you ain’t thirsty. This lady here is English.”
“Hi again, English. That’s an unusual name.” He laughed lightly, as if he’d said something original, and she’d never heard such a thing before.
“Yes, I suppose it is. My father named me. He saw it in a magazine,” she murmured.
“You look awfully well put together… speakin’ like that and such.” He laughed once again, and the sound turned Axel’s stomach. Isn’t that great? That micro-aggression shit is at play, right before our eyes. “You an attorney or somethin’?” Daddy questioned. “Axel hire you for my case?”
“No. I’m a book curator.”
“Book curator? What in the hell is that?”
“Daddy, English ain’t doing any interviews tonight, and she ain’t here for you, all right? She’s here for me. She’s my girlfriend.” He tapped his ashes in the tray, and blew smoke out the side of his mouth.
Daddy didn’t say anything else after that. He could only imagine the thoughts racing through the old bastard’s head, and he was sure they were nothing short of ridiculous. Axel got a glimpse of his father sitting back there in the shadows. He was hunched down, cradling his cigarette like a precious baby, smelling like fresh mud and old sweat.
English cracked a window for a minute or two, in spite of it being chilly outside. He knew why. Daddy’s nerves must’ve been all torn up like a puppy that had gotten a hold of a newspaper. He sat there in his own mental slop, perspiring like a pig.
“Tammy wants to drop the charges, but the prosecutors are tryna make trouble for us. Probably use me as an example. It’s an election year ’nd all. Headline news.”
Axel rolled his eyes. “Daddy, I doubt anyone gives a crap about your case. They have bigger fish to fry. Like murderers and big drug ring stings.” Axel turned on the radio. That damn Hall and Oates was playing again. He turned the station… and there it was again. A flush of heat came over him. He turned off the radio altogether, but not before catching English looking at him, her eyes wide as saucers.
“You can just drop me off when we get to the house, son. Don’t worry about visiting or nothing like that. I need to get some sleep.” The old man yawned. “Sure as hell couldn’t get any in there, I tell ya that much. Bunch of fools hoopin’ and hollerin’. Crazy bastards.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll get plenty of rest tonight. It’s ’spose to rain, Daddy. That’s good sleeping weather.”
“Mmm hmm… can you hurry up? I’m thirsty, and you ain’t got shit in this truck for me. So much for a greeting!” He laughed, though Axel knew he meant every word. English’s grip around her purse tightened again… “Not tryna rush you, son, but you seem to be driving a little slow is all. If I had a big ol’ truck like this, I’d be flooring it just for fun! I used to have a rare Ford Mustang that went—”
“Do you know how much it cost me to bail you out?”
“Tammy told me. I ’spose you want to be paid back? You know I’m on a fixed income, and you’ve got that company and all, so—”
“Naw, I don’t expect you to pay me back, Daddy. I just expect a little appreciation is all. You’re talking pretty slick right now, especially to someone who just shelled out thousands of dollars on your behalf. I was busy tonight, too.”
“Busy doin’ what? Being a butt?” The old man cackled, slapping his knee.
“No, Tommy, I was busy at dinner tonight with Mama. We were kinda having a family gathering of sorts, a little shindig, and had the night all planned out. Mama even spent two hours looking for her deck of cards to play some games, and she went out and bought that good popcorn for us to sit ’round the TV and watch a little something after we ate dessert, her famous apple pie with the flaky crust.”
“Your mother always tries to show off and impress folks. She cares too much about what other people think.” The old man made a show of clearing his throat.
“You’re one to talk. I don’t even know who the hell you are, you lie so damn much.”
“Axel… don’t,” English said in almost a whisper.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?! Look, if you just bailed me out to get a slap on the back and for me to kiss your ass, then you can turn right on ’round and take my ass back to jail, you son of a bitch!”
“I’m a son of a bitch, all right, but that bitch ain’t Mama, motherfucker. I’m sure you can do the math.”
“Axel, please.”
“Tommy, you messed up everything, as usual. Just like mama said. She was mad as hell tonight, and rightfully so.”