Page 53 of A Real Goode Time

And, of course, at that exact moment, my phone rang.

And who was it?

My dad.

Dammit.

I hesitated and then glanced at Torie.

She shrugged. “Don’t mind me. I’ll just be over here minding my own business.

I chuckled. “Yeah, well, you’re about to get an earful.” I accepted the call and turned it onto speaker and tossed the phone up onto the dash so I could drive hands-free. “Hey, Dad.”

“RJ, how are you son?” Dad’s deep, pack-and-a-half-a-day voice.

I hated that nickname. “I’m all right, but I’d be better if you called me Rhys. How are you?”

“Fuck that, boy. Been callin’ you RJ since you were a day old. You think I’m gonna stop now, you best think again.”

I half sighed, half laughed. “Yeah, yeah. I know how you are, you stubborn old sonofabitch.”

“Sounds like you’re far away.”

“You’re on speaker, I’m in the car.”

“Where ya headed?”

I had no intention of bringing Torie into this conversation, for her sake rather than mine; I winked at her and held a finger to my lips to shush her. She nodded.

“Oh, just on a road trip. Had some time between projects, so I thought I’d get the hell outta Dodge for a few days. What are you and Mom up to?”

“You know, nothin’ different. Danny Brower blew his transmission on his old Ford, so I’m fixing that, because his daddy gave him that truck back in the seventies and he said he’d be damned to hell before he got a new one. Costin’ him an arm and just about half a leg, but it’s worth it to him, but I don’t gotta tell you that.”

“No, folks get attached to their trucks, especially family pieces like Dan Brower’s.” I chewed on my lip for a moment. “How’s Mom?”

“Oh, she’s all right. At the Corner Mart where she’s been every mornin’ for nigh on thirty years now. We’re havin’ roast tonight.”

“She still at the Crooked Barstool?”

“Ehh, you know your momma. They’ll have to drag her to the nursing home and pry that apron and order pad outta her old hands.” I hated the question, but had to ask. “She been…working late, lately?”

A gruff, frustrated sigh. “Nah. Home ten after two most nights, now. Kinda gettin’ past the age where those extra hours are worth it to her, you know?” He hated that question as much as I did.

Reading between the lines of Dad’s answer, the message was that Mom was getting too old to be able to get anyone to pay for her anymore.

Which meant the reason for Dad’s call would be coming the next time he opened his mouth.

“Means things are awful tight, though. Been taking some simple jobs on the side here in the driveway, just for extra cash, but it’s tricky since I don’t got all the tools myself. I been just using what’s at the shop all these years.”

I had no patience for his edging around the ask. “I’ll send you what I can when I get home, Dad.”

“Awful good of you, son. Hate askin’, but times are tighter than ever.”

“I know it.”

A long silence. “I appreciate you, RJ.”

“Tell Mom I said hi.”