Page 54 of A Real Goode Time

“Will do.”

“Love you, son.”

“You too, Dad. See ya.”

“See ya.”

I reached up, touched the red phone icon to end the call, and shoved the phone under my thigh. Waited for the questions.

None came. I glanced at Torie. “I know you got about dozen things to say to that.”

She shrugged. “It was a private conversation I just happened to be unable to avoid overhearing.”

I sighed. “I’ve been running away from that damn nickname my whole life. It chases me.”

She grinned. “RJ, huh?”

“Rhys Jonathan Frost. Dad, as you heard, has called me RJ my whole life, and I’ve been tellin’ him to stop since I was sixteen. But everyone from my hometown just calls me RJ, and if anyone hears it, I’m RJ to them from then on. It’s a sticky sonafabitch nickname.”

She just gazed levelly at me. “If you don’t like it, then I’ll call you Rhys.”

I just sighed, grinned ruefully. “You’ll try, but now that you’ve heard it, you’ll use it. It’s inevitable.”

She tipped her head to one side. “I don’t know. You seem more like Rhys to me. It’s…an elegant, strong name. RJ is…”

“Country?”

“Something like that. And there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Nope. I just don’t like it. I like Rhys. It’s my name. It’s a good name, and it’s what I prefer. Dad’s just an ornery old goat who’s been set in his ways since he was born.”

“You send money to your parents?”

I nodded, watched the road, not wanting to see her expression. “They’re my folks. I send ’em a couple hundred dollars every month. Sometimes more, if they need it.”

“Rhys, that’s—”

I interrupted. “What kind of a person would I be if my folks asked for help and I didn’t give it when I had it to give? They’re decent people. It wasn’t their fault we were poor. They were just…products of…of a particular system. Dad never went to school past sixth grade, had to help on the farm, and then he started driving a tow truck for the gas station the day he got his license, took some auto mechanic courses at a trade school near Lexington, but ran outta money to get certified. So he’s been at that gas station doing simple repairs and oil changes and brake jobs since he was, shit, twenty? That’s where he met Mom. There’s two gas stations in town. He works at one, she works at the other. Mom never went to any school past high school. She was pregnant with Saoirse at eighteen, and me by twenty, then got sick and lost the ability to have any more. And that debt was what sunk ’em—the hospital bill for Mom getting ovarian cancer at twenty-four. She survived it, but…it just ruined them. Been fighting to keep their heads above water ever since.” I let out a sigh. “My feelings about what Mom did are complicated, but my feelings about my dad are even more so. I guess…I guess I feel like he oughta stepped up and done something, anything, so Mom didn’t have to do that. I know he worked twelve-hour days. But…I’d work twenty hours a day to keep someone I care about from having to do that. So I guess I resent Dad for letting her whore herself out. And I know Saoirse does, too, maybe more than I even do.” I scrubbed my face again. “It just sucks and is complicated as fuck, that’s all.”

“Damn,” she breathed. “That’s rough.”

“So yeah, I send ’em money.”

She frowned at me. “You sound defensive again about doing a good thing.”

I laughed bitterly. “Most people don’t understand, and think I’m stupid for sending them money. But they use it on bills, not booze or drugs. And I guess I just…I don’t want people to think I’m someone I’m not.”

“Like a good person who takes care of his parents?”

I snorted. “You make it sound so simple.”

“Isn’t it?”

“I’m not a Carebear. I just feel responsible for doing what I can.”

She laughed gently, touched my hand as it rested on the gear shifter. “You want to, what? Be seen as some macho asshole tough guy?”

I rolled my eyes at her. “No, but I ain’t no saint.”