Page 18 of Bobby Green

Reg shrugged. “Most guys say that. Don’t know why. I’ll be seeing you around.”

He left Bobby in the locker room and trotted up to the front desk. He stuck his head into Dex’s office to make sure Dex didn’t need anything else.

John was sitting in Dex’s chair, head tilted back, utter exhaustion on his face.

“Uh, John?”

He startled, like he’d almost fallen asleep. “Yeah, what? What is it? What do we need?”

“Nothin’—just making sure you don’t need me for nothin’.”

Even John’s tired smile was impish and a little crazy. “Dex gave you the schedule with all the shoots on it, right?” he asked, making sure.

“Yeah—that’s looking good. You need a light guy or anything?”

John thought about it for a minute before printing out another schedule. “Yeah. Sure. Here—all your shoots are Tuesdays, but Thursdays are usually pretty busy. I’m going to say come in every Thursday and I’ll put you to work. How’s that?”

Oh, awesome. An excuse not to go home. Reg loved this guy, he really did. “That’s great. Happy to do it. Thanks, John!”

“Thanks for asking. It was nice of you, Reg.”

Reg’s heart always warmed to praise—both John and Dex were real good at making him feel not stupid.

“I think the kid’s gonna be good, you think?” he said so John didn’t have to go back to feeling tired.

“Yeah,” John said, waking up enough to be enthusiastic—and less careworn.

“He picked out a porn name,” Reg went on. “He decided on Bobby. Which, like, couldn’t fit him any better, right?”

John laughed. “Vern Roberts, Bobby Green—he’s pretty quick.”

Reg couldn’t manage the bolt of sadness that passed through him then, so he put it in the dark place in his head where all his secrets went. “Too quick for me,” he said, meaning it and grieving it and forgetting it, all in one sentence. “But I can’t wait to see him on camera. Gonna be great!”

He left on that line, because he had to go home and put his schedule in his phone and then stick it on the refrigerator or Veronica would get jumpy. It was time to take her to the doctor’s soon—he knew it—because she was getting twitchy way more than she had six months earlier. But he couldn’t get her to tell him when exactly it was on the schedule, which meant he needed to sit down that night and call people.

With a sigh, he made a notation in his phone, because Dex had taught him that, and it had really helped. Small steps. He took small steps every day to try to be as grown-up as the guys he worked with.

Mostly, it worked.

“VERONICA!I’m home!” He always called out before he opened the door. Bad things could happen if he didn’t.

She didn’t answer, so he paused for a second and looked with despairing eyes at his rotting porch. He should ask Dex or John how to fix it—he’d have to replace boards and stain the new wood, he was sure, but he didn’t have so much as a hammer in the garage.

“Veronica?”

“Come in!”

He pushed the door open and peered about. The dishes had been done and still sat in the rack, and the table was clean as he’d left it. The floor—cracked and peeling linoleum and all—remained swept.

On the one hand, it was good because everything was peaceful. On the other….

“V, you need to eat.”

“There’s nothing in the fridge.”

“There’s spaghetti. And I fried up a big batch of bacon for you yesterday. And hot dogs. And carrots.” He’d made a list of things she would eat, so when he reminded her, she could come down and have meals. He couldn’t always be there for them—he had work, and working out, and Jesus God getting the fuck out of the house and hanging with his friends—but she always had food.

“You made the bacon wrong. It’s poisoned.”