“I oughta be driving right through there,” she says. “Get on in. You can help me stay awake.”
It takes an effort to climb up into the truck. My legs are too short. And after I try a couple times I feel a soft, wrinkled hand take hold of my arm.
“Come on,” the driver grunts as she helps pull me up.
Between the two of us, I finally manage.
And I see who’s picking me up. She’s small and old. With hair the color of steel, pulled back into a bun. She’s missing a few teeth, too, but she’s got a nice, round face.
“I’m Pat,” she says, getting the truck rolling again. “What’s your name, honey?”
“Bo.”
“Bo,” she repeats. “I like that. Why you out here alone, Bo? Where’s your mama? You can’t be more than fourteen or so, right?”
“Seventeen,” I say. “Just small.”
“Still too young to be on the side of the highway in the middle of the night.”
“Yeah, well … that wasn’t the plan.”
Pat asks a lot of questions. About Mama. About where I’m headed. About why I’m alone. I don’t say a whole lot, though. Just one-or two-word answers.
I’m still thinking about Agnes. About the things she said.
All of it was true. I just never thought she’d be the one to say it.
It ain’t quite midnight when Pat says, “We’ll be there in a minute or two.”
I grab my stuff. She can’t take me all the way to Daddy’s house, but she can drop me on the highway. She even gives me directions, saying she’s been in these parts before, and it ain’t more than a five-minute walk to his front door.
I’m careful climbing out of the truck. And when I’m on the ground, Pat says one last thing.
“Good luck. And be safe, all right?”
“Yes, ma’am. Thanks for the ride.”
She drives off as I start walking the direction she pointed me. The little town is dark. Not too many streetlamps. And most of the windows in the houses and trailers I pass ain’t got light in them. But I manage to find the tiny brick house with Daddy’s address on the mailbox. And there’s a lamp on in the front room.
I walk up to the doorstep and then just stand there.
It’s late. And he might be in bed. Or he might not even live here. Colt said his daddy ain’t even heard from him in a while. I might be standing on somebody else’s doorstep in the middle of the night. And I ain’t sure how welcoming people are around here. This is Kentucky, after all. People got guns, and they use them.
At least in Mursey, they knew me. They might not like me, but they probably wouldn’t shoot me.
In this town, at midnight, I’m a stranger.
I take a deep breath and knock anyway.
There are voices inside. But then the door opens. And I know the man in front of me. No mistaking him.
Red-gold hair.
Eyes the color of sweet tea.
A couple scars from bar fights and brawls.
This ain’t no stranger. But he’s sure looking at me like I’m one.
“Hey, Daddy.”
He looks like he don’t know me. Like he’s never seen me before in his life.
“It’s me, Daddy,” I say. I reach up and touch my hair. “I know. With it cut this short I probably look like a boy, right? But it’s me … It’s Bo.”
“Bo,” he says. “Bo … what’re you doing here?”
“I came to see you.” Despite all the bad that’s happened tonight, I can’t help smiling. “God, I’ve sure missed you. Can I come in?”
“Uh—well, you see …”
“Wayne? Who’s out there?” It’s a woman’s voice, coming from inside the house.
“Nobody!” Daddy yells, and I try not to take it personal. “Listen, Bo—”
But I guess the woman didn’t like Daddy’s answer, because now she’s standing behind him, looking over his shoulder at me. She’s tall—taller than him—and with peroxide-blond hair. Except for the roots, which look about as dark as Agnes’s hair. Her eyes are dark, too, and right now, they’re narrowed. And even if her sight is as bad as Agnes’s, there ain’t no way she’s gonna miss the resemblance between Daddy and me.
“Nobody, huh?” she says.
Daddy looks scared. “Vera, this … this is Bo.”
“Hi,” I say. “Nice to meet you.”
But Vera don’t look like she feels the same. “Bo?” She says it like a question and an accusation rolled up in one. And even though she’s looking at Daddy now, he don’t look back.
“How’d you get here?” he asks me. “And where’s your mama?”
“It’s a real long story,” I tell him. “But that’s why I’m here, actually.” And then, because I’m still out on the porch, I ask one more time, “Can I come in?”
Vera looks like she wants to say no, but Daddy steps aside and lets me walk through the door, into the living room. There’s an old beige sofa sitting against the wall, facing a little box TV. There are kids’ toys all over the floor, too. Blocks and toy soldiers and even a teddy bear missing an eye.
“I’d better go check on Brent,” Vera says. “Make sure the knocking didn’t wake him up.”
When she’s gone, I turn to Daddy. “Who’s Brent?”
“Our son.”