Gunner
She nods but before she can continue, Connal’s voice rings out; “Hey, the SUV is all cle…why’s the chair in the hall?” Connal rams the chair into me as he guides it back into his office, not giving two fucks that he’s interrupting.
Riley eagerly looks to him, “Is it alright?! How much do I owe you?” Clapping her hands together in front of her chest, she looks like he just handed her a new truck.
“We got the spray paint off, you may want to schedule a car wash with a wax to shine it back up a bit, but no one who didn’t see it will notice anything. I’d say, with labor it’ll be…”
“I’ll take care of it,” I say, nodding to Connal so he knows not to discuss it further.
Riley still reaches back to her bag and starts digging, pulling her wallet out and giving me her little glare again, she says, “Please, I can pay for it. You helped enough bringing me here, I won’t let you pay. Connal, how much?” She repeats and starts pulling cash out of her wallet. Like serious cash.
“The Fuck?! Connal, did you leave the safe open back here?” I can’t help but raise my voice, besides the fact of the money, who the hell would pull that out in front of strangers? “Goddammit, Riley put all that away. Now!”
The three of us take turns looking at each other, Connal and I trying to figure out what seventeen-year-old walks around with what must be a few grand. Riley verbalizes her concerned expression as: “I didn’t steal it!”
“What?” Oh, my comment about the safe. “I know…I know you didn’t steal it. Is that your tuition money?” I ask, trying to figure her out.
“No, my allowance,” She returns like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Riley can’t help but notice the stunned expressions on our faces and realizes how she sounded. “I mean, it’s for the quarter,” She says in a quieter voice, trying to minimize it. Suddenly, I want her out of there and away from Connal.
Maddock. She’s a goddamn Maddock.
The last name she withheld from our introduction is screaming in my brain. I know whose child she is and this is going to turn into a shit show if Probie gets wind of it. This girl, this almost-woman, is nearly legendary around here. Rowansville has nearly twenty thousand full-time residents and a thousand stories about why Riley has been hidden away.
Following behind her, I know that every single story is wrong. Riley has only been hidden away because her parents are the two most shallow, self-centered, conniving, greedy assholes in the state. So what could a child possibly do to further their power-base and why should someone of their supposed calibre go to a local school?
Her truck was pulled to the front of the shop and was indeed graffiti free. Taking in her relieved but tight smile, I can tell she’ll still picture that word every time she looks at this vehicle. I can’t help that though. I motion her into the front, as I open the back door to toss her bags inside.
“You’ll text me? Let me know you got home okay?” I confirm.
“Yes, Gunner. A deal’s a deal, right?” She confirms that we’re still on, as she sticks her arm through the open window to shake my hand. “Thank you for helping with my truck. It really means a lot to me.”
And I know she means it. She’s not like so many other women in my life who put it on thick to try and get something from me.
“Sweetheart,” I don’t know if this is going to wreck things. “I’m beginning to put together who your parents are and it’s gonna be complicated.” She quickly flushes again and tries to pull her hand back from my grasp. “Let me finish!” I bark.
Easing up on my hold, I change my grip, keeping our thumbs hooked but wrapping my fingers up around her wrist. “A deal’s a deal. But I want you to know it has nothing to do with them, not in my mind. Not while I was driving around earlier trying to think of how to make something of this. Eight and a half months can be a long time, just remember this started when you were in a puddle at my feet at the car wash – not a few minutes back when I figured out that you’re a Maddock. Understand?”
Her eyes widen when I say her last name, then her sweet little smile is back, “I understand.”
I release her hand and she gives me a little nod before driving away. I stand, watching her go, then move for my bike. Gonna pay a visit to her Gram.
Eileen Riley is one interesting lady.
My parents were a mess. My mother had me her senior year of high school and I grew up hearing about how I ruined her life. It wasn’t that she got knocked up by a married cop over twice her age that ruined her life, in her mind it was me. He wouldn’t leave his family for her nor acknowledge me. In fact, he managed to keep my existence a secret until I was seven. That’s when mom dropped me off at his mother’s house and told her she was done dealing with my shit.
Grandma took one look at me and knew two things. The first was that I was the spitting image of her son, the second was that I needed to be in a hospital. The cold I was on baby aspirin for was actually pneumonia. From that day, until her death during my deployment; she loved me exactly how a mother should love a child.
It was while I was hospitalized with pneumonia that G’ma and Mrs. Riley became close friends. They had grown up in the same area, but different social standings were more strictly adhered to back then and kept them apart. Mrs. R volunteered in the children’s wing of the hospital and as my G’ma was self-employed as a baker, she would sit and read to me when Grandma couldn’t be there or visit with her while I was sleeping.
My G’ma, not sure how she was going to pay my hospital bill when I was released, was in turns mortified and thankful to learn that “it had been anonymously taken care of”. She also pegged the culprit; Mrs. R was the only one around with the means or interest to do so.
G’ma started sending Mrs. R weekly checks to pay the balance down. They were always returned. Then one Sunday, she dressed me up and we drove to the Riley spread. G’ma had a plan; if Mrs. R wouldn’t take the money then she would bake for her. With all of her charity events and dinners, surely this would be a benefit. I spent the visit in a kitchen larger than our home, feasting on sandwiches and hot chocolate while G’ma and Mrs. R discussed the “hospital matter” in the parlor.
Mrs. R, realizing she had wounded Grandma’s pride said she would consider her plan but somehow at the end of the hour had convinced G’ma that she would be doing her such a favor to set up shop in an abandoned storefront she owned; which coincidentally had an empty two bedroom apartment over it. I never knew the details, but G’ma’s bakery is still there; my half-sister runs it now.
Once I returned from my time in the Marines and made my way back here, I was met at G’ma’s tombstone one day by Mrs. R’s driver. Rogers handed me a note and after sizing me up warned me not to disappoint her.
In the most elegant of notes, I was invited to continue my G’ma’s monthly visits to Mrs. R’s; “but please note, I’ve decided to downsize and live in town now” was written in perfect penmanship. I was there the following Tuesday promptly at two, and every month since.
Today would be a surprise visit. Mrs. R had always done right by me; I owed her the respect of declaring my intentions.