P-Nut

With my ass in a folding lawn chair and a beer in my hand, I sat in the driveway and waited for Smudge to get home. Seeing me enjoy a cold one in the drive wasn’t an uncommon sight for my neighbors. In fact, it was rare that I drank beer in the house.

I felt free when I was outdoors. The walls of my home – or any home for that matter – made me feel confined. As far as I was concerned, a home was a shelter to sleep under and nothing more.

I didn’t feel accountable for Smudge as if I was her parent. As a man, and as her friend, however, I felt responsible for her well-being. That feeling of responsibility had me worried about what might have happened to her eye.

She rolled past the house at 10 miles an hour, and waved. She drove like an old lady, always overly cautious of her surroundings.

When she needed her first car, I volunteered to help her find one. I found the old Camry on Craigslist, and went with her to buy it. After some negotiating and a few crazy-eyed stares, we got the car for $600.

She’d saved $300 from babysitting, and I loaned her the other $300, which she paid back promptly.

The car was ugly as fuck, but served her well.

After pulling into her drive, she paused, and then backed up. She then turned toward my home, drove the sixty or so feet, and pulled into my drive.

She got out of the car and grinned. “How’s it going?”

Out of her Harley uniform and wearing her trademark hoodie, her appearance was a far cry from what she looked like at the dealership. I was relieved to see that she’d changed clothes, seeing her in her Harley gear brought on a string of mixed emotions I wasn’t prepared to deal with.

I tapped the empty lawn chair on my right and raised my bottle of beer. “Going good, as always. Have a seat.”

She flopped into the chair. “What’s tonight’s project?”

“Relaxation.”

She looked at me. “Not going to tinker on your bike?”

“Nope.”

She scrunched her nose. “Just going to sit and stare at Roman’s porch?”

“Is that his name?”

“The guy across the street?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah. Roman Aguilar. He’s nice.”

I shrugged. “He seems okay.”

I purposely put her chair on my right, so I could get a look at her left eye as we talked. After a few glances in her direction, I finished my beer and set the empty bottle on the drive.

“Been knowing each other for some time now, huh?”

“Us?”

“Yeah,” I said. “You and me.”

“Almost eight years.”

“I want to ask you some questions. If you think I’m out of line, just tell me. If not, I’d appreciate an honest answer. I think we’re beyond lying to each other, aren’t we?”

“Oh, I don’t lie. What...” She looked at me. “What’s wrong?”

“Tell me what happened to your eye and your cheek. I want to know if there are bruises anywhere else, too.”

She looked across the street. After a few seconds, her eyes dropped to the drive and she let out a sigh.

“Do you really want me to tell you?”

“Yep.”

She let out a long sigh and then looked at me. “I got smacked.”

Warmth washed over me. Anger followed right behind it. My fists clenched, and I consciously struggled to keep my temper in control.

“I’m guessing it wasn’t by a door or some flying piece of debris?”

Her eyes dropped to her lap. “No.”

I turned to face her. “Was it a man?”

Her lower lip began to quiver, and she bit into it. After a moment, a tear rolled down her left cheek.

She wiped the tear with the heel of her palm and sank into her seat. “Yeah.”

Mother fucker.

My jaw clenched.

I shuffled my chair across the two feet of concrete that separated us, and wrapped my arm around her.

“I’m going to make sure this doesn’t happen to you again.” I pulled her shoulder against mine. “But I’m going to need you to do a few things for me.”

“Okay,” she muttered.

“First, I need you to tell me who he is, and where he is.”

She tilted her head toward her house. “It was him.”

I released her shoulder and stood. “Him? Your stepfather?”

“We got in an argument about me moving out.” She wiped the tears from her cheeks. “He’d been drinking. It got out of hand.”

Every muscle in my body tensed as the anger filled me. The thought of anyone hitting a woman caused my blood to boil. Her stepfather should be comforting her, supporting her, and protecting her from harm.

I took a long breath, held it, and clenched my jaw.

I exhaled through my nostrils and then looked at her. “There’s no excuse for putting a hand on a woman. None. There’s nothing you did – or could ever do – to deserve that.”

“Okay.”

“Was that the first time it happened?”

She stared at her feet.

It was all the response I needed.

His truck wasn’t in the driveway, but I asked anyway. “Is he home now?”

“Not until late. No.”

“Go get your shit. Whatever you need to get by for a while. Until we can figure something out.”

“I don’t. I don’t have anywhere to stay. I haven’t got--”

“You’ve got me,” I said. “And, you can stay here.”

She looked up. “Seriously?’

First, I needed to get her away from him. Then, I could take care of what needed to be taken care of.

I reached for her hand. “Come on,” I said. “We can go get your stuff together.”