Chapter Six

Trig

Over the next few weeks I watch with amusement as Maggie tries to get along with Wes and Jane and the four boys. I can tell she’s making an effort. Maybe not to be sweet, but, at least, polite. Jane takes her to the high school to register.

It’s the same school I dropped out of, a little country school. Most of the kids live on ranches around town and I’m sure there aren’t too many girls walking around with their hair dyed jet-black. The kids might give her a bad time. Tough shit though. She’ll figure things out.

Her first week of school doesn’t get off to the best start. She’s managed to piss off the government teacher and talked her way out of taking his class. She convinced the principal she knows more about Civil Rights than her instructor. He agreed and allowed Maggie to go to the library and take some college-level class online.

Then she scowled in a threatening way at the bus driver, getting her troublesome ass kicked off the bus. There’s no way Jane can pick her up with all the other driving she does, shuttling the boys here and there, and Wes works an hour away, so he can’t either.

I offer to take her and pick her up until she’s allowed back on the bus. I tell both Wes and Jane over dinner and Maggie damn near loses it right there. Wes and Jane are pleased I can help. Not Maggs. One minute she’s staring daggers at me. The next she looks like she might cry. Mostly it’s the dagger stuff, though.

The first day I take her to school, I tell her she can glare at me all she likes. Won’t bother me a bit. When it’s just me and her in my truck she doesn’t give me dirty looks. She’s ready to take on the whole world, but not me.

Friday, the third week of school, she comes to the truck walking beside a boy.

My gut twists with a strange emotion. I don’t like the idea of her messing around with some high school kid. I’m not jealous, obviously. It’s something else. Protective, I guess. I like thinking I’m in charge of keeping her out of trouble.

She gets in, puts her seatbelt on and ignores me which is pretty much par for the course. The boy, a skinny kid with a mop of hair, waves from the sidewalk and Maggie responds with her own little wave.

Instead of taking off and heading home, I sit there, letting the engine idle, a thousand bad scenarios going through my head. Maggie doesn’t dress provocatively, not like some of the other girls she goes to school with. And yet she’s caught the attention of a guy. I never imagined any of these little motherfuckers would notice her.

Her black hair’s always in her face. It’s as if she’s deliberately trying to make herself unattractive. But teenaged boys are horny little bastards. I remember how it was and I suppose it’s possible some of them find her pretty enough.

I scowl at the twerp on the sidewalk and turn my attention to Maggie. “Do you need to be on the Pill?”

She looks at me with stunned disbelief before remembering her MO is to ignore me when I pick her up. Jerking her head around she gives an imperceptible shake.

“You better be telling me the truth.”

She closes her eyes like she’s going to shut me out.

“Are you having relations with that boy?”

She opens her eyes and slowly turns to me. “Relations?”

The word rolls out of her mouth like it’s the dumbest word ever. For some reason I can’t bring myself to ask her if she’s having sex. It seems wrong to use that word around her – she’s just a kid after all, but I have to get my point across.

“Relations. Yes. That’s what I said.”

She folds her arms across her chest. “No.”

I pull out of the parking lot and debate talking to Jane about this. I can’t imagine how unpleasant it would be for Jane to address birth control with an eighteen-year-old. She and my brother hoped desperately for children of their own and the notion that some little brat could go park with some little dickwad one time and get pregnant would probably stir up a lot of pain for the two of them.

We drive in silence like we always do, but a few minutes from the house, I find I have to tell her what’s on my mind. Getting pregnant would wreck a lot of things for her. For some reason, I want Maggie to have not just a normal life, but a really good life.

“You’ve been dealt a shitty hand. I know that,” I tell her.

She holds up her hand to try to keep me from saying anymore. I’m not big on heart-to-heart conversations, but I need to tell her one thing. She’s part of my brother’s family and we might not like each other but we’ll be spending time together. I’m over there at least twice a week for dinner. She’s going to live there till she graduates in May and I might as well tell her why I give a shit.

A school bus stops ahead of us, lights flashing, and I slow to a stop. This is probably the bus Maggie got herself kicked off.

“I’m trying to keep you from fucking up your life, Maggie.”

She doesn’t reply.

Little kids with backpacks jump down from the bus, skipping and laughing. Some pair off to walk with their friends, a few of the older ones walk by themselves checking their phones. It’s hard to think that the prickly, permanently pissed-off girl in my passenger seat was ever some light-hearted little kid like the ones getting off the school bus.

“You’ll never have it better than you’ll have it with Wes and Jane, so you might as well straighten up and fly right for the next year.”

She jerks around to face me. “I am! I have hundreds on every single assignment. I haven’t gotten in a fight all week. And for your information, Kyle is gay. So we’re not fucking and I don’t need to be on the Pill.”

A blast of exhaust billows from the bus tailpipe as it pulls away from the curb. We continue our drive home. Rage practically pours off her but I’m pleased that, one, the guy isn’t going to derail her life by trying to get into her pants, and two, she actually has a friend. That’s progress.

The guy must be desperate, but that’s beside the point. Maggie has a friend. I don’t usually get invested in any of Wes or Jane’s little projects but for some reason I want to help Maggie.

A throb at the back of my neck makes me draw a sharp breath. The old injury from the car accident. The drunk driver didn’t take me, but there are times in the middle of the night when the pain in my head makes me sick and I wonder if I wouldn’t have been better off. After the accident, I spent two weeks in the hospital with a punctured lung and recovering from surgery to remove my spleen.

The neuro-surgeons wanted to operate on my head injury. Everything he said suggested exploratory stuff. When they told me about risks like blindness and partial paralysis, I told them I wasn’t interested. Where would that leave me? An invalid? How would I take care of myself and father’s business if I were blind or in a wheelchair? No, I told them from the hospital bed. Pain I could handle. All I wanted was to go home and put my life back together.

The pain comes and goes. Nights are, by far, the worst. If it got too bad, I’d pull over, but it’s dissipating and I know I can make it to the house. Usually the pain lingers for an hour or so. A trickle of sweat rolls down my forehead. When I wipe it away she turns to watch me. I give her a dark look, curling my lip to warn her off.

Her expression is softer, the hard, angry mask gone and I can’t help noticing that the girl has a pretty face. She wears black makeup around her eyes but when she’s not frowning she looks different. Young. Innocent. Even with that black goth shit on her face.

“Can I tell you something, Trig?”

I wipe my brow and groan. The agony fades a little. Maybe listening to her talk will distract me.

“Yes, please, tell me something. Anything.”

I can’t imagine what she’d want to share with me. She thinks I’m a monster and she can keep thinking that until she walks her skinny ass across the stage in May.

“I’m gay, too.”

I draw a sharp breath and glance over at her. Her lips curve into a triumphant smile. Grey eyes sparkle with victory. I’ve never seen her look anything but sullen or livid but the way she looks now, you’d think it was the night before Christmas.

Is she bullshitting me? I’m pretty sure she is but the happy look on her face makes me smile. I don’t care what team she plays for, just that she behaves reasonably well for the next year.

“Good, I’m glad, Maggie.”

“You’re… glad?” Her smile fades.

I can hear the disappointment in her voice. She wanted me to lose my shit and sit back and watch and then what? Tell me she was kidding. Tell me she was sincere. Either way, she’s let down that I’m not responding more strongly.

“Sure I’m glad. Now I don’t need to worry about you getting into trouble.”

“Into trouble?”

“Knocked up.”

“Oh.”

We pull onto her street. “So you don’t need any pills or shots?”

“No,” she replies coldly. “I don’t need anything.”

I stop the truck in front of the house. Jane opens the door and waves and I nod.

“Have a great weekend, Maggie. I’ll see you for Sunday dinner.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” she grumbles, heaving her backpack to her shoulder and getting out.

She stomps up the walkway and inside the house, slamming the door behind her. The little ray of sunshine’s reverted to being a dark thundercloud in the blink of an eye. I chuckle, pull away from the house and it dawns on me that the pain in my head and neck is gone. Vanished.