Chapter 22
As Walker approached the laundry room door, he heard Booger’s mad scratching and picked up the pace. He really didn’t want to replace another door.
Although that might make Lindsey happy. Give him a reason to have a date with Jake again.
He shook his head. The woman was strange, but he liked her. She tried to do what was best for him. He wasn’t going to start bro-ing down with the whole county, but Jake was an all-right guy and Walker was glad to have made a friend.
So what if he had to be tricked into it by his . . . by his Lindsey.
He opened the door and Booger bolted through, running a lap around Lindsey’s apartment. “She’s at work, buddy,” Walker told the dog. “I know. I wanted her to stay home, too.”
“You talking to the dog?”
And that was why he wanted Lindsey to stay home. It was a little bit easier to face his father when Lindsey was there. He felt less like he might murder the guy.
But Walker had promised Lindsey that he would give Red a chance, and Walker was not the kind of guy who took promises lightly, even if those promises were tricked out of him by the pressure of an amazing set of breasts against his arm.
“Sleep all right?” Walker asked.
Red looked surprised. “Fine, yeah. Once the dog stopped growling at me.”
Walker patted Booger on the head.
“Breakfast?” Walker asked.
“You cooking?”
“Sure.”
“You still make those egg waffle sandwiches? Remember those?”
Walker remembered. Scrambled eggs with ketchup sandwiched between two frozen waffles. He made those for dinner the first time when he was about twelve because he was pissed that Red hadn’t bought any groceries and wouldn’t let them order takeout. If Red wouldn’t get him real food, his adolescent brain reasoned, he would show him by eating something totally disgusting.
Walker knew now that it was because Red had no money, but at the time, it seemed like Red just wanted to piss him off. So Walker wanted to piss him off right back. Instead, Red had laughed, like Walker was some kind of culinary genius, and ate two of them.
They actually weren’t bad, the waffle-egg sandwiches, especially when he added bacon.
This must be the bonding portion of the visit, Walker thought. Reminisce about the good old times when Red was a shitty father and Walker learned never to trust anyone.
“I don’t have any waffles,” he told Red. Even if he did, he wasn’t going to make Red a special sandwich, dammit.
“How about we go out somewhere. My treat.”
“I thought you didn’t have any money, Red?”
“I got enough to buy my son breakfast. Just make it somewhere cheap.” Red laughed his damn head off and slapped Walker on the back.
Great. The bonding portion of the visit was just beginning.
Thursdays were Walker’s day with Myron. He sometimes spent other days with him, too, but every Thursday they had a standing lunch date.
Lindsey pretended she wasn’t watching for him at the door of Shady Grove.
So did Myron.
Walker had been simmering a low-burning rage since his father had come to stay. He was ornery and short-tempered, and was always trying to walk away from her rather than have a conversation. It was just like when she first moved in.
She did not reminisce about that period fondly.
In Walker’s defense, he didn’t snap at her, and she could see him trying not to snap at his father. This meant that Walker spent a lot of time in the garage. He would work until late at night, then come crawl into bed with her. Sometimes he’d just hold her, sometimes she’d insist she was awake, so he better get to smoochin’.
No matter how gentle (or not gentle) he was at night, though, in the morning he was back to his silent, grumpy self.
Myron, for all his flaws, had some kind of magical power, as if his own grumpiness somehow neutralized Walker’s. That was the one time she’d seen Walker smile since they discovered Red in the garage—when he was here, visiting Myron.
“What’s he like?” Myron asked from his seat by the sunny window.
“What’s who like?”
“The pope. Who do you think? Walker’s dad.”
“Didn’t you meet him? Back when you were teaching?”
Myron snorted. “Red wasn’t exactly a get-involved kind of parent.”
Lindsey sat down in the chair next to Myron. It was sunny, and the day was quiet. She could take a break. Or, if she kept talking to Myron, she could call it an assessment.
“I’m worried about Walker,” Lindsey said, totally failing to assess Myron. “He’s not handling this well.”
“Handling what? What’s the guy doing here, anyway?”
“He just got out of prison, Myron. He didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
Myron waved her concerns away. Lindsey knew she had talked Walker into letting his father stay, and she still thought it was the right thing to do.
She, apparently, was the only one who thought so.
“Well, speak of the devil,” Myron muttered. And just like that, Walker came through the door, followed by Red.
Oh, this should be fun, she thought.
“Hiya, sweetie,” said Red, using his brand-new, super-fun nickname for her. “Cute scrubs.”
Lindsey made a mental note to burn these scrubs.
“Hey, Red,” she said politely. “Hey, Walker. We were beginning to think you wouldn’t show.” She tried to communicate empathy in her gaze.
“You got a problem with your face, Lindsey?” Myron asked.
Lindsey sighed. So much for meaningful looks.
“You must be Myron,” Red said, holding his hand out for a shake.
Myron looked at it. “You didn’t bring the dog?” he asked Walker.
This is going great. Lunch will be fun, she thought.
“So, where are you guys off to today?” she asked in a voice that sounded forced, even to herself.
“Actually, I was gonna let the boys have their time,” Red told her.
“Big of you,” muttered Myron.
“I thought I’d see if you needed any help around here. You know, to pay you back for putting me up.”
“Oh,” said Lindsey, surprised. She looked at Walker, but his face did not give her any clue about what she should do with Red’s sudden generosity. “Okay, sure. Um . . .” What could she have the ex-con help her with?
“I can do some landscaping if you need it. Or help out in the kitchen . . .”
“Well . . .”
“Or just hang out with people. I miss hanging out with people. If you’ve got some supplies, I could teach a painting lesson.”
“I bet you could,” muttered the ever-helpful Myron.
“Gosh, that’s . . .” She looked desperately at Walker, who shrugged like that idea was probably fine.
She did a quick mental inventory of the art supplies. Gladys and Mae came out from the lunchroom and watched the little group curiously.
“What do you say, ladies?” Red asked them. “Should we paint some happy little trees?”
If she set Red up in the art room, she could keep an eye on him while simultaneously getting him out of Walker’s hair for a while. Plus, Red was obviously a good painter. After all, some of his forgeries worked, she thought. And he would only be here for a few more days. How much damage could he do?
“Okay, that would be great. I’ll get you set up.” With a quick glance back at Walker, she led his father to the art room, trailed by some very curious senior citizens.