Jos said he was going to work his way through the collection. He’d perked up, and was actually talking to us with enthusiasm and full sentences. Zeke owed Olivia a whole lot of donuts.
I could still be over there, where Zeke was making lunch and Jos was chattering about drawing styles. But no, here I was, sneaking in my front door, hoping Uncle Wayne was off somewhere else. Grandpa’s truck was gone, so no doubt he was working a shift at the store. I mostly wanted to go up to my room, get out of these sweaty and uncomfortable clothes, and figure out what to do next.
Except Grandpa was sitting in the kitchen and he called to me as I turned for the stairs.
Reluctantly, my shoes squeaking on the hardwood, I headed down the hall and went into the kitchen.
Grandpa smiled and gestured at the coffeemaker. “Want a cup?”
“Zeke made a bunch. I’m swimming in it.”
His face fell. “Sure. Looks like you didn’t come back at all last night?”
“No.” I pulled out the chair opposite him and dropped heavily into it. “Why’s Uncle Wayne living here, Grandpa? You know how he is. He stole from you the last time.”
“He got some counseling in prison. He swears he’s not gambling anymore.”
I couldn’t help a scoffing laugh.
“Yeah.” Grandpa rubbed his neck. “Look, I’m not naïve.”
I didn’t scoff again at that, although it was a near thing. Except Grandpa wasn’t naïve as much as an optimist.
He sighed. “I know gambling addiction isn’t easy to kick. I doubt the prisons do all that well at treatment. If Wayne doesn’t continue with therapy or twelve-step, whatever, and make a big effort, he’s likely to fall back into that trap. But he’s still my son.” Grandpa leaned toward me, his faded blue eyes intense. “I know he has faults. I know we can’t really trust him. But he’s still my little boy, somewhere down inside. He’s the kid who tagged along after your father and wanted to be like him, the son who tried to bake muffins for your grandma’s birthday when she was sick. He’s broke, he has nowhere else to live. I’m not going to kick him out onto the street.”
“He’s not a boy.”
“No, and he’s made a lot of mistakes. But if I don’t give him a second chance, who will?”
Second chance? Try tenth chance. Fiftieth chance.“Surely there’s some other way. A halfway house, maybe, where they’d keep an eye on him.”
“Nothing he qualifies for, or that isn’t focused on drugs.”
“I could pay for an apartment for him,” I said, my throat tight. I wanted him out of my life, and even more, out of Grandpa’s. “It’d have to be cheap. I couldn’t even afford the rent on my last place by myself. But there must be something.”
“That’s generous of you, but I don’t think it’s a good idea. If Wayne’s off on his own, in a squalid little apartment with no money and no company except his old friends, he won’t have any reason to resist. He’ll be back in the gambling trap fast.”
But he won’t drag you down with him. And he won’t be in my face.“At least promise you won’t give him money. I don’t want you to lose Nina’s or the house because of Uncle Wayne.”
“I won’t give him money, just his meals and a place to sleep. He’s out looking for work, and he promised to stop in at a twelve-step meeting. He found one online.”
I didn’t think people looked for work by driving around the city these days. Wasn’t it all online? But then, I’d been doing hockey and the store all my life. I’d never looked for a job. “Did he take your truck? Does he even have a licence?”
“Uh.” Grandpa looked startled. “You know, I didn’t even think of that. I bet it didn’t occur to him either.”
Sure, it didn’t.
“I took the day off, so I wasn’t using the truck. I’ll ask next time I see him. If he doesn’t have an active licence, he’ll need to get one ASAP. Not having it will cut down on his job options.”
“Yeah.” I didn’t point out that a criminal record with fraud in it would cut down even more. I hoped he could find a job and move out and stay away from my life.
I was about to go upstairs and change when I heard a vehicle in the drive. I stayed frozen in place, and I happened to belooking at Grandpa, so I saw something— fatigue or sadness— make his mouth turn down at the corners for a moment, before he put a smile firmly in place.
The front door opened, and then Uncle Wayne appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Hey, do I smell coffee? Thanks, Dad, you’re a lifesaver.” He strolled over to the coffeemaker and poured himself a mug.
“Any luck?” Grandpa asked. “How was the twelve-step meeting?”
“Doesn’t seem like anyone’s hiring, at least not today. I’ll look again on a weekday.” Uncle Wayne sucked down half his coffee. “The meeting sucked. Lots of sad losers in there, whining about how they lost their bank account or they lost their wife. What do they know about losing stuff, with their suits and their cars and their lives? I bet not one of them hid under a bunk to keep a cellmate high on meth from beating the shit out of them.”
