Free Recovering by J Bennett

haven’t been making Maya laugh. This realization knees
me in the balls. I’ve been so caught up in my own pathetic-fest that I haven’t
even been trying. It’s my job to make sure she cracks that crooked smile and
doesn’t go sailing off into the sea of despair. I can’t ever get Tarren back
the way he was before Tammy died, but I can make Maya laugh. And I will. I
swear I will.
    I come up to
the automatic doors, and damn, when did that they start moving at the speed of
glaciers? I get in, grab a basket, and manage not to punch out the dentures of
the WalMart greeter who has the audacity to be pleasant and happy. 
     I head to
the mobile phone department and drop a handful of cheapo, pay-as-you-go phones
and some prepaid minute cards into my basket. I always carry an emergency $300
prepaid credit card in my wallet. This pretty damn well looks like an emergency
to me. Next, I load up on snacks, piling protein bars into the basket and
enough energy drinks to fuel the entire World of Warcraft community for a week.
I hurry past the outdoor section on my way to the counter, stop, and backtrack.
I go down the aisle, and my heart clobbers in my chest as I set eyes on a
beautiful piece of equipment. I have just enough on the prepaid card to cover
it. I tuck my prize under my arm and rush to the cash register like all of
hell’s fury was at my heels.

Chapter 9
      I connect my Bluetooth earpiece and
give Lo a call as I peel out of the WalMart parking lot. My foot wants to go
lead on the accelerator, but getting pulled over would just be one more bucket
of shit in this shit hurricane. I force myself to stay right on top of the
speed limit like I was just moseying my way to brunch after church.
     Lo picks up
on the third ring.
     “What?” He somehow
manages to pour his entire dickish attitude into that one word. Here’s the
thing about Lo – he’s a full-on genius. A hair away from mad scientist if you
ask me. Nothing wrong with having some smarts – Tarren’s got IQ numbers in
spades – but Lo has a way of always rubbing it in, letting me know that my
mental crayon isn’t only dull, but also broken and half melted in the sun.
     Yeah, I know
brains weren’t one of the gifts God doled out to me, but I do my damned best to
make up for it with roguish charm. Where’s the appreciation for that?  Roguish
charm can get you out of a whole hell of a lot of situations, even some where
too much thinking just gets in the way.
     “It’s me,” I
say.
     He must know
this is serious since I didn’t open with an insult. “Tarren’s dead,” he says,
and a waver hits his voice. Who knew the kid had feelings under all that goth
crap he paints on his face?
     “No.”
     A pause.
“Maya.” The heavy metal music crashing in the background disappears.
     “We’ve been
compromised,” I say. “You and your mom need to get out. Head for the hills.”
    “Step-mom,”
he corrects automatically. “What happened?”
    “Doesn’t
matter. Get out now.” I’m doing my best Tarren impression, all half-uttered
growls in a cold, don’t even think of messing with me right now voice. “Don’t
come back Lo. Seriously, you can’t ever come back.”
    “Shit,” he
mutters. “How much time?
    “None. Go.”
    “It’s not
that easy fucktard,” he snaps back. “I’ve got things I’m working on. Important
things. Samples. Experiments. I can’t just sweep it all into a suitcase.”
    This is why
Lo is such a little bastard. Here I am, trying to save his dweeby life, and
he’s bitching about it like I just pissed in his soup.
    “Don’t care.
Move your ass Lo!” I’m grinding my teeth, trying not to fishtail the
slow-as-all-hell station wagon in front of me with the Disney Land family decal
on the back.
     “Was it
Maya? Did she turn and join up with them?” Lo asks.
     I whip
around the station wagon and leave it and the speed limit in the dust. I dare a
stupid cop to pull me over.
     “I swear to
God Lo, you ever say