Free Back Roads by Tawni O’Dell Page B

couldn’t believe I didn’t lie. I might as well have told her about Brandy Crowe too, and how I had freaked out at the prison with Mom, and how I used to pee my pants when Dad hit me too hard, and any other embarrassing thing I could think of that might help her figure out I was a total idiot.
    “I thought you were older,” she added.
    “I’m old for my age,” I said with my mouth full of pork chop.
    She laughed. I didn’t mean it to be funny. I was dead serious. But it was okay with me if she thought it was a joke. Ask any woman what was most important to her in a man and she would say a good sense of humor. Of course, they were all lying but a sense of humor must have counted for something or they wouldn’t have always been bringing it up.
    “This is great,” I said about the pork chop, and I wasn’t sucking up to her. It was the most tender, juicy, flavorful thing I could ever remember putting into my mouth.
    “Thanks,” she said, smiling.
    She seemed to like the compliment about her cooking more than the one about her house.
    “Jody loved them too. She ate two whole chops by herself.”
    The door banged open and all three kids came running in. Callie’s kids were vanilla-skinned with big dark eyes; Esme with blue-black, Snow White hair and Zack with a fawn-colored mop.
    They skidded to a stop and stood beside each other. Esme leaned into Zack, and he gave her a two-handed shove. A pink tongue popped out of Esme’s angel face, and Zack grinned like a soldier who’s seen too many battles.
    “You forgot to close the door,” Callie told them.
    “Can we have something to eat?” Esme asked.
    “You just had dinner,” Callie said. “Go close the door.”
    “We want dessert.”
    “We want dessert,” Zack echoed.
    “I haven’t even cleaned up the dishes yet. Maybe later.”
    “Did you eat these pork chops?” I asked Jody.
    “Yeah,” she said. “I loved them.”
    “You hate pork chops.”
    “I hate your pork chops. They taste like napkins.”
    “It’s probably just the marinade.” Callie laughed. “It’s a very simple one. Apple cider, lemon juice, honey, soy sauce. I could give you the recipe.”
    “And your macaroni and bean soup recipe,” Jody added, eagerly.
    “That’s an easy one too,” Callie said, then gasped, “Where are your shoes?”
    They were all barefoot.
    “Outside,” they answered.
    “It’s not summer yet,” she scolded them. “Go get your shoes back on. Right now.”
    “Cruz wore shorts today to school,” Esme argued with an imperial tilt to her chin.
    “Which Cruz?”
    “Cruz Lewandowski.”
    “Do I care what Cruz does?”
    “His father’s an educator,” Esme pointed out.
    Even Callie rolled her eyes. “His father’s a gym teacher. Now go get your shoes, and Zack, it’s time for you to come in.”
    They all went tearing out again, their pounding feet on the wood floor sounding like a tiny fleeing army.
    Callie sat down across from me and opened the beer for herself, sighing.
    “There are five Cruzes in their class. Do you know what that’s all about?” she asked me. “The only Cruz I know is Santa Cruzand I have a feeling that’s not what people around here are naming their kids after.”
    “I think he’s some guy on a soap opera,” I answered.
    “Oh. Okay. That would make sense.”
    She took a swig from the beer and stared off into space. I finished the pork chop. I didn’t think she had noticed, but she reached out and pushed a bowl of potatoes in my direction without looking down at them. All mothers had that empty plate reflex.
    “Funny how you can like a name and then find out the reason for it is stupid and then it’s ruined,” she said, kind of absentmindedly. “And vice versa. A name might seem really dumb and then you find out the reason for it is interesting or sentimental and then you like it.”
    I wasn’t listening to her but I heard her. I was busy shoveling potatoes in my mouth and staring at her because she wasn’t