Free Badd by Tim Tharp

he doesn’t. He just says, “See you tomorrow,” then walks across the room and opens the door, careful to keep it from making a sound. Then he’s gone withouteven looking back. No kisses, no hugs, just the shadow of the feeling of his hand on my shoulder.
    What just happened? I ask myself. It’s like I saw a ghost, only instead of fright, I’m filled with nothing but a burning whirl of confusion.

12
    Work! I can’t stand it. All I
want
to do that next morning is head straight to Chuck’s apartment. What I
have
to do is start my new summer job working for Uncle Jimmy just like Bobby did back when he was in high school. Ace in the Hole Home Improvements is the name of his business. He paints houses, does carpentry work, builds decks, even mows lawns and plants trees if the price is right. The work isn’t real steady during the winter, but I think Uncle Jimmy likes it that way. He’s one adult who never completely lost that wild side of himself. Every once in a while, he’ll still get in a bar fight if he has to. I guess he’s my favorite uncle.
    Up to now I’ve really been looking forward to working for him, even though I suspect the parents lined it up because they thought doing some manual labor would be good for me. Thething is, though, if I can save enough money for a down payment, Dad says he’ll cosign on a car for me at the end of the summer. It’ll be a long way from new, but at least I won’t have to depend on my friends—or worse, my parents—to take me everywhere I want to go. Still, how can I think about that after Bobby’s visit last night?
    This whole morning, while getting ready for work, I can’t quit thinking about him. What is he doing back so soon? You don’t just get out of the army without a mile of red tape, do you? And why didn’t he call so we could have a big party? I figured we’d have all our friends and relatives over for a humongous blowout, celebrating the return of our war hero. The main thing that eats at me, though, is why was Bobby so distant? Why didn’t he pick me up and whirl me around and hug me till every ounce of worry I ever had about him squeezed out into the air?
    Riding to work, I try to think of a way to bring up the situation without breaking my promise to Bobby, but it’s not an easy subject to steer my way into while Uncle Jimmy’s going on about his big weekend at Roadrunner’s Roadhouse and how he wrestled Heath Pugh in the parking lot—again. Usually, I’d enjoy a story like this, but it’s kind of annoying when I want to talk about something serious.
    “You know what?” I tell him. “Maybe you should get married and slow down a little. You might live longer.”
    “Hell, Ceejay.” He laughs. “Marriage wouldn’t slow me down any. Take this situation at your house with Diane Simmons sniffing around in her low-cut blouses.”
    Diane Simmons is this church woman who’s been bringing food by our house when Mom’s out of town at Grandma’s.
    “I’ll tell you what,” he says. “If she pranced into my house while my wife’s away, I’m afraid I’d be tempted to partake of more than just the potatoes and gravy.”
    “Really? Ms. Simmons?” Up to now, I haven’t paid much attention to her, but come to think of it, she does wear her blouses pretty low-cut for a woman all the way up in her late thirties. “Don’t you think she might be a little too churchy for you?”
    “Are you kidding me? Some of those holy rollers come with the hottest fires burning down below.”
    “I guess you’re about the only one who would notice something like that. I’m sure my dad doesn’t see anything but the hot meals she brings by.”
    “Don’t kid yourself, girl. Your old man might be married, but he’s not dead.”
    I shake my head. “No, he’s not dead, but he’s asleep on the couch by nine o’clock every night.” I’m not the least bit worried about my dad getting hot for some church woman’s freckled cleavage. He’s the most predictable