Free My Kind of Crazy by Robin Reul Page B

to go numb. How long does it take for frostbite to set in?
    I address the trash cans again. “I’m an asshole, Peyton. You didn’t deserve that. The truth is, it’s been a long time since anyone was nice to me. You could have busted me right from the start. But you didn’t, and even though you might do and say some freaky shit, I think you’re pretty cool. I shouldn’t have taken advantage of your trust like that.” I sigh deeply and add, “And if it makes you feel any better, I’ve felt miserable all night for what I said. Because it isn’t true, Peyton.”
    I stand there for another minute waiting to see if she appears, and when she doesn’t, I turn toward the house. “Nice job, jackass,” I say under my breath. Only I would pour my guts out to a garbage can.
    On the porch, I go to open the door, but the knob doesn’t give. Stuck again. Dad’s been saying he’ll get around to fixing it for forever, but that day has yet to come. I jiggle it again, a little harder this time, but nothing. You’ve got to be kidding me.
    I look for a stick on the ground, and when I find one approximately the right thickness, I attempt to jimmy the lock, but the stick splinters in my hand.
    Unbelievable.
    I have no choice but to knock gingerly for Dad. He doesn’t answer. I knock harder and step back from the door, jogging in place to try to keep warm. My adrenaline starts pumping, anticipating what’s to come.
    I hear Dad stirring inside, cursing and stumbling his way to the door. “Who the hell is knocking at this hour of the night?” he bellows. He throws open the door, his brow lined with annoyance, prepared to give whomever is on the other side a piece of his mind, but his eyebrows shoot up in confusion when he sees it’s me.
    â€œHank? What the hell are you doing out there? What happened to your clothes and shoes? Somebody messing with you?” He peers past me as if the answer is hiding behind me in the shadows.
    â€œEverything’s fine, Dad.” I push past him into the house, leaving muddy footprints on the carpet as I pass, but not caring because it’s warm in here.
    He closes the door behind him and grunts. “How could everything be fine? You’re outside half naked in the middle of the night. Are you telling me that’s normal behavior?”
    â€œI heard something outside, so I went to check it out. I got locked out. Sorry to wake you, Dad,” I say and start for the stairs. It would be a miracle if he lets me off this easily.
    He doesn’t.
    â€œWhat the hell is that in your hand?”
    I look down to see that I’m still holding the charbroiled Barbie. “Oh, this was on the porch. I think a stray cat left it. Probably got into someone’s trash.” I force a smile and tuck the gnarled plastic into my pocket. “’Night, Dad.”
    I make it up three stairs before he stops me.
    â€œSince when are you a Boy Scout investigating noises?” He chuckles and reaches for his half-empty beer on the coffee table and takes a swig. “You gonna clean up this mud you tracked in? You think I’m your maid or something? Get down here.”
    â€œYes, sir.” I slink my way to the kitchen for a rag. I wet it, put a little dishwashing soap and water in a small bowl, and head back to the living room, where he stands over me as I get on all fours and start to scrub at the stains.
    After a minute of supervising, Dad plops himself on the couch, throws back the rest of the beer, and then says, “You think I don’t know what you’re up to? Sneaking around in the middle of the night? Probably up to some trouble, and I won’t have it. I got enough crap to deal with without having to mop up your messes.” He says the last part with a scowl.
    â€œI wasn’t sneaking around, Dad. I told you, I heard a noise.” I keep my head down and concentrate on making concentric