Candy Colored Sky, стр. 41
“Clumsy?” I cock an eyebrow at Gary, who tagged me with the term.
“I don’t know. We always called dumb shits that name in the army. And no offense, Jonah, but you’re playing like a dumb shit,” he says. The table erupts in a round of coughing-laughter. These unhealthy assholes think they’re so funny.
“Yeah, yeah. Just count your chips, Gary,” I fire back. I open my beer and shoot my grandpa a quick glance for permission.
“I gave it to ya, didn’t I?” he says.
I look over my shoulder at the closed door that my mom never steps through when the garage is full of these men. I’m a rule follower. Always have been, and even when I stray outside the lines—like the time I helped Jake TP the house of his eighth grade basketball coach—I always find a way to go back in and make it right. I woke up at five in the morning that day to clean up his yard before he saw it.
But there comes a time when following rules starts to feel all wrong. I’ve been feeling that a lot lately, since the stupid fight with Eleanor, and maybe before that. I’m about to graduate and I’m supposed to go off to school somewhere and have this great college experience. Left to my own devices, I don’t think I’m prepared to be very adventurous at all. I’m not even that excited about the prospect of a dorm room, or a roommate. Especially not a roommate.
Drowning in my self-pity, I crack the tab and tip my head back while taking a massive gulp. I drain a third of the can and slam it down on the table as a show of commitment.
“You all right now?” Grandpa asks.
I nod at him and pour every bit of energy I have into making the most statuelike, impossible to read face I’m capable of. It’s not like I’ve only been a rookie, losing these first few hands. I’ve been studying too. And I realize a lot of this game has to do with math, and math . . . that’s something I can kick Gary’s ass at.
The first round post-beer is easy. I luck out by getting dealt a pair of aces, and I know from my understanding of odds, and the fact the third ace was flipped on the turn, that I am sitting in a pretty good position. Dale folds, which means he doesn’t have anything worth moving forward with, and I can take a pretty solid guess at what types of cards he had. Their friend Jimmy is a terrible bluffer, and I know he’s full of shit by the way he plays up his hand. Honestly, Jimmy’s the real gollumpus at this table.
I write his hand off and do my best to study my grandpa and Gary through the river, and force myself to remain calm when the other ace gets flipped over. Using my newbie status to my advantage, I let the two old men hike up the amount in the pot with their little game of one-on-one, and when it comes time to call, I don’t know if they actually realize I’m still in the game. They both flip over their three-of-a-kind hands, Grandpa’s higher than Gary’s. With his arm poised and ready to sweep the chips into his pile, he gives me a sideways glance and raises a brow.
“Go on, throw down your cards,” he says. The simmer of laughter at the table, ready for me to lose again, bolsters my confidence. My face as guarded as it was when this hand started, I toss down my two aces on top of the other two and flit my gaze to meet my grandpa’s stare.
“Son of a bitch, would ya look at that!” he barks out.
He leans back in his chair, his hand falling away from the chips that are, in fact, now mine, and I swivel my head to look at Gary, who is as shocked as my grandpa.
“You little shit!”
Somehow, the trash talk comes out more like a huge compliment, and just like that, I’m ushered into their club—no longer the punk kid who was sulking over an unrequited crush, but an honorary senior citizen and gambling degenerate who fills the voids in his life one dollar at a time.
The game went on for three hours—and two beers. I could have pushed it and had a third, but I like being relaxed while still having my wits about me.
I help Grandpa clean up the garage, plugging in the box fan to air out the space so my mom doesn’t lose her ever-loving-mind over the cigar smell. He heads in first, and before I close up the garage, I stand at the entrance with the light off and give one final, hopeful look at Eleanor’s window.
Her house has been quiet all night. Both the van and her sister’s SUV were missing for most of the afternoon, and they still haven’t returned. Maybe her family decided to stay somewhere else after all, like with her grandparents. I’m not even sure where they live. I didn’t ask because asking Eleanor questions about her family feels too invasive. All roads lead back to Addy.
I finally shut the door and give up for the night, doing my best to find my way back into the house and through the downstairs without making too much noise. I grab my backpack from the kitchen table because I have some reading to finish before my first hour. The glow of the television gets my attention before I make it to the stairs, so I pause and back up toward Grandpa’s easy chair where the remote rests on the arm. I didn’t see my mom curled up in the chair from the back, and I startle at coming upon her when I grab the buttons.
“Jonah?” She stretches out sideways