Page 32 of Trailer Park Billionaire
“Really?” Ben asks with a raised eyebrow, his gaze shifting to me and then quickly back onto the road. “Because Iris told me you came up with the idea so Dia and Clay wouldn’t have to go to prison.”
A smirk tugs at the corner of my lips. It’s hard to avoid when it comes to the little rascals. “Well, Iris has a very lively imagination.” I think about it for a second, then decide to expand. “It wasn’t quite that dramatic. The whole thing started when I saw Dia and Clay sneaking around the museum with a group of kids. They were clearly up to no good. I recognized the look. It was the same one I had when I started acting out when… I was younger.”
Ben’s eyebrows shoot up, his gaze fixed on me while the RV rolls down the road.
“Eyes ahead, please,” I say and use my hands to turn his head back onto the street. “Gravity was enough already. I’d rather not also lose a fight with forward momentum.”
Ben laughs and eases off the gas. “Technically, I think you’d be up against sudden inertia. But don’t worry—I won’t let that happen. I will, however, need to hear about you acting out in your younger years. You know it’s illegal to tease such interesting information and not follow up on it. Consider it your payment for my chauffeur services.” He flashes one of his annoyingly perfect smiles, until I quickly point his head forward again.
“Is my money not good enough for you?”
“Oh, no, rich and powerful men aren’t interested in monetary reimbursement. We deal almost exclusively in information… and sometimes candy.”
I chuckle softly, take a deep breath to ease the knot still curled in my stomach, and—for whatever reason—resist the urgeto lie. Maybe because he’s been kind, or maybe it’s his perfectly chiseled charm finally wearing me down. Either way, I tell him something about myself that not many people know. In fact, now that my grandpa is dead, no one but Elaine does. “Well, I may or may not have been arrested once or twice when I was a teenager,” I say cautiously, leaving out the severity of what had happened. “And so, like any reformed criminal who still remembers the exact weight of a police flashlight on their—not yet fully developed—skull, I decided to intervene before anything bad could happen to Dia and Clay.”
Ben listens keenly while focusing on the road ahead.
“I lured them in with free snacks, which is just Kidnapping 101, obviously. Then I gave them paper, paints, and a safe place where they could simply exist for a few hours and weren’t expected to spend any money. Over time, the whole thing snowballed, and suddenly there was a whole group of kids who, instead of trying to steal the museum’s donation box, were sketching self-portraits, drawing birthday gifts, and—somehow—being a community, I guess.” I point at an upcoming intersection. “Take a right here and stay on the parallel street. Less traffic usually.”
Ben does as instructed.
“And that’s about the whole story. We have one or two classes a week depending on how many kids sign up.”
“They’re important to you, hm?”
I shrug. They really are. But they’d be fine if I left for Laos… I hope.
When we pull up outside my grandpa’s apartment building, I look around. I’m not sure for what, but I look anyway. Maybe a suspicious car, maybe suspicious people loitering, maybe… maybe I’m getting real paranoid here.
I exhale and roll my shoulders back. They won’t be here. All that’s waiting for me here is the smell of old books, oil paint, thefaintest hint of turpentine, and painful memories. My stomach tightens. And, right on cue, my grandpa’s face flashes through my mind like a punch to the gut. It used to be that certain situations evoked images in my mind—not just images, usually it was paintings by my grandpa. Paintings that reminded me of happier times. Now all that ever pops up in my mind seems to be his face in agony.
Ben notices instantly. “Expecting gravity to show up?” he asks carefully. “Or… just don’t want to deal with whatever remains?”
I don’t answer right away, not sure what to reply.
Both. The prospect of both kind of sucks.
Before I can say anything, Ben re-buckles my seatbelt and takes my hand. “It’s okay,” he says, blissfully unaware of how clueless he actually is. “We can come back another time if you’re not ready. We’ll just ignore it for now, you know… like grown-ups.”
I glance down at his hand squeezing mine in an attempt to soothe me. He’s warm, his skin surprisingly rough. I imagine what that same hand would feel like wrapped around my throat. Not hurting me, not really. Just doing things I should definitely not be thinking about right now.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I’m grieving. I should be fearing for my life. And… I’m horny?
How?
Why?
“No, it needs to be today,” I say, pulling my hand away, unbuckling the seatbelt, and opening the door. “I have this thing…” I continue, offering more of me than I normally would. But I guess this isn’t your normal, everyday situation. “This routine that I need to follow. My grandpa taught me when I wasin… when I was younger. If I don’t follow my routine I tend to spiral a bit. And this is on the schedule today.”
Ben just nods, says ‘Okay,’ and gives me a sympathetic smile. He must think I’m crazy. By now,Ithink I might be crazy.
We pass Paul Bearer, who works the reception at the Haven Lifespace Community, and get in the elevator. The doors open on the sixth floor, where we step out and walk over to his door. There’s no one there. The hallway is empty in both directions.
“You ready?” Ben asks, leaning against the wall while I search for the keys. He’s been eyeing me, wondering whether I’ll change my mind, whether I’ll ask him to take me home instead.
“Yeah,” I say, even though that’s obviously not entirely true. I reach for the handle, slide the key in, then pause. “Just… don’t judge the mess, okay? My grandpa was… a free spirit. Which is a poetic way of saying ‘hoarder with artistic tendencies.’”
