Page 77 of Stowaway Whirlwind
Goldie’s voice is pitched with concern when she asks, “Who’s truck is that?” She’s understandably suspicious of any vehicle she doesn’t recognize near our home, but this is one I know well.
“Russell’s,” I answer, pulling up our driveway and parking the Ford next to his white dually pickup behind Layla’s beat-to-shit sedan, held together by duct tape and a prayer.
“What’s he doing here?” She doesn’t wait for an answer and jumps out of the truck, leaving me to bring our bags inside as she heads to the front door.
Russell pinches the bridge of his nose before finally lowering his driver’s side window after I rap my knuckles on it.
“Hey, boss. Fancy seeing you here.” I’m grinning ear to ear, barely suppressing a chuckle as the tips of his ears redden, his face lit up by the house’s exterior flood lights.
He grumbles out something unintelligibly.
I put a hand to my ear. “What was that?”
He clears his throat. “Just keeping an eye out.”
I look past him and spot a pillow and blanket folded on the passenger side, an open blue and white cooler in the footwell, with bottles of water, sandwiches, and snacks stacked inside. “You planning on ‘keeping an eye out’ all night?”
He presses his lips flat.
“Or all weekend?”
Russell coughs and shifts in his seat.
“You getting sick, old man?”
Finally, Russell looks me straight in the face. “You shut the fuck up.”
The front door thumps closed, and we turn our heads to the side, watching Layla hobble across the porch, carrying a heavy duffel bag in one hand and a—“Is that a stuffed animal?”
Russell knocks me out of the way when he swings open his door, wearing black sweatpants with a gray sweatshirt and sneakers, rushing to help Layla. I cover my mouth so Layla won’t see me laugh when she stops on the top porch step, her eyes wide and hair pulled back from her face by a big headband with panda ears on top. She’s wearing big, fluffy purple slippers and a short nightgown with rainbows and unicorns.
When Russell takes her duffel bag, she pushes her headband off, hiding it and her white teddy bear behind her back. “What are you doing here?” Her voice is as high-pitched as Goldie’s was.
Russell mumbles even worse than before, turning fast to drop her duffel bag off at her car. He curses when the door opens after tugging on the handle. “You didn’t lock your car?”
Her brows crease in the middle as she moves onto the lawn. “This is a small town. I never lock my car.”
“Need I remind you that anything can happen, even in a small town?”
She rolls her eyes, and I automatically, like a total dipshit, spout, “Rule number two.”
They both turn their attention to me, and Layla giggles. “Goldie’s told the girls all about your rules. Which one is number two, again?” She taps her chin like she’s trying hard to think.
Russell shifts on his feet. “What rules?”
“Oh, that’s right. Do not give Daddy attitude.” She grants me a wide, innocent smile, cocking her head to the side.
“Jesus Christ,” I hiss under my breath.
Russell’s voice goes up an octave. “Daddy?”
“Fucking hell, Layla. I’m never going to hear the end of this,” I mutter, taking the steps to the front door.
“Don’t you curse at her,” Russell says with a growl, jabbing a finger toward me across the distance. “Apologize. Right now.”
I hold my hands up. “My apologies, Layla.”
She nods, turning her head back and forth between us, caught in the middle. “I’m gonna…go now.” She walks sideways with her hand still behind her back until she crosses in front of her car and throws the teddy bear and headband in the back seat.
