Page 44 of You'll Never Know
Most days went like this: Reed’s dad would climb into his busted Chevy pickup and head out to his job as a roustabout in the oil fields before first light. Reed would wake to his alarm, grab a Pop-Tart, throw on his backpack, and head to school. The walk was two miles of dirt and concrete and endless sky, which gave Reed time to think about all the things he wanted to be when he grew up. A doctor or a teacher or a firefighter. Or maybe even a football player if was lucky. He was good at it. All the kids said so, and he loved playing. Really, he’d be happy with pretty much any job other than becoming a forklift driver or an oilfield guy like his dad. After school, he’d walk back home, do his homework, and then warm up two frozen pizzas. Dinner needed to be ready by six o’clock sharp because his dad came home hungry.
It was a rhythm he moved to well. Dad would stroll through the door smelling like dirt and grease. They’d talk about all kinds of things while they ate, like Reed’s grades, his teachers and friends, and how he’d aced his math test. Reed’s Dad would smile at that, clap him on the back, and tell him to keep it up. Then he’d complain to Reed about his day—tell him how Hank had wronged him, or Louis, or that sonuvabitch Jim or Bob. Reed had never seen these faceless men in person, but somehow he felt like he knew them. Guys who had it out for Dad were everywhere they went. When he got tired of talking about them, he and Reed would watch some TV together and then go to bed.
Reed loved those days. Those days were good.
There were other days, though. Thundercloud days. The days his dad came home late or didn’t come home until long after Reed had gone to bed. On these days, Reed knew to take cover. He ate his dinner alone, cleaned the kitchen, and retreated to his room. There was no sense waiting up. He’d done it a few times and knew how it went. Dad would bang inside like an overheated engine at some point smelling like smoke and beer and talk in a way that didn’t sound like him, his words slurred, his voice loud. Then he’d throw things, breakthings, tell Reed shit was about to hit the fan.
And shit had definitely hit the fan.
It had happened a month ago, on a Thursday. Reed had dinner ready as usual when his dad showed up, but when he came through the door, it was with bloody knuckles and a broken nose. Reed knew what it meant, he’d seen it before.Pack up your shit, Reed. It’s time to go.His father even started grumbling about moving closer to his sister, which made Reed shiver. He didnotwant to move there.
His Aunt Beth was as thin as a skeleton and smelled like cigarettes and never seemed happy to see Reed. Mostly she seemed annoyed, waving him away with a flick of her fingers after a quick, one-armed squeeze hello. She’d only visited them a handful of times over the years, but it was enough that Reed remembered how he’d had to walk on eggshells around her and was relieved when she left. The thought of living anywhere close to Aunt Beth made his stomach hurt.
Thankfully though, when Reed had asked his father if they were going to move a week later, he’d simply replied, “We’re not going anywhere.”
“Really?” Reed had asked hopefully.
“I’m tired of chasing work. I’m done. There are other ways to make money.” And then his gaze had settled on Reed full of a different kind of light. Instead of dull and defeated, it lookedalive.“It’s time I showed you how.”
And he had. For the last three weekends, they’d visited the wealthy neighborhoods around town with Reed dressed in a Boy Scout uniform they’d found at the local Goodwill. They took donations for fake charities with names that fell out of his father’s mouth at will. The Global Relief Initiative. Seeds of Change. The Foundation for a Better Tomorrow. The charities sounded real enough, but Reed knew they weren’t because when people actually donated, they kept all of the money.
Reed felt a little bad about it at first, but not for long. He’d never seen his dad this excited before. He’d put on his gray suit, comb hishair, and it was like Reed was staring at a brand-new man. Even with his bruised face, he looked presentable. But it was the way he spoke when people opened the door that really blew Reed away. It was awesome.
“Hello, ma’am. It’s a pleasure to meet you. If you can spare a minute, my son is in local troop five-twenty-nine, and we’re out meeting our neighbors and raising proceeds for the Women’s Empowerment Fund. They provide assistance to underprivileged women and girls who are trying to escape dangerous situations.”
When his dad finished, is was Reed’s turn. He would recite a few lines they’d rehearsed beforehand and paste a big ray of sunshine on his face. At this point, whoever was at the door would usually smile and say they were happy to donate a few dollars. Then Reed would hand them a pamphlet listing all of the charities that didn’t exist and wait patiently until they paid. When they did, Reed’s dad said cash was best, but if they needed to pay with a check, that was okay, too.
When Reed asked his dad how he turned a check into money, he told Reed it was called check washing. Reed didn’t understand that at all because whatever weird chemicals his dad used to erase the charity’s name didn’t smell like soap. They just made Reed’s nose burn and his eyes water. It didn’t always work, either—sometimes his dad had to throw the checks away—but when it did, it made him especially happy, which made Reed happy too.
On those days, his dad would take Reed to Applebee’s and tell him to order anything on the menu. He’d worked for it, after all. Reed loved those dinners. The food was amazing—and way better than frozen pizza. Even better than that, though, was how his dad had come back to life. He no longer sat on the couch and sulked like he used to when things didn’t go his way at work. He walked Reed to school instead and played catch with him in the park on the way home. They went to the movies, and Dad would point at the people in the theater and laugh at how stupid most of them were.Those idiots deserve to lose their money,he’d say.They have more than they need. Look at that guy’sfancy watch. Losing a few bucks means nothing to him.And in those moments, sitting next to his dad before the screen came to life, Reed agreed. Those idiotsdiddeserve to lose their money. He and his dad needed it way more.
“I’m proud of you, Reed,” his father would say before the movie started, looping his arm around Reed’s shoulders. “You’re a hell of a good son.”
And in those moments, Reed truly loved his father. He hoped it would go like this forever. But this was the last weekend they would be pulling the Boy Scout scam. His dad told him you never wanted to do one thing for too long or people would catch on. Reed understood. It made sense. But it also made him sad. He’d gotten good with his speech, especially when it came to the Rwandan refugee crisis. He’d even managed to summon a few tears at the last house, which had led to an extra fifty bucks.
“Ready?” his dad asked, squeezing his shoulder as they stood on the sidewalk in front of the last home of the day. Reed knew this neighborhood. Everyone in Midland did. Grassland Estates was full of rich people, and this house looked richer than most. He’d make Dad proud, he told himself. He would no matter what.
He nodded.
They strolled up the walkway and rang the bell. When the door opened, it was to a woman with smooth blonde hair and a red-lipstick smile. Reed’s heart leaped. The scam always worked best on women. And women were who they were really out here to get. Reed’s dad had told him as much. Women were lazy. They stayed at home and spent their husbands’ hard-earned money on fancy clothes and jewelry.They steal from them, like your mom stole from us, Reed. It’s really no different. They’ve earned what we’re about to do to them.
And to Reed, this woman, more than any of the others they’d come across today, looked like one ofthosewomen. The kind of woman that sat around all day eating chocolates and watching TV while her husband worked. She had big diamond earrings hanging offher ears and a bunch of rings shining from her fingers. It reminded Reed of his mother. She’d always wanted rings and necklaces. She’d bitched at Dad for them all the time. Then, when he’d told her no, she’d taken all of their money and run. The memory made Reed hate this woman. It made Reed want to make her pay.
He worked up the tears before Dad started talking about the Wounded Patriots Project. When his turn came, he gave the performance of his life. There were so many soldiers out there with missing legs and arms who really needed their help, and how could they even support themselves like that? He was about to hand over the donation pamphlet when he realized the woman was no longer looking at him. She was staring at his dad instead.
“Sorry, which troop did y’all say you were from again?”
“Five-twenty-nine,” his dad replied without hesitation.
A deep line formed above the woman’s nose. She frowned. “I don’t think there’s a troop five-twenty-nine in Midland.”
His father hesitated, swallowed. “Oh, we’re from the other side of the city, down in Belmont, actually. You probably haven’t heard of us.”
Her frown got bigger. “No, I would have, I’m sure.” She glanced back over her shoulder. “Hey, Lloyd! Lloyd, come out here for a sec, will you?”
The door opened wider, and a man with a square head and a buzz-cut appeared behind her. His arms were bigger than his father’s and so was his gut. He probably liked beer, too. “Yeah?” Lloyd said, his gaze still lingering on the football game blaring from the living room.
“These gentlemen say they’re from troop five twenty-nine. They’re asking for donations.”
