“I want to find out what he needs, what makes him vulnerable, and make him an offer he can’t refuse,” he instructed. “Find it and tell me.”
My father’s words hadn’t surprised me. He didn’t do anything out of generosity, so I knew he would have a hidden agenda for having me here. Aside from creating space between Sunny and me.
I shrugged. “I don’t plan on helping him with that goal, sir.”
He nudged my shoulder. “Knock it off with the sir shit. It’s Gerry.”
I smiled and finished my apple. “Okay, Ge
rry.” I leaned back against the step, and he mimicked my action.
“I thought you were going to be a lazy, rich little SOB. A brat I was going to have to babysit who would spend the summer lying on the dock and bothering my counselors.”
I started to laugh. “I don’t blame you.”
“You’re all right, kid. You’re a hard worker.” He laughed. “The list I gave you were things I haven’t been able or wanted to do myself. Hard, messy shit that, frankly, should have taken you a week, if not more. You’ve knocked it out in three days, and not once have you complained.”
I looked around. “What’s to complain about? I get to work outside, your wife’s cooking is incredible, and I can eat all I want. I can swim in the lake or the pool and go to sleep when I feel like it.” I couldn’t help but tease him. “Although a bed would be more welcome than a cot in the office.”
He stared at me for a moment. “You sound as if you’re tired of being told what to do, kid.”
“I am. I like it here. I work and get rewarded.”
He cleared his throat. “Yeah, about that. Your father insisted I direct deposit your pay to an account he gave me.”
I wasn’t surprised. I had to account for every dollar I spent. Every week, I handed over my journal of expenses and receipts. He would top up the cash I was allowed to have on hand and then give me back my credit card. I never had more than a hundred dollars in my pocket or less than twenty. It wasn’t that he felt I should have the money, but he kept up the image of being a good father and provider. That he cared for his son’s well-being and looked after him. He also refused to have his son look anything but well-off. It was all a sham, but I liked to spend his money. It was the only retribution I had.
Thank god my father thought I was an airhead who smoked dope (no such thing as a receipt for weed), got the munchies (explained all the bills from the diner and grocery store when I visited Sunny), and bought a lot of condoms (an easy cover for treats I got for the girls at the drugstore). Whatever extra I could skim went to much better use than sitting in his bank account. I slipped tens and fives into Sunny’s wallet and dropped twenties into drawers at her mother’s. I was sure they were on to me, but they let it alone. I think they knew how important it was to me to help look after them. They looked after me in return.
The bottom line was that my father didn’t give a flying fuck if I screwed half the town and liked weed. As long as I didn’t get caught, or get some girl pregnant, and I stayed away from him, it was fine. If he knew the cash went to help Sunny, however, the punishment would be severe. I had experienced that already.
“Nothing you can do, Gerry. My father is my father.”
He dropped me here himself, not even turning off the engine as I got out, duffel bag in hand. I wasn’t allowed my car for the summer. I had been late getting home from my night with Sunny, disturbed him coming in, and he was displeased with my explanation of where I had been. My ribs still felt the ache from his displeasure, and then he took away my car.
“Find a way to the house Sunday or else,” were his last words.
Gerry tilted his head, studying me. “I think there’s a story, and I think you’re too private to share. But this is what I’m gonna do. I lowballed your father and told him this job paid way less than it does. So, every week, I’m gonna give you the difference. What you do with it is up to you.”
I blinked.
“And the room off the office? There’s a bed there and a private shower. It’s yours for the summer, kid.” He stood and brushed off his legs. “I’m wondering—is your father sending a car for you? I saw him drop you off and leave, but I know you have to see him on Sundays.”
I shook my head, now embarrassed. “No, sir, ah, Gerry. I’ll get up early and walk.”
“Five miles?”
I shrugged. “Good exercise.”
He shook his head. “Follow me.”
He led me to one of the outbuildings and opened the door. A two-person scooter sat inside, helmet on the handles. It was old, somewhat rusty, and needed a good wash. I looked at Gerry, who was watching me.
“You know anything about engines?”
“A little. A friend of mine is a grease monkey, and I help him sometimes.”
He handed me a set of keys. “Tune it up, and fill it with gas. You can use it on Sundays and your other morning off.” He winked. “I didn’t fail to notice the way a certain girl’s dark eyes lit up when she heard your name, or the way you casually asked to see the list of counselors and their days off. Or how, interestingly enough, your two half days matched hers.”