Chapter 30

Pops checked our mail at the end of our workday. His priority was bills and supermarket fliers. Mine was the refrigerator or the john, depending how long I’d gone without food or the other thing.

“Well, well, well. What have we here?”

Pops got my immediate attention any time he sounded like a Disney cartoon villain. The orange juice container partway to my mouth, I put it down, intrigued. “I don’t know. What?”

The breeze from the fan of cash he flapped in my face gave me chills, and not because it cooled me off after another day of higher than average temperatures.

“From Mickey?”

“So it says. I came into some cash, Mr. Junk, and figured the right thing to do was to pay you back that money my parents took from you all those years ago.”

“Fuck.”

“Better late than never.” Pops fanned himself, now, like some gloating southern belle.

“Fifteen hundred bucks?” I asked.

“Let’s count it.”

I knew he already had.

“One hundred, two hundred…”

“Come on, Pops.”