Preppy: The Life & Death of Samuel Clearwater, Part Three
Page 43
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“Who’s in the bag?” I asked, pointing with my eyes to the scene in the corner.
“Hmmmmm...J. Edgar Hoover?” Preppy answered, a ridiculous fake smile plastered on his face that exposed both his top and bottom teeth.
“Try again.”
He sighed. “How about I promise to tell you all about it later. For now, just know that it’s a really bad guy who did really bad things, who is going to a really, really hot place.”
“Hell?”
“The incinerator at the morgue,” Preppy whispered. He placed his other hand over my cheek gently, stroking my skin with his thumb. “Now rest, Doc.”
“Okay,” I agreed, drifting off. This time my sleep was anything but dreamless. All night I dreamt of home. Bo. Preppy.
My family.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Preppy It was eight in the morning. Kevin took Bo back home with him under the strict guidelines of keeping an eye on him at all times and instructions to ‘keep him away from the kitchen knives or anything sharp’. At least until I had a chance to have a real talk with him about the pros and cons of becoming a real life axe murderer. King and Bear had a body to dispose of. Ray and Thia were with the kids but they both called to tell me they’d be by later on in the day.
I was sitting out in the hallway so Dre’s dad could visit with her alone. When he came back out he told me she’d finally fallen asleep and plopped down across the hall from me on the only other chair. The fluorescent light buzzed overhead, making the bags under his eyes look just as bad as mine probably did.
“You gonna tell me, son?” Mr. Capulet asked, leaning forward.
“She didn’t tell you what happened?”
“No, I didn’t want to discuss that with her, not now while she’s still in rough shape, but that’s not what I’m asking you either, not now anyway. I don’t want you to tell me about tonight or about the last time.” He lifted his eyes to mine. “I want you to tell me more about YOU. I think that talk is long overdue, don’t you?”
I’d never cared what anyone thought of me, but Dre cared about her father and his opinion, which made me wary of telling him anything because I didn’t want his opinion of me to change from tolerant to WTF.
“So? Go on,” he prompted.
“Now?”
“She’s sleeping. I’m too tired and wired to do the same and from the looks of it you’re in the same boat. We got time and there’s no time like the present,” he said, rubbing his hands together.
I blew out a long breath. “I don’t even know what Dre’s already told you about me,” I started, rubbing my weary eyes.
“She’s told me some things, but I have a feeling there’s a lot more.” He rested his elbows on his knees and pointed at me. “So why don’t you tell me? Tell me who you are so I know who it is my daughter’s so in love with. Go on, son.” It was the first time the use of the word son didn’t make me cringe.
“You won’t like it,” I said flatly.
“Guarantee I won’t. But why don’t you just tell me anyway,” he said, raising his eyebrows.
I glanced at Dre through the glass and checked the steady rhythm of the monitor above her bed before turning back to face her dad and gave him the honesty he wanted, but after I was done I would be pretty sure it would be added to his list of life regrets. “I’m everything you shouldn’t want for your daughter. Loud. Rude. Crude. I’m sure this is the part where I’m supposed to confess to you that I’ve done things I’m not proud of, but that’s the thing, I’m pretty fucking proud of everything I’ve done. The good. The bad. The bloody. The only thing I ever did that I regretted was pushing Dre away and now I’m regretting bringing her back to this town because then maybe she wouldn’t be here right now.”
“Go on,” he said, leaning back and crossing his ankle over his knee. “I’m listening.”
I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly and figured the man had a right to know exactly who I was. Figured it was like ripping off a Band-Aid, so I decided that direct and fast was the best way to go about this little getting-to-know-you session. “I’m just me. Samuel Clearwater. I was born in this shit hole town.”
“You don’t like Logan’s Beach?” he asked, sounding confused.
“No! I fucking love this town. Doesn’t mean it’s not a shit hole,” I clarified.
“Continue.”
“My favorite word is any variation of FUCK. I like my whiskey with a side of blow and maybe a little weed. I have a running theme song in my head for pretty much every occasion and I like to sing it at the top of my lungs, regardless of who is around or where I am. One of my most favorite things to do in this life is to give my friend Bear shit ‘cause the look on his face is fucking priceless. I love all kinds of movies and I cried like a little bitch during the entire two hours of PS I Love You. I dig all kinds music. Country. Folk. Pop. Blues. Rap. Everything from Tupac to Taylor Swift. I have an unnatural obsession with making perfect pancakes.” I lowered my gaze to the floor and dug deeper. “Before Dre, there were a lot of girls. A lot. I partied hard. Watched a shit ton of porn, the crazier shit the better. Fucked around with anyone willing, and some who weren’t. I didn’t care about the consequences when I did things to them they never asked for. Sometimes I hurt them pretty bad. Looking back, I think I was just punishing them. Taking my shit out on them I couldn’t take out on my mom. I wanted to hurt them because I wanted to hurt her. For running out on me and making me think she was dead when she wasn’t. For making me care when I shouldn’t have fucking cared. For leaving me with my shit bag stepdad who must have taken a master class in pedophilia because after my mom left...” I looked up to Dre’s dad who had an unreadable expression on his face. “He liked to switch between beating me and raping me,” I clarified. “Guess it kept shit interesting for him. I don’t want sympathy. Never have,” I said.
“Good. Because I ain’t giving you any,” Dre’s dad said. When I looked at him again there was a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “And?”
“And... and I grow weed in the guest bedrooms of elderly women’s houses in exchange for helping them with their mortgage payments. And honestly? Those ladies are some of the coolest chicks I know. Florida just legalized medical marijuana, we might never legalize it recreationally because we’re some pretty backward ass folk down here, but I’ve already purchased the fields and a warehouse for the medical part. Got a doctor ready to back it and the business licenses and corporation paperwork have already been filed. Should be in production within a few months. Also, I died at one point. Thought I did anyway because I was kept in a hole below the ground by a lunatic who tortured me day in and day out for the sole reason because he could.” I looked up at Mr. Capulet. “How am I doing so far?”
“Hmmmmm...J. Edgar Hoover?” Preppy answered, a ridiculous fake smile plastered on his face that exposed both his top and bottom teeth.
“Try again.”
He sighed. “How about I promise to tell you all about it later. For now, just know that it’s a really bad guy who did really bad things, who is going to a really, really hot place.”
“Hell?”
“The incinerator at the morgue,” Preppy whispered. He placed his other hand over my cheek gently, stroking my skin with his thumb. “Now rest, Doc.”
“Okay,” I agreed, drifting off. This time my sleep was anything but dreamless. All night I dreamt of home. Bo. Preppy.
My family.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Preppy It was eight in the morning. Kevin took Bo back home with him under the strict guidelines of keeping an eye on him at all times and instructions to ‘keep him away from the kitchen knives or anything sharp’. At least until I had a chance to have a real talk with him about the pros and cons of becoming a real life axe murderer. King and Bear had a body to dispose of. Ray and Thia were with the kids but they both called to tell me they’d be by later on in the day.
I was sitting out in the hallway so Dre’s dad could visit with her alone. When he came back out he told me she’d finally fallen asleep and plopped down across the hall from me on the only other chair. The fluorescent light buzzed overhead, making the bags under his eyes look just as bad as mine probably did.
“You gonna tell me, son?” Mr. Capulet asked, leaning forward.
“She didn’t tell you what happened?”
“No, I didn’t want to discuss that with her, not now while she’s still in rough shape, but that’s not what I’m asking you either, not now anyway. I don’t want you to tell me about tonight or about the last time.” He lifted his eyes to mine. “I want you to tell me more about YOU. I think that talk is long overdue, don’t you?”
I’d never cared what anyone thought of me, but Dre cared about her father and his opinion, which made me wary of telling him anything because I didn’t want his opinion of me to change from tolerant to WTF.
“So? Go on,” he prompted.
“Now?”
“She’s sleeping. I’m too tired and wired to do the same and from the looks of it you’re in the same boat. We got time and there’s no time like the present,” he said, rubbing his hands together.
I blew out a long breath. “I don’t even know what Dre’s already told you about me,” I started, rubbing my weary eyes.
“She’s told me some things, but I have a feeling there’s a lot more.” He rested his elbows on his knees and pointed at me. “So why don’t you tell me? Tell me who you are so I know who it is my daughter’s so in love with. Go on, son.” It was the first time the use of the word son didn’t make me cringe.
“You won’t like it,” I said flatly.
“Guarantee I won’t. But why don’t you just tell me anyway,” he said, raising his eyebrows.
I glanced at Dre through the glass and checked the steady rhythm of the monitor above her bed before turning back to face her dad and gave him the honesty he wanted, but after I was done I would be pretty sure it would be added to his list of life regrets. “I’m everything you shouldn’t want for your daughter. Loud. Rude. Crude. I’m sure this is the part where I’m supposed to confess to you that I’ve done things I’m not proud of, but that’s the thing, I’m pretty fucking proud of everything I’ve done. The good. The bad. The bloody. The only thing I ever did that I regretted was pushing Dre away and now I’m regretting bringing her back to this town because then maybe she wouldn’t be here right now.”
“Go on,” he said, leaning back and crossing his ankle over his knee. “I’m listening.”
I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly and figured the man had a right to know exactly who I was. Figured it was like ripping off a Band-Aid, so I decided that direct and fast was the best way to go about this little getting-to-know-you session. “I’m just me. Samuel Clearwater. I was born in this shit hole town.”
“You don’t like Logan’s Beach?” he asked, sounding confused.
“No! I fucking love this town. Doesn’t mean it’s not a shit hole,” I clarified.
“Continue.”
“My favorite word is any variation of FUCK. I like my whiskey with a side of blow and maybe a little weed. I have a running theme song in my head for pretty much every occasion and I like to sing it at the top of my lungs, regardless of who is around or where I am. One of my most favorite things to do in this life is to give my friend Bear shit ‘cause the look on his face is fucking priceless. I love all kinds of movies and I cried like a little bitch during the entire two hours of PS I Love You. I dig all kinds music. Country. Folk. Pop. Blues. Rap. Everything from Tupac to Taylor Swift. I have an unnatural obsession with making perfect pancakes.” I lowered my gaze to the floor and dug deeper. “Before Dre, there were a lot of girls. A lot. I partied hard. Watched a shit ton of porn, the crazier shit the better. Fucked around with anyone willing, and some who weren’t. I didn’t care about the consequences when I did things to them they never asked for. Sometimes I hurt them pretty bad. Looking back, I think I was just punishing them. Taking my shit out on them I couldn’t take out on my mom. I wanted to hurt them because I wanted to hurt her. For running out on me and making me think she was dead when she wasn’t. For making me care when I shouldn’t have fucking cared. For leaving me with my shit bag stepdad who must have taken a master class in pedophilia because after my mom left...” I looked up to Dre’s dad who had an unreadable expression on his face. “He liked to switch between beating me and raping me,” I clarified. “Guess it kept shit interesting for him. I don’t want sympathy. Never have,” I said.
“Good. Because I ain’t giving you any,” Dre’s dad said. When I looked at him again there was a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “And?”
“And... and I grow weed in the guest bedrooms of elderly women’s houses in exchange for helping them with their mortgage payments. And honestly? Those ladies are some of the coolest chicks I know. Florida just legalized medical marijuana, we might never legalize it recreationally because we’re some pretty backward ass folk down here, but I’ve already purchased the fields and a warehouse for the medical part. Got a doctor ready to back it and the business licenses and corporation paperwork have already been filed. Should be in production within a few months. Also, I died at one point. Thought I did anyway because I was kept in a hole below the ground by a lunatic who tortured me day in and day out for the sole reason because he could.” I looked up at Mr. Capulet. “How am I doing so far?”
