Sam ran to Kincaid with his backpack. He didn’t know why he’d brought it, only that they were going somewhere and that Penny appreciated supplies. He’d packed water, a Tupperware container of leftover sheet cake, spoons, an extra sweatshirt, and a hard-case first-aid kit that Al kept in the kitchen. Penny had said nothing of where they were going, though she’d been unnervingly subdued on the phone. Robotic in a way that was worrisome.
All he knew was that it had to do with her mom. Sam wondered how Penny would cope if Celeste died. As much as Penny complained about her, she would probably fall to pieces if something bad happened.
Sam remembered one of their earliest conversations about Penny’s mom.
EMERGENCY PENNY
Oct 5, 2:14 PM
I bet I’m bad at death As in you suck at it therefore you’re invincible?
No bad at processing it
Nobody I’ve been close to died
Lucky
I’m great at death
In tenth grade the uncle Sam was closest to died of cancer, the same summer two of his friends were killed in a drunk-driving accident.
Sometimes I watch my mother sleep
and pretend she’s dead
I cry and cry and cry
because I love her so much
but also don’t want her to know
He’d thought about Brandi Rose and what he’d do if she died.
I’d be all alone if she was gone
Penny was waiting for him downstairs when he arrived. Her hair was extra big. Penny threw a crumpled twenty-dollar bill at him and it bounced off his chest and fell to the floor. She was wild-eyed.
“For gas,” she said. He picked it up and stuffed it in his back pocket as he followed her to the lot across the street.
“Thank you,” Penny said, handing over the keys. “I’m shaking too much to drive. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” he said, and let her in.
“My mom gave me this car. It’s her car,” she said, strapping into shotgun. “Did I wake you up?”
“Nope.” He adjusted his seat and mirrors and headed toward the highway.
“You know it’s her birthday?” Penny’s voice bordered on hysterical. Sam kept his attention on the road, but he wanted to keep her talking.
“Yeah, I do. Her fortieth.”
“I mean, technically her birthday isn’t until tomorrow.” Penny glanced down at the time and burst into ragged sobs. “It’s midnight.”
It was 12:02.
“Do you have Kleenex?” she asked after a moment. “I forgot my sundries.”
“Sundries” made Sam smile. He handed her the backpack.
“There’s a black bandana in there,” he said.
Penny pulled out a spoon.
“For cake,” he said. Penny nodded as if that made perfect sense. Sam reached over and rummaged until his fingers found cloth. He handed it to her.
“You should have dedicated cases for things,” she said.
Sam nodded.
“I’m going to wash this and give it back,” she added, blowing her nose.
“Penny,” he said, keeping his eyes ahead. “Is your mom okay?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I think so. I didn’t ask any of the right questions to Michael.”
“Who’s Michael?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Some guy.”
“Penny, why didn’t you go to your mom’s birthday?” As far as he knew she’d been planning on it.
“I can’t be around her.”
She turned toward him. “Oh God, that’s horrible. How could I say that right now? What if something really bad happened? What do you think happened?”
Sam shook his head ruefully. “I don’t know.”
“You know what’s so dumb?” said Penny quietly, sniffling. “And I know it wouldn’t fix everything, but I wish I had a dad. Bet a dad would know what happened.”
“You’d be surprised,” said Sam, thinking about his own.
“God, remember when you were almost a dad?” she asked.
Sam smiled. “I might remember something about losing my mind on a daily basis for a few weeks, yeah.”
“I think you would have been a good dad,” she said.
Sam’s left eye misted over. “Yeah?” He swallowed.
“Yeah,” she said. “You’d be fun when you weren’t being the most depressing.”
“And selfish,” he reminded her.
“Yeah,” she said. “And fainting. You’d be screwed if you had a daughter though. You’d be wrapped so firmly around that kid’s little finger.”
“Yeah, exactly where a dad should be. Holding a firearm and warding off potential suitors until that daughter is of consenting age,” he said. “Which in my book is about forty-six.”
Penny laughed.
Sam’s mind turned to Bobby. If Penny ever told him the guy’s full name Sam would hunt him down and string him up by his balls.
“When did you start being so mad at your mom?”
“Ugh, she’s so not a mom.” Even in her anguish, Penny couldn’t keep the frustration out of her tone. “You know one time I ate it on a bike,” she said. “Just scraped my entire face down the street. My whole face was hamburger meat with an eyeball stuck on, and instead of going home, I walked a block to my neighbor’s house.”
Sam nodded. Stories never started or ended where you’d think they would with Penny, but it was important to listen for when it came together.
“You know why? Because Celeste can’t handle blood. In that moment, I knew better than to go home. I rang the doorbell next door and passed out when they answered. I figured that my chances were better off with anyone else’s mom than my own. I was six.”
So that’s where her eyebrow scar came from. They drove in silence for a few more dark miles. Parenting as a concept was wild. Everybody was winging it.
“You know, I didn’t have a bike,” he said after a while. “I was so poor my bike was an old bean can that I kicked down a dirt path just so I could have some fun getting from point A to B.”
“What?” Penny croaked, eyes wet.
“It didn’t get me there any faster, but that’s how it was,” Sam said soberly. “You know what else? I didn’t even get to eat the beans out of it. It was a hand-me-down can of legumes.”
Penny laughed. It was a sad, snot-filled honk.
“So, cry me a river, Penny Lee,” he said.
“It’s true,” she said. “I don’t know your journey.”
“Or my struggles.”
“True.”
“Real quick,” he said. “I’m headed south, but I have no idea where we’re going.”
Penny handed him her phone with the map. They still had forty more exits to go.
“You know, she’s supposed to be the one taking care of me,” Penny said. “That should be the basic qualification of being a parent.”
“I get that,” said Sam. “But sometimes it’s so incidental that these people are the parents. Beyond the biology of it. It’s not as if they had to pass a test or unlock achievements to be the ones making the decisions. Sometimes they’re actually stupid. Certifiably dumber than you, but as their kid you’d never think to know that.”
Sam thought about how scant his own qualifications had been.
They stopped for gas, arriving at the hospital an hour later. Sam drove into the covered visitors parking lot, killed the engine, and awaited further instructions.
“Do you mind waiting out here?” Penny asked.
“Not at all.”
Sam was relieved he wouldn’t have to deal with whatever family drama was awaiting her. Though he would’ve joined her if she’d asked.
Before she hopped out she hugged him. “Thanks,” she said, and kissed him on the cheek. Her nose was wet. It was very cute and completely beside the point.
Sam watched as she jog-hopped through the sliding glass doors.
He missed her the second she fell out of view.
PENNY.
The hospital smelled of hospital. The bite of ammonia that was so sharp you immediately wondered what odors it was masking. Penny’s eyes darted around the intake area for someone to talk to.
“Penelope?” A thickset, handsome Mexican dude in ostrich-leather cowboy boots walked toward her purposefully.
“Yeah?”
He stretched out his hand. “Michael,” he said. His face was marred with acne scars but it only added to his rugged appeal. “I recognized you from the picture on your mom’s desk. They wouldn’t let me go up with her because I’m not family.”
“So she’s not dead?”
“No. God no.”
“Is she hurt?”