“Will do.”
“You doing good with your studies?”
“It’s only a couple of classes, but yes, sir. I am.”
“Good. I’m heading up north to check on that project I told you about. See you when I get back, Son.”
After I hung up, I sent a text to someone and got the ball rolling. Half an hour before eight, my phone chirped a text.
Spitfire: Hey, bigfoot, how did you like your swim last night?
I chuckled and read on.
Spitfire: Can’t pick you up this morning. Sorry. I worked the night shift and my replacement at work just called in sick. I’m pulling a double. Will drive you home tomorrow night after your basketball practice.
I sat up when I saw three dots on my screen. She was typing another message. I waited. Waited. But it disappeared without a new message from her.
How bad did she need the money? Did she really have to work this obsessively? She worked the night shift, so that meant she’d go to school without any sleep. How did she do it?
I leaned back in my chair, grabbed a lollipop from my stash. I unwrapped it, placed it in my mouth. Then I started thinking.
* * *
I only had one class in the morning, and when it was over, I had no reason to stick around campus. I hopped into my truck and was about to pull away when my phone rang.
“Yeah?” I mumbled.
“Seven days.”
“Fuck off, Lockhart.”
He must have been watching scary movies again.
“Need you to do me a favor,” he said.
“I don’t do favors.”
“I’ll drop you off at your girl’s shop again if you need.”
“Deal.”
“Whipped,” he chuckled. “Did you know Jack had an accident?”
Jack was our painter. He was fifty-five, looked like a mad bulldog, and barked at everyone who talked to him, but he was excellent at his work. I liked him.
“Broke his hip,” Caleb continued. “Rick asked if I could visit him today. He has no family.”
“Why can’t you do it?”
“I have this charity ball thing I need to attend with my mom. Can’t bail.”
I scratched the scruff on my cheek. “Do I have to do it?” I asked.
“Yep.”
I sighed. “All right.”
“Make sure you bring him something.”