Shine - Lauren Myracle [32]
“Tell me about it. Plus I know how easy it is to fall back into that crap.” Her features shifted. I couldn’t say how, exactly, but the overall effect was to make my heart hurt for her. “And the way he acted when he was high—he did some crazy stuff. Out-of-his-mind kind of crazy. Afterward he’d feel real bad, and he’d go on about how sorry he was, but . . .”
I waited.
She snapped out of it and stepped through the open door. “So, yeah. That’s why we broke up.”
I stayed where I was.
“Why’d Darren have a pistol?” I asked. Every boy I knew had a rifle or a shotgun, and usually both. Christian got his first rifle when he was six. He killed his first deer a month later and got his picture in the paper, squatting by the carcass and smiling wide.
But handguns were a different story. Handguns weren’t for shooting game; they were for shooting people. Plus, unless the rules had changed, you couldn’t own one if you were under twenty-one.
“Comes with the job,” Destiny said.
“Huh?”
She sighed. “Okay, I’m not trying to be mean, but how clueless are you?”
“Pretty clueless,” I admitted.
“Well, it’s not hard. You want a gun, you’re gonna get yourself a gun. Steal it, buy it from a friend, trade some crank for it. Okay?”
“Okay,” I said, still trying to piece it together.
“You know Wally? Scumbag who cooks up the meth?”
I nodded, happy to supply the right answer for once.
“He gives all his boys handguns. That’s how Darren got his, and I’d guess the same’s true for Tommy and Beef and Dupree.”
I tried not to show my shock, but I couldn’t help it. “Beef?” I exclaimed. “And Dupree?”
“You didn’t know they’re Wally’s boys?” Destiny asked.
I gazed past her. Sunlight glinted on the hood of her pickup.
“You honestly didn’t know,” she repeated.
“Is Beef a user?” I said, unable to keep my voice from wavering. Tommy using meth was bad. Anybody using meth was bad, and that went for Destiny, too. But Beef? And if Beef was messed up with that stuff—hopefully he wasn’t, but just if—what if my brother was, too?
No. Never.
I’d heard a saying about meth, that it took you down one of three roads: jail, the psych ward, or death. No matter how smart or careful or under control you thought you were, if you used meth, you’d end up at one of those destinations.
I knew Beef was in a hard place, what with losing his wrestling scholarship and dropping out of school. But how could he possibly think to himself, Well, I’ll just start slamming meth. That’ll put me back on the road to glory.
“If it makes you feel better, Patrick wanted him out,” Destiny said. “I don’t know much, but I do know that.”
“Wanted him to stop using, or to stop working for Wally?”
“Both?” she said.
I pressed my hands over my face.
“Hey,” she said. “It can be done. Quitting, I mean. Look at me, I’m living proof.”
Yeah, only she was heading out the door in a miniskirt and heels. Her lips were bright red, and I was pretty sure she wasn’t heading to Sheldon’s to play Scrabble.
“But you still party,” I said.
“Of course, just no more hard stuff. I can’t luxuriate away my youth, see.” She hesitated. “Nobody knows this, but I’m gonna own my own beauty salon one day.”
I tried for a smile. “That’s cool. You’d be good at that.”
“I want to learn how to do them Brazilian perms,” she said. “You heard of them? They make your hair super straight without even drying it out.”
She took a strand of my hair and ran her thumb and forefinger down the length of it. Her touch was steady. “You wouldn’t need one, but for people with that super frizzy hair, it could be life changing.”
“Destiny . . .”
“Some people do change, Cat. Not many, but it can be done.” She prodded me out the door. “I gotta go. If you ever want your hair cut, let me know.”
THIS MORNING, I WENT WITH AUNT TILDY TO SEE Missus Marietta, one of the church shut-ins. She was too elderly to get around on her own, and she had hardly any visitors. It was as if the world had forgotten her. It was good of Aunt Tildy to check on her every month, but that was Aunt Tildy, who tried to live a godly life. She