Have Mercy (Have a Life #1) by Maddy Wells Read Free Book Online

Griffin, the male progenitor of our family unit was coming back from foreign wars bearing mortgage money and expensive baubles for Mummy and perhaps some affection for me, and we, mostly Mummy of course because she was the Mom, would order a cornucopia of takeout in honor of his triumphant return—and I smiled in spite of myself. 

Chapter 7
     
    Tim hadn’t tried to change his Saturday schedule at the Seven-Eleven like I’d asked him to.  His plan was to go in, and after an hour claim severe stomach cramps from eating one of the charred hot dogs that roll around for days on the Seven-Eleven rotisserie and are part of the Seven-Eleven mystique, then pedal home to change into his cool clothes, then race back to the Trap to await the arrival of The Griffin.  I was left with Captain Kirby to get the Trap ready for the onslaught.
                  “You can come back later,” I told her.  “There’s no reason both of us should be tied up doing maid duty.”
                  “Clean-up and prep are just as important as the main event,” she said.  “It’s like the first thing you learn in cooking school.”
                  “There isn’t going to be any actual cooking going on here,” I said.  “Just to be clear.”
                  “Oh, I know,” she said.  “It’s like a rock and roll road show.  Beer and pizza.  I’m totally cool with that.”  She had brought rolls of black, cobalt blue, and orange crepe paper and was festooning the Trap with them. 
                  “That looks really good,” I said.  “It’s The Griffin’s colors exactly.”
                  Captain Kirby smiled.  “I Googled your dad.  I mean I knew the words to the song we sang the other day without knowing I knew them, but I didn’t know who he was.  You know how it is.”
                  “That’s okay.’
                  “But he’s like famous .”
                  “I’m just surprised you’re so anxious to meet him when you don’t even know his band.”
              “Hand me the staple gun,” Captain Kirby said.  She was on a ladder making an elaborate creation that looked, I swear to god, like a crepe paper eagle—she pulled out a roll of white for the head and chest—which she hung off the ceiling of the garage.
                  “He’s going to love it,” I said.  “That’s awesome.”
                  “You know, cooking school isn’t like just making a roast.  You have to know how to make a presentation.  Like ice sculptures for the shrimp bar and chocolate fountains and stuff.”
                  “I never thought about that,” which was true because I had never seen a shrimp bar or chocolate fountain.  I wondered what her family must be like if she knew about stuff like that.
                  “Even how the table’s set.  There’s so much more to it than people think.  That’s why I love it.  It brings out a part of me I like, the creative part.  Like writing music must do for you.”
                  So, Tim hadn’t told her that my songs were, at best, grids for him to fill in.  If he hadn’t come along five months ago, we wouldn’t have anything worth playing for The Griffin tonight.  It made me feel kindly towards him, as if maybe he liked making music for me not for my parent.
                  “You don’t have to hang around.  The action won’t start until later,” I told her.
                  She climbed down the ladder and we went outside and sat down together on the front steps. 
                  “I’ll just wait for some of your friends to come so you’re not alone.” 
                  Which startled me for the simple reason that I don’t have any friends.  This was a big event, so of course my friends should be crowding around