Scramble
Copyright© 2025 by Lumpy
Chapter 39
“I still don’t get how you knew they’d even get this far,” Dad said as we watched SportsCenter talking about the upcoming NBA finals, highlighting how Orlando was favored to win.
“The Rockets were the lowest seed going into this, and here they are in the finals.”
I shrugged. “I told you; I just know some stuff that’s going to happen.”
“Come on. I let you get away with that, but we’re getting to the point where I’m not buying it. The Amazon thing you could have read on one of those message boards or whatever, but the bets are way too specific. You have to be getting these from someone.”
“I’m not. I promise.”
“Come on, Blake. I’m not mad, I just ... I want to know, since I’m the one out there placing the bets. You might not know if some information you’re getting is illegal, but that won’t save me if it all comes out.”
I knew Dad. He’d never buy that I just dreamed it up. Hell, I still didn’t really believe it happened. I mean, I knew it happened, but if I tried to think about it too much, it made my brain hurt.
And I was the one experiencing it. Trying to explain it to Dad was just never going to work, even with the proof I had from the winning bets. He’d just keep thinking I was getting it from somewhere else.
I opened my mouth to come up with some new lie when the front door flew open and slammed shut with a crack that made us both jump.
Mom came stomping into the room, her purse dangling from her hand. She let it drop onto the armchair by the door with a heavy thud. Her face was pale and her mascara was smudged beneath her eyes. She avoided looking at either of us, her gaze fixed on the worn pattern of the rug as she began to pace in front of the television, a frantic, caged energy evident in her movements.
Dad muted the game with a click of the remote. “Heather? What is it? You’re home early. What’s wrong?”
She kept pacing, one hand coming up to wipe furiously at her cheek. A choked sob escaped her. She stopped abruptly, her back to us, her shoulders shaking.
“Honey, what happened?” Dad asked, getting up from his chair. He took a step toward her, his voice soft.
She turned around slowly. Her eyes were red-rimmed and swimming with tears. It took her a long moment to speak, her voice trembling. “I ... I lost my book. Again.”
Dad’s face fell. It took me a second to realize they were talking about the book where she kept the appointments for all of her clients at the salon. A week ago, I’d heard them discussing, well, arguing about her misplacing it. She’d found it a day later, in her glove box.
“This is the third time this month, Heather.”
“Don’t you think I know that? I got to the salon and it was just ... gone. I couldn’t find it anywhere. I think someone took it. I didn’t know who was coming, what they were getting done. Nothing. I didn’t have my station ready, I didn’t have the right colors mixed...” She started pacing again, her hands twisting together. “Then Mrs. Gable came in for her color and cut. And I just stood there. My mind blank. I had no idea what she was there for. She’s been my client for ten years, Tom. Ten years and she always comes in the same day each month, and I had no idea.”
She stopped, throwing her arms up in the air.
“While I was trying to figure out what to do. Mrs. Catchings showed up for her perm. And then Janet Bickle for her highlights, and I wasn’t ready for them either. I tried to get my station set up, but I couldn’t find all of the stuff I needed and they were all getting mad, and then Brenda stepped in.” I knew who Brenda was, she owned the salon. “She took Mrs. Gable over to Tiffany’s station. Gave Mrs. Catchings to Cindy, and Janet to Florence. She reassigned my entire day, right there in front of everyone. She took my clients away from me. And they were so pissed, they’ll probably start booking with them from now on.”
“I’m sure if you talk to them, they’ll understand,” Dad said. “Everyone has a bad day.”
“If I can even talk to them. As soon as they were reassigned, Brenda told me to go home. She said to take the rest of the weekend off to get my head straight. She took my appointments off the books for the rest of today and Sunday.”
Dad moved toward her, putting his hands on her shoulders. “Hey. It’s okay. Maybe a little time off is for the best. You’ve been pushing yourself too hard.”
“I haven’t been pushing myself,” she said, shrugging his hands away.
“Heather, you’ve had these headaches for weeks. You need to rest. You need to focus on getting better. We’ll be okay for money, so you don’t need to worry about that. We’ve got extra coming in. We’re fine. You can take all the time you need.”
I knew he was talking about the winnings he was making piggybacking on my bets. He hadn’t told Mom where the money was coming from, and I guess since he managed the finances in the family, she hadn’t noticed.
“It’s not just the money. This is my life, Tom! It’s my career. It’s the one thing I have that’s mine!”
“I know it’s important to you, but your health...”
“My health is fine! The headaches are just because of stress and they’re getting better. I’m not going to quit my job because of one bad day. I’ve worked hard to build my reputation, and I’m not giving up on it now. I’m the best damn stylist in this town!”
“I’m not telling you to quit!” Dad said, still staying calm. “I’m telling you to see a doctor! A real doctor, Heather. Not some yogi with a crystal and a jar of snake oil. There is something wrong, and you are refusing to see it!”
“Of course. That’s what this always comes back to, doesn’t it? You always want to control me, like you know so much more than me. I’ve done my research and I know the truth. You’re just jealous of Yogi Theodor.”
“That’s insane! I’m worried about you!”
“You’re trying to dismiss me! You’ve always thought I was stupid, that I don’t know what’s good for me. Well, I’m not an idiot, Tom. I see things for exactly how they are. I know what’s going on. I know doctors don’t want you to heal, they want you to be a customer for life.”
“This guy is a snake oil salesman, and he’s filling your head with garbage. You threw out the aspirin, for God’s sake! You have a headache and you’re rubbing peppermint oil on your temples like it’s some kind of magic potion!”
“It works! It’s about aligning your energies! Something you wouldn’t understand because you’re so closed off!”
“I’m closed off? I’m the one trying to talk about what’s really happening here, and you’re talking about energies and conspiracies!”
They were circling each other now, just screaming at each other. All I could do was sit there, trying to be invisible. I was glad Dad was finally pushing back on her, but it was also pointless. You couldn’t argue logic against emotion.
And it wasn’t like me telling him I knew she was sick and would die in the future would help, since he already knew she had something seriously wrong and needed medical help.
This wasn’t something easily solved by future knowledge.
Slowly, I pushed myself up from the couch, not that either of them noticed. Their argument had consumed all the air in the room.
“ ... always trying to make me small, to keep me at home...”
“ ... for your own good, Heather! Can’t you see that I love you?”
I walked past them, out of the living room and up the stairs. I reached my room and stepped inside, closing the door behind me. The latch clicked into place, and the sound of their fighting dulled to a low, angry murmur. It wasn’t enough to block it out completely, but it was the best I could do.
All I could hope was that Dad would eventually wear her down and talk some sense into her.
Monday rolled around. The day we found out if our plan worked and took Raf off the table as a problem for five to twelve years, or if I had to find a new way to protect Dad.
The plan started off well. As expected, I found Mom curled up in her bedroom with the curtains drawn tight against the afternoon sun. The empty bottle of her latest “natural remedy” sat on the nightstand next to a glass of water she hadn’t touched. Her breathing was deep and steady, the kind that meant she’d be out for hours.
I crept back to the kitchen and lifted her car keys from the counter where she’d dropped them earlier and scribbled a quick note.
Gone to study with Eduardo. Sorry, I had to take the car. Back later. Blake
Not that the note would save my ass if she woke up and found the car missing, but at least it would keep her from calling the sheriff and reporting it missing.
Angry parents I could deal with. An arrest would screw me up.
Eduardo was already waiting on his front porch when I pulled up, stopping one house down to keep his parents from seeing that I was driving and asking questions.
He looked nervous as hell. He also looked kind of suspicious wearing dark jeans and a plain black T-shirt, a backpack over one shoulder. He looked like he was the one headed to break in somewhere.
“You sure about this?” he asked as he climbed into the passenger seat.
“Too late to back out now.”
Eduardo set his backpack on the floor and unzipped it partway. I caught a glimpse of binoculars and a handful of quarters wrapped in tissue paper.
“For the payphones,” he explained.
I had money on me, too, but I appreciated him thinking it through.
I nodded and pulled away from the curb. The drive to Midland usually took about twenty minutes, but today it felt longer. Every traffic light seemed to last forever. We might be outside of Wheaton, but this was still a small area and it wasn’t out of the question that someone might recognize my mom’s station wagon and wonder what I was doing thirty miles from home.
Eduardo stared out the passenger window, his knee bouncing up and down in a nervous rhythm the whole time.
“He’s really going to be there,” Eduardo said finally.
It wasn’t a question.
“Tito wouldn’t have called you if Raf wasn’t taking the bait.”
“But what if...”
“What if nothing. Stop worrying. The plan is solid. You said yourself that Raf can’t resist a big score. Don’t worry, it’s going to all work out.”
Eduardo’s knee stopped bouncing. “I hope so.”