“It doesn’t matter that you give me the money if it’s late every time, Neil. It, like, totally defeats the entire purpose.”
“That’s why I could never get along with you, Cindy. You don’t understand the basic things,” Neil retorted dully.
Ryan babysat for Cindy Holladay. Cindy was a twenty-one-year-old single mom who lived in a tiny one-bedroom apartment two blocks over. Ryan sat at the kitchen table feeding young Craig, while Cindy and Neil, the baby’s father, argued back and forth in the next room, strains of Fleetwood Mac murmuring in the background.
Cindy was short, with tanned, muscular legs she liked to display in cut-off denim shorts. She had streaky blond hair—not so much of the glamorous Southern California ilk, but more in the style of a truck stop waitress. She and Neil had se
