Wild Man
Page 31
Uncle Levi clearly had a mouth much like his brother.
And Brock Lucas had an ex-wife and two sons. A pinchy-faced ex-wife who had a perma-manicure and two sons.
This, I did not know. This, a thing you shared. This, I did not know what to do with.
To be fair, I had known Brock as Brock for three days.
Still.
“Can I be your flower girl when you marry Uncle Slim?” Ellie asked.
Again, my body, lungs and heart went completely still then the latter two started pumping and when they did this, they did it hard.
Damn! Now how did I answer that?
I decided on honesty.
“Right now we’re just seeing each other, Ellie, but I’ll keep a line open to you if it looks like it’s getting serious,” I promised and she giggled.
Then she placed her order. “Okay, but I want my dress to be pink.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I told her and she grinned at me.
She had a milk mustache too.
I grinned back.
The door swung open and people flooded through starting with Laura and ending with Fern, Brock sandwiched in the middle. He came direct to me, eyes on my face and my eyes slid away. Fern went direct to the table to gather glasses. Laura started herding kids.
“All right, kiddos,” Laura started, snatching a towel from a rack, “wipe off those milk mustaches and inspect Uncle Slim’s living room for your stuff. We’re packed up and in the car in five minutes. March!”
Grady grabbed the towel, swiped his face, tossed it vaguely in his mother’s direction and raced out. Dylan followed suit. Ellie skipped to her mother like she had all the time in the world to tiptoe through the tulips, rubbed the towel across her face once mostly smearing milk and not lapping it up then she skipped out.
“So sorry about crashing your date, Tess,” Laura said, pushing the towel back on the rack.
“We were just driving by, saw Slim’s truck and bike and that’s unusual so we took our shot.
We’ll be out of your hair before you know it.”
“Not a problem,” I told her on a smile, feeling Brock leaning into the counter with a hip, the front of his body facing my side but I kept my eyes glued to his sister at the table.
Laura smiled back and stated, “I’ll have to bring the kids to your bakery. They’ll love it.
I’ve been in a couple times but never with the kids, just to pick things up. Ellie talks about your pink cupcakes all the time.”
“Give me a warning call and I’ll batten down the hatches,” I quipped and her smile got bigger as Brock’s body got closer and when I say this, I mean his arm circled my ribcage, he turned me so that now I was leaning one hip against the counter and the rest of me was pressed back against him.
Laura’s eyes dropped to his arm, they warmed then she looked back at my face and was grinning like a madwoman again.
At this point, Fern dampened the mood by proclaiming, “Slim, I hope that doesn’t happen often.”
I turned my head to see her at the sink. She had rinsed the glasses and loaded a rickety dishwasher which might, though I wasn’t certain, have been the first of its kind, and she was currently shutting its door.
“Mom, we’ll talk about it later,” Brock said in a warning tone.
She turned and tipped her head back to look at her son. “Does it happen often?”
“Did I say we’ll talk about it later?” Brock asked.
“Simple question, Slim,” she returned and he sighed.
“If you mean does he stop by? Not often. But he does it. If you mean does he ask for money? No. Not anymore,” he answered.
“Not anymore?” Fern prompted and Brock sighed again.
“He saw my truck and bike just like you, Mom,” he said quietly. “He’s an old guy with not a lot of friends left that he hasn’t f**ked over. He comes by. We sit around, drink beer and watch a game. This does not happen often but it happens.”
She stared at him. Then quietly back, she stated, “I remember a time when you wouldn’t even look at him.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve grown up. He’s my father. I don’t like that he’s lonely. What can I say?”
Brock replied softly.
Fern studied her son. Then her eyes shifted to me. Then she seemed to realize this was not the time or place and that was when she sighed.
Then she said, “I’m sorry, Tess. You must think we’re all nuts.”
“My parents are divorced, Fern, and my Mom hated my Dad from when I was nine to the day he died and even then she announced she wanted to go to his funeral so she could spit on his grave. Luckily, the next day, she got the flu and was bedridden for a week or she might have done it,” I told her, she stared at me, Brock’s arm got tight around my ribs then I finished, “I guess what I’m saying is, I get it.”
Her eyes warmed and her mouth got soft. Then she nodded.
Then she whispered, “Thanks, sweetheart.”
“Mom! Dylan’s pulling my jersey!” Grady shouted from the living room.
“Cue exit,” Laura muttered and I looked at her. “See you later, Tess?”
“Yeah, Laura, nice to meet you.”
“You too,” she replied then rushed out.
Brock pushed me gently in front of him, slid out from behind me and went to his mother, bending low for her to kiss his cheek.
“Have fun, honey.” I heard her whisper.
“Right,” he murmured and she moved away from him and her eyes came to me.
“Have a nice night, Tess. Lovely to meet you.”
“You too, Fern,” I replied.
She made to move out; Brock caught my hand and followed her, pulling me behind him.
We hit the living room and got separated as the kids shouted good-byes to me, went into attack mode in order to give Brock’s legs hugs (this, he allowed from his nephews but he swung his niece up in his arms, gave her a fierce hug while he kissed then blew into her neck through which she giggled with childish abandon and while observing this I fought a tidal wave of warm gushiness), a brief period of pandemonium ensued for what appeared to be no reason at all then I stood in the middle of Brock’s shabby living room as he closed the door.
Then he locked the three locks (knob, deadbolt, chain) and turned to me.
“Your Mom wanted to spit on your Dad’s grave?” he asked, eyebrows up.
“In the bitter divorce department, although your folks clearly have a frontrunner, my folks beat anyone by a mile.”
He grinned at me.
And Brock Lucas had an ex-wife and two sons. A pinchy-faced ex-wife who had a perma-manicure and two sons.
This, I did not know. This, a thing you shared. This, I did not know what to do with.
To be fair, I had known Brock as Brock for three days.
Still.
“Can I be your flower girl when you marry Uncle Slim?” Ellie asked.
Again, my body, lungs and heart went completely still then the latter two started pumping and when they did this, they did it hard.
Damn! Now how did I answer that?
I decided on honesty.
“Right now we’re just seeing each other, Ellie, but I’ll keep a line open to you if it looks like it’s getting serious,” I promised and she giggled.
Then she placed her order. “Okay, but I want my dress to be pink.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I told her and she grinned at me.
She had a milk mustache too.
I grinned back.
The door swung open and people flooded through starting with Laura and ending with Fern, Brock sandwiched in the middle. He came direct to me, eyes on my face and my eyes slid away. Fern went direct to the table to gather glasses. Laura started herding kids.
“All right, kiddos,” Laura started, snatching a towel from a rack, “wipe off those milk mustaches and inspect Uncle Slim’s living room for your stuff. We’re packed up and in the car in five minutes. March!”
Grady grabbed the towel, swiped his face, tossed it vaguely in his mother’s direction and raced out. Dylan followed suit. Ellie skipped to her mother like she had all the time in the world to tiptoe through the tulips, rubbed the towel across her face once mostly smearing milk and not lapping it up then she skipped out.
“So sorry about crashing your date, Tess,” Laura said, pushing the towel back on the rack.
“We were just driving by, saw Slim’s truck and bike and that’s unusual so we took our shot.
We’ll be out of your hair before you know it.”
“Not a problem,” I told her on a smile, feeling Brock leaning into the counter with a hip, the front of his body facing my side but I kept my eyes glued to his sister at the table.
Laura smiled back and stated, “I’ll have to bring the kids to your bakery. They’ll love it.
I’ve been in a couple times but never with the kids, just to pick things up. Ellie talks about your pink cupcakes all the time.”
“Give me a warning call and I’ll batten down the hatches,” I quipped and her smile got bigger as Brock’s body got closer and when I say this, I mean his arm circled my ribcage, he turned me so that now I was leaning one hip against the counter and the rest of me was pressed back against him.
Laura’s eyes dropped to his arm, they warmed then she looked back at my face and was grinning like a madwoman again.
At this point, Fern dampened the mood by proclaiming, “Slim, I hope that doesn’t happen often.”
I turned my head to see her at the sink. She had rinsed the glasses and loaded a rickety dishwasher which might, though I wasn’t certain, have been the first of its kind, and she was currently shutting its door.
“Mom, we’ll talk about it later,” Brock said in a warning tone.
She turned and tipped her head back to look at her son. “Does it happen often?”
“Did I say we’ll talk about it later?” Brock asked.
“Simple question, Slim,” she returned and he sighed.
“If you mean does he stop by? Not often. But he does it. If you mean does he ask for money? No. Not anymore,” he answered.
“Not anymore?” Fern prompted and Brock sighed again.
“He saw my truck and bike just like you, Mom,” he said quietly. “He’s an old guy with not a lot of friends left that he hasn’t f**ked over. He comes by. We sit around, drink beer and watch a game. This does not happen often but it happens.”
She stared at him. Then quietly back, she stated, “I remember a time when you wouldn’t even look at him.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve grown up. He’s my father. I don’t like that he’s lonely. What can I say?”
Brock replied softly.
Fern studied her son. Then her eyes shifted to me. Then she seemed to realize this was not the time or place and that was when she sighed.
Then she said, “I’m sorry, Tess. You must think we’re all nuts.”
“My parents are divorced, Fern, and my Mom hated my Dad from when I was nine to the day he died and even then she announced she wanted to go to his funeral so she could spit on his grave. Luckily, the next day, she got the flu and was bedridden for a week or she might have done it,” I told her, she stared at me, Brock’s arm got tight around my ribs then I finished, “I guess what I’m saying is, I get it.”
Her eyes warmed and her mouth got soft. Then she nodded.
Then she whispered, “Thanks, sweetheart.”
“Mom! Dylan’s pulling my jersey!” Grady shouted from the living room.
“Cue exit,” Laura muttered and I looked at her. “See you later, Tess?”
“Yeah, Laura, nice to meet you.”
“You too,” she replied then rushed out.
Brock pushed me gently in front of him, slid out from behind me and went to his mother, bending low for her to kiss his cheek.
“Have fun, honey.” I heard her whisper.
“Right,” he murmured and she moved away from him and her eyes came to me.
“Have a nice night, Tess. Lovely to meet you.”
“You too, Fern,” I replied.
She made to move out; Brock caught my hand and followed her, pulling me behind him.
We hit the living room and got separated as the kids shouted good-byes to me, went into attack mode in order to give Brock’s legs hugs (this, he allowed from his nephews but he swung his niece up in his arms, gave her a fierce hug while he kissed then blew into her neck through which she giggled with childish abandon and while observing this I fought a tidal wave of warm gushiness), a brief period of pandemonium ensued for what appeared to be no reason at all then I stood in the middle of Brock’s shabby living room as he closed the door.
Then he locked the three locks (knob, deadbolt, chain) and turned to me.
“Your Mom wanted to spit on your Dad’s grave?” he asked, eyebrows up.
“In the bitter divorce department, although your folks clearly have a frontrunner, my folks beat anyone by a mile.”
He grinned at me.
