Wild Man
Page 75
This was met with silence.
I had the cart unloaded, I shifted and commandeered the handle, pushing it through as I smiled at the checkout clerk and settled in to watch the bag boy bag my purchases.
When he didn’t speak, I did.
“So I went by his place, got it cleaned up but it still doesn’t smell that good. I’m buying some stuff to help with that then I’m going to make him some dinner, see to it that he eats it and keeps it down and then I’ll be over.” I paused then said, “Do pizza without me, honey.
I’ll eat with Cob.”
Again, silence but this didn’t last as long.
Brock broke it when he said, “Your plans change, the shit goin’ down around us, you f**kin’ phone.”
Then he hung up.
I blinked at the bags.
Then I slid my phone in the side pocket on my purse, a variety of feelings battling it out in my head.
Brock had never hung up on me. Sure, I didn’t call and it was obvious he was worried but it wasn’t like I was currently at one of the biker bars he’d introduced me to, on a bender, standing on the bar and teaching all the bikers in attendance how to dance like Axl Rose (something I had done once while on a mini-bender – that was to say, it lasted a few hours –
while I was with Brock when he was Jake though I didn’t do it on the bar, I did it on the stage while the band was playing Paradise City and Brock was standing just off the dance floor laughing his ass off). I was taking care of his Dad.
It hit me that the surprise at his hanging up on me and fear of his being angry with me were mingled quite liberally with me being somewhat pissed off. Then being pissed off started winning out and I realized I was getting more pissed off. Then I wasn’t scared Brock was angry with me or surprised he’d hung up on me, I was just pissed he’d hung up on me.
I managed to pay, get the stuff to my car and get to Cob’s house without calling Brock back and giving him an earful. I got the stuff in and battled the smell first with air freshener and then with rug shampoo. I didn’t want to overwhelm Cob with a warring combination of intense smells that were worse than just vomit and luckily I managed this feat, the vomit smell was gone, the air freshener evaporated and the shampoo didn’t stink.
I set a soothingly scented candle I bought at Albertson’s to burning in the bedroom, I got Cob an iced lemon-lime and then I set about making dinner.
The chicken noodle soup was warming in the pan and I was setting out bowls on plates with buttered saltine crackers around the edges (what my Mom used to serve when my sister or I got sick) hoping the butter wouldn’t be too rich for Cob when I heard the front door open.
Then I heard Cob surprised greeting of, “Heya Slim.”
I sucked in breath through my nose.
Then I heard Brock ask, “How you feelin’?”
“Better,” Cob answered then offered, “Tess is in the kitchen.”
“Right,” I heard Brock mutter then, “Be back, Dad.”
“Okay, son.”
I grabbed the spoon, started to stir the soup and braced.
I felt his mood hit the room before I saw him do it. It wasn’t sparking and pissed off, it wasn’t abrasive and angry. It was something I’d never felt before. Something heavy.
Weighted. Soft but not warm. And when I saw him, that heavy look was in his eyes, the soft on his face.
He stopped by the stove but not too close.
Then he held my eyes and said, “Hey.”
“Hey,” I replied.
He studied me.
Then he noted quietly, “You’re pissed.”
“I don’t like to get hung up on anytime but especially not when I’m buying carpet cleaner to eradicate puke smells,” I returned also quietly.
He continued to hold my eyes.
Then he nodded once and murmured, “Right.”
“I’ve got this, you didn’t need to come,” I told him, still quiet so Cob wouldn’t hear.
“He’s my Dad, Tess,” Brock replied.
I tipped my head to the side and asked, “He is?”
I watched his mouth get tight.
Then he warned low, “Don’t go there, babe.”
I turned off the burner and grabbed the saucepan, moving to the bowls.
While I poured, I whispered, “It’s go time, Brock. You need to jump off that fence and land on one side or the other. You don’t miss much so I’m guessing you can take one look at your father and know where this is heading. The destination is uncertain but the path is not and it’s an ugly one. You no longer have the luxury to sit on that fence. You need to make a decision.” I put the saucepan back on the burner and my eyes went to his. “Is he in or is he not? You’ve got ten seconds to decide while I take him his food. You walk out the door, that’s your decision and I’ll support you on that but you need to know my support will not include me not kicking in to help Jill and Laura with Cob. If you don’t walk out the door, I’ll make you a bowl and we’re hanging with your father to make sure he keeps his dinner down.”
Then I grabbed a spoon, put it in Cob’s bowl, took the plate and walked into the living room.
By the time I got back, Brock had moved. He wasn’t standing at the stove. He was standing at the kitchen window, his weight leaning heavily into one hand set high on the window frame. His eyes aimed at the flurries now falling outside. His mood filling the room now, the weight so heavy, it was suffocating.
His jaw was clenched.
But I knew his decision was made.
And the decision he made made me love him all the more.
I pulled in breath and walked to him.
Then I wrapped my arms around his waist and pressed my front into his back.
I held him for awhile then whispered, “Snow keeps up, will you take me to your place and bring me back to my car tomorrow morning? I don’t like driving in it.”
He didn’t answer for several long seconds.
Then he said to the window, “Yeah, babe.”
I pressed my forehead into his back.
Then I lifted my head away but pressed my body closer and carefully said, “He’s not taking his nausea medication. You need to talk to him about that.”
I looked over his shoulder at his profile and saw a muscle in his jaw jump. He made no verbal reply but I knew he heard me and he’d do what he could.
Then I gave him a squeeze and kept whispering. “Take that plate, honey, and go sit with your Dad. He’s got the game on. I’ll make another one for me and be out in a minute.”
I had the cart unloaded, I shifted and commandeered the handle, pushing it through as I smiled at the checkout clerk and settled in to watch the bag boy bag my purchases.
When he didn’t speak, I did.
“So I went by his place, got it cleaned up but it still doesn’t smell that good. I’m buying some stuff to help with that then I’m going to make him some dinner, see to it that he eats it and keeps it down and then I’ll be over.” I paused then said, “Do pizza without me, honey.
I’ll eat with Cob.”
Again, silence but this didn’t last as long.
Brock broke it when he said, “Your plans change, the shit goin’ down around us, you f**kin’ phone.”
Then he hung up.
I blinked at the bags.
Then I slid my phone in the side pocket on my purse, a variety of feelings battling it out in my head.
Brock had never hung up on me. Sure, I didn’t call and it was obvious he was worried but it wasn’t like I was currently at one of the biker bars he’d introduced me to, on a bender, standing on the bar and teaching all the bikers in attendance how to dance like Axl Rose (something I had done once while on a mini-bender – that was to say, it lasted a few hours –
while I was with Brock when he was Jake though I didn’t do it on the bar, I did it on the stage while the band was playing Paradise City and Brock was standing just off the dance floor laughing his ass off). I was taking care of his Dad.
It hit me that the surprise at his hanging up on me and fear of his being angry with me were mingled quite liberally with me being somewhat pissed off. Then being pissed off started winning out and I realized I was getting more pissed off. Then I wasn’t scared Brock was angry with me or surprised he’d hung up on me, I was just pissed he’d hung up on me.
I managed to pay, get the stuff to my car and get to Cob’s house without calling Brock back and giving him an earful. I got the stuff in and battled the smell first with air freshener and then with rug shampoo. I didn’t want to overwhelm Cob with a warring combination of intense smells that were worse than just vomit and luckily I managed this feat, the vomit smell was gone, the air freshener evaporated and the shampoo didn’t stink.
I set a soothingly scented candle I bought at Albertson’s to burning in the bedroom, I got Cob an iced lemon-lime and then I set about making dinner.
The chicken noodle soup was warming in the pan and I was setting out bowls on plates with buttered saltine crackers around the edges (what my Mom used to serve when my sister or I got sick) hoping the butter wouldn’t be too rich for Cob when I heard the front door open.
Then I heard Cob surprised greeting of, “Heya Slim.”
I sucked in breath through my nose.
Then I heard Brock ask, “How you feelin’?”
“Better,” Cob answered then offered, “Tess is in the kitchen.”
“Right,” I heard Brock mutter then, “Be back, Dad.”
“Okay, son.”
I grabbed the spoon, started to stir the soup and braced.
I felt his mood hit the room before I saw him do it. It wasn’t sparking and pissed off, it wasn’t abrasive and angry. It was something I’d never felt before. Something heavy.
Weighted. Soft but not warm. And when I saw him, that heavy look was in his eyes, the soft on his face.
He stopped by the stove but not too close.
Then he held my eyes and said, “Hey.”
“Hey,” I replied.
He studied me.
Then he noted quietly, “You’re pissed.”
“I don’t like to get hung up on anytime but especially not when I’m buying carpet cleaner to eradicate puke smells,” I returned also quietly.
He continued to hold my eyes.
Then he nodded once and murmured, “Right.”
“I’ve got this, you didn’t need to come,” I told him, still quiet so Cob wouldn’t hear.
“He’s my Dad, Tess,” Brock replied.
I tipped my head to the side and asked, “He is?”
I watched his mouth get tight.
Then he warned low, “Don’t go there, babe.”
I turned off the burner and grabbed the saucepan, moving to the bowls.
While I poured, I whispered, “It’s go time, Brock. You need to jump off that fence and land on one side or the other. You don’t miss much so I’m guessing you can take one look at your father and know where this is heading. The destination is uncertain but the path is not and it’s an ugly one. You no longer have the luxury to sit on that fence. You need to make a decision.” I put the saucepan back on the burner and my eyes went to his. “Is he in or is he not? You’ve got ten seconds to decide while I take him his food. You walk out the door, that’s your decision and I’ll support you on that but you need to know my support will not include me not kicking in to help Jill and Laura with Cob. If you don’t walk out the door, I’ll make you a bowl and we’re hanging with your father to make sure he keeps his dinner down.”
Then I grabbed a spoon, put it in Cob’s bowl, took the plate and walked into the living room.
By the time I got back, Brock had moved. He wasn’t standing at the stove. He was standing at the kitchen window, his weight leaning heavily into one hand set high on the window frame. His eyes aimed at the flurries now falling outside. His mood filling the room now, the weight so heavy, it was suffocating.
His jaw was clenched.
But I knew his decision was made.
And the decision he made made me love him all the more.
I pulled in breath and walked to him.
Then I wrapped my arms around his waist and pressed my front into his back.
I held him for awhile then whispered, “Snow keeps up, will you take me to your place and bring me back to my car tomorrow morning? I don’t like driving in it.”
He didn’t answer for several long seconds.
Then he said to the window, “Yeah, babe.”
I pressed my forehead into his back.
Then I lifted my head away but pressed my body closer and carefully said, “He’s not taking his nausea medication. You need to talk to him about that.”
I looked over his shoulder at his profile and saw a muscle in his jaw jump. He made no verbal reply but I knew he heard me and he’d do what he could.
Then I gave him a squeeze and kept whispering. “Take that plate, honey, and go sit with your Dad. He’s got the game on. I’ll make another one for me and be out in a minute.”
