by Trevor Scott
“The Italians or the Irish?” Max asked.
“Maybe both. Your dad got out of the Marines and married your mom. But Bruno refused to join the family business.”
“What about you?” Christina asked. “And why am I first hearing about this now?”
“I was the youngest boy,” Pasquale said. “Bruno put my ass in the Army and told me to stay away from the family. When I got out, I moved up here and met your mom. She was a smarty-pants college girl. I stayed in the Army National Guard for my twenty while I worked at the physical plant at Bennington. Now I’m collecting a pension from both. End of story.”
“What about Auntie Anna?” Christina asked.
“Don’t get me started with the asshole she married.”
“Uncle Francesco?”
“Francesco Aldo is a piece of human excrement,” Pasquale said.
“He’s always been nice to me,” Christina said.
“He’s a capo in Boston. Expected to take over as soon as his pop bites the dust.”
“Does cousin Frank know this?”
“Frankie has nothing to do with his dad or that business,” Pasquale said. “He’s a good boy. For a sailor.” He smiled broadly after that last jab.
“Do you have any old photos of our parents?” Robin asked.
“We didn’t take a lot of photos back then. Not like today, where everyone takes photos of their damn meal before eating. Funny they don’t take a picture of their crap on the other end. Before and after. You two want another drink?”
“I’ve been driving all day,” Max said. “We have to get to our hotel.”
“You could stay here,” Pasquale said.
Max said, “That’s very kind. But we shouldn’t impose on you.”
Christina said, “He has a guest room and my brother Bobby’s room. I could even stay here in my old room. I’ve learned more about our family in the past thirty minutes than I’ve learned in my thirty-two years.”
Max glanced at Robin, who shrugged.
“Cool,” Christina said. “I’m really looking forward to learning more about you two.”
Max was thinking the same thing, but then his former federal agent mind kicked in and he felt a bit anxious. What he had learned about his parents was disturbing to say the least.
In the end, though, their evening was no more or less uncomfortable than staying at a B&B with strangers.
6
In the morning, Max woke up at his normal six a.m. and quietly made his way downstairs in his strange surroundings.
Pasquale was reading something on his iPad, his cheater glasses down his nose and his dark eyes viewing Max over the top. “Figured a former military guy would be the first up. Coffee is self-serve. Cups are above the pot.”
“I’ve tried to sleep in, but my body just won’t allow it.”
“I hear you.”
Max got his coffee and sat at the kitchen table with his new uncle. “Thanks again for the bed and the beer. I’ll have to replenish your supply.”
“Don’t worry about that, Max. I don’t get many visitors.”
“Christina kind of alluded to that.”
“Look around you, son. I’m surrounded up here by a bunch of Commies. I feel like bitch-slapping them right out of their damn safe spaces. There isn’t a damn safe space in America without the U.S. military.”
“You got that shit right,” Max said.
Pasquale turned his iPad toward Max. “The word is out on you and your sister. Thank your cousin Christina for that. I’m not much into these social networking sites. I get too pissed off at all the whining babies. Then I spout off and tell the truth and get called a fricking Nazi. These little pansy-asses around here don’t seem to understand that Hitler and his ilk were socialists. You know the difference between a socialist and a communist? Marketing.” He laughed at his own joke.
“History is a funny thing,” Max said. “Unfortunately, those teaching it in college are Marxists.”
“Jesus H. Christ. Where the hell have you been for forty years? You think just like your old man.”
“And you.”
“Sure as shit, Max. Hey, I need to show you something. Top off your coffee and follow me to what I call the library.”
Max filled his cup and raised the pot to Pasquale.
“I’m good.”
He followed his uncle through the living room into a back room that was filled with books on two walls. The wall behind a desk was taken up by a real fireplace—the second in the large house, along with the one in the living room.
Max stood in the middle of the room and waited as his uncle got onto his knees and glanced through his book collection.
“Here we go,” Pasquale said, pulling out an old paperback. He stood up and handed the book to Max.
It was an old western novel by Max Brand. “What about it?”
“Look inside.” Pasquale smiled.
Max opened the cover of the book and saw the name Bruno Borelli in pen.
“That was your dad’s book when he was a kid. He loved Max Brand and he was a big fan of the western U.S. It makes perfect sense that he moved to Nevada and named you Max.”
He had heard about the author, but his father didn’t read much while Max was growing up. He guessed his father was too busy working long hours at the gold mine.
“This is pretty cool,” Max acknowledged.
“I was thinking about your sister’s name last night also,” Pasquale said. “Obviously they weren’t allowed to use old family names, but your mom was best friends with a girl named Robin who died very young. Hedy could have named your sister after this friend.”
Did he dare to ask how this Robin died? “How?”
“Not what you might think. She died in a car accident when she was around fifteen or sixteen. Tell me about your dad’s death.”
“We were sixteen and our mom showed up at school,” Max said. “There had been a mine accident. Heavy equipment rolled onto him, killing him instantly. They said he saved a couple of other guys in the process. But we never really got a good answer from the company.”
“Where is he buried?”
“In Wells, Nevada. My mom is right beside him. I live in the old family home.”
“Your sister said she was a lawyer living in Salt Lake,” Pasquale said. “Do you get to see each other much?”
“For twenty years in the Air Force I only saw her on leave. But we’ve been working together investigating crimes that the police have written off for the past two years. We have a crowd-sourced website and Robin has applied for non-profit status.”
“Non-profit? Jesus, she isn’t one of those lefties, is she?”
“Not at all,” Max said. “She’s more of a constitutional libertarian conservative.”
“That about covers my own feelings. I want government to stay the hell out of my business. Although I despise abortion, I don’t want to take that right away from the ladies. And as far as I’m concerned, we should have nuked the middle east years ago and made it into a parking lot. Let them eat sand. We got enough oil in our country from Alaska to Texas to cover our needs.”
“Preaching to the choir, uncle. You mind if I call you uncle?”
“That’s what I am. You can call me uncle or Pasquale. Your choice.”
“Christina seems kind of on the edge,” Max said. “She doesn’t exactly strike me as a socialist.”
“You’re reading her right. She’s had to drink the Kool-Aid a little around here, but I think she’s coming around. She has to kick dirty hippies and homeless out of her coffee shop daily. And she sees what the government takes in taxes. Makes it hard to stay afloat. She’s got a good head for business, though. And a heart of gold.”
“She never married.”
“Not yet. She said it’s like fishing a pool of piranhas with carrots on the hook. All the boys around here piss sitting down.”
Christina had already mentioned that, now Max knew where she probably got the idea.
; “You haven’t been married?” Pasquale asked him.
“No. For twenty years I never stayed in one place long enough to meet a good woman.”
“I hear that. There’s also a lot of bad ones out there. What about your sister?”
He wasn’t sure if he should be the one to talk about Robin, but he guessed that wouldn’t be a problem.
“She was married to a Mormon for a few years,” Max said. “When she found out she couldn’t have children of her own, that was a deal-breaker for her ex.”
“That’s too bad.” Pasquale hesitated, in deep thought. “I’m surprised my ex allowed herself to get pregnant,” he said.
“Christina said she teaches college.”
“Yeah, she’s one of those damn Marxists you talked about, spewing all kinds of lies to her students.” His iPad suddenly dinged and he pulled up a camera. “Speaking of the devil. She’s here.”
Max followed his uncle to the front door, finishing the last of his coffee in his mug.
His aunt stood on the front porch and tried on an uncomfortable smile to see how it felt. It was painful. She was wearing nice jeans and a Patagonia jacket over a sweater. She had let some of her hair go gray, as if she had placed it in all the right places to bring distinction.
“Where’s your broom?” Pasquale asked.
“Shut up and let me in to see my nephew and niece,” she said, shoving past her ex-husband. She examined Max like a piece of meat at the market. Very little marbling, she must have thought.
She introduced herself as Aunt Jackie and gave Max an uncomfortably long hug. “Where is your sister?”
“It’s Saturday,” Max said. “I guess she’s sleeping in. Still on Mountain Time.”
Jackie glanced at her ex-husband with contempt and said, “I guess he didn’t make you a cappuccino with the machine we bought him for his last birthday.”
“This was very good,” Max said.
“It’s the Italian blend from Christina’s coffee shop,” the aunt said. “She spent a semester abroad in Italy and came back with her suitcase full of coffee. And the rest is history.” She raised a paper bag and added, “Come on. I’ll make you a proper cup of coffee.”
She headed toward the kitchen and Max stood in silence.
Pasquale leaned in and said, “Careful. I believe her to be a witch.”
Jackie rummaged around in her former kitchen, pulling a cappuccino machine from a lower counter and setting it up. In a few minutes, before she could start making the coffee, cousin Christina showed up in sweats and a Bennington College T-shirt.
“Let me make that,” Christina said. “Mom makes them too strong.”
Jackie sat at the table and Max took a seat across from her. He watched his cousin brew his cappuccino like the professional barista she was, and she even put a cool leaf design in the foam before placing the cup in front of him.
His cousin waited for him to take his first sip, which he did. “This is fantastic,” he said. “You’re gonna ruin me for all other coffee.”
“You can buy this blend online,” Christina said. “Do you have a machine?”
“I make cowboy coffee in Nevada,” he said, just as his sister entered the kitchen.
“His coffee is as thick as molasses,” Robin said.
Jackie stoop up and introduced herself. Then she gave Robin a massive hug. “My gosh, you are stunning,” the aunt said. “And look at her figure. I wish I had nice boobs like that.”
“Mom,” Christina said.
“Sorry about my ex-wife’s indiscretion,” Pasquale said. “She thinks because she’s a Communist she can say whatever she wants.”
“First of all,” Jackie said, “I’m a democratic socialist.”
“Same thing,” Pasquale reasoned. “You can cover a dog turd in frosting, but it doesn’t make it a donut.”
Max held back a smile.
Jackie shook her head. “This is why we got a divorce.”
“We got a divorce because you were screwing your students,” Pasquale said.
“Allegedly,” Jackie said, a finger in the air.
“Literally,” Pasquale mouthed.
Christina was done with the second cappuccino, which she handed to Robin. “Here you go cousin. I hope you aren’t put off by our bickering.”
Robin held the cup of coffee in both hands. “It’s kind of refreshing. Since our parents have been gone, life has been rather quiet.”
Her cousin rubbed Robin’s shoulder, like a mother to a daughter. Then Robin took a seat next to Max at the kitchen table.
Christina went back to making her cappuccinos.
“Anyone game for bacon and flapjacks with real Vermont maple syrup?” Pasquale asked.
Everyone agreed to that.
When Max and Robin were alone with their aunt at the table, she leaned across the table and said quietly, “I knew your parents before they went away. We need to talk.”
“Pasquale told us last night,” Max said.
“Even he doesn’t know everything,” Jackie whispered.
7
They ate a great Vermont breakfast, talking mostly about family and the old times. Max was somewhat intrigued by what his aunt had said, but she had not followed up on her claim to know more than her ex-husband. At least not until they were all done with breakfast and Jackie said she had something in her car for Max.
He followed her out onto the gravel drive where her own Prius sat. It was nearly identical to her daughter’s car, silver and all, but this one was much newer.
Jackie leaned into her car and came out with a thumb drive, which she handed to Max. “You’ll find some important information about both of your parents on that.”
“My uncle told me about the possible witness protection situation,” Max said.
“Good. But that’s just part of it. I knew your mother before she married your father. Just look over the information and let me know what you think.”
Max nodded his head. Now he was even more intrigued.
“Has Christina talked about getting together with the family this weekend?”
“She mentioned something about that.”
“Will you please consider it? My son works a little north of here, and he has a place available for a get-together. It’ll be fun.”
Before she let Max say yes or no, the professor got into her car and drove away.
Max turned to find Christina approaching from the house. She had put on her jacket and some rubber boots to her knees.
“I hope you’ll excuse my mother,” Christina said. “She definitely has her opinions.”
“Not a problem,” Max said. “Are you going somewhere?”
“I was hoping we could take a walk down by the river,” she said. “It’s beautiful on a dewy morning.”
He agreed and together they walked down a path that had been mowed wide enough for a vehicle, with fresh grass and clover coming up. Dew dripped from the blades of grass and shimmered with the rising sun.
“How much land does your father own,” he asked.
“Eighty acres,” she said, and then picked a piece of grass and put it in her mouth. “A tributary of the Walloomsac River flows along the back side of the property. That river eventually crosses into New York a short distance from here. From there it flows into the Hoosic River, which connects to the Hudson. My Papa likes to take a whiz in the river and says he’s sending his piss to New York City.”
“Your dad reminds me of my father.”
“He’s a trip. A very good man with what some around here would call extreme views.”
“He’d fit right in to northeast Nevada,” Max said. Then he reached down to the leaves of a tree and felt the dew. “We don’t get much dew where we live.”
“Why not?”
“It’s high desert and too dry. We do get it at higher elevation. Like my cabin in the mountains.”
“You own a cabin?”
“It’s not much,” he said. Then he pulled out his phone and brought up so
me pictures of the last time he was there.
Christina flipped through the photos slowly, admiring each image. Finally, she stopped on one and said, “Is this your girlfriend? She’s gorgeous.”
He looked at the phone and saw an image of himself with Martina Lopez, an NCIS special agent who had come to visit him recently. They had connected during a case he worked in Corpus Christi, Texas.
“She’s a friend,” he said, taking back his phone.
“Hispanic, right?”
“Puerto Rican mostly. She’s a federal agent.”
“So, you worked together?”
“For one case,” he said, leaving it like that.
Soon, they came to a small stream, where little fish were rising for flies. He wished he had his ultra-light fishing rod right now. It was in the truck, but he would also need an out-of-state license. Plus, he wasn’t even sure if it was fishing season here.
“I had a long talk with my mom last night,” Christina said.
“Yeah?” He guessed she had something to get off her chest.
“I wanted to know why they never told us about your father,” she said, a hint of disappointment in her voice.
He simply listened.
“She didn’t have a good answer for me,” Christina said. “I knew about my two uncles dying a long time ago, but they always made it sound like a random shooting. Now, I’m not so sure.” She glanced at him with sad eyes, as if he would have the answers she sought.
“I don’t know what to say, Christina. I didn’t even know about any of you until days ago. Maybe my father would have eventually told me once I was older. But he died when I was only sixteen.”
“Are you sure his death was an accident?”
Since last night, evil thoughts had entered his mind, and he had thought that they were simply coming from his former profession as a federal agent. “Why? What else could it have been?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I just find it strange that both of your parents died in accidents.”
“Two years apart,” Max said.
She took his hand in hers and a tear formed at the corner of her right eye. “What if they killed your father and let your mother live with that pain. Then they killed her to give you and your sister pain. Mom said that’s how they work.”