I looked at Hap. “When was the last time you took this drive? All the way?”
His gaze fell to the ground between his feet. When he looked up, he bore an odd sense of content. “I’m going to guess it was with you and your brother. Two days before you left for boot camp.”
It was the last time I could recall seeing my brother alive. I was sure I saw him between our coastal drive and when I left for basic training, but my mind had no recollection of it.
Recalling the trip along the coast was easy. The four of us sat in silence, taking everything in until we reached San Clemente, at which point we ate dinner together at a local Mexican restaurant.
I gazed blankly beyond Hap, at the ocean. The meal was the last time we’d eaten together as a family.
“Remember Brandon betting me he could eat that hot pepper?” I asked. “Spit the fucker out and ran to the bathroom after one bite?”
“Drank half a gallon of milk trying to make that burn go away,” Hap said with a laugh. “What kind of brother dares his only sibling to eat an entire habanero, anyway?”
I shifted my focus from the coast to Hap. “That was a good trip.”
“One of my favorites,” he agreed.
I nodded in agreement. “Last time we were—”
I paused, not knowing what I intended to say.
Hap cleared his throat. “Let’s get this show on the road. If we don’t, we won’t be home ‘till dark.”
We continued south, slowing to take photos of the Bixby Bridge. We gawked at Big Sur’s beauty, admired the rock formations off the coast of San Luis Obispo, and paused to take in the sand dunes at Montaña de Oro State Park. Morrow Bay and Morrow Rock caused Anna to shed another tear.
It seemed if she wasn’t crying, she was snapping pictures with her cell phone, hoping to keep them to jog her memory at some point in the future.
I glanced in the rearview mirror, at Hap. “Did you keep all the pictures you took of us on that trip?”
“When we drove this the last time?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Sure did. Have ‘em at home,” he replied. “Maybe we could grab ‘em when we’re that way.”
“I’d like that.”
Anna patted her hand against my right thigh. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Anna glanced over her shoulder. “How has Marge been?”
“Why don’t you tell me?” Hap grunted. “You’re the one that’s over there all afternoon.”
“I go over there for an hour,” she rebutted. “That’s not all day.”
“Well,” Hap replied. “I may or may not stop by for long enough to get a glass of tea. I don’t think that constitutes a conversation.”
“Fine,” Anna huffed.
Hap glanced out the window. “It’s going to have to be,” he retorted. “Because my business isn’t your business.”
“Next time you ask me something, you’re going to get a big fat nothing in return,” Anna said. “No-thing. Zero. Zilch. Nada.”
“You vomit information like a compromised dam spews water,” Hap said with a laugh. “You’ll leak out enough to keep me entertained.”
“Not anymore,” she warned.
I liked seeing Hap argue with her. It let me know that he’d accepted her into his life, and into his heart.
We continued along the coast until we reached San Diego, with Anna talking nearly all the way. After stopping at Hap’s house to pick up a box of photographs, we took the freeway back to Los Angeles.
Upon reaching our home, we each fixed a plate of leftover meatloaf and sat at the dinner table.
Hap ate with one hand as he pilfered through the photos with the other. He flipped one across the table.
“Remember that?” he asked.
It was a picture of my brother’s bloody forearm.
I’d caught a four-foot long kingsnake and was teasing Brandon with it. As soon as I released its head, it bit him on the forearm so hard it drew blood. Hap ended up taking him to the doctor, primarily due to my mother’s insistence that the snake was possibly poisonous.
“Mom was madder than hell about that,” I said.
“She sure was.”
“How old was I?”
“Well, I bought you that shirt on the Christmas before your thirteenth birthday, so I’m going to guess you were about thirteen. Give or take.”
“Probably right,” I agreed. “Brian Hudson got me interested in snakes and he moved away at the end of eighth grade.”
“What about this?” he asked, flipping another across the table.
I handed Anna the picture of Brandon’s arm and reached for the other one.
It was a picture of us on Halloween. We couldn’t have been much older than four and five. I was dressed as a cowboy, and Brandon was dressed as an Indian. His face was marked with warpaint. A headband that covered nearly all his forehead was fitted with three turkey feathers.
Still looking at the picture of my brother and I, I laughed. “I kind of remember that. Not really. I remember Halloween with him, though. We’d make you walk so far behind us that no one knew you were with us.”
“It didn’t really matter if I was there or not, nobody in the neighborhood would have let anything happen to you little shits. Everyone knew everyone. Hell, the neighbors used to call us and say, ‘Isn’t it time to eat, Hap? Your two turds are in our back yard looking for horned toads.’”
“Things have sure changed,” I agreed. “Can’t wear an Indian costume these days. Somebody’d call the news and turn you in for race shaming. Times were different back then, no doubt.”
I looked over the photo and handed it to Anna.
“Here,” he flipped another across the table. “What about that?”
The photo was faded so much that gray and yellow were the only prominent colors. It was a photo of my mother, holding a baby.
“Is that Brandon?” I asked.
“It’s you.”
“Bullshit,” I said. “That’s got to be—”
“Turn it over,” Hap said.
I turned over the photo. On the back, it was marked with block lettering, in pen. “Brax, 13 months.”
I grinned. “You called me Brax back then?”
He nodded. “Drove your mother insane. She said it wasn’t your name. That’s why she wanted to name your brother Brandon and not Brayden. She knew if it was Brayden, I’d call you Brax and him Bray. She knew I wouldn’t call your brother Bran, so she picked Brandon.”
“That’s funny,” Anna said.
“I never knew that,” I admitted.
We continued going through photos long into the night. When we finally retired to bed, I’d resurrected many memories from my past.
I’d also learned several things about my father, mother, and my brother.
And a lot about what I wanted my future to hold.
Anna
I stretched my left arm toward Braxton, who was seated at my side. “Would you pass the salad, please?”
He lifted the bowl and placed it between us. “There you go. It’s good, huh?”
It consisted of raw cauliflower, pickled red onions, bacon, and a creamy parmesan dressing. It was simple, but I couldn’t stop eating it.
“It is,” I said. “I like that recipe. I got it from Chrissy Teigen’s Twitter. She said she loved it.”
“Does she follow you?”
I forked a piece of cauliflower into my mouth. “I think so.”
“You don’t know?”
“She does.” I gave him an apologetic look. “I don’t think it’s good to brag about such things.”
“There’s a difference between walking into a bar, sitting down, and saying, ‘Oh, look, Chrissy Teigen sent me a personal message,’ to the bartender, and answering a question I asked you.”
“Okay. Chrissy Teigen follows me.”
“I think it’s good that you’ve established a faithful following,” he said. “It might come in handy someday.�
�
“Like when?”
He shrugged. “You never know.”
I picked at my salad, and then at the chicken. The home seemed quiet. Empty. Eerily lonely.
“It seems weird,” I said, gesturing to Hap’s seat. “Not having Hap here.”
“He’s not big on chicken, anyway, so it’s all for the better,” he said. “Wonder what they’re eating?”
Hap was having dinner at Marge’s. After two weeks of sharing afternoon tea, they spent a week talking in the evenings while taking short walks. Eventually, Marge invited him over for dinner. I thought it was cute, but I really wanted to be a part of it. It frustrated me that I didn’t get to see them together.
“Maybe we can include her in our Sunday dinners in the future,” I said. “What do you think? Maybe, like every other week or something?”
“Okay by me,” Braxton said.
“They’re supposed to be holding a press conference on Monday about lifting the stay at home order. Did you see that?”
He nodded. “Pratt told me.”
“If they do, what are you going to do?”
He continued to eat his chicken without skipping a beat. “About what?”
“About everything?”
He paused. “Like?”
“Work? Home? Me? You? Sunday Dinners? Hap?”
The shoveling of food commenced. With a mouth full of salad and a forkful of chicken, he shrugged as if it were no big deal. “Nothing, probably.”
“Nothing?” I lowered my fork and raised my brows. “What do you mean, nothing?”
He poked the chicken in his mouth. “Nothing.”
I slapped his bicep with the back of my hand. “Can you stop eating for a minute?”
He gave me a dismissive glance. “Sure.” He set his fork down and wiped his hands on his napkin. “What?”
“You’re going back to work, aren’t you?”
“I haven’t decided.”
My heart skipped a beat. “What? Why? What’s—”
“I like this,” he said, glancing around the dining room. “It’s nice. Spending time together. Having a family. I didn’t realize how much I needed this until I got it. Now that I’ve got it, I don’t know that I’m willing to give it up.”
“I’m going to have to do something. I’ve got a little nest egg, but I don’t want to—”
“Look,” he said. “If you want to work, that’s fine. I’ve got enough money for both of us, so there’s nothing to worry about when it comes to finances.”
“Why haven’t we talked about this?” I asked.
“We’re talking about it now, aren’t we?”
“We’re talking about it because I pressed the issue.”
He reached for his fork. “Well, we’re talking about it, and that’s what matters.”
The thought of working at my leisure was exciting. I despised the thought of giving up my dealership in Oklahoma, but I hated thinking about leaving Los Angeles even more.
Being closer to the beach was my dream. I tried to contain myself. “Are you planning on staying here forever?” I asked dryly.
“California? I can’t think of living anywhere else.”
“No,” I replied. “Sherman Oaks.”
He made a funny face. “No.”
“You’re thinking about leaving?”
He poked a piece of chicken in his mouth. “Yeah. Been thinking about it.”
“Why haven’t we talked about that?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Didn’t get to it yet, I guess.”
“All we talk about is what’s on television, how funny your dad is, and what’s for dinner,” I said. “We never talk about our future.”
He poked a piece of cauliflower in his mouth. “I’m not much of a talker.”
I widened my eyes as if he’d made a grand revelation. “Oh, really?”
“Go to hell,” he said, laughing over a mouthful of food. “I’ve never been a talker.”
“Well, it’s time to start,” I declared. “Where were you thinking about moving to?”
“Hadn’t given it a tremendous amount of thought.” He swallowed his food and glanced over his left shoulder. “What do you think about moving closer to the beach?”
My heart raced. I tried to hide my excitement. I nervously poked at a piece of chicken. “I think that would be nice. I like the beach. It’s peaceful. Are you thinking a little closer, or a lot closer?”
I slid my left hand under the table and crossed my fingers.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I was thinking if we could find a place in Santa Monica, Hermosa Beach, or Malibu that was on the beach that I might consider it.”
We?
I swallowed hard. “On the beach?”
“Not much sense in being close to the beach.” He chuckled. “Hell, we just as well stay in this shit-hole. I want to wake up and be able to look out my window and see it. I forgot how much I enjoyed the ocean until this pandemic started. Driving along the highway to San Diego once a week makes me want to get the hell out of here.”
Truthfully, I could live in Dumpwater, Arkansas and be happy, as long as it was with Braxton.
“I think I’d settle for whatever made you happy,” I said, reserving hope that he’d continue his desire to live on the beach. “You decide what you want, and I’m along for the ride.”
“I think I might be ready for a change,” he said. “Hap’s a prick, but he’s a happy prick. I don’t want to live the rest of my life chasing life’s loose ends and end up old and angry. I want to be like the Old Man.”
I laughed. “You’d rather be a happy prick?”
“I would.”
I picked at my food, dreaming of living along the coast. In a matter of moments, I became so excited I could barely contain myself.
The front door swung open.
We both looked up.
Hap stopped dead in his tracks and gave each of us a little jolt of his laser sharp glare. “What are you two dipshits looking at?” he asked. “Never seen an old man walk through a door?”
“Evening, Pop,” Braxton said.
“Fuck you,” Hap snarled. “It’s none of your business.”
Braxton gave him a flippant look. “I didn’t ask a thing.”
“You were getting ready to.” He shifted his eyes to me. “And so were you.”
“I wasn’t going to say—”
“Keep your yap shut,” Hap said, taking long strides toward his bedroom. “You’re not sweet talking me out of anything.”
“That’s fine,” I said. “I’ll just talk to Marge tomorrow.”
He laughed as he walked past. “We’ve taken an oath of secrecy.”
“Girl code trumps any oath between a man and a woman,” I said.
He paused and turned to face me. He glared. “Is there such a thing? Girl code?”
“Oh yeah,” I said. “It’s an unbreakable bond we all share.”
“If you’ll agree to leave her alone about it, I’ll tell you this, and no more.” He looked at Braxton and then at me. “Agreed?”
I nodded. “Sure.”
He grinned. “If having fun is a crime, I ought to be doing life in Folsom Prison.”
“I’m glad you had fun,” I said, trying not to smile too much.
“So am I,” Braxton added.
“What were you two blabbing about?” Hap took a moment to look at each of us. “You look like a couple of numbskulls that are plotting to rob a bank.”
“We’re just trying to decide what’s for dinner tomorrow night,” I lied.
“You two are either a couple of morons or a couple of liars,” he said, alternating glances between us. “Tomorrow’s Taco Tuesday. On Taco Tuesday, we have fucking tacos.”
“Thanks,” I said. “All the days kind of run into one another.”
“Think nothing of it,” he said with a wave of his hand.
Halfway to his room, he paused. “Oh. Almost forgot,” he said over his shoulder. “Fix another plat
e for tomorrow night. We’ve got someone joining us.”
“Is she staying for Scrabble?” I asked.
“Well, there’s not much sense in giving her the boot as soon as we get done with dinner, is there?”
“I suppose not,” I said.
“Then she’ll be staying for Scrabble.”
“Are you going to join us?” I asked. “You can have a seat and help us with our bank robbery plot.”
“Nope, the neighbor gal and I are going to make hand gestures at each other through the window,” he replied. “Have a good night.”
His bedroom door closed. I smirked. Hap may have been a prick, but he was a very likeable prick.
I went back to picking at my food. Moving to the beach together may not have been a big deal to Braxton, but it was a huge deal to me. If we were moving into a new home together, it confirmed Braxton’s commitment to me, and to our relationship.
I was eager to discuss it further.
“Sounds like that went well.” I poked a piece of cauliflower and then glanced at Braxton. “Where were we?”
“We were moving to the beach,” he deadpanned.
“Oh, that’s right,” I said, fighting a smile. “I almost forgot.”
Braxton
The governor announced the stay at home order was lifted. The state rejoiced. Free travel was allowed, and all businesses were able to reopen. Things were much different following the pandemic. The experts claimed this was the way it would be for the foreseeable future.
Basketball, football, and soccer were now played privately, in what were formerly public venues. They were televised live. Attending sporting events was something of the past.
Buffets were no more. The chance of infection being transferred from person to person through the shared silverware, serving pans, and countertops was far too great. Casinos were ghost towns, due to the elimination of slot machines. As it was impossible to clean a machine after each use, they were banned from public use. Las Vegas was a ghost town.
The floors in grocery stores were marked with arrows, allowing traffic along the food aisles to travel in one direction, only. Lines were marked on the floors at the checkout aisles, six feet apart. See-through plastic walls separated the cashier from the customer.
The Man I Hate Page 25