Love Garage

by Liz Crowe

  “That works. Thanks…seriously, I—”

  But Antony held up a hand.

  “I don’t want to hear it. I, for one, am sick of your excuses. But hey, you’ll be the famous author soon, right? After nearly eight years of school?”

  The blood rushed to Aiden’s face again and his hands curled into fists for the millionth time. He counted to ten then fifteen, then took a deep breath. “Can I crash at your place?”

  “Jesus-fucking-Christ. Whatever. Now get the hell out of here before I change my mind.”

  Aiden stood, heart pounding, fingertips touching the flash drive in his pocket harboring his novel, the one he thought would have passed muster with his stuck-up advisory committee, but had fallen miserably flat. He wondered if Antony still had a computer at home since his own laptop was on its last legs then decided against pushing his luck.

  “I’m sorry. But I just need a few…weeks or something. I need to be here for Mama, you know.”

  Antony’s frown deepened. “Yeah, speaking of that. Best get it over with now. She know you’re here?”

  “Not exactly.” Aiden grimaced. Grime coated him from the long bus ride, and he smelled his own sour body odor—hardly presentable to his mother. But he had no choice. “I…um…could use….”

  Antony sighed, dug something out of his pocket, and tossed it toward him. Aiden caught the keys, his throat closing with a combination of panic and relief, and the alarming urge to burst into tears.

  “Take the truck. Go to my place and shower first. You smell like the losers in the drunk seat. Do not smoke in either my truck or my house, got it? Rosie made me give it up and won’t tolerate it around me.”

  Aiden nodded, knowing better than to say a single word at that moment. Antony shot him one more withering glare then turned on his heel and stomped into the garage, yelling and cursing at whatever hapless worker blocked his way.

  As Aiden made his way toward the door, he caught sight of the photo hanging over the huge, old-fashioned oak desk harboring all manner of chaos—Antony, his face young and unlined, smiling, with his arm around a lovely blonde woman. A little girl with hair like her grandmother’s, and her father’s deep-brown eyes sat on the man’s shoulders. Aiden shook his head, wondering why Antony let that image torture him every single day.

  He’d married his high school sweetheart, like his friend Paul had done, just a little earlier in the game. He and the feisty cheerleader, Crystal Jenkins, had dated from halfway through their senior year then endured a tumultuous couple of years apart while she went to college in Knoxville, and Antony struggled and failed to complete his degree at the University of Kentucky.

  Once he’d dropped out for good, declared to their family that he and a now-pregnant Crystal were getting married, and that he wanted to buy a small farm on ten acres across town, he’d also broken the news that he’d be taking over their aging uncle’s garage.

  Their father had merely shrugged and gone back to eating. Their mother had let out a small, polite gasp then rallied in her usual fashion when confronted by her family’s ongoing drama.

  “Well, then I guess Crystal’s mama and I need to have a chat about a wedding…and a baby shower.”

  Aiden sighed and observed his bossy, know-it-all sibling for a few seconds, recalling the god-awful moment he’d heard Crystal had been in a wreck on I-75, coming back from a sorority reunion in Knoxville. Antony had gone into a deep hole after that, losing touch with everyone, including his young daughter.

  “What the fuck are you staring at, punk?” Antony’s harsh voice sliced through Aiden’s reminiscing. “Get the hell out of my office. Shower. Go see our mother, and Lord help you if she won’t hide you from Daddy.”

  Aiden nodded, and walked out, gripping the loaned truck keys.

  Chapter Two

  Aiden stood in the office of Love Garage at four-thirty the next morning. He’d not been able to get back to sleep after a nightmare, so arriving early seemed as good a use of his time as any. The memory of his mother’s drawn face when he’d shown up yesterday, unannounced, already violating one of her myriad rules of etiquette, had haunted him, making him toss and turn on the small bed in Antony’s spare room.

  She’d looked so diminished, reduced in a way that made his heart leap into his throat even now, recalling their visit.

  “Oh, Aiden,” she said with a sigh when he brought her a cup of her favorite spiced tea. “What am I going to do with you?”

  He stopped and gripped the teacup, those familiar words bumping around like marbles against his near-constant guilt. He’d failed so completely at the one thing he’d wanted, after years and money spent, it made him want to yell, to punch a hole in the wall. The Love family home—a modest, four-bedroom, 1970s split-level on a few acres—had weathered its share of male fists in the Sheetrock.

  He took a breath, set the cup down with a telltale rattle then sank into the large leather chair usually occupied by his father, while Mama curled up under a huge flannel blanket emblazoned with basketballs and the Lucasville High mascot—a rearing, slightly demonic-looking horse. Her red hair had streaks of pure gray threaded through it. The freckles on the face that he’d so loved to touch as a little boy, fascinated by them, by her, by the sheer wonderfulness of his mother, had faded, some disappearing altogether in the deep lines around her eyes and on her forehead.

  He tried to think of something to say, but words failed him for the second time that day. No big surprise there. Par for the course, really, his inner, self-pitying, wanna-be writer yammered. He glanced around the room, both comforting and familiar, while sickeningly strange and empty.

  His mother had a thing for rearranging and redecorating every three to five years, depending on how well the brewery had done the year prior. The most recent iteration involved heavy brown and maroon leather furniture, candles in holders fit for high mass, and a thin, but expensive, Asian-style rug over hardwood flooring the brothers had installed themselves fifteen years earlier.

  Framed photos lined the top of a new bookshelf. Each of the Love siblings in their basketball uniforms—but for him in his up-yours soccer kit—were displayed, along with a graduation photo, and each of them at senior prom with some girl on their arm. Antony’s wedding photo stood next to baby AliceLynn’s newborn picture.

  His sister Angelique’s photos graced the space as well, taking up as almost as much room as the boys combined. Photos from her dance team, at one of the zillions of competitions she’d won, at her graduation, and one of her in a—to Aiden’s mind—too-slinky prom dress for a seventeen-year-old. She and some lame kid in a tuxedo posed in front of their house with his mother’s prize half-dozen dogwood trees in full bloom behind them.

  He sighed and faced his mother, only to find her staring at him as if trying to figure him out. He grabbed the hand not holding her tea, desperation making him breathless.

  “I’m sorry, Mama. I just…I can’t deal with the politics of that program. I mean, I have the book written, you know? I need to…I don’t know, work on it some more, submit it to some agents?”

  “Why don’t you publish it yourself? It’s what everyone else seems to be doing. Half the books I see on my e-reader are published by the authors themselves.”

  Aiden grimaced. “I don’t want to be a publisher. I want to be an author.” He rose from the couch, hoping to end that particular topic. “Anyway, we need to focus on you for a while. It’s one of the reasons I came back you know.” He kissed the dry, papery skin of her cheek.

  She touched his face, her eyes showing a bit of the sparkle he remembered.

  “You know, I somehow knew you’d never really leave. I declare I could hardly get you to let go of my legs for the better part of two years before you finally got dragged to kindergarten. It took Antony to convince you of that. You worshipped that boy.”

  She patted his cheek hard, reminiscent of the smacks she had no qualm bestowing on all of them. Being able to whack her rowdy crowd of children upside the he
ad every now and then had been her way of reestablishing control over her world. And while it would hurt physically, it hurt more emotionally, knowing her temper had been taxed to that point.

  At least it had for him.

  He took her hand, kissed it then made a few minutes more of fuss over her, aware of the clock ticking its way toward 7:00 p.m., the hour his father always arrived home.

  “I should go.” He handed her a lap blanket emblazoned with the University of Kentucky Wildcats’ emblem.

  She smiled, but the exhaustion on her face alarmed him even further. As a little boy, he’d been convinced that his mother never required sleep—that one of the magical mom things included not sleeping. She’d always be up and sipping a beer with her husband when Aiden went to bed then wide awake and having coffee when he’d stumble into the kitchen for breakfast.

  It made sneaking out and back in as a teenager tough, if not impossible. The only one who’d ever fully flown in the face of that had been Dominic, the brother just older than him, which had made for some epic battles between Dom and their mother—battles Lindsay always won. Aiden never could figure out why he kept beating his head against the brick wall of their mother’s rules. But he always had.

  “You’re going to have to face him eventually. I’m guessing Antony has already told him you’re back and working for him.”

  Aiden frowned. Antony had always been the worst tattletale.

  “I’m glad to have you back, son.”

  He smiled, unnerved by the tears standing in her eyes, hating to be the cause of it. He preferred it when his mother shed tears over their father, or his baby sister.

  “Thanks, Mama. I’ll get myself sorted out, I promise.” Heading for the kitchen, he turned. “Oh, just curious. Is Antony dating Rosalee Norris?”

  Lindsay frowned, her face looking younger for a split second. “Why?”

  “No reason.” He jingled Antony’s truck keys in his pocket. “Just saw her and her little boy today at the garage. She and Antony seemed…close.” He cursed his fair skin for the heat creeping up his cheeks.

  “Antony claims he will never date again.” Her voice sounded stronger now, which encouraged Aiden, as if marshaling her energy to meddle in the lives of her sons gave her a reason to rally. “Rosalee is a lovely girl, although that Jeffrey is wild as a March hare.” She shook her head. “A real hellion. And I know one when I see one.”

  “Have you and Daddy…I mean, with Antony, and…her and Jeffrey?” Aiden hated sounding desperate but he’d sustained a low-level lust and mild obsession with Rosalee since seeing her, and wanted as much information as he could get.

  “Why so interested?”

  He looked down at his shoes. “Never mind.”

  “Aiden Leonardo, don’t you waste breath lying to me.”

  “I’m not,” he insisted, backing away, needing to escape. “I just want to know, you know, about my brother and…stuff.”

  She laughed, the tinkling, musical sound he’d adored his entire life. “Oh, you boys are going to be the death of me.” Her eyes danced with amusement but her voice got serious. “You let Antony have this one, Aiden. He needs someone like her. He deserves her. You wait your turn.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he muttered, not terribly surprised she’d sliced through his pretense so efficiently. “AliceLynn still living here?” He had to divert the conversation somewhat. Antony had handed his daughter over to Lindsay to raise after Crystal’s accident, while in the darkest depths of his depression. They’d agreed to do it, “for a while.” But that “while” had stretched out over a decade.

  “Yes, she is. But she’s at Crystal’s mama’s house about half the time.” Lindsay picked up her e-reader. “You know, once that Renee finds out you’re back in town I’m guessing you’ll have your fool hands full with her again.” She slipped on her reading glasses, pinning him with her unwavering gaze. “You remember condoms, young man. Do what you must, but know that I do not want that girl spawning my next grandbaby. Lord, have mercy.”

  Renee Reese. He’d almost forgotten about her.

  And now, the sun rose over the tops of the small town where he’d grown up lighting the edges of the Love Garage’s bright white interior. The town that had begun life as support to a bunch of horse farms in the picturesque landscape between Kentucky’s two largest cities had morphed into an extended, upscale suburb of Lexington. Full of huge, fancy neighborhoods built on those former horse farms’ land, complete with a Whole Foods Market, PF Chang’s, and a giant outlet mall, with a water park, a driving range, a mini-racetrack, and a sprawling soccer complex, the kind Aiden wished he’d had access to as a kid.

  The “charming” downtown remained, but sans a lot of the businesses Aiden remembered. The local hardware store got priced out of town by the Home Depot. The village pharmacy replaced by not one, but two large chain stores. There were a few stalwarts, thanks to the locals who remained. Shug’s, the ice cream and soda shop, with red-leatherette benches, and black-and-white-checked floor tile, and Bryant’s Burgers, a hole-in-the-wall dump of a place, with seating for about twenty, and a sticky, smelly bar. It had been featured on Man v. Food not once, but twice.

  And of course, the small corner once occupied by the original Love Bros Brewing Company that had been founded by Aiden’s father and uncle nearly thirty years before, prior to the craft beer explosion across America. It still housed The Love Pub—a name that made Aiden flinch every time he saw or heard it. The quaint town square boasted huge, ancient trees, a fountain, and a statue of William Haynes Lucas, owner of the biggest, oldest, and most famously bankrupt horse farm in the nation.

  During the summer months, teenagers lolled around on blankets, girls trying to attract boys, boys pretending not to be attracted. Moms and toddlers hung out during the days, playing on the swings and slides in one corner. There were mass picnics for the town, including the annual Labor Day fish fry, festivals galore, and in the winter, a small, manufactured ice rink tucked in next to the Jeffersonian-style courthouse.

  To his literary mind, it had always seemed very Our Town, both the good and the bad. He’d spent a lot of years yearning to get the hell away from it. But damned if its familiar contours, the scent of distinct maltiness from the new Love Brewing production facility down Hunter Road from the garage, and the ability to order his day by the train whistles every four hours, relieved him in ways he’d never believed possible.

  He sipped his coffee and glanced around at the pristine shop floor, the gleaming lifts, the rows of organized, polished tools. His back ached and his legs were sore, but for the first time in nearly three years, he experienced near perfect contentment. On a whim he did a quick phone search, hitting the letters R-E-N-before the name of the girl in question appeared, surprising him a little.

  Not a girl anymore. A thirty-one year-old woman, a business woman, he’d heard, who owned some chic salon and spa. Renee’s had been written up a lot online when it opened.

  His mother had sent him one of the links. “Thought you might want to see what your high school sweetie got up to,” she’d said in her email. “All the rich ladies in the big houses go there.”

  Renee had been in Dominic’s class in high school, and her obsession with him had been legend. He’d hooked up with her a few times, before he dumped her like he did pretty much every girl he dated.

  She’d shown up at the Love family home the night of their break up, sobbing, begging Aiden to tell Dom she needed to talk. Aiden had eagerly surrendered his virginity to her within an hour on a rickety cot in the corner of the lowest floor of their quad-level house. It had been the most glorious moment, full of whispers, lips, teeth, smells, skin, and sighs of delight.

  Moment being the key word of course, since he’d been a raw rookie. After that, she’d taken him on as a project, determined to teach him, the “sweet Love brother,” how to really treat a girl.

  Aiden sighed and slouched against the open garage door, his skin tingling even now at the memory of
her firm, porcelain skin. The way she’d taken his fingers and placed them here, then there, told him to press, rub, stroke, fast…faster…then how to properly use his lips and tongue. He shifted, embarrassed by how his body still, to this day, anticipated the lovely, brash, sexy Renee.

  Dominic had spent about an hour threatening him with bodily harm for “stealing his girlfriend,” a few weeks later. But their father ended that, nearly shoving Dom through the wall of the upstairs hallway over it.

  “I won’t have you punks fighting over puss—over girls. Your mama and I have enough on our plates without that shit.” He’d poked Dom in the chest then smacked his face when he wouldn’t meet his eyes. “You dumped her, Dominic Sean, unless my memory of her crazy caterwauling on my porch deceives me. And I don’t think it does. You don’t want her. That makes her fair game. I’m not saying I’m thrilled that Little A is letting some woman drive him around but….” He’d shrugged then clapped Aiden on the back. “You must have something going on she likes, eh boy?”

  “Don’t call me little A, please, sir,” he’d muttered, mortified, but glad that his father had intervened. He’d been more than a little afraid of Dominic, most days.

  Dominic had walked away in a huff, and left him a gift that night by way of a sticky, still-cum-wet Kleenex under his pillow, where Aiden always stuck his hands when he slept. He’d not mentioned it though—refused to give the jerk the satisfaction. Besides, what other nearly sixteen-year-old had such amazing, upper classman, feminine riches at his fingertips? He’d have been an idiot to jeopardize it.

  His parents drew the line at him going to prom with her though, so she’d gone without him, which had driven him mad with jealousy. They’d stuck as an on-again-off-again couple her one remaining year of high school, and nearly a year after that, while she attended night school and worked at her aunt’s hair salon. To this day, the smell of hairspray and acetone had the power to give Aiden a painful boner, thanks to all their illicit time in that place.