Stan’s snicker sounded amused. “Well, he bypassed tipsy, made a mockery of intoxication, gave sloshed a challenge, and is heading for legless and wrecked. If we have to move him, it’ll take both of us.”
“Fuck yer dog,” Arnie slurred. He scowled or thought he did.
“I don’t have a dog, you pervert.”
Another drink was pressed into his hand. “Did I ask for this?”
“Yes,” Stan replied. “And you said extra dirty.”
“Oh, uh, ’kay.” He made lip-smacking noises as the brine-infused alcohol slid down his throat. “Gotta take a whiz.” He stood, and the room tilted. “Earthquake?”
“What did he say?” His dad was looking at him with a confused expression.
“He has an earache?” Stan’s expression was also confused.
Whatever. He growled, “Pfft,” and blew past them with a wave.
Stan took his arm and turned him. “That way, bro.” He pointed at a door.
Slamming the bathroom door behind him, Arnie groaned, “Whoa,” and grabbed the sink counter when the bright lights came on, and he was momentarily blinded.
Taking a leak took way more effort than usual. He couldn’t figure out his belt buckle and what the fuck with the pants zipper.
When he stumbled from the bathroom, Stan muttered, “Oh, great.”
Rising to his full height, Arnie ran a hand down the front of his shirt in an attempt to appear dignified. “I’m going to find Summer. Get my car would you please?”
Nobody moved. He looked at his dad—focused on one of the faces swimming in his eyes—and said, “What?”
“Um, it’s a bummer, and you need a jar? A jar of what, son?”
“I got this,” Stan said with a laugh. He thumped their dad on the back. “Inebriated fuckery is where I do some of my best work.”
He didn’t have time for these two. Summer was in danger. He fixed his tie and ran a hand over the top of his head. Where were his keys?
Patting all of his pockets didn’t make them magically materialize. Dammit.
“Who’s got my keys?”
“You didn’t drive.” His father reminded him. “Where do you need to go?”
“I have to find Summer.”
“Okay,” his dad replied. “Sounds like a plan. Stan! Get your brother another drink while I stuff shit into his bags.”
Stan asked, “You think that’s wise?”
“He hasn’t seen what’s in your pocket yet, so yeah. I do.”
Arnie frowned. Why were they talking ibber-jish. Um, jibber-ish?
He made wild plans in his head while his dad dragged Arnie’s bags to the bedroom door and picked up his stuff from around the room.
Stan made a turkey sandwich happen. They sat on the sofa and shared the family classic made the way their granddad preferred with real mayo, lots of it, and chopped pickles.
“I’m getting married,” he informed his smirking sibling.
“Oh, yeah? To who?”
“Summer of course, you stupid prick.”
Confusion transformed Stan’s expression. “Er, uh, ohh-kay. Does she know this?”
He wobbled on the sofa, snorting his scorn. Was Stan stupid? “Of course she knows.”
“But you haven’t talked to her in what? A year?”
With a drunken wave, he blew off the question and Stan’s concern. “Pfft. She knows.”
Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Arnie realized he needed a best man.
“Wanna be my guy?”
“Your what? Your guy? What kind of guy?”
Overcome with the jollies, he guffawed and slapped at his knee. “I’ve got a guy for everything! Bwah! Ha!”
Stan looked at his as if he were crazy, so he elaborated. “My guy! You know. Best man.”
“Oh, my god. Are you for real asking me to be your second when you get married? I figured you’d ask one of your work buddies.”
“You’re my brother. This is how we do from now on.”
“Arnie.” Stan laughed. “I know you think the words coming from your mouth make sense, but honest to god, bro, half of what you’re saying is jibberish.”
“Where’s Dad?”
“He’s getting a car.”
“Are we going somewhere?”
“Yep.”
“What’s in your pocket, Stan? I heard Dad say.”
Stan frowned. “Are you good and drunk?”
“Pretty much.”
Arnie wasn’t aware of their dad’s return until he heard his voice. “Show him.”
Nodding more solemnly than Arnie liked, his brother reached into a pocket and withdrew a small piece of paper. He held it out.
Focusing on the blurry paper, Arnie looked more closely and realized it was a photograph.
Summer.
As he’d seen her in his visions. The same but different.
And then his eyes made sense of the whole picture. Her outfit was waitress garb and on her shoulder was a small bundle. Looking into the barely visible face of his daughter, Arnie felt things he couldn’t contain. A harsh groan was all he had.