alcohol obscured the character trait for many years.
While Stan worked the phone, Arnie went into overdrive—an easy thing, considering the adrenaline racing through his system. He checked in at NIGHTWIND central with a status update. Next, he sent a message to his father. Composing the right words took some time. In the end, his plea was simple and direct.
Can you come to California? We need you.
He thought long and hard about using “we” instead of “I.” When his father opened up and shared memories of Arnie’s mother, the Connecticut house and Darnell Senior’s special relationship with the daughter-in-law he adored to this day, the hand of the universe wasn’t difficult to see. Not everything was only about him. There were other people, and their emotions were also on the line.
Going it alone only wasted months of time—time he didn’t know was going to prove so precious. He’d missed the birth of his daughter, subjected Summer to God only knew what, and gave Giselle a foothold.
Lesson learned. Discovering he was a mere human was made tolerable by the knowledge he wasn’t alone. He had his NIGHTWIND compadres, and for real, they were a steely-eyed squad of superheroes disguised as regular people. New York people, but still.
But the light bulb moment hitting him square in the heart was when he, his dad, and Stan aligned perfectly to form an immovable, unified force. They were a team—Team McGee. He wasn’t alone about needing Dad in the game. Stan was part of this—a big part. Asking for paternal support and backup at this crucial moment was a no-brainer.
I thought you’d never ask, but just in case you did, Dottie already has me on a cross-country flight. Wheels up in a few hours. Have coffee ready.
Oh, thank god. He did some calculations, and with the time zone changes, he figured nine or ten in the morning for Dad’s arrival. All they had to do was get through tonight and wait for tomorrow’s reinforcements.
Like magic, furniture right off the showroom floor was delivered, and work crews got started under Stan’s direction. By dinnertime, the house was ripped apart, and one disorganized mess morphed into another.
There was a landscaping team working in the front yard, and in the driveway, a crew of tile guys was cleaning up for the day. Movement on the street picked up. People were coming home from work. Bud pulled into his driveway and continued into the garage, leaving an open spot for Summer.
Arnie anxiously awaited her return and turned surly when the sun went down, the evening arrived, and she still wasn’t home.
He and Stan were seated at a round pedestal dining table in the middle of the ripped-up living room. A meal of Italian delights took up most of the family-sized table.
“Papa Leo’s Sicilian Eatery,” Stan informed him for the second time. “Great Yelp reviews. The Postmates gal said it’s the best eye-tally-ano in the Valley. Try the gnocchi.”
Shoveling garlic knots dipped in chunky meat sauce into his mouth, Arnie merely grunted. It wasn’t a case of not giving a shit. His nerves were stretched so taut that he was worried about snapping.
The tile guy stuck his head in the door. “We’re all packed up, Stan. Eight o’clock okay tomorrow? Ordinarily, we start earlier, but my son has a school field trip, and it’s up to me to drop him off on time.”
“And who doesn’t enjoy a good school trip? Where’s he off to? Someplace cool, I hope,” Stan answered in a jovial tone.
“La Brea Tar Pits and Museum. It’s kind of standard for LA school kids.”
The two men worked out the details after Stan got up from the table and went to the door. As the guy left, Stan walked after him.
“Whoa, Stan. Don’t go out there,” he barked.
His brother stumbled to a halt and looked at him. “But the landscaper is signaling he wants a convo.”
Arnie pushed back from the table and stood. “I’ll do it. You’re too noticeable. If Giselle catches sight of your ugly mug, she’ll know we’re on to her.”
He brushed past and gave Stan a stern scowl. “And don’t press your face against the windows.”
It only took a few short hours to rip out the brown rectangle making up the uninspiring front yard. Now there was a walkway mapped out and beds outlined with stone accents. Once the flowers and plants were added, it would look amazing.
The landscape foreman was a burly Latino man with a wide smile and a mustache rivaling Arnie’s fake ’stache.