out of him. What were big brothers for?
“Relax, bro. I wasn’t saying you couldn’t hack it.”
“Well, it sure sounded like it.”
Peter changed the subject. “Your girlfriend was asking about you the other day.”
Carl’s face lit up on the monitor, but he played dumb. “My girlfriend? Who?”
“Oh come off it, Carl. Captain London.”
“Really? She asked about me?”
“No, but look how excited you got.”
“Screw you, Pete.”
“Good bye, Carl.”
“Say hi to Dad. And don’t tell him I’m screwing up or anything. He’s got enough to worry about.”
“Okay, Carl. Take care.”
Carl hung up.
“Pete, you ready to go?” Lorenzo was standing behind him.
Peter turned around. “Yeah, just gave my little brother a call.”
“He doesn’t look so little anymore.”
Peter laughed at this. He noticed it too. Carl was toughening up. It was only a couple of weeks, but Basic changes a man. It makes him hard.
“Let’s get out of here.”
Peter and Mike Lorenzo left the barracks to catch their ride to Peter’s homestead.
Chapter 9
Peter was startled when his dad answered the front door. He looked tired and haggard. His mother’s death definitely took its toll on him.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Peter. Come in.”
They stepped into the living room. The house was dark.
“Who’s your friend?”
“Dad, this is Mike Lorenzo.”
Peter’s father offered his hand, “Barry Birdsall,” and Mike took it.
“Pleased to meet you, sir.”
Peter’s father stood there, not knowing what to say next.
“Dad, you should turn on some lights. It’s no good to stay in the dark like this.”
Peter flipped on the light and was startled by what he saw. There were dirty laundry, used paper plates, and organofoam cups everywhere. Part of a pizza still in the box was on the floor and half-under the couch. His father stood there with his hands in his pockets looking sheepish.
“Jesus, Dad. What a mess.”
He was embarrassed in front of Lorenzo, but most of all he felt bad for his father. Peter walked past him and into the kitchen. He turned on the light and found a mountain of dirty dishes piled up in the sink, more fast food detritus covering the kitchen table and some of the chairs, and the toilet off the kitchen was running.
Lorenzo stood next to him. “Need some help?”
“Mike, no. I’ll…”
“Pete, I invited myself here. The least I can do is help.”
Peter’s father shuffled into the kitchen. “You don’t have to do anything guys, really.”
“Dad, I can’t just let this happen. Mike, you know how to work a grill?”
“I’m from Texas, Pete. What do you think?”
Peter opened up the refrigerator. “We can cook up some steaks or something.”
However, the refrigerator was practically empty, save some half-empty bottles of various condiments, a six-pack of beer, and a full bottle of cola. There were food stains all over the inside of the fridge.
Mike looked over Peter’s shoulder and into the fridge. “Take out?”
Peter closed the door. “Take out.” He turned on the com unit. “Pizza?”
Peter’s dad smiled. “Pepperoni would hit the spot.”
“Sounds good to me,” Lorenzo added.
“Pepperoni it is,” Peter confirmed.
He dialed a local pizzeria and ordered two large pies with extra pepperoni. He grabbed a large garbage bag and took to the living room, picking up garbage and dirty laundry. Mike took the kitchen, where he began to load the dishwasher.
When the doorbell rang, Peter dropped what he was doing and answered the door. He paid the deliveryman sixty dollars, and he brought the boxes into the kitchen.
Mike had cleared off the kitchen table. Peter put down the boxes. A holographic advertisement for Joe’s Pizza flashed on the top box cover.
“Peter, let me pay you for that.”
“Don’t worry about it, Dad. It’s no problem. Sit down.”
They all sat down at the table and consumed pizza. In between bites, Peter’s father regaled Lorenzo with embarrassing stories from Peter’s childhood.
“We were at this barbecue at a neighbor’s house…”
“Oh, Dad, no. Not that story.”
“And Peter was playing catch with his brother and some of the neighborhood kids. He was ten years old, I think.”
“Oh boy, here it comes.”
Peter was laying it on thick, faking obligatory protest to egg his father on. This was their routine whenever his father told stories. He knew his father loved it, and he felt it might pick up his spirits, at least during dinner.
His father continued. “And a yellow jacket flew right up his shorts and stung him in the groin.”
Lorenzo, in the middle of chewing, grimaced and elbowed Peter. “Holy cow. That must’ve hurt.”
“Like you wouldn’t believe, man.”
“He was crying and crying,” Peter’s dad continued. “All of the other kids just stared at him in disbelief.”
“And