stubborn.”
Relieved that things seemed to be okay, I laughed and shot back my comeback, “Yeah, well, you’re annoying,” I stuck out my tongue then laughed, “so . . .”
Nate laughed at my antics, then turned thoughtful and turned back to Alex asking, “Do you happen to have a drill? We have a ton of furniture still in the box that we need to put together, and it’s going to take a billion years if I have to use just the screwdriver.”
“Nate, I told you I’d run you to the hardware store so we can get what we need this afternoon.”
“Mom.” He gave me a look that said he was utterly doubting my sanity and said, “If he has it, we can borrow the tools we need and just return them instead of buying a bunch of stuff we’ll never use again.”
“Who says we won’t use it again? I have my eye on a couple of bookshelves that will look great next to the fireplace. We could use them again then.”
Setting the Tupperware on the counter and ignoring my very sensible argument, Alex turned to my son and said, “Tell you what, let’s go take a look at everything that needs doin’, and we’ll go get the tools from my place across the street.”
They turned to go forth and do manly things away from the kitchen, so I picked up my thirteen going on thirty-year old’s swim bag and dropped it in the garage so he could deal with it later, and it wouldn’t get my floor wet. In the meantime, it looked like I’d been banished to the kitchen, so I queued up some old school rap music and me and 2Pac got to work.
Twenty minutes later, talking amongst themselves, Nate and Alex walked through the kitchen, out the front door, and across the street. I discreetly watched as they disappeared into the garage, then I dove into a new box to unpack.
Chapter Two
Chops
I told myself I would get the tools they needed and get out of their hair, let mother and son commence to moving in while I went about my business.
Yet, even as I was thinking about getting away, I was picking up my cell and calling in the prospects to pitch in on the manual labor. I checked the toolbox in the garage, making sure it had everything I needed, then grabbed the power drill and a spare battery while Nate kept up a constant stream of chatter.
“Thanks for this. Seriously. My mom, I’m all she’s got. I mean, my grandparents are around, but they’re old, can’t do the heavy lifting.” He flexed playfully and grinned up at me, saying, “Plus, it isn’t the same, you know? Grams is great. She takes me to meets when Mom can’t, and Mom works with Gramps at his clinic, but it’s just her and me mostly. What about you? Do you live by yourself? Any kids?”
He took a breath, waiting on my response, and I found myself answering without thinking about it. “My ma died when I was young, but my old man and I are tight. No kids. Just me, though I do have a couple of brothers and a little sis.”
“Sorry about your mom. Sometimes I just open my mouth and say the wrong stuff. If it makes you feel any better, my dad didn’t even die; he just said he was done with us and threw us away. New kid, new wife, sold our house and didn’t look back.”
“Fuck, kid, you serious?” I’d gotten that she wasn’t married from our conversation in the kitchen, but standing in my garage, processing what he was telling me, shock battled rage. What kind of a man just up and traded one family for another?
“Yeah, it’s cool, though. He’s a dick. We’re happier without him, even though we had to leave home and move here. We stayed with my gram and gramps for a while then found this place. I guess it’s home. Now, I just have to talk Mom into getting a dog. Dad wouldn’t let us have one.”
Nate carried on talking, not picking up on the fact that I’d ceased to move. I’d gone months without feeling much of anything. Shit’d gone down with the club, and we’d gone to war with the Beachside Bangers. When it was all said and done, several people had died on both sides, and one of those had been my flesh and blood.
Burying him, watching it rip my family apart, it’d just been