21. Maria
Maria
The journey down from Silverlode Pass is a lot different in feelings and emotions to the one going up there.
Going up the mountainside, we had been quiet, watchful, passive.
I had felt sorrow and I had felt regret, and most of all, I had felt a huge amount of guilt.
Guilt because whatever the three of them might say, I know in my heart that I am as much if not more to blame than anyone else.
I am the one who chose to sleep with both Grant and Regan.
That was my choice and my decision. Yet, as I had tried to explain to Abe earlier, none of it had felt like that.
It had all felt much more like one inevitable occurrence after another.
Things just… happened. That’s all. So, on the journey up, it was primarily guilt that I had been feeling.
Now, on the way down, things are different.
Sure, we’ve still got much to discuss and much to agree upon.
, But the atmosphere itself is nowhere near as tense or concerned.
In fact, it’s almost like we’re headed to a party.
Regan and Abe laugh and horseplay around on the back seat, whilst I sit up front and Grant drives.
At one stage I even have to force Regan to stop wrestling with Abe, because they nearly force the truck into the ditch with the way they’re throwing their weight around.
Sandro rushes out as soon as he hears the truck, and we pull up by the main house, everyone piling out and talking at once.
Of course, he can see for himself that everything’s okay, since we have Abe with us, and since everyone is in such a jubilant mood.
He strides over to greet Abe like a long-lost friend.
“Ah, Abe, dear boy. It is good to have you back with us. Really very good indeed!”
In response, Abe gives him a wide grin and claps Sandro on the back, sending him staggering forward three or four steps with a loud “Oooph.”
“Oops, sorry Sandro.”
Sandro waves his hand in a “no problem” sort of a way, the breath temporarily knocked out of him.
Then, Grant and Regan insist on picking Abe up and carrying him into the house between them, laughingly taunting him that it’s his wedding night, so he’d better get himself good and ready for them.
But of course, they’re only having fun, and Abe laughs back at them, telling them he’ll bother getting ready once they’ve grown big enough for him to need to do so.
We pile into the kitchen and seat ourselves around the kitchen table—the one space in the house that’s easily large enough for all of us at once. Regan raids the refrigerator and brings out beers all round to a chorus of cheers.
“I’ll cook us all a celebratory meal,” I say, reaching for the apron that’s hanging up by the door, but Grant grabs my arm.
“I’ve a better idea,” he says. “Let’s do a barbecue.”
“Yeah, a barbecue… perfect!” agrees Regan, jumping onto the kitchen table in his excitement, hands spread wide. “With beef patties, sausages, ribs, chicken wings, mushrooms, corn-on-the-cob?—”
“Alright, alright, Greedy Guts,” Grant’s laughing now. “Let’s see what’s in the fridge and the freezer. I know we have ground beef?—”
“Good!”
“—and I’m fairly sure I saw some chicken wings and thighs in there?—”
“Even better!”
Grant lets out a sigh. “Will you stop interrupting me please you’re begin?—”
“I’m not interrupting you. I’m being helpful.”
“Well, go and be helpful somewhere else. For example, you could go bring a couple more cases of beers in from the outhouse, okay?”
“Okay, Boss.”
“Good, now…” Regan pauses, looks around, then “Abe, you’re in charge of the fire pit. You know where everything is, can I leave you to get a fire going, and to get the barbecue ready, with the grills cleaned, and the charcoal added and lit?”
“Sure.” He turns and stomps out, heading towards the storage shed.
“Regan, when you’re done with the beers, can you make potato salad? Oh… and do you remember where we put those skewers?”
“Yeah, I think so. I think they’re in that drawer where we keep the pizza cutter and the egg timer, and the other stuff we never use.”
“Okay, well if you can find them, then do you think you can create some of those kebabs we had last time… you know, the ones with the mushrooms, onions, and bell peppers?”
“I’ll give it a go, Boss.”
It’s interesting to watch how easily Grant switches gears, and becomes the leader, and how swiftly Regan and Abe respond.
“Sandro, would you be kind enough to help Abe set up the barbecues?”
Papa nods, and heads for the door, following Abe out to the shed.
“Maria, can you help Regan with the food? Perhaps start by getting the frozen ingredients out the freezer so they can be defrosting. Don’t forget the burger buns and the dogs. I don’t like half-frozen dogs.” He glances across at me and I smile and nod.
“Good. I’ve got some customer inquiries that I have to get back to, and there’s one or two calls that really should have been done yesterday and have to be seen to today.”
And just like that, Papa and I have been organized and assigned our tasks as well.
“It’s now…” he glances down at his outsize Casio G-Shock watch.
“Four-thirty p.m.,” he says. “One hour should be enough to set everything up. Let’s say we light the charcoal at Five-thirty.
Then thirty minutes for the coals to get good and hot.
Perfect.” He looks up at us. “We’ll start barbecuing at six p.m. Reckon you can be ready by then? ”
Regan and I glance at each other, then back to Grant, nodding.
“Sure thing, Boss.”
“Great. I’ll be in the office if anyone needs me.”
And that leaves just Regan and me in the kitchen. Regan begins opening drawers, presumably searching for the skewers. I make a beeline for the freezer, mentally listing what we’ll need to take from it.
Everything’s running exactly to plan. The beef patties, sausages and ribs are all lined up on trays, waiting to get their turn on top of the hot coals.
A large pile of kebabs lies invitingly beside them, and beyond the kebabs are about a dozen corn-on-the-cobs, all smeared with garlic butter and wrapped in tin foil.
Beyond them lie the burger buns and dog buns, all split and ready for use.
Regan and I also chopped what felt like three hundred onions—but which Regan assures me was only five—into rings for frying and adding to the burgers.
In addition to all that, we have laid out a few bowls of munchies—things like Cheetos, Doritos, and Ruffles—in a range of flavors.
And there’s a wide range of sauce bottles in a basket including ketchup, mayo, ranch, barbecue, sriracha, and a local chili sauce that Regan tells me West Virginia is famous for.
Apparently, it’s slightly sweet-tasting and really good.
Finally, of course, comes the potato salad – a huge bowl of it, topped with chopped mint—alongside a large bowl containing cherry tomatoes and chopped cucumber.
Surely this must be an unnecessarily huge pile of food for just five hungry adults… but something tells me that these boys can cut through food like a plague of locusts if they’ve a mind to.
There’s two actual barbecues going at once.
So that means we can set to with the fried onions and the kebabs—which take a bit of time—on one of them, leaving the other one completely free for everyone to load with their choice of meat.
I go for a burger patty, as does Papa and Regan.
Grant and Abe start in with the sausages.
For a while there’s much less talking. Mostly what can be heard is the hiss and sizzle of animal fats dripping onto hot coals, the metallic scrape of a spatula as it turns the ribs, and the occasional pop of a fresh beer bottle being opened.
By this time it’s mid evening. It’s still very warm, and with the sun still in the sky, though heading downwards now in the west, heading ever lower until it just touches the tips of the pine trees on the horizon.
Abe goes and gets the stereo system out from the workshop, and a local radio station is playing rock music from the seventies and eighties—Lynyrd Skynyrd, the Doors, the Stones, Aerosmith, Van Halen, Bon Jovi—the boys know many of the songs, and when they do, they sing along.
Songs like Freebird and Dream On, or I Can’t Get No Satisfaction and Living on a Prayer, all belted out at top volume for the benefit of themselves and their small audience of Papa and myself, seated on the picnic bench, listening to the boys having fun, watching the sun setting behind the forest, and enjoying the feeling of belonging, of camaraderie, of warmth, acceptance for you are and nothing more.
It's just a few short minutes in the course of a lifetime. But it’s precious moments like these that mean so much.
These are the types of moments that are stored away in the memory like precious jewels, to be brought out from time to time and turned around, examined, remembered, and shared.
These are the defining moments that bond us together, and that make us who we are.
On the bench beside me, Papa’s head slips onto my shoulder, and he starts to gently snore. That’s no good. I give him a nudge.
“Papa,” I gently shake him.
“Hmm… what?”
“It’s only me. You fell asleep.”
“Did I? Yes, I suppose I must have done. Well… all the excitement of the day—I guess I’m tired. I’m heading in to bed. Goodnight my precious angel.” Then a little louder as he gets up, and, with a wave of his hand in the direction of the carousing men, calls out “Goodnight boys.”
The men all shout their goodnights and wish him a pleasant sleep. He gives me a proprietary kiss on my forehead, smooths a stray lock of my hair back along my scalp for me, and then with a last, fond smile, heads off to the cabin to his bedroom.
“Should I lower the volume on the radio?” Abe’s hand hovers over the controls. I smile.