Chapter Eight
“Hey, Dad.”
Cujo closed the screen door. His father was rinsing off dinner dishes at the sink.
“Hey, Brody. Timing’s perfect. Grab yourself a cloth and gimme a hand.”
Cujo pulled the red-and-white-checked cloth from the hook over the cooker door handle. The small rack’s stability was being severely tested under the pots, crockery, and cutlery piled on it.
He pulled one of the larger items off and started to dry. His cupcake adventure had taught him mindless tasks sometimes led to better decisions. Very Buddhist. Maybe drying the dishes to dry the dishes would provide the words he wanted to say to his father.
They worked in companionable silence, as they had many times over the years. When the dishes were done, Alec pulled two beers out of the fridge and handed one to Cujo, who made short work of unscrewing the cap.
“You want to tell me what’s on your mind, Brody?”
Cujo took a swig of the cold beer. A large one. “I wanted to talk to you about Mom.” In the five days since they’d been reunited, his dad had gone to see her twice every day. Cujo had joined him briefly a couple of times.
They carried their beers into the living room, past the small side table he’d chipped a tooth on at six, and took a seat on the brown leather sofa where he’d lost his virginity.
All of the furnishings in this room were old.
He’d never really wondered why his dad held on to them until he’d seen his father with his mother at the hospital, all soothing words and smiles.
He was holding on to her. To what they were.
And maybe to some misplaced idea that she’d come walking back through the door where he could show her how everything was just as it was when she left.
“What did you want to know?” His dad joined him in the sofa.
So many questions rushed through his mind in quick succession, it was difficult to narrow down which to ask first.
“You never got over her, did you?” Cujo took a long draw on the beer. He’d driven over, but hell, he was going to need a few more bottles to get through it.
“What’s the point of going over this? She left us.” Alec smoothed his hand over the worn leather of the chair arm.
“You never talked about it. You think this will … the two of you … fuck. Are you still waiting for her to come back?”
His dad said nothing, as usual. If it was just going to be the same dodging-shit dance, he might as well leave. You couldn’t talk with someone who didn’t want to talk. He might as well go get drunk at home.
He stood. Arguing with his dad wasn’t going to make anything better.
“What do you want me to say, Brody? I loved your mom from the moment I laid eyes on her.” Cujo paused near the door.
“She was on her way home from some peace rally. It was the early eighties. She was wearing the most ridiculous rainbow-colored jelly shoes, I remember that. All this blonde hair, so like you and your brothers, a huge smile and a rainbow-colored peace sign on her cheek. Looked like she’d just escaped from Woodstock. ”
Cujo returned to the sofa. Alec’s head rested on the back of the sofa, his eyes closed.
“So what went wrong, Dad?”
Alec shook his head. “Only your mom can answer that. She tried to explain the night she left. You caught us off guard. Your mom was only seventeen. First time and she got pregnant.”
Both his mom and dad had shared life-changing events in their teens. He thought back to his time in the hospital but shook it off.
The painful question bubbled in his throat, the thought of asking it made him so dizzy, spots started to appear before his eyes. “Why did you keep me? Wouldn’t it have been easier if—”
“If what? We’d gotten rid of you? Shit, Brody.
I regret many things in life, but having you isn’t one of them.
Should I have wrapped it up? Probably. Should I have convinced your mom to take a chance on us?
I was older, and her family wanted nothing to do with their unwed pregnant daughter.
Did I use the power of my position, and the fact she didn’t have many options to get her to accept?
Maybe. Abortion wasn’t an option. I’d always hoped to find a wife who wanted to stay home and raise our family.
But your mom didn’t want that. I realize now there were signs of how stifled she felt. ”
Cujo digested what his dad was saying. “Why are you making excuses for her?”
“I’m not. I guess time and perspective have made me realize I was probably more to blame than she was.”
“Don’t ever say that, Dad. You did everything you could for us. She’s the one who bailed. It’s on her. Not you.”
“She had her own plan, Brody, and having you threw her off it.”
Cujo cleared his throat. “So you do think I’m responsible.”
“I didn’t say that, Brody. This just isn’t coming out right. If anything threw her off, I did. There were so many things she wanted to do. She just couldn’t do them with us.”
“So you compromise. Wait. Try,” Cujo yelled. “You don’t bail. You don’t leave three kids behind. Please tell me you don’t think this is going to lead to some kind of fucked-up reconciliation between the two of you.”
Alec ran his hand over his chin. “I hope—” His eyes were filled with confusion. “I hope that … yes.… If not reconciliation, well, I always hoped she’d come home. She’s still my wife.”
Cujo stood. He needed to leave before he said something irreparable.
“But that’s just the point. This isn’t her home.
It’s our home. She doesn’t have a place here.
We’ve done fine without her. You’ve done everything she should have done.
” He paused by the door. “Did you just call her your wife? You’re not divorced? ”
Alec shook his head sadly, shoulders slumped.
“Why do you still want her here?”
“Because I’m lonely, Brody. Is that what you are waiting for? You think I’m pathetic for still wanting someone? Think I should have just moved on and loved someone else? Wait ’til you find the right woman, Brody. You won’t believe how far you’ll go or how long you’ll wait.”
* * *
Harper hurried toward Drea the moment she set foot in Second Circle.
“I’m sorry, sweetie.” Harper still wore her José’s T-shirt after finishing her shift, her long dark hair pulled up in a messy bun.
“I can’t believe they said no. Did you show them your mom’s medical records, all the receipts and stuff for her care? ”
Drea had texted Harper the moment she left the bank to let her know their decision.
“I did. They can’t extend my credit, and won’t give mom any credit because she has no income.
When I explained how sick she is, they just added that to the reasons as to why they can’t help.
” Drea sighed. Did they have any clue how hard it had been to sit there and practically beg?
You could only roll with the punches for so long before one eventually took you down.
She’d come to see Cujo, concerned about their conversation in the studio four days ago.
Four days in which they continued the engagement party planning with barely a word to each other.
Remaining focused on the party was next to impossible as her mind raced with how to pay for groceries, utilities, and her mom’s meds.
Payday from the hotel couldn’t come soon enough; getting to the end of the month would be tough.
She was counting the days until probation ended so she could keep the tips for herself.
Lia was in the kitchen as they walked in. She wore a blue-and-white-striped boat neck dress and red platform heels. Drea envied her unique sense of style.
“How are my favorite girls?” Lia’s face scrunched up as she attempted to open a water bottle.
Harper squealed as her feet lifted off the floor.
“You walk around my studio with all that sexy-ass ink showing, you know I’m gonna have to make out with you, right?” Trent kissed Harper, and Drea melted a little.
It might have been the shittiest of days, but seeing the two of them together made her warm and fuzzy inside.
Trent lowered Harper to the ground and took the bottle from Lia, opening it with no effort. Lia stuck her tongue out at him, grabbed a glass, and walked back into the studio.
“How was your appointment?” he asked.
“Unsuccessful.”
Trent pulled her into his other arm so he was hugging both of them. “You know, we could help you out. Harper told me … about your mom. We can lend you something to tide you over.”
Tears burned Drea’s eyes. She looked down and inhaled to force them back.
Trent pulled her closer. “Say the word, we got you covered, Drea.”
“You guys are the best, but I’m still in the game. If I get to that point, I’ll let you know. Thank you.”
He released them. “My work here is done. I have ink to do. Later, sweetheart,” he said giving Harper a soft kiss.
“Okay,” Drea said to Harper, “I need to see Cujo real quick and then get off to work. Again.”
Cujo wasn’t at any of the stations or the counter. She walked back to the office and knocked on the door.
The door opened, revealing a shirtless Cujo. He wore a pair of low hanging jeans, top button undone. Shivers went down her spine. The man was perfection. And Christ, she wondered what it would be like to lick his nipple piercing.
“Just changing my shirt. Managed to spill ink down it. Come in.”
Forget butterflies. Elephants were doing an epic rendition of Riverdance in her stomach.
“So, did you need something, Drea? Or do you want me to just stand still so you can admire me a little longer?”
His words hinted at humor, but his tone was dark and flat. There was his mask again. The one she was starting to figure out he wore most of the time. She shook her head as she stepped into the office.
“I have the glassware receipt for the party.” Drea fumbled around in her purse and pulled out the little plastic folder she kept all her party notes and receipts in. “You’ll need it when you pick it up on Saturday.”