Chapter 8
CHAPTER
EIGHT
Brooks
“I think it needs to be pushed down a little more.” Mom tilts her head, swiping a lock of hair out of her face. “A little more—there! That’s it. Don’t touch it anymore.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, taking a step away from the peach silk flowers.
Our breath billows from our lips as we stand in silence, looking at the large black stone.
Mom designed the artwork herself. An image of her and Dad walking down a path into the forest beneath a full moon is etched into the headstone just above their names.
It was the only thing Mom requested when I cashed my first big check.
She didn’t want a big house or a fancy car, though I got her both.
All she asked for was a nice headstone to replace the small metal sign marking Dad’s grave.
I would’ve said no. I don’t want that motherfucker to benefit from me, even in death.
But Mom will be buried there someday, and she deserves the world.
The thought of not being able to give her that if my license isn’t renewed is a shot straight into my heart. It hurts so bad I can’t think about it. It would be the ultimate failure.
“What do you think?” I ask, wrapping an arm around her narrow shoulders.
She rests her head against me and sighs. “I think it looks nice. Don’t you?”
I bite back a smart-ass remark because this is important to her. She cares. I don’t understand why she gives a shit about a man who made her life hell, but she does.
“Yeah, it looks great,” I say. “I like this wreath better than the one you had for Christmas. It’ll hold up better against the wind.”
“I think you’re right. I got this one from Etsy, and the quality is amazing.”
“Do you want to do anything else while we’re here?” I look around the cemetery at the stones lined up like soldiers. Despite the bright flowers and colorful flags hanging from garden hooks, it’s still the most depressing place in the world. “We could hold hands and sing a song.”
She snorts, shoving me gently. “Why do you always have to be a shit?”
“It’s nature versus nurture. Bet you’re hoping it’s nature, huh?”
Mom shakes her head, ignoring me. “We changed the flowers and the wreath, hung the new flag, and installed the new solar lights,” she says, taking in our handiwork. “I don’t think there’s anything left to do.”
“Sounds good to me.”
I gather a few scraps of trash from around the base of the headstone and shove them in the shopping bag we used to bring the decorations from the car. Mom kisses her palm, pressing it onto the top of the stone, then she follows me through the cemetery to my truck in silence.
We climb in and get situated, and I crank the heat on full blast. “Are you good?”
She pats my hand as we leave the country church.
Mom always gets emotional when we visit the cemetery, which is reason enough not to do it.
I think she finds closure in visiting Dad and taking care of his final resting place.
It’s like she’s loving him when he can’t fight back.
There’s something beautiful and heartbreaking about that at the same time.
“How were your cobblers?” I ask, trying to take her mind off the graveyard.
“Delicious, of course. I took them to the assisted living facility for Madge’s birthday. They were throwing her a get-together, and her niece called to see if I’d make the desserts because Madge just loves my baking.”
“Yeah, well, who doesn’t?”
She beams. “That’s high praise from Madge Randolph. She had a pie recipe featured on a bag of flour back in the day. That woman could cook.”
“Alfie told me to tell you that if you had an extra piece, he’d gladly take it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” She huffs, falling back against the seat. “I would’ve saved him one. Maybe I’ll make him a whole cobbler. Does he like blackberries or would he prefer cherries?”
I glance at her and make a face. “How the hell would I know, Mom? Do you think we sit around chatting about what kind of fruit we prefer in our cobblers?” I roll my eyes playfully before looking back at the road.
“Maybe I’ll make both, and you can take him a piece and see which one he likes best.”
“Or not.”
She shrugs. “I can run them to the gym myself.”
“The hell you can.” I shake my head at her. If she thinks she’s setting foot in Alfie’s, she’s sadly mistaken. “Stay away from the gym.”
“Don’t you tell me what to do, little boy.”
“Okay,” I say, teasing her. “Who’s being a shithead now?”
“Brooks Xavier Dempsey—watch your mouth.”
I laugh. “Listen, I love ya, and that’s precisely why you can’t go to Alfie’s. It would look horrible for me to beat the shit out of someone in my own camp—but I’d do it. I’d do it and not think twice. None of those fuckers are good enough for you.”
“And none of them are my age except Alfie.”
“So? Men are animals, and you’re hot.” I glance at her and smirk. “I mean, we share genetics, so, of course, you are.”
She hides a smile.
I make a right onto the highway toward town. The dreary sky and increasing winds hint at an incoming storm. It’s been one storm after another this winter, and I’d like to say I’m over it. But how can I complain when the last storm delivered a lingerie-wearing Dr. Audrey Van?
A grin slips across my mouth.
That woman is fascinating. Smart, but naive.
Strong, yet skittish. I suspect that she’s capable of just about anything, yet seemed bewildered that I’d assume such a thing.
It matches what Gray told me about her, but I’m having a hard time understanding how a woman so beautiful and brilliant could be so … insecure?
I grip the steering wheel.
And that list? What the fuck was that?
I thought it might be a story, at first. Maybe she was a closet fiction writer, and these were things her heroine was going to tackle.
Because there was no way in hell I would’ve thought she needed to make having an orgasm with a man a task.
There must be men lining up to have a chance with her.
She could have her choice of any guy on the planet.
If she’s not fighting them off with a stick, I call bullshit.
“Thank you for taking me out there,” Mom murmurs. “I know you don’t understand why I want to take care of his grave.”
She’s right. I don’t get it. No part of me can begin to fathom why she wants to give that man any of her time—especially when he’s dead. If it were me, I’d piss on his grave and forget he existed.
“I didn’t go out there for him,” I say. “I went for you.”
“I know, and it means a lot. It helps.” Her eyes stare forward at the road. “Sometimes I imagine what life would’ve been like if things had gone a different way. I don’t think you could’ve turned out any better, but I regret not being able to give you the life you deserved.”
My throat tightens at the emotion in her voice. Going to the cemetery always ends this way, always brings up the what-ifs and could-have-beens. For her, that is. Not for me.
“I’m not going to sit here and listen to you act like you were a terrible mother,” I say.
“Well, I did—”
“And we’re also not going to pretend that you didn’t do everything you could to keep food on the table.
Because I distinctly remember you going to work at the factory, then working at the sandwich shop in Gilroy, and then staying up all night to sew dresses and pants and God knows what else to make enough to keep the lights on.
” I don’t look at her so that I don’t get any angrier when I see the tears that I know are in her eyes.
“I have regrets, Brooks.”
I only regret not getting one last crack at him before he left that night. “You shouldn’t.”
We ride quietly for a couple of miles. She sniffles every now and then, and I clear my throat a couple of times. But we navigate the topic like two well-trained performers who know this dance by heart.
My phone chirps a reminder of my call with Achilles. But it winds up reminding me of a lot more than that. Tension builds in my shoulders as I take a series of deep breaths to stay calm.
This entire situation with my shoulder is such fuckery. There’s been too much pain, too much time off, and too much lost revenue to take it lightly. But if it were a freak accident, like I tell my friends and family, that would be one thing. But it wasn’t.
Jon Pelfry came to the gym that day last year with the intention to hurt me. I saw it in his eyes when he walked in. I knew something was off and never should’ve gotten on the mat with him. I knew better. Unfortunately, I didn’t know the depths some people would go to try to destroy you.
“You know I was just kidding about going to Alfie’s, right?” she asks, breaking the silence.
“You know I was mostly kidding about you not going, right?” I chuckle, happy to switch topics. “I do actually think it might be good for you to date again.”
“Oh, heavens no, Brooks.”
I lift a brow. “Why not?”
“Because I like my life the way it is. I do what I want, sleep when I want, eat what I want, and even go where I want. I like my freedom. Much like someone else I know.”
“Who? Me?” I flinch. “Are you saying that I avoid having meaningful relationships with members of the opposite sex?”
She laughs. “I’m saying that you’re no closer to giving me grandkids than you were ten years ago. That’s all I’m saying.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I’m well practiced. So if the time ever comes, I know what to do.”
She smacks my shoulder, rolling her eyes.
I flip my turn signal on and make a right onto Winchester Street.
Blooper, the three-legged community cat, darts out in front of me and dives between two trash cans on the side of the road.
He’s chunkier than the last time I saw him out and about, so the firefighters must be feeding him well.
But I’m still a little pissed at the old cat for trying to get Otis to leave me for the streets.
My poor orange cat is too old to be fighting for his life out there with Blooper.