Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Landon
Where is the fuckin’ toothpaste? Rummaging this half bath drawer outside the guest room is not what I want to be doing.
What is all this shit? Here it is. I put a spread of Crest on the new toothbrush and start the brushing.
The nearly awake guy in the mirror stares back at me. I need strong coffee.
With one whiff, the smell of bacon makes up for everything. Then Kim’s voice.
“Who’s the exotic girl in the cool car?”
They must be looking at the photographs. And she called it right. Mom had a look. I quit with the tooth brushing and spit the evidence in the sink.
“My wife. Victoria the Beautiful. That’s what I called her.”
What? I never heard him share that with anyone. I still, and strain to hear each revealing word said to someone he hardly knows.
“I can tell she loved being called that. What woman wouldn’t?”
“Yeah, she liked it.”
He’s smiling. I’d bet on it.
“What year is this?”
“That was early on. Probably seventy-eight, nine.”
“There’s love in her eyes,” Kim says in a soft tone.
I barely can hear the words, but Dad heard each one. His hesitation is all I need to know they landed one meter too deep. He’s nodding, I’m sure. I head down the hall to rescue my father from his emotions. Shit. He doesn’t like to cry in front of anyone.
“What about the awesome looking ride? What kind of car is that?”
The subject was changed and it was smooth. She has empathy and gives him a hand out of the sadness.
“There he is. Morning, boy!”
Walking into the kitchen, Dad’s smiling face greets me.
He’s faking it. The comment about Mom’s eyes left a mark.
He sits at the counter rolling the edge of a napkin.
Trying to get past the past. That’s his tell.
The dogs are waiting patiently in the kitchen for whatever bits of food might make it to their mouths.
I am completely ignored except for a quick glance from Barney.
“Morning, Lancelot,” Kim says, still at the wall of photographs. “I’m making eggs and bacon!”
“Morning, you two.”
The name doesn’t suck. Nicknames bug the hell out of me usually, but I don’t hate that she called me that. Didn’t expect this upbeat attitude. Thought it would be more about her being scared. Guessed that one wrong. I’m not going to bring last night up if she has processed it already.
“Is this you?”
“Oh yeah. With my bicycle. Best Christmas present ever.”
“Ohhh. That’s so sweet.”
“He still has the old thing.”
“Yep. Never getting rid of it either.”
“He’s like his old man. We’re sentimental.”
“I think it’s a wonderful trait. Said the woman who still has her prom dress.”
It is not her prom I’m thinking of. It’s what she wears now.
My shirt over the black jeans looks good tied in front like that.
If the pants were gone, she’d be cookin’ like a James Bond girl.
Loose morning hair, the huge white shirt, and the tempting, pouty bottom lip.
I imagine her breathlessly saying Oh, James!
as we fuck like animals. On second thought, it would be Oh, Landon!
Last night I noticed the oval shape of her eyes. Without makeup it is even more obvious. They are the color of a stormy Tennessee sky …what the fuck are you doing, man? Writing a poem about the girl? I attempt to get a grip.
Standing in front of the wall of pictures, Kim has no idea I’m thinking of fucking her or writing poetry in her honor. I am the only one privy to the perverted information. I move behind the wide counter and pour a cup of Yuban. But the fantasy continues. I can multitask.
“Everybody sleep good?”
“You know I did,” Dad says, getting off the barstool and moving to the wall. “Like a fucking bear.”
Kim playfully punches him in the arm. Uh oh. Don’t say fuck around the girl.
“Well said,” she states, contradicting my take. “I had the most restful night.”
I’m batting zero for two.
“Let me tell you about this pretty baby,” Dad says, pointing to the black and white photo of his first and favorite car. “My father gave me this when I was eighteen. She’s a nineteen-sixty-three convertible Ford Galaxie 500. Ever seen one?”
“No. I don’t think so. What color was it?”
“Tell her, Landon!”
“Wimbledon White with Lipstick Red interior,” I recall without effort.
Kim’s grin says she appreciates our shtick.
I was conditioned to think about that car with reverence. Dad would talk about her that way. When I was a kid they got a big kick out of me knowing the car’s details. It would eventually be passed to me, he always said.
“What are these seats called? I can’t think of the name.”
My father looks shocked. He is used to women who know their motorcycles and cars. This one does not.
“Bucket seats. Yeah. Honey, you need to go to a car show.”
I know he means no insult. It’s just fact.
“This is an automatic, right? I thought car people liked to shift.”
A sly grin shows up on Dad’s face.
“My hands had better things to do. Besides, I wanted my woman to be able to sit on the console. She looked real good there. We were young.”
The expression on Kim’s face says she just saw a new layer of the man. Ronnie Podesta is not just the old guy he appears to be today. Belly, scruffy beard, his “robes”. He was young once and a beautiful woman loved everything about him.
“Victoria was a lucky woman, wasn’t she?” Kim says, meeting his eyes.
His answer is to press his lips together. He would say he was the lucky one. I’ve heard it before. He cannot risk the tears though, that would accompany the words.
“Oh! The eggs!”
She crosses back into the kitchen and resumes cooking. A piece of bacon gets torn in half and fed to her greatest fans. They have expertly figured out the path to least resistance is the woman in the kitchen.
“Did you keep the car?”
“No. We sold it in the nineties. A guy in Kentucky. He knew what he found. Well, at least he loved it. He was going to care for her.”
He leaves out the part about having to sell because they needed the money. Or the fact Mom sold her Harley too. I don’t know which hurt him more. I never heard her bring it up again. And when he would, she’d say, “It’s just a “thing”, Ronnie.” Reminding the man they were bigger than that.
“I don’t know cars,” Kim says. “I just gave my twelve-year-old Honda to my son for college last fall.”
College? Didn’t peg her for being that age.
“Did you give birth at twelve?”
She giggles. Attention brain to dick, Bond girl giggling. You are a cliché, man.
“I was a full-grown adult. But in a way Hunter and I grew up together.”
It is said matter-of-factly. Like the rest of her story is known. I wonder what it is?
“What kind of a car did you get?”
“I didn’t get one. There’s no reason to hurry.” When she sees the look on our faces she chuckles. “I’m enjoying walking to work. You guys should try it.”
There is a one second pause before all three of us bust out laughing. Dad goes first.
“Oh yeah, that’s gonna happen!”
“Are you insane, woman?” I say.
She waves a hand at us. “Yeah, I don’t buy it either.” A finger points my way. “And I just met you ten hours ago.”
As it is being said, I feel a kind of center of the body solar plexus twinge. Like for the first time, I see her. What the friggin fuck? It evaporates as quickly as it began and like Biscuit being hit by the tail, I shake it off.
“Now sit. Breakfast is ready.”
We take our seats at the tiled counter. I need to fix that loose one on the edge. Is Dad flashing back like I am? The last woman who served us breakfast here was Mom. Before the cancer. There was laughter and an ease of conversation that day, just like now. Easy like Sunday morning.
“This is nice of you, Kim. Landon and I eat like savages most of the time he’s here.”
“You eat like a savage. Don’t bring me into it.”
She chuckles at our teasing and scoops big spoonfuls of scrambled eggs with onions and mushrooms onto our plates.
Where did that daisy in the water glass come from?
Don’t think it was Dad. He would cut a flower for Mom on Sundays and have it on the table or counter.
It was their thing. I don’t see it happening now. I need to know.
“Nice flower,” is all I say, hoping someone will spill the story.
“It was laying on the porch when I went outside with the dogs. Must have dropped off from the pot. Or maybe it was blown there. I couldn’t let it go to waste.”
Okay. Odd though.
“Where’s your plate?” I ask.
“I’ll get it. You both want bacon, right? And here’s some toast.”
Everything looks good. My hunger talks and I take a bite of eggs and one of bacon, before buttering the sourdough. All tasty.
Kim grabs another plate and serves herself lumberjack portions.
“Got a hollow leg?” Dad says amused.
She doesn’t take a seat but starts eating where she stands.
“Yes. I love to eat. No, really I do.”
She does a little dance and laughs at herself, enjoying the fact of the matter. It almost sounds like music.
Hmm. This is what the word charming means. Dad thinks so too, because he unconsciously grins as he watches. When our eyes meet one lifted much too bushy white eyebrow sends me his message.
Shut up, you old fart. I see it.
The grandfather clock bongs its ten am message. Kim starts eating faster.
“I have to be back by eleven-thirty. Hunter is driving home from college today. I’m going to call an Uber.”
“Hell no you aren’t,” Dad says. “Landon will take you.”
I want to say a sarcastic thanks for volunteering my services dude, but in this case he has done me a huge favor.
“No problem. You up for the bike?”
Barely forty minutes later we are in the wind.
Riding along Lake View Road on the Fat Boy.
The warm sun of May reminds me of teenage summers.
But here, in this moment, Kim’s arms are around me and I am fairly certain braless breasts press against my back.
Life feels every bit as good as seventeen did. Is that fucking optimism I hear?
Ignoring the hundred-year-old man in me, I get back to more pleasant things.
Thinking about my riding partner works fine.
The day started right. She isn’t the kind of girl who freaks out because she might get helmet hair.
She twisted her long waves into some kind of bun thing and it stayed tucked.
Mom’s red helmet, which fit perfectly, matches last night’s one-shoulder sweater.
A person who believes in signs would think these details mean something cosmically. But that isn’t me.
With each curve and corner, arms tighten around me. Taking off on a straightaway, her head leans against my back for a moment. It makes me take a longer route than necessary in case she might do it again. I hope she knows I’m doing it.
The ulterior motive in bringing Dad’s bike was I didn’t have to come up with things to talk about. Kim’s good at it, but I have never been that man. Especially when only knowing someone for a short time. For me, the best conversations I have with people are happening inside my head.
The guy who lives there is confident and at ease. I can debate anything, give a stinging retort, or be vulnerable. Too bad nobody ever hears. A lot of me goes unspoken. With one exception. I have no problem showing my pissed side. That emotion I am willing to share freely.
Kim must have got me on a good day. Before we left the house, I made her laugh a few times at our mutual friends’ follies and got deep into a short but meaningful discussion about how great our childhoods were. And Dad wasn’t even in the room to fill in any gaps in conversation.
“Oh! Hunter’s home!”
Her voice lifts and she sits up straighter as I spot a white Honda, loaded with shit, sitting in the driveway. The loud rumble of the Fat Boy gets the attention of the guy getting out. If I’m reading his expression right, I would say it’s shock at seeing his mother on the back of a bike.
“I want to introduce you. You okay with that?”
“Yeah, sure.”
I pull against the curb and turn off the bike. She swings off as soon as the engine dies. The kid is as tall as I am, good looking and seems older than his age. By the size of his biceps he lifts. Opening his arms, there is a wide smile as Kim runs to him.
“Oh, baby boy! Welcome home!” She grabs the sides of his face, goes on tiptoes, and covers him with kisses. He doesn’t seem to be too annoyed. Most kids this age aren’t into PDA coming from their mothers. Or being called a nineteen-year-old baby boy. I don’t see the annoyance though.
“Hi, Mom,” a deep voice says.
Taking her in an embrace, his blue eyes stay on me. The shocked look has turned. He is sizing me up. Don’t blame you, kid. That is what you should be doing.
“Come meet Landon. He rescued your mother last night. I’ll tell you all about it when we get in the house.”
“Rescued you from what?”
He ignores Kim’s plan to delay the story.
Walking up, I extend a hand. A solid shake is returned.
“Meet my wonderful son, Hunter!”
“Hi, Hunter.”
“Hey.”
A man of few words. Works for me.
“Rescued you from what?” he repeats.
“I went to Dominique and Colter’s party at Mom's last night.” She points my way. “Landon’s father owns the bar. Long story short, a man followed me into the ladies’ room.”
“What! You have to be careful, Mom. Especially when you’re at a bar.”
He gets the who do you think you’re talking to little boy I changed your diapers look, from his mother. She throws in an amused grin for good measure.
“I know how to handle myself, honey. And Landon and Lex immediately got rid of the guy. But I appreciate you being concerned. I do.”
The way she says it is kind of impressive. There wasn’t a hint of victim. It was all confidence.
She grabs him in a side hug, leans her head on his shoulder and pats his chest.
The kid is outgunned. He knows it. Another look shows on Hunter’s face. A softer one. He reaches for my hand this time.
“Glad you were there. Thanks, man.”
There’s an interesting expression on Kim’s face. Think it’s pride he knew to thank me. I guess a parent doesn’t know if their kid absorbs any fucking thing they’re telling them. Not until it shows up naturally, years later.
I’m going to take off,” I say, knowing when to leave. “Nice meeting you, Hunter,” and then turning to her, “Kim, I’ll see you at the clinic this week. Barney needs an attitude adjustment.”
Now the sly grin is for me.