64. Is Everclear Too Much to Ask #2
The sound of shoes crunching on soft grass greets me as Layton’s long strides catch up to mine.
He says nothing, but climbs in the passenger seat of my Wrangler.
It won’t be long before the top comes off for the summer, but I couldn’t roll up at the cemetery like a douchey surfer or weekend rock crawler.
Layton turns off the radio, and we ride in silence until we get out of the cemetery grounds and onto the street, when he rolls down our windows, closes his eyes, and slumps in his seat.
He’s six three and shredded. It might be the off season when he’s not in his peak physical condition, but his non-peak is more than most elite athletes at their best. His normally imposing form is diminished. We’re all off kilter without Mom.
“Take the long way?” His eyes are still closed, and I pretend not to see the lone tear roll down his cheek.
“Absolutely.” I grab a hair tie from around my gear shift and throw my hair up into a messy knot before taking the next left instead of the right I’d normally take to go home.
We ride on old country roads, those that dip before cresting into well-known valleys and sharp, blind curves. Within minutes, Lay has loosened his tie and reaches for the radio before thinking better of it. We spend almost an hour just letting the sun warm us and the breeze cool us.
No music.
No conversation.
Finally, he turns and drops a hand on my shoulder. “Thanks. I needed— well, just needed to not be there.”
“That makes two of us.”
“I guess we should head back. Next time, top off and doors off and no fucking funerals.”
“You got it, Lay.”
We make it to my house. Not rushing or taking shortcuts, but not stretching it out any further either.
“Amazing how much I can relax with a decent drive.” Or ride.
Or with decent music I think, but don’t say out loud, mostly because I don’t have to.
He knows me. I’m never without music. That drive was silent for Layton because he needed it.
I’d have had some Johnny Cash or Don Williams playing.
“I’ll stay here. Go get changed. You can send Looney Luna out if you want.”
“Roger that.” I hop out and make my way to my front door, leaving it ajar for Luna.
I strip out of the dress I hope to never wear again and throw on joggers and a tee with some running shoes.
I yank a brush through my hair that is wind-whipped and knotted.
It goes right up into a ponytail. A quick washcloth across my face removes the bulk of my foundation, stained by tear streaks, and cleans up the black mascara marks smudging under my eyes.
I’m out the door in under five minutes to find Layton in the driver’s seat and Luna with her head poking out the back window. Her tail thumps against the seats, whipping into Layton as she does.
“Good girl, Luna. Wanna go to work?”
“She’s already in the car. Why would you ask her that?”
“Just telling her where we’re headed.”
“You think she’ll decide against a ride if she knew the destination wasn’t her first choice? For a smart girl, sometimes you’re not so bright.”
“Shut up, Layton.” I climb into the passenger seat.
For the first time today—hell, for the first time in several days—he smiles. It may not be his megawatt, super white, model smile, but it’s real. He leans over and puts me in a head lock, rubbing his knuckles on my head.
“Not the hair.”
He laughs, and it’s almost worth the misery of a brother’s burning noogie and the knots. “Just drive.”
“Not so bright but definitely bossy,” he mumbles under his breath.
When we get to the ranch, Layton drops me off and takes my car to Pop’s to change out of his suit. I let myself into Brax’s to see my family, along with Ex’s high school friend, Jon Barrett, and Elias.
“Where’ve you been?” Pop asks.
“You’re already one drink behind.” Braxton lifts his cup in a toast.
“It’s not a contest,” Exton states quietly from deep in Braxton’s leather sofa, taking a long pull from his glass.
“I took a drive,” I say to Pop, but turn to my oldest brother. “Catch me up then, Brax.”
“What do you want?” Braxton extends an arm like Vanna White at the counter behind him brimming with liquor bottles, sandwich trays, and various sides.
I try not to think that friends delivered “funeral food” here and what the fridge at the big house must look like, and just go with a liquid diet. “Margarita, since we have the fixings.”
“That we do.” Brax lifts his tumbler again as if I can see through the red plastic. “Sweet, salty, or spicy?”
“Let’s start with regular, but extra Cointreau. I’ll save spicy for later.”
While my brother plays bartender, I give Jon a hug, not missing the low growl behind me when I do. “How are you, Jon? I heard you’re getting Exton to do some work for you. You that hard up?”
“He has a certain set of skills.” He mimics Liam Neeson’s line in “Taken”—badly, I might add—and catches me up on his career. Who’d have thought that the boy from our small town would be the district attorney in Travis County by his early thirties?
He wanders toward the living room and into one of the chairs just as Layton returns with Luna on his heels. She runs directly to Pop and sits, back to him, positioning herself for head scratches.
It’s not lost on me that I’m the only woman in the room. That cuts deep. The last female Ranger… I fight to move my mind to another topic and land on the man I’ve had a crush on since Brax’s sophomore year in college. He was twenty. I was twelve.
“Elias, what’s new with you?” I hope it sounds calm and casual. God knows more than once in my life it’s sounded wistful and flirty. I don’t mean it that way now. I just need to get my mind off the empty chair in this room that my mom should occupy.
“There’s a lot going on.” His eyes survey the room, not stopping to make eye contact, but landing on each person. “I’ve had a couple of new cases dropped in my lap.” He stops abruptly.
The conversation around us is stilted, and we fight to not talk about the elephant in the room. Finally, Luna slumps to the tile floor before releasing a long, loud fart.
That does it.
It breaks the sadness in the room, and we all laugh at the sound only to groan when the stench reaches us.
“What did she eat?” Layton accuses. “Looney, that was foul.”
All eyes turn to Pop who looks away like a guilty kid who just got busted playing ding-dong-ditch. The culpability on his face is hysterical, and laughter rolls through the room again.
As the liquor flows and the refills keep coming, we chit chat and tell stories. Stories about Mom—funny ones, embarrassing ones, loving ones, old ones we’ve retold for years.
Jon eventually says his goodbyes with a meaningful pause at Elias, before shaking hands with Exton. “Still on for tomorrow, Ex?”
“Sure thing. See you at nine.”
By round number three or four—I’ve lost count—the real stories are coming to the fore. The ones that had been kept secret.
“She busted me with a Playboy.” Layton confesses. “The magazine, not a model.”
“Not sure you needed to clarify that one.” Braxton’s sarcasm is thick and obvious.
Layton whips his head to our oldest brother before launching a half-eaten celery stick right at his face. Brax tries to dodge it, but takes it on the chin before it falls to the floor. Luna lumbers over to swipe it.
“Shut up,” Layton retorts. “I was fifteen. Do you know the kind of talk I got from that?”
“I do,” Pop laughs. “Tell them what she did. It was classic Emilia.” He pauses, swallowing hard, and the mood goes serious for a moment before Layton continues.
“She.. God, this is so embarrassing. She sat next to me on my bed and opened the magazine and studied each picture. With every one, she turned and looked at me, asking me what I thought of the girl. Did I think she was pretty? Did my thoughts of her include her being intelligent? What was her strongest subject in school? What did I think of her pose? Why did I like it?”
I sit, horrified, but impressed at my mom’s chutzpah.
Braxton and Exton look appalled but neither can hide their snickers at Layton. Pop barks a laugh.
“It was horrible. You have no idea. And then… Then— I can’t even.” He looks around, and I swear his face blushes. “Then she said… She said Playboy was around when she was that age and she could’ve posed. Would I have looked at that?”
Eli shifts uncomfortably as if he doesn’t know how to react.
“That’s my girl,” Pop says, lifting his glass in a silent toast. “She said you were so red and were so uncomfortable that she figured she made an impression. But she went on further just to make a point. She named all the girls and gave them a backstory, just to watch you squirm.”
Layton looks indignant. “She did that for fun? Just to embarrass me?”
“You didn’t bring another dirty magazine into her house, did you now?”
Braxton holds his stomach he’s laughing so hard.
“Think that’s funny, do you, Brax? Wanna tell them about her finding your condoms?”
Brax groans and throws back the contents of his cup. “Need a refill. Anyone? No? Just me then…” He rushes the words out as he gets up to head to the kitchen, but Pop doesn’t let him off the hook.
“She asked him to explain how they worked.”
The whole room groans. But it’s Eli who hollers into the kitchen, “You’ve never told me this story. What did you say, Brax?”
“I told her I didn’t know.”
“And she said?” Pop prompts, egging him on.
Braxton walks back into the room, practically reliving the conversation if his posture and dipped chin are anything to go by. “She said she could hardly believe that since I had a box of twelve and there were only nine left.”
“How’d she know that?” Exton asks.
A groan escapes my eldest brother. “Because she counted them.”
Pop laughs out loud as my brothers let out a collective groan.
“Then she said if I didn’t know what they did or how they worked, she would explain it to me.”
“Boner killer,” Layton mumbles under his breath.
“Seriously,” Braxton grumbles back.
“She was a hell of a woman. Such a firecracker...” Pop’s words drift off. His tone is wistful and sad.