Chapter 13
Nathan tapped on the door to the house where he’d grown up. Lord, help me . He’d put this off as long as he could. Much longer than he should have, considering he’d been back in Bridgeview for well over a month.
A woman of about his own age opened the door, looking at him in surprise. “Hello? Can I help you with something?”
“You must be Makenna. I’m Nathan. Is my dad available?” Wouldn’t it be something if, after all the time it had taken him to pull his nerve together, Pops wasn’t even home?
Makenna looked so much like all his father’s previous wives that Nathan felt he might’ve recognized her anywhere. Fake blonde hair, fake tan, probably a few more fake body parts, not that Nathan cared to think about it.
A smile tugged at her lips. “Sure, come on in.” She turned toward the interior of the house. “Maurice! Your son is here to visit you.”
Nathan followed her into the house. It, too, looked exactly the same as when he left eight years before.
Which had also been the same as it had looked for his entire life.
Hadn’t any of dad’s wives wanted to put their own mark on the old house on South Elm?
Apparently not, or maybe Pops was unwilling to let them.
And maybe it didn’t matter, since none of them stayed long.
The house was surprisingly clean. Pops didn’t usually care much about that, so it must be Makenna’s doing.
Nathan followed her through to the living room, where a younger version of himself sat at the end of the sofa, gaze focused on the small screen in his hands as his thumbs flicked to send a text or something.
It was at the wrong angle to tell for sure, not that it was any of Nathan’s business.
He’d thought that about Connor as well, and look where that had gotten the family. He eyed the kid. “Jason?”
The boy looked up. “Yeah?”
“I’m your brother Nathan.”
The boy’s lip lifted in a sneer. “Half-brother is more like it.”
Nathan nodded. “You’re in what, ninth grade?”
The kid ignored him for a moment while his thumbs resumed their texting. “Eighth,” he mumbled.
So either he’d just turned fourteen or he’d flunked out a year. Nathan had no way to know which it was, and it didn’t look like the kid was willing to tell him.
A shuffling noise from the hallway caught Nathan’s attention, and he glanced up to see Pops entering the room, leaning heavily on Makenna’s arm.
Nathan started. When had his father grown so old or his skin so yellow?
It had only been eight years since he’d seen him.
Not really that long at all. He took a few steps closer and held out his hand. “Pops?”
His father’s body might be failing him, but his eyes were as shrewd as ever. “So you decided to come by after all, did you? Thought you were too good to admit to being a Hamelin.”
It had crossed Nathan’s mind a time or two to change his surname, but that had seemed like an admission that he wasn’t his own man and didn’t chart his own course.
Just because his old man had made such a mess of his life, fathering four sons from three different women, didn’t mean Nathan had to be like him.
Even if his own half-brother wasn’t owning up and standing beside the girl he’d gotten pregnant.
Nathan closed the gap and gripped Pops’s forearms in his hands. He thought about going in for a hug, but they’d never been the demonstrative sort. Not only that, but there was a stench emanating from Pops’s body that made him hold back.
“I’m here now,” he said simply. “You look like you haven’t been feeling well for a while.”
Pops looked down at his stained gray sweatpants and a T-shirt that might have once been white. His hair was unkempt and unwashed. How could Makenna live like this? Nathan shot a look at Pops’s fourth wife’s impassive face.
“Not so good,” Pops wheezed. “It’s been rough. I’d been thinking of asking Makenna to call my boys together.”
Surely the old man wasn’t dying? But maybe he was. He’d lived a hard life, drinking too much as long as Nathan had been alive. Last he knew, Pops spent more time passed out from drink than doing anything else.
Nathan glanced at Makenna, and this time she met his gaze for a brief second. Her eyebrows lifted as she gave him a small smile. Surely the woman knew better than to believe Pops would leave her anything but debt when he died. Even the thought felt cold.
Makenna guided Pops past Nathan and settled him in a chair lined with shearling. She turned to Nathan. “Can I get you a beer? Water? Coffee? Anything?”
Not looking up, Jason snapped his fingers. “I’ll have a Coors.”
Makenna glanced at Pops, whose eyes were closed as though the excursion had taken all his energy. Wasn’t the old man going to say something about the young teenager drinking? Apparently not. Pops began to snore lightly.
Why was Nathan even sticking around for five minutes? But he had to. “Coffee if you have some made, otherwise water is fine.”
Makenna disappeared into the kitchen, and Jason flicked a glance toward Nathan. “Aren’t you going to say something to me?” His voice was a challenge.
Was there anything that would make the boy listen at all? “Yeah, I have things I’d like to say, but I’ve been away so long I’m not sure I have the right to say them.”
The kid’s eyebrows rose. “You nailed that, but it doesn’t stop anybody else.”
“All I want to say is, do you want to end up like him?” Nathan jutted his chin toward their father. “That’s what too much alcohol will do to a body. Pops isn’t really all that old, you know.” Nathan stopped to think. How old was he? Sixty? Certainly not the ninety he looked at the moment.
Jason glanced over at their father, a sneer on his lips. “I won’t end up like him.”
“The only way to be sure is to make different lifestyle choices. Drinking at your age isn’t the way to start if you’re looking for a different path.” He should know.
The boy shrugged and turned back to his phone just as Makenna entered the room with two cups of coffee.
She passed one to Nathan without asking how he’d like it.
Good thing he took it black. But as he raised it to his lips, he wondered if he’d ever drank it quite this black before. The tar nearly gagged him.
Jason skewered his step-mother with a look. “Said I wanted a beer.”
Makenna glanced at Nathan then at the teen. “You know you shouldn’t drink the stuff.”
Well, things were looking up just a little.
Not that she seemed to be nourishing Jason as her own child, but at least she wasn’t bringing him booze.
What made this woman tick, anyway? Why would she stick with Pops when Nathan doubted the old man looked this bad when they first met?
None of his business. He managed a few sips of the coffee. “How long has he been like this?”
Makenna sucked in her lower lip. “He’s been getting steadily worse for a while now. Cirrhosis, they say. Not much they can do about it short of a liver transplant.”
That stank big time. “Jason?” Nathan leaned close enough to get in his brother’s face.
“Why don’t you look that up on the internet?
Find out all about the causes and cures.
” He knew the causes all right, and his gut sank as he realized no doctor would recommend a transplant to someone who kept on drinking.
Pops was going to die, probably well before Jason turned eighteen.
Nathan’s heart went out to the kid. His own mother, of all the wives, had left her son behind with Maurice when she left over twenty years ago.
Nathan had gone back and forth between them for a while then stuck to living with his father.
By then he had two little brothers, but that hadn’t lasted long before Rhonda had taken the boys and moved out.
Then Marsha, Jason’s mother. She’d taken her son with her as well, but then she’d up and died and he’d been sent back to live with Pops. Poor kid. No wonder he was so mixed up.
“Hey, bud. What kind of sports do you like? Do you play any three-on-three? A bunch of us guys have been getting together at the basketball courts under the bridge a few evenings a week. Want me to pick you up next time we’re playing?”
Jason looked up and studied Nathan. “Why do you care? I’m nothing to you.”
Nathan’s heart squeezed. If only there’d been someone giving him a helping hand when he was a troubled fourteen-year-old. He shrugged. “I’m your brother. And I’d like to get to know you.”
“What do you think you’re doing?” Nonna stood on the back patio of her villa-style house.
Jasmine looked up from where she’d been digging in a garden bed. She splayed her hands. “Isn’t it obvious? Working in your garden.”
Nonna frowned as her hands waved. “Why didn’t you call and tell me? Also, why did you bring Pietro and Basil? I told you they may not have my yard.”
Peter glanced over with a grin. “That hurts, Nonna. We need Jasmine to help at the Essery house later, and the only way that could happen was if we all helped her here first.” Peter waggled his eyebrows.
“And here I was hoping you’d bake us some cookies or something. Thought you’d be glad to have us help.”
Jasmine held her breath. Peter was stretching it a bit, but taking the initiative always seemed best with Nonna .
She shook her finger at them. “You don’t even know what I want planted where.”
“You rotate the crops every year, Nonna.” Jasmine laughed. “I remember, and I found your seeds in the garden shed. Don’t worry. We’ve got this.”
Nonna scowled. “Remember this is for the Santoro family, and not for selling across the city.”
Jasmine kept from glancing at Basil or Peter.
“You’ve made your opinion quite clear, Nonna.” Not that that would necessarily stop her and the guys from making a few adjustments if circumstances warranted them.
Nonna glared at each of them in turn with her hands on her hips. “Very well. You want cookies?”
Peter rubbed his belly. “Always, Nonna. Yours are the best.”
“Then why do I often see you coming out of Bridgeview Bakery and Bistro carrying a box?” Nonna thumbed down the hill.
Right. Her grandmother’s living room window had a decent view of the street running alongside the bakery.
Peter chuckled. “Because you never told me I could come twice a week for a dozen cookies and pay you for them. Yours are better than Hailey’s, don’t worry. But hers do fill in the holes when a guy is hungry.”
From behind her, Jasmine heard Basil mutter. “Hailey’s good at everything.”
Jasmine froze, not turning around. What did her brother mean by that? Probably nothing. Hailey had her fingers into everything in Bridgeview, and that would surely drive Basil crazy. Not that it took very much. His tolerance was amazingly low.
“Very well, then.” Nonna turned and stomped into her kitchen, closing the door firmly behind her.
Jasmine let out a long breath. “Whew, that went better than expected.”
Peter laughed. “I told you I could charm her. You really think she can’t handle the garden this year herself?”
“I’m only going by what she said,” Jasmine replied. “She told me she wasn’t up to it right now because of the cold damp weather. She insists she’ll be fine when there’s heat in the summer.”
“Some people don’t know when to slow down,” muttered Basil. “She ought to move into an apartment somewhere, or maybe even an old folks’ home.”
Peter guffawed. “I doubt that will ever happen. I’m betting she’ll keel over while working in her garden. I can’t imagine her doing anything else, or living anywhere else, either, for that matter.”
Jasmine wasn’t so sure. The guys didn’t seem to be all that observant most of the time. She and Francesca had talked about it once a couple of weeks ago, and Fran had agreed with her. Their grandmother was definitely slowing down. It was just that she refused to admit it to herself or anyone else.
Voices came from the community garden next door.
Jasmine glanced through the chain-link fence to see Linnea puttering in the herb garden, while Logan brushed another coat of sealer across the cedar planks of the garden shed.
A couple of families worked in their spaces, and small children played in the grassy verge.
It took a second for her to realize that the figure coming toward the gate to Nonna’s yard was Nathan.
How could she not have recognized him in that gray T-shirt?
He lifted the latch and stepped through. “Hey.” His gaze ricocheted off hers then to Basil and Peter’s and back to her .
“Want to give us a hand?” asked Basil.
Some people never gave up.
“Don’t mind if I do.” Nathan took a few steps into the yard and latched the gate. “What would you like me to do?”
Besides go away?
“Grab a spade and dig that bag of sheep manure in,” Basil said. “The sooner we get done here, the sooner we can go do something else.”
“Like Mrs. Essery’s yard,” put in Peter.
Basil sighed dramatically. Jasmine exchanged a worried frown with Peter. Were they foolish having hitched their wagon to Basil’s? Would he really be an asset to their company long-term?
Nathan reached for the bag of manure and split the side with a pocketknife before dumping the contents down the length of the garden bed where Basil worked. “Mind if my kid brother comes along next time we play three-on-three?” he asked casually.
Peter leaned on his spade. “Which brother?”
Good question. No doubt Peter wouldn’t mind getting his hands on young Connor.
“Jason. He seems to be a pretty messed up kid, and my Pops is too sick to do anything about raising him right. Not that he did such a great job with any of the rest of us.”
Hearing a caring Nathan was a bit of a shock to Jasmine’s system.
“Yeah, sure. We were thinking of getting together tonight at the courts under the bridge. Good idea getting some of the younger guys playing.”
“My Pops…”
Jasmine turned at the broken sound in Nathan’s voice. Against her will, she felt sympathy for him .
“I don’t think my Pops is going to live long. I asked Makenna as I was leaving, and the doctors don’t really expect more than a few months.”
“What’s Makenna getting out of all this?” asked Basil.
Nathan shook his head. “I honestly don’t know. What I do know is that Jason is getting the raw end of the deal no matter what.”