Meg Perry's Blog, page 24

Best Men, part 8

After dinner we hung out in the family room. Andy began to explain some aspects of the business to Jack, Pete and Steve. I wasn’t as attentive as I should have been; the next thing I knew, Pete was shaking my foot. “Wake up.”

“What? Oh, crap. How long was I out?”

“Only about a half hour.”

We were alone in the room. “Where did everyone go?”

“Chris and the girls walked Dad back to his place. Steve and Andy are in the barn, but they’ll be back soon. Steve’s going to make his famous hot chocolate.”

“His hot chocolate is famous?”

“Apparently.”

I wasn’t sure how famous it was, but Steve’s hot chocolate was delicious. He refused to divulge his recipe. “You’ll have to come here to have this.”

Chris said worriedly, “You two will be able to come often, won’t you?”

I said, “We’ll come as often as we can.”

 

We snacked through the rest of the afternoon and watched some football. Jack didn’t make another appearance. We said goodnight to everyone relatively early – we had to pack – and went back to the guest house.

As we were walking I said, “Did you get some time with your dad before dinner?”

“Yeah. I programmed his remote for him.”

“Ah.”

“He said he’s going to miss me.”

“Did he? What did he say?”

“That’s it. He clapped me on the shoulder and said, ‘I’m going to miss you, son.’ I said, ‘I’ll miss you too, Dad.’ That was it.”

Jack had done exactly what I’d suggested – and no more. “Well, that’s something.”

“Yeah.” Pete snorted softly. “That’s my dad. A man of few words.”

“Shoot, if he suddenly began getting mushy with you, you’d be worried.”

That made him laugh. “Yeah. I would be.”

 

Thursday, December 25

We got up early on Christmas morning, cleaned up the guest house and loaded the Jeep, and drove it to the main house. We were hoping to get away before noon. When we went in, Chris was taking homemade cinnamon rolls out of the oven. I said, “God, those smell good. Can you give Pete that recipe?”

Pete gave me a sideways look. “I bet they’re not very heart-healthy.”

Chris swatted him. “They’re fine for special occasions. I’ll give you the recipe.” She handed us plates of rolls and scrambled eggs. “Go on into the dining room. The girls are already up.”

Steph and Sam were at the table, both busily tapping on their phones. I pulled out my own phone and texted “Merry Christmas” to my family and friends, and pretty soon my phone was pinging with replies. Chris came in with her own plate, and handed me a 3×5 card. “Here’s the recipe. I know you’ll be sure to get home with it.”

Steve drifted downstairs, yawning. “Is Dad coming for breakfast?”

Chris answered. “He said no. I told him what we were having and he said he wants to get in the habit of eating oatmeal for breakfast.”

Steve said, “Remember the eggs he used to eat every morning, Pete?”

“Yup. Three eggs fried in butter, white toast, and three cups of coffee, every morning.”

Chris looked horrified. “Is that what you two ate?”

Pete said, “No. We ate cereal or oatmeal, except on the weekends. Then I’d make pancakes or something like that.”

Chris shook her head. “How long ago did he quit smoking?”

Pete said, “Only ten years. When Grandma Ferguson died.”

“So he smoked for years.”

“Thirty-five years.”

Steph and Sam were listening to this in amazement. Steph said, “You all grew up with secondhand smoke.”

Chris said, “We did. At least until I was fifteen. Then…”

She didn’t need to say it. Then the Fergusons had divorced, and Jack and his cigarettes had moved from Barstow to Lancaster.

Steve said, “Stephanie? Samantha? If I ever find out that either of you is smoking, I will drive all the way from Alamogordo to yell at you in person.”

Chris said grimly, “You’d have to stand in line.”

 

“Gifts xmas” by Kelvin Kay, en:user:kkmd – http://public.fotki.com/kelvinkay/collection_of_beaut/xmasparty061.htmlUploaded originally to English Wikipedia as en:Image:Gifts_xmas.jpg, 15:07, 18 June 2006 by en:User:Kkmd. Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons – http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Gifts_xmas.jpg#/media/File:Gifts_xmas.jpg

Jack arrived not long after, and the orgy of gift-opening began. Pete’s gifts were all cookbooks, which delighted him. My presents were all books, too; Pete must have divulged the contents of my Amazon wish list. Pete had handled the gift-buying for his family, with one exception – I’d gotten Samantha a UCLA t-shirt, as a recruiting tool. She opened it and squealed. “Oh, this is awesome! Steph will never steal this one.”

Stephanie was already taking one class a semester at the University of Arizona and would attend full-time when she graduated from high school. She wrinkled her nose. “Sam, if you go to UCLA, we won’t be able to talk to each other during football season.”

Sam dismissed that. “Nah. We’ll be united in our hatred for the Ducks.”

I said, “My brothers and I all went to different PAC-12 schools, and we got through it. You would too.”

 

After the gifts were all unwrapped and the debris was cleared, Pete and Chris went into the kitchen to pack sandwiches and the rest of the cinnamon rolls for our trip. I picked up a stack of books to take to the Jeep and Jack said, “Hand me a couple of those. I’ll walk out with you.”

I gave him two of the books and we went to the Jeep. When we’d set the books down I turned, and Jack put his hand on my shoulder. “I want you to do me a favor.”

“Yes, sir. What’s that?”

“You take care of my boy for me.” Jack patted my shoulder. “I reckon you’re the best man for the job.”

That was by far the most touching thing Jack had ever said to me. I smiled. “You don’t have to worry about that. I’m going to take good care of him.”

Jack gave me one more pat. “That’ll be fine.”

We went back to the house and I said goodbye to everyone, hugging the girls and Chris, shaking Andy’s hand, and playfully slugging Steve in the shoulder. Pete followed suit. One thing about the Ferguson – Fernandez clan that was different from the Brodies: guys didn’t hug.

I climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine. Pete lingered another minute, but finally got into the vehicle. I beeped the horn as we left; Pete’s family waved vigorously, and we were on our way. Thirty minutes later I turned onto the 8 and headed west toward San Diego and home.

Best Men, part 7

When I got back to the main house Chris, Steve and Pete were at the kitchen bar, talking. They all looked around at me when I came in, and I was struck again by how much they all looked alike, particularly through the eyes. They all had Jack’s eyes and the good looks forged by a combination of Scots, Viking and Native American blood. I must have been smiling; Chris said, “What?”

“Hm? Oh, nothing. Just noting how much you three look alike and look like your dad.”

Steve smiled. “Thank God for that, right?”

I climbed onto a stood beside Pete. “You resemble each other more than Jeff, Kevin and I.”

Steve said, “Anyone could pick you and Kevin out as brothers. Jeff must look like your mom.”

“He does. His hair and eyes are a tad lighter, but otherwise, yeah.”

Chris said, “I’ve never met your brothers.”

“You’ll meet them at the wedding.”

She smiled at me. “Thanks for walking Dad home.”

“Oh, sure. I noticed his life call button.”

“That’s for my own peace of mind more than anything.” Chris propped her chin on her hand. “But there are times when none of us are home, and I want him to be able to get help on the way before he tries to get hold of one of us.”

Pete said, “I’m glad you did that.”

Steve said, “I am too. But try not to infantilize him too much.”

Chris and Pete both looked surprised. Pete said, “You know what that word means?”

“Duh, of course I know what it means. I’m just saying, Dad’s used to being independent. Don’t make him too dependent.”

 

Steve was staying in a guest room in the main house, but Chris had housed Pete and I in the larger guest house, about a quarter mile away. It was comfortably but beautifully decorated. I said, “Do they rent out this house for vacationers?”

“Yeah, but not all year. Three months each in the spring and fall, I think. Andy’s parents started doing it, and they have regulars that come.”

“I guess they do pretty well with the businesses?”

“I suppose so, but they work all the time. Andy and his brothers run the ranch and the feed store, and Chris and her mother-in-law and one of the sisters-in-law manage the guest house.”

“Being self-employed is tough.”

“True.” Pete checked the fridge. “This is fully stocked. Want a beer?”

“Yes.”

A fire was laid in the great room fireplace; Pete lit it and we were soon enjoying the toasty warmth and the cold beer. I yawned. “Can we sleep in tomorrow?”

Pete put his arm around my shoulders. “We’re on vacation. We can do whatever we want.”

 

Wednesday, December 24

We spent the next several days enjoying the ranch and the company of Pete’s nieces. On Christmas Eve morning Andy and Stephanie saddled horses for us, and we went for a ride along the fence line. Andy said, “I try to do this every week. The hands keep an eye on it, of course, but I like to see it for myself.”

Stephanie was laughing at my attempts to get comfortable in the saddle. “Is this the first time you’ve ever been on a horse?”

“Yup. I’m a greenhorn.”

Pete said, “So am I. But these horses seem pretty calm.”

Andy nodded. “Those two that you’re on are the same ones the girls learned to ride on when they were kids. They’re as gentle as they come.”

I finally found a position that I liked and patted the horse’s neck. “Thanks for the ride, handsome.”

Stephanie giggled.

When we got back to the barn and dismounted, I had trouble getting my land legs for a minute. Stephanie said, “You and Uncle Pete will be coming here on a regular basis, right? We’ll make a rider out of you.”

I hadn’t considered that, but she was right. We’d be trekking to Tucson as often as we could, now that most of Pete’s family was here. I said, “I’ll give you a chance to do that, but the first time a horse bucks me off, it’s over.”

She patted my horse on the nose. “Sonny won’t buck you off. Especially if you bring him treats.”

“I’ll come armed with apples next time.”

When we got back to the house Chris, Steve, and Samantha were bustling around the kitchen. Chris said, “Steph, get washed up. I need you to make the salad dressing.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Steph ducked into the half-bath by the back door.

I said, “Can I help?”

“Sure. You can set the table. Sam will get the plates and utensils out for you.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “I figured we’d have our big meal at noon. Today will be the Ferguson family Christmas dinner, then tomorrow we’ll go to Andy’s sister’s.”

Sam said, “We don’t have to cook tomorrow.”

Chris said, “No, but you’ll have to help clean up. Go show Jamie where everything is. Pete, why don’t you go see if Dad’s ready to come over? We’ll eat in about a half hour.”

“Will do.” Pete went back through the door.

Good. This might be Pete’s chance to be alone with his dad for a bit.

I followed Sam into the dining room, where she showed me the stoneware and place settings to use – red and white Fiestaware, which made me think of Paul’s staging. I said, “Do you have cloth napkins?”

Sam looked at me curiously. “Yeah, but we usually use paper.”

“Show me where the cloth ones are. I’ll put them in the laundry with our clothes this evening.”

She shrugged. “Okay.”

When I’d dated Ethan in college, his father’s cook had shown me how to make fancy shapes with cloth napkins. I’d kept up

“Christmas dinner table (5299442229)” by Miia Ranta from Finland – Christmas dinner tableUploaded by Fæ. Licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0 via Wikimedia Commons – http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Christmas_dinner_table_(5299442229).jpg#/media/File:Christmas_dinner_table_(5299442229).jpg

the practice so I wouldn’t forget the technique. The knowledge would finally come in handy. Sam went back to the kitchen, and I got busy setting an enticing table.

It took about fifteen minutes. I was admiring my handiwork when Chris brought in the first dish. She exclaimed in surprise when she saw the ruffled creations on each plate. “Oh, that’s wonderful! Where did you learn to do that?”

“From a professional chef, back in college. I told Sam, I’ll wash the napkins. I have to do laundry this evening anyway.”

She waved that off. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll toss them in with mine tomorrow or the next day. We won’t need them again for a while.”

I helped Chris and the girls carry platters and fill water glasses. Andy and Steve appeared through the front door just as Pete and his dad came through the back. Everyone washed their hands one last time and gathered around the table. Chris said, “We have Jamie to thank for the fancy napkins.”

Pete pulled out his phone and took a picture. “I had no idea you could do that.”

I grinned at him. “I’m full of surprises.”

That got a laugh from everyone. We sat, Andy said grace, and we dug in.

Best Men, part 6

Friday, December 19

The following week was a blur of finishing out the semester – quarter, in my case – and preparing to be out of town for a week. On Friday Pete picked me up from work and we drove to Jack’s house one last time. We took a cooler, sheets and blankets for the air mattress, and our own soap and towels. We picked up a veggie pizza once we got into Lancaster and ate sitting on the kitchen floor, not disturbing any of Paul’s careful staging.

After dinner we drove both the Jeep and Jack’s truck to the storage unit and emptied it, dropping the key into the after-hours box. When we got back to the house I realized we had a minor problem. We both pulled into the garage – Jack’s neighborhood had some issues with car break-ins at night, and we had Christmas presents with us – and Pete pushed the wall button to lower the garage door. I said, “You’re going to have to keep the garage door remote so we can lower the door when we leave.”

“Oh. I hadn’t thought about that. We can’t leave through the front door, can we?”

“No, it’s got the lockbox on it. Tomorrow when we get to Tucson, text Lisa and ask her if you can mail the remote to her.”

“Or we could just bring it…” Pete stopped and laughed sheepishly, embarrassed that he’d forgotten. “We’re not coming back.”

“Not any time soon.” I reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “Does that bother you?”

“No.” He looked around the house. “I guess it hasn’t completely sunk in yet. But it doesn’t bother me. I don’t have a lot of wonderful memories associated with this house.”

“Still. This was your dad’s house for a long time.”

“Almost thirty years.” Pete smiled. He reached into the cooler, retrieved a bottle of beer, twisted the cap off and handed it to me. He opened one for himself and held the bottle up. “Here’s to the house. May the new owners make wonderful memories here.”

“Hear, hear.” We clinked bottles and drank.

We finished our beer, bagged our trash, and got into our pajamas. Pete inflated the mattress, while I dug soap and towels out of our overnight bag and unfolded my clothing for the next day. We made the air mattress up with the sheets and blankets and snuggled together. Pete said, “What will happen to your dad’s house, when the time comes?”

“I don’t know. I suppose he’ll leave it to all of us equally. Then we’ll have to decide if we’re going to keep it or not.”

“Why would you?”

“I can see Kevin and me using it as a guest house when we visit. It’s not like Jeff and Val will ever move. We’ll still be making plenty of visits to Oceanside, even if my dad’s not there.”

“True. Or maybe we’d want to retire there. We could buy out Kevin and Jeff’s portion of the house with what we’d make off the sale of our place.”

“Mm. Maybe. Let’s hope my dad lives as long as my grandfather and we don’t have to think about that for a long, long time.”

“Amen to that.”

 

Saturday, December 20

The next morning we rose while it was still dark, showered quickly, and broke down our impromptu bedroom. We made one last check of all the rooms and closets, ensuring that we weren’t leaving anything that would create apoplexy in Lisa Tierney, and headed out.

Pete drove Jack’s truck and I drove the Jeep. Most of the trip was a long, monotonous haul through desert, and we couldn’t talk to each other on the phone until we got to Arizona. I’d brought audiobooks to ease the boredom, and we stopped every couple of hours to stretch our legs, rid ourselves of the caffeine we’d been ingesting, and ingest some more.

James G. Howes [Attribution], from Wikimedia Commons

We got to the ranch at about 3:30 in the afternoon. Neither Pete nor I had ever been there. The ranch was north of Tucson, in a river valley surrounded by mountains – a gorgeous setting. The main house was two stories, similar in style to a southern plantation house, with deep porches and overhangs to block the desert sun. We turned off the main drive to the left and pulled into Jack’s new front yard.

The guest house was about the size of a large apartment, or our townhouse back in Santa Monica. The rooms were bigger, with an open floor plan throughout the living areas, and one spacious bedroom with a plush master bath. I noted that the doorways and bathroom were large enough to maneuver a wheelchair throughout the house, and there were no steps anywhere, inside or out. French doors from both the bedroom and the great room opened onto a screened patio, with ceiling fans and several comfortable chairs. The patio faced west. When it wasn’t too hot, Jack could have a front-row seat at some spectacular sunsets.

We carried all of Jack’s things inside and placed them in the spots he indicated. Pete maneuvered the pickup into the garage; we left Jack and Chris sifting through boxes and drove the Jeep to the main house. We emptied the Jeep of the Christmas presents we’d brought and ended up in the kitchen, where I smelled potatoes baking. Andy was taking steaks out of the fridge. “You guys hungry?”

I said, “Absolutely. How can we help?”

“Grab yourselves a beer and go on out back. Everything else is ready.”

Once the sun went down it got cold quickly. We ate inside around the big farm table in Christine’s casually furnished dining room. Jack was quiet through the entire meal. I tried to observe him without anyone else noticing. He ate well but didn’t participate in conversation unless someone spoke to him directly.

Maybe he was still tired from the journey in the RV. Or maybe he was just being Jack. In one-on-one conversation he’d been fine, but he’d never been one for big groups of people. Even if they were relatives.

After dinner we sat around the table talking for a bit, then Jack stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get back to the house. Finish unpacking those boxes.”

Andy said, “Sure, Dad.”

I stood. “I’ll go with you, Jack. I didn’t get much chance to check your place out earlier.”

Jack look surprised, but not displeased. “Sure, son. Let’s go.”

We put on our coats at the back door and exited into the night. There was a wide, flat walkway created from large paving stones between the main house and Jack’s. Solar path lights along the borders gave us plenty of light to walk comfortably. I said, “You’re still in the desert, but I think it’s prettier here. You’re gonna have some gorgeous sunsets off that back porch.”

“Yeah. Didn’t have that in Lancaster.” Jack gave me a sideways glance. “You boys spent the night at the house, I take it.”

“Yes, sir. We had to bring the garage door remote with us. Pete will mail it to the real estate agent.”

Jack chuckled. “Think it’ll sell quick?”

“The agent seemed to think so.”

He nodded, satisfied. We reached his house and entered. Jack had left a lamp burning; now he flipped on the stove light in the kitchen. I said, “This is a terrific house.”

“Yep. Just right for me.”

He slipped his jacket off and hung it on a peg by the door. As he did, I noticed something around his neck that I’d failed to spot before. “Is that one of those life call buttons?”

“Yeah.” Jack lifted it from his chest and examined it. “Chris says she’ll sleep better at night knowing I’ve got it.”

“I’m sure she will.” Pete would too, when I told him. “Are you still doing cardiac rehab here?”

“For now. I’ll go in once a week to get checked. The rest of the time I guess I’ll be walking around here.”

I said, “Make sure you get some hill climbing in, when the doc says you’re up to it. Pete and I are getting married on the top of a hill.”

“I’ll do that.”

“Pete is gonna miss you.”

Jack nodded. “I’ll miss him too.”

I summoned up my courage and said, “I bet he’d like to hear you say that.”

Jack looked surprised, then gave me a contemplative look. “Then I reckon I’d better say it.”

I smiled. “I’d better get back before they send out a posse. You sleep well.”

“You too, son.”

Best Men, part 5

Pete and Dad’s conversation gradually swung around to baseball. I finished thinning the lettuce and joined them on the patio. The air was rapidly cooling as the sun moved to the west, leaving the back yard on the east side of the house in shadow.

Dad said, “I heard Barb ask you about Christmas, but I didn’t hear what you said. Will you be here Christmas Day?”

Pete nodded. “That’s the plan. We’ll get up and open presents with Chris’s family then leave to come here. It’ll be late afternoon, but at least it will still be Christmas.”

“Good.” Dad made a wry face. “I don’t think we’ll be seeing Kevin at all.”

“No?”

“No. Abby’s insisting that they spend Christmas Eve with her sisters and Christmas Day with her parents. She says Kevin sees you all the time and that should be enough.”

I said, “Um – no. It’s Christmas. What is her problem?”

Pete said, “She sees her family all the time, too. Why is Kevin putting up with this?”

Dad sighed, shaking his head. “You’ll have to ask him.”

 

We ate hummus with pita bread and Greek salad for dinner to compensate for our hamburgers. Afterward we sat around the table, talking about work and family. Pete cleared the table and began washing dishes, leaving Dad and me at the table. I said, “Dad, I have something to ask you.”

He looked surprised. “What’s that?”

By Stefano Bolognini (Own work) [GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html), CC-BY-SA-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/) or CC BY-SA 2.5-2.0-1.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.5-2.0-1.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons

I took a deep breath. “Will you be my best man at our wedding?”

Dad’s eyes widened, then he beamed at me. “Of course I will, sport. If you’re sure.”

“I’m positive. Pete’s going to ask Steve, but I don’t want Jeff or Kevin. I want you.”

Dad stood up and pulled me into a bear hug. “I would be honored.” He stepped back and I saw the tears in his eyes. “Back when Jeff and then Kevin got married, I thought to myself, ‘I’ll never get to do this for Jamie.’ It about broke my heart. And now here we are, fifteen years later, and I’m going to get to see you married.” He wiped his eyes and hugged me again. “I’m so happy.”

I was getting teary-eyed myself, hugging Dad tightly. “So am I.”

We parted and laughed. Pete was beaming at the sink. “Dave, it means a lot to me too. I’m so glad you’ll be standing up with us.”

Pete called Steve and asked him to be his best man; Steve happily agreed. I said, “Super. Now we need to decide who will perform the ceremony.”

Dad said, “Do you have any thoughts on that?”

Pete and I both shook our heads. I said, “I thought about my friend Clinton from the library, but he’s a retired monk and we don’t want any religious overtones in the ceremony. I’m not sure Clinton would be able to help himself.”

Dad said, “What about Neil?”

“Oh.” Pete looked hopeful. “Do you think he’d do it?”

Dad smiled. “Of course he’d do it. He’d be thrilled.”

I said, “I considered Neil, but – I was thinking about asking him if we could have the reception at his house. He has the best setup for a crowded party.”

Pete said, “Could he do both?”

“I’m sure he could. But is that too much to ask?”

Dad said, “I don’t think so. From a logistical standpoint, not everyone you want to invite to the wedding is going to be able to fit on the mountain, are they?”

I started doing arithmetic in my head. “No.”

“So ask Neil to do the ceremony, and some of your other friends can stay behind and help Mark prep for the reception.”

Pete and I looked at each other. Pete said slowly, “That could work.”

Dad said, “You’d better ask him now, before he and Mark plan some month-long vacation for the summer.”

“You’re right.” I picked up my phone and dialed.

“Jamie!” Neil sounded like he might have a glass of wine or two on board. “To what do I owe this honor?”

I laughed. “I have a serious question for you.”

“Uh oh. Do you need legal advice?”

“No. I wanted to ask if you’d consider performing Pete’s and my wedding ceremony on July third.”

I sensed astonishment from the other end of the line, then Neil said, “Oh, Jamie. I’d be honored.”

“Seriously? You’re not going to be canoeing the fjords or anything?”

He laughed. “No, our vacation is in August. There is one stipulation, though.”

“Um – okay?”

“You must let Mark and I host your reception at the house.”

I winced. “Oh – no. That’s too much.” Now that he’d said it out loud, it did sound like too much. We’d find someplace else to have the reception. Ali and Mel’s, maybe.

“No, no, no. Mark and I were discussing it with Ali and Mel, and the four of us would like to provide your reception as our wedding gift to you.”

“Neil. Oh, my God. You don’t even know how many people we’re inviting yet.”

His tone was breezy. “As long as it’s fewer than a hundred, it’s fine.”

“Um – it’ll probably be about half that.”

“Perfect.” Mark must have walked into the room; Neil said, “Mark! Jamie and Pete have said yes to the reception, and they’ve asked me to perform the ceremony!”

I couldn’t hear Mark’s words, but the sound of delight came through. Neil said to me, “Is it a plan, then?”

I said, “It’s a plan.”

“Wonderful! We’ll discuss details when we see you at New Year’s.”

“Yes, sir. Thanks, Neil. This means a lot to us.”

His voice grew serious. “It means a lot to me too, Jamie. Thank you for asking.”

I said goodbye and spun my phone onto the table. “Ceremony and reception.”

Pete blew out a breath. “Well. That’s a major load off my mind.”

Dad spread his hands out in a “see?” gesture. “Now wasn’t that easy?”

Best Men, part 4

Saturday, December 13

Lisa was as impressed with the transformation of the house as we had been, although she struggled not to show it. “Pending the outcome of an inspection, we may be able to get the full asking price for the house.”

Pete waved that off. “If so, fine. If not, fine. The sooner the better, as far as we’re concerned.”

“Yes, of course.” Lisa rubbed her hands together, then seemed to remember why we were selling the house. “How is your father?”

“He’s doing well. He’ll be moving to my sister’s later this week.” Pete handed Lisa a 3×5 card with Jack’s new address and phone number on it. “This is his contact information, and that’s my sister’s below it.”

“Christine Fernandez. Right.” Lisa tucked the card into her briefcase. “I have two showings scheduled for tomorrow, one for Tuesday, and an open house next Sunday. When will you be moving the pickup truck?”

“Next Saturday morning. Jamie and I will be spending Friday night here, to get an early start the next day.”

Lisa was horrified. “In one of the beds?”

I laughed. Pete said, “No, on an air mattress in the middle of the family room floor. We won’t leave a trace. Just don’t schedule any showings for Friday evening.”

“Fine.” Lisa shook our hands. “Tell your father I’ll be in touch.”

 

We checked to make sure the air mattress was still in the closet where we’d left it, then locked up and headed south. Pete was quiet until we got on the 15. I was texting with Liz when he said, “I have an idea about best men.”

“What?”

“Logically I’d ask Steve, right? But you’ve got two brothers. Which would you ask? And would the other be pissed to not be chosen?”

“Hm.” I considered that. “I don’t know. When Jeff and Kevin got married, they both had my dad as best man.”

“Do you want to ask your dad?”

“Well – if I don’t, I’ll be the only one who didn’t. What was your idea?”

“I was thinking of asking Stephanie and Samantha to stand up with me. You could have Colin and Gabe.”

“Oh. That’s an interesting idea.”

“But?”

“But then I still wouldn’t be having my dad. Do you object to asking Steve?”

“No. He’s probably expecting me to ask.”

“If Colin and Gabe were either older or younger, I think it would work. Right now, Colin’s going through a growth spurt and he’s cranky, and he and Gabe have been at each other’s throats since fall. Steph and Sam would be awesome, but I think it would work better for me with one or the other of the boys, not both. And then I’ve got the same problem as I do with my brothers.” I patted his leg. “But it was a sweet idea.”

“Ah. I didn’t realize Colin was cranky.”

“He’s thirteen. I think his hormones are beginning to stir.”

“We haven’t seen much of them since last summer.”

“No. We’ve been busy, and so have Jeff and Val. I’d like to rectify that this spring. Maybe we could have one of the boys for a weekend every month.”

Pete grinned. “I’d like that. So it’s settled, then? I’ll ask Steve, and you’ll ask your dad?”

“Yep. I’ll ask him today. Any thoughts on who you want to do the ceremony?”

He shook his head. “Still working on that.”

 

We got to my dad’s just in time for lunch. He and Barb were sitting on the front porch waiting for us. We greeted each other with hugs and Barb said, “Pete, how’s your dad?”

“Physically, he’s doing well. It’s difficult to tell what he’s thinking, though.”

“Oceanside-pier”. Licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0 via Wikimedia Commons – http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Oceanside-pier.JPG#/media/File:Oceanside-pier.JPG

Dad asked, “Is he looking forward to moving?”

“He seems to be.”

Dad noted Pete’s gloomy tone and exchanged a look with me. He said, “I’ve got burgers ready to grill. You two must be hungry.”

I said, “I am. Breakfast was a long time ago.”

Barb arranged condiments and toasted buns while Dad cooked. I said, “Is this some of Val’s ground beef?”

“It is.” Val bartered eggs and goat cheese for beef with a friend who raised grass-fed and -finished beef cattle.

Pete said, “Jamie and I are trying to eat better.”

Dad paused, spatula in mid-air. “Do you want something else?”

“No, no. This is great. But I won’t have any cheese on mine.”

“No cheese. Got it.”

We loaded our burgers with lettuce, tomato and homemade pickles and chowed down. Afterward Barb and I cleaned up, leaving Dad and Pete on the back patio. Barb ran water in the sink and said, “I figured Pete needed some time with your dad.”

“That’s why we’re here. Pete’s dad hasn’t said anything to him about moving away. Not ‘I’m sorry I’ll be so far away from you,’ or ‘I hope you’ll be able to visit often,’ or anything.”

Barb frowned. “I get the impression Pete’s dad doesn’t say much.”

“That’s true. And Pete knows that – but I think he’s feeling kind of abandoned.”

Barb dunked our plates into the soapy water and began to wash. “There’s one thing for certain. You can’t help how you feel.”

 

When we finished Barb folded the dish rag neatly over the faucet. “I’m going to go home and let you guys visit. It’s always great to see you, Jamie.”

“You too.” I hugged her. “See you soon.”

“Will you be here for Christmas?”

“Either Christmas Day or the day after. That’s not clear yet.”

“Okay. I’ll see you then.”

My dad saw Barb out then stopped in the kitchen on the way back outside. I said, “Do you and Pete need more alone time?”

“We do. I’ve got a bed of lettuce out there that needs thinning, if you want something to do.”

I took a bottle of beer with me to the far corner of Dad’s tiny back yard, where one of his raised beds contained several varieties of loose leaf lettuce. I couldn’t hear everything that Pete and Dad were saying, but I caught snatches of the conversation. Pete was definitely struggling with the idea of being left behind, so to speak.

I felt bad for him. Other than my years in Oxford, I’d spent my entire life surrounded by family. I knew Pete and his dad weren’t as close as I was to mine, but it would be nice if Jack would have at least said that he’d miss Pete.

Maybe he didn’t care that much.

But I didn’t believe that was true. I suspected that Jack just didn’t know how to say it.

Best Men, part 3

Friday, December 12

Paul called us Thursday evening with word that he’d completed the staging, if we wanted to check it out. I took Friday afternoon off and we drove to Lancaster, stopping first at the rehab facility to collect Jack. He’d said he wanted to see the place once more before he left town.

Physically, Jack seemed to be doing well. He was walking all over the rehab center and had been on a couple of excursions – once to see his doctor and once to buy some new clothes. He’d lost some weight and would probably gain it back, but until then he needed pants that wouldn’t fall down around his ankles.

Both Pete and I were concerned about Jack’s psychological state. He’d been passive since the heart attack, letting his kids make the decisions, agreeing to whatever they recommended. Jack was the strong, silent type, but he’d always had opinions. He hadn’t been expressing any lately.

When we drove up to the facility he was waiting for us, sitting on one of the benches outside the front door, wearing a pair of his new pants. An aide was with him, but Jack pushed himself to his feet without assistance and walked to the Jeep. I hopped out of the front seat and he got in. Pete said, “Hey, Dad, how’s it going?”

“Fine.” Jack fastened his seatbelt. “Feeling pretty good today.”

I closed his door and climbed into the back seat. “What did you have for lunch?”

“Some kind of soup. Had lentils in it.”

Pete grinned. “Had you ever eaten lentils before?”

“Not on purpose.”

By Beachboys5500 (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons

We made the brief drive to Jack’s house and parked in the driveway. The front porch was newly painted, with a seating area arranged by Paul’s crew, and our friend Ali had done some desert-friendly landscaping.

Jack whistled softly. “Place didn’t look this good when I bought it.”

Pete said, “It’s the prettiest house on the block now.”

We raised the garage door and entered. The garage was sparkling clean and without Jack’s battered shelving and workbenches looked enormous, even with his pickup truck parked there. Jack chuckled. “Didn’t know the garage was this big.”

Pete said, “Neither did I.”

We entered the house and stopped, each of us making sounds of amazement at the transformation. Paul had worked magic. Jack had always kept the place clean, but it had still appeared to be exactly what it was: a run-down, sixties-style ranch house. Now it looked – classy. But comfortable. Exactly as Paul had said.

We moved from room to room, oohing and aahing over the changes. The bright yellow and orange accents in the kitchen made the wood of the cabinets glow. The tired den was transformed into a family-friendly entertainment room. The bedrooms were decked out as havens of rest, and Pete’s former bedroom was perfect as an office.

Jack stood in the doorway of what had been his bedroom and shook his head. “Sure doesn’t look like my place any more.”

Pete asked softly, “Will you miss it?”

Jack considered that. “Nah. Chris’s place is better’n this.”

Pete and I looked at each other, but didn’t say anything.

 

Jack had a couple of errands to run before we returned him to the rehab center. We stopped at the post office so he could fill out a change of address card, then took him to Target for new socks and underwear. By the time we were finished it seemed to me that Jack was tired, although he hadn’t complained. When we were back in the Jeep and underway he held up his Target bag. “New skivvies for my new life.”

I said, “Never travel without clean skivvies.”

He nodded at me sharply, then grinned.

Pete walked Jack into the building, where he was greeted by an aide. I switched to the driver’s seat, expecting that Pete would be in a contemplative mood. I was right. When he got back to the Jeep he slid into the passenger seat without commenting. I said, “Do you want to go back to the house for anything?”

“No.” Pete looked back through the doors of the center. “That wore him out.”

“He did seem tired to me. The doctor thinks he’s ready to travel, though?”

“That’s what he said.”

Chris and her husband Andy were renting an RV and driving up on Tuesday, leaving the girls at home with Andy’s parents. They’d spend Wednesday getting Jack discharged and packed and sorting out any last-minute things, then they’d start back to Arizona on Thursday, taking two days to make the trip, stopping every hour to let Jack walk around. In the RV he’d be able to sit in comfort and to lie down whenever he wanted, and they’d also have room to take most of his clothing and other personal items. Pete and I would follow on Sunday, bringing his truck and the rest of his things from the storage unit.

I said, “He seems pretty good-humored about it.”

“Yeah.”

I glanced at Pete, who was gazing off into the distance. “Does it bother you that he’s good-humored about it?”

He gave me a sharp look. “Why would it?”

“Because he’s leaving you and doesn’t seem concerned about it.”

Pete smiled, but it was a weak effort. “You’re becoming awfully perceptive.”

“Living with you is having an influence.”

He grinned. “Thank God for that.”

“Smartass. Am I right?”

His grin faded. “Yeah. You’re right.”

“Could you use a dose of my dad? We’re meeting Lisa at the house tomorrow morning; we could drive to Oceanside from here and spend the night.”

He liked that idea.

Best Men, part 2

Paul and Pete had argued about payment for two weeks. Paul wanted to do the work for free; Pete had refused to consider that. They’d eventually agreed that we’d treat Paul and Aaron to dinner someplace extravagant, and we’d consider the remainder their wedding gift to us. We weren’t getting married anytime soon – we’d only been engaged for three weeks – but that was okay with me.

We drove home, taking all of the clothing, towels and other paraphernalia that we’d strewn around Jack’s house over the past week, and emptying the refrigerator. Pete deflated and stored the air mattress in one of the bedroom closets. We’d need it again on moving day.

We showered and dressed, and met Aaron and Paul at Il Grano. I’d never been there, but it had a reputation as one of the top seafood restaurants in LA, with the bonus of being fairly close to home for us. When Pete and I ate out, it was almost always takeout, pizza at 800 Degrees in Westwood, or the Indian restaurant around the corner from our house.

I’d have to refrain from spilling anything on myself.

Paul’s soon-to-be husband, Aaron Quinn, was Pete’s best friend at work. The two of them had a lot in common – both psychology professors, both about the same age, both from law enforcement backgrounds. Aaron’s father was a cop, and Aaron himself had worked his way through college as a 911 dispatcher. Pete and Aaron knew each other before either Paul or I were on the scene. Pete had been delighted when Aaron asked him to serve as best man at the wedding.

Aaron and Paul were just getting seated when we were shown to our table. They greeted us enthusiastically, and soon we each had a glass of wine in front of us. We ordered appetizers; I took a sip of wine and began to relax.

Aaron asked Pete, “How is your dad this week?”

“Recovering well, considering.” Jack had been discharged from the hospital two weeks ago after a major heart attack. “His heart rhythm is stable, and he’s walking in the hallways, but he doesn’t have much appetite yet.”

Paul wrinkled his nose. “I doubt I would either, in a nursing home.”

I pointed my fork at Paul. “Nuh uh. They’re called skilled nursing facilities now.”

“Oops. Excuse me.” Paul grinned.

Aaron asked, “He’ll have his own place at your sister’s?”

“Yeah. There are a couple of guest houses at the ranch, and Dad will live in the one closer to the main house. Chris will do the cooking for him, so he’ll have to eat heart-healthy.”

Paul wrinkled his nose again at the idea of heart-healthy menus. I said, “Everything in place for the wedding?”

Aaron and Paul were getting married in the back yard of their new home in Pasadena. The wedding would be small but elegant; Pete had to rent a tux. Aaron said, “I think so. Just a few last-minute details to wrap up, but all the arrangements are made.”

 

It was wonderful to spend a relaxed evening with friends after the hectic month we’d survived. I’d drunk three glasses of wine and was feeling loose-limbed and lazy when we got home. Pete unlocked the door and flipped on the kitchen light. “Want some water?”

“Yes, please.”

We changed into sweats and took our water bottles onto the second-floor deck opening from our bedroom. Pete said, “Let’s discuss our wedding.”

“Mm. What about it?”

“I don’t want anything fancy. I want to be outside and comfortable. How would you feel about holding the ceremony at Eagle Rock?”

We’d spent our first day together at Eagle Rock, nine years ago, and had gotten engaged there three weeks ago. “I think that’s a fantastic idea. We can wear hiking clothes. Can’t get more comfortable than that.”

“Are you sure that’s okay? You don’t want anything more formal?”

I gave him a skeptical look. “Me? Formal? Remember who you’re talking to.”

He chuckled. “True. What date shall we pick?”

“Hm. Summer, I guess, so everyone has a better chance of being able to attend. But not June. That’s too stereotypical.”

“When is your conference in Edinburgh?”

“July 11th.” Fiona Mackenzie and I were presenting a paper at a meeting of the Scottish Historical Society.

“Hm. We could get married the week before that.”

“On July 4th?”

“No… You’ll have July 3rd off, right? Since the 4th is on a Saturday?”

“Right. But that’s your birthday.”

He grinned. “I can’t think of a better birthday gift than getting married to you.”

“Are you positive?”

“I’m positive. We could leave for Scotland that evening, or the next day, and completely recover from jet lag before your conference.”

I considered that. “The timing would be ideal. If you truly don’t mind getting married on your birthday.”

“I want to get married on my birthday.”

By James Petts from London, England (Costa carrot cake) [CC BY-SA 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons

“Okay. Let’s do it.”

Pete reached over and took my hand. “What else do we need to decide?”

I ticked off a list on my fingers. “Who’s going to perform the ceremony? Where are we going to hold the reception? What are we going to eat at the reception? Who will we each ask to be best man?”

“Hm. I don’t think I can answer all those questions right now.”

“We’ve got the vital questions answered. When and where. And there’s a lot of stuff we don’t need.”

“Such as?”

“Flowers, musicians, professional photography, renting a venue… We will need a cake.”

“Can we have carrot cake?”

I laughed. “We can have any kind of cake you want.”

Best Men, part 1

Friday, November 28

“This kitchen could use an upgrade.”

It was the day after Thanksgiving. Pete and I were standing in the kitchen of his dad’s house with Lisa Tierney, a high

By Cameronnovak (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons

school friend of Pete’s brother Steve. More relevant, Lisa was a real estate agent – who was now frowning at us, arms crossed. No doubt calculating the extra commission she’d gain from the sale of a house with a newly renovated kitchen.

Pete said patiently, “It’s not going to get one. Neither are the bathrooms. This is an as-is sale. I thought Steve told you that.”

Lisa’s frown deepened. “He mentioned it. I said I’d have to see the condition of the house first.”

Pete taught at a community college; his patience was legendary – but Lisa was wearing it down. “It’s not your decision, is it, now? What Steve should have told you – what’s going to happen – is that we are going to unload this house ASAP. My dad owns this place outright, and he’s moving to my sister’s in three weeks. He doesn’t need a huge profit from this sale. We will paint the walls and clean everything thoroughly, and that will be the extent of our upgrades. The only question is, do you want this listing or not? ‘Cause if you don’t, we’ll find someone who does.”

Lisa was clearly used to bossing her clients – but she probably hadn’t dealt with a 6’4” ex-cop with a psychology degree who’d been a master at manipulating witnesses. She attempted to stare him down. Pete stared back but didn’t play along. “Jamie, please, check online. See who else is available.”

“You got it.” I whipped my phone out of my back pocket and started tapping.

Lisa huffed, but caved. “All right, fine.” She walked a circle around the kitchen island. “At least the floor plan is semi-open. That helps.” She turned back to face us. “Please tell me you’ll replace the window treatments.”

“Yes. We’ll hang new blinds.”

She pursed her lips, thinking. “You’ll want to consider staging.”

I said, “We have a stager.” Our friend Paul was an interior decorator and professional stager.

Lisa looked us up and down, in our ratty t-shirts and sweats, probably figuring any stager we knew would make the place look like a giant man-cave. “What’s the name? Maybe I know her.”

“Him. Paul Thayer.”

Lisa’s eyes widened. “You know Paul Thayer?”

“Yep. Pete’s going to be his partner’s best man at their wedding next month.”

Lisa gazed at Pete with grudging respect. “All right. You’re going to paint, install blinds, do a deep clean and have Paul stage.”

Pete said, “Right.”

“That’s acceptable.” Lisa was the brisk professional again. “I’ll draw up a contract for an as-is sale.”

I said, “We’ll have our lawyer take a look.”

A tiny muscle under Lisa’s left eye was beginning to twitch. “Of course.” She gathered her purse and briefcase from the kitchen counter. “How long will it take you to have the house ready?”

Pete said, “Two weeks.”

“Fine. I’ll email you the contract for your attorney to review. We’ll meet again Saturday, December 13th.” She consulted her calendar. “Say, 9:00?”

Pete nodded. “We’ll be here.”

“Excellent.” Lisa shook both our hands quickly. “I’ll see you then.”

Pete saw her out then came back to the kitchen, grinning. I said, “Is she the best we can do?”

“She has a terrific reputation. She’s just used to getting her way.” Pete rubbed his hands together. “Ready to start?”

“Ready.”

We went into the garage, cracked the lid on a five-gallon container of paint, and got busy.

 

Sunday, December 7

 

On December 7 we stood in the same spot, this time accompanied by Paul. Pete and I were exhausted. We’d painted for three days straight the previous weekend, had driven up every day after work for the past week and toiled for a few hours before we dragged ourselves home, then spent the night here on an air mattress for the past two nights. We were trashed, but the house was pristine.

The windows were open to dissipate the faint odor of paint that remained, the new blinds folded neatly at the top of each window. The kitchen, bathrooms, and tile floors sparkled. We’d painted the walls and the ceilings, used cat litter to get rid of the oil and grease spots on the garage floor and driveway, and washed all the windows and screens inside and out. We’d moved Jack’s remaining belongings to a storage unit nearby to wait for moving day.

Mel had approved the contract. Lisa brought us a print copy Wednesday evening; Pete took it to the skilled nursing facility where his dad was in a cardiac rehabilitation program and got Jack’s signature. Paul would do the staging this week, and next Saturday Lisa could begin showing the place.

We’d just brought Paul through the garage, into the house. He’d been dictating notes to himself into his phone. “Garage, empty. Nothing needed. Kitchen…” He looked around, assessing. “Too bad you didn’t have time for an upgrade in here.”

I groaned. Pete said, “Not only did we not have time, we didn’t have the money. Besides, you’ll make it look great, right?”

Paul sighed and began dictating. “Kitchen. Maple wood cabinets with white pulls. White walls. Need two bar stools, kitchen towels – yellow and white. Stripe, not checked.”

I said, “What’s wrong with checked?”

Paul said, “We are marketing this house as classy comfort, not country kitsch. Stripes are classy. Checks are country.”

Pete snorted. I said to him, “We’d better get some striped towels.”

Paul rolled his eyes and spoke to his recorder. “For the walls – yellows, oranges. Sun. Or fruit. Contemporary still life. Two place settings for bar, probably solids. Fiestaware. Don’t forget cloth napkins.”

We led Paul through each room as he dictated lists of items to bring, right down to the bathmat. When we stopped at the bedroom that had been Pete’s as a teenager, Paul dictated, “Third bedroom. Tiny. Show it as an office. Table as desk, under window; bookshelves either side; armchair and lamp in corner. Items for desk, contemporary chair.” He paused the recording. “This was a bedroom?”

Pete nodded. “It was my bedroom.”

“Cozy.” Paul moved to the doorway and mused. “Office or nursery?” He tapped his forefinger against his lips.

I said, “An office is classier.”

He gave me a dirty look, but said, “Office it is.”

Christmas in July!

Chris Downer [CC BY-SA 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons

As I promised back in the spring, I’m going to share a short story with you, in installments on this blog over the next few days. The story is called Best Men. It takes place from late November through December 31, a couple of weeks after the end of Hearts, the short story included with Talked to Death.

There’s no mystery here; it’s just a slice of life story – a slice of Pete and Jamie’s life that I needed to show you all before the next book (Avenged to Death) comes out. It wasn’t anything I could turn into or include in a book, so I decided to serialize it here.

Part One will appear tomorrow. Stay tuned!

I have a Facebook page!

I finally decided to take the plunge and set up a Facebook author page. You can find it at www.facebook.com/JamieBrodieMysteries. The (new) posts from this blog will appear there, but I’ll post other stuff too – so you’ll have a reason to like the page. :-) Come check it out!