The Lonely Hearts 06 The Grunt 2 Page 15

  “I think we’re pretty lucky to have her,” Brett said to Cameron.

  The alarm on Brett’s phone that Courtney had set sounded, which meant it was time for both children’s naps. He reached over on the table and turned it off. “You know what that means?”

  “It’s time to take our nap so that we can grow big and strong,” Cameron answered, standing up.

  “Alright, let’s do this.” Brett struggled to raise himself from the floor. Working with one leg wasn’t exactly easy, but he tried not to make a big deal about it, especially in front of his son.

  “Don’t get up,” Cameron said, putting his hand on his father’s shoulder before he could get up off his knees. “I can go upstairs by myself. Mommy taught me what to do. Take off my socks, turn off the light and get under the covers and go to sleep.”

  Brett used the table and sofa to prop himself up and stand all the way up, just to show Cameron that he could. He looked down at the three-foot terror. “You sure you’re good to go?” he asked, his deep Texas baritone echoing around the room.

  “I’m sure,” Cameron said, walking to the door.

  Brett remembered a time not long ago when the mention of a nap would have immediately been met with crocodile tears and a tantrum. Now, Cameron did so without the slightest argument. Impressive. “Hey, how did you get so grown up?” Brett asked proudly.

  Cameron smiled as though the answer was simple. He shrugged his paper thin shoulders and lifted his little hands. “I take my naps.”

  Disappearing down the hallway with little footsteps echoing against the hardwood floors, Cameron headed to his bedroom for his afternoon nap.

  Brett dragged a silent, deep breath into his lungs. If he lost Cameron, it would kill him. And more than that, it would kill Cameron. That boy would feel abandoned and alone. Cameron would think that he had failed him, that he didn’t love him. So no matter what, Brett couldn’t lose him. He would fight this custody case with everything and every dime that he had, but he would not lose another person that he loved.

  Looking down at his hands, he realized that in his rabid thoughts of what he’d do to this Leo Tabor person if he got a hold of him, he had balled up his fists to the point of his knuckles turning sheet white. The large veins in his arms and neck protruded. His heart was racing, booming in his chest like an angry drum, and heat was starting to form at the tip of his ears, turning his face beat red. Trembling uncontrollably, he stood staring blankly through the doorway, body stiff as a board, blinking hard and ready to scream.

  God, he just wanted to scream!

  But he couldn’t…or maybe it wasn’t that he couldn’t. It was more that he shouldn’t.

  Calm down, he spoke to himself barely above a whisper. He couldn’t lose his cool…ever. It was apparent to him, though maybe not to everyone else because of his sheer will and determination not to show emotion, that he was Mount St. Helens on the verge of violent eruption, but if he did erupt, he would annihilate everyone and everything around him. So, he had to just calm down.

  In jerky movements, he turned from the door way and quieted the rage boiling inside. The sounds of the television re-entered the atmosphere, and he could finally breathe through his rock-hard chest, knotted up with tension and hurting from an impending panic attack.

  Brett caught a disturbing glimpse of himself in the mirror on the wall as he went back to check on the baby. His face was dark and twisted in the anger that had accidently found its way to the surface. Pushing it back down as far as he could into his subconscious, he focused on releasing the emotions for the time being.

  Alone with Bella, Brett sat on the sofa and carefully pulled the chubby little baby out of the swing. She was so warm and soft until just being close to her was like a mild sedative, one that he badly needed. Wrapping her in his embrace, he picked up her bottle off the coffee table and slipped it into her mouth.

  Keeping her eyes on her father, she lifted her small hands and ran them over his dog tags and then cradled them around his large hand and the bottle. Sucking quickly and breathing heavily out of her nose, she scarfed the bottle down.

  Brett got tickled, forgetting his anger all together. “I guess you know what to do during nap time, too?” He rocked back and forth with her, gazing into her eyes. “How did you get to be such a beautiful baby?”

  As she suckled the bottle, he watched as her steady gaze began to drift and her hazel eyes began to close. She burrowed her head into his brawny chest just above his heart, where she could hear it beat. Rhythmic and strong, it put her to sleep like her own special melody.

  So this was love? Brett stared at her trying to memorize every single feature. He wondered how many times her precious little face had changed since she was born? He wondered if she knew who he was, and if she liked him? Most of all, he wondered if he could live up to what she deserved in a father.

  While on tour, he had never stopped thinking about her, but didn’t expect to fall head over heels as soon as he saw her. She was so amazing, from her tiny little fingers to her fat little feet.

  “Daddy loves you,” Brett said, kissing her cheek.

  Rocking slowly, they both finally drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

  ***

  Brett had been resting for about an hour without even realizing it, not dreaming of war or even turmoil, when his phone rang interrupting an otherwise peaceful slumber. Eyes flashing open, he reached for his cell before it could wake up the baby.

  Sheesh, he had to get used to cell phones again. In Afghanistan, there wasn’t exactly this much communication with the outside world on a continual basis. One sort of got used to not being bothered but here, this phone never stopped ringing.

  “Hello,” he answered, putting the phone between his ear and his shoulder.

  “Brett, how you doing man, it’s Gavin,” the man said in a mid-western accent.

  “James Gavin?” Brett asked. What in the hell?

  Brett could hear the man smiling over the phone. “The one and only. Hey bro, you at home or what because I’m out in your driveway stalking you like a motherfucker.”

  Brett looked down at the baby sleeping. “Yeah, I’m here, but I’m holding the baby and on a bum leg. The extra key is in the flower pot by the door. Let yourself in while I try to put her down.”

  “Flower pot? Baby?” Gavin chuckled. “Shit, I’ve got to see this for myself.”

  “Well, what can I say? A lot has changed.”

  “Sounds like it. Alright. Be there in a second,” Gavin said, hanging up the phone.

  Brett slowly pulled himself off the sofa and hobbled over the bassinet in the corner of the room, where he laid Bella down carefully on her back and pulled a small coverlet over her. As he leaned over, his dog tags loudly clinked together stirring her from her sleep and making his butt clench tight.

  “Don’t wake up,” he begged, freezing in his tracks. Scared to take a breath, he waited until she fell back to sleep before he finally rose up. That was a close call. If she woke up now, she’d be up for the rest of the day with no reprieve for anyone in the house. Best to let her sleep as long as possible.

  Making his way to the hallway, Brett heard the front door open and close. Heavy steps moved across the hardwood floors toward him.

  Stepping out into the hallway, he saw his old friend. There standing like the cocky prick he had always been was the lost member of the once famous three amigos. He, Joe and Brett had served together for years before Gavin was shot in the knee by an AK-47, blowing off his lower right limb. The Marine Corps had medically discharged him after that and Gavin rode off in the sunset broken hearted about having to leave his dream job. Communication between the three friends became less and less common, until one day, Gavin was just a memory.

  But he didn’t look all broken up now. A solid six feet, four inches tall, Gavin had put on at least 30 more pounds of muscle and gotten a lot more ink tatted up and down his arms. Wearing dark jeans that fit his long legs, brown boots that gave him a few i
nches in height and a red USMC t-shirt that fit the defined muscles of his broad shoulders and herculean chest, Gavin stood before him now a picture of health.

  “Damn, you look like dog shit,” Gavin joked, radiating almost supernatural charm with his million-dollar smile, California tan, sun-drenched sandy brown hair and big brilliant brown eyes. Needless to say, he was a ladies’ man.

  Brett laughed. “Well, I got shot, you son of a bitch, what’s your excuse?”

  Grinning ear to ear, Gavin walked up and hugged his old friend, nearly picking him up off the ground. “Good to see you, bro. I feel like it’s been fucking forever.”

  Brett couldn’t believe his old friend was here, and still had the sewer mouth of the century. Gavin used the f-word like most people used the b-verbs.

  “Good to see you, too,” Brett said, truly surprised. He stepped back speechless. “What are you doing here? I thought you were off on the west coast somewhere riding your Harley and chasing ass.”

  Obviously, word had gotten around. “Normally, I am, when I’m not running my business, but I flew back in for the funeral.” Gavin’s face changed. No matter how long it had been since they had seen each other, Joe had been one of his dearest friends. It still didn’t seem real to him. They had been the three fucking amigos. Now they were two gimp legged veterans. “Went by to see Judy earlier today. Her folks are there; said she didn’t feel like visiting with anyone just yet. So…” He shrugged it off. What else could he do?

  “Yeah, I tried to go and see her too. She told me the same thing.” Brett felt better knowing it wasn’t just him that she had brushed off.

  Pivoting from the obvious discussion, Gavin looked around the house. It was nice and warm, clean and welcoming. An extreme cry from the days of old when he was married to Amy’s crazy ass. “So, I know you’re all domesticated and everything now with the new wife and the new baby, but you must have a beer or some whiskey hidden around here somewhere.”

  “How did you know about Court and Bella?” Brett asked.

  “Last time I spoke with Joe he told me. He sent me a picture of the wedding to my cell.” Gavin wished that he could have been there, but he was out of the country on business. Plus, he swore the only time that he’d ever come back to this place was if someone he really cared about died. “So you got something to drink or what?”

  Brett shook his head. Gavin hadn’t been here five minutes and already was working on getting him in trouble, but at least it was closer to noon than it was when he first thought about having something to drink.

  “Yeah, I got something.” He turned and headed toward the kitchen. “No whiskey but I got beer.”

  “Well, if we’re going to get all caught on up on the last five years, then I’m going to need something. Beer will do,” Gavin said, following behind Brett. “Lead the way.”

  Chapter 15

  “If you bungle raising your children, I don't think whatever else you do well matters very much.”

  - Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis

  Courtney punched in the code to the security gate as if she was punching Sharon Riley right in the face. As the wrought-iron double gate swung open, she barreled up the long, paved drive way lined with palm trees and parked in front of her parents’ house. Jumping out of her little car, she slipped on her shades to hide from the bright afternoon sun. A cool breeze from the coastline blew through her hair as she hiked up the stairs to the large porch and opened the front door.

  “Hello,” she said, wiping off her feet on the welcome mat.

  “In here,” her mother said, voice echoing through the foyer.

  “In here where?” Courtney said, looking for the dog.

  “The reading room,” Diane answered.

  Courtney found Diane in the study standing at the top of a ladder, cleaning the tall wooden bookshelves embedded into the wall. She looked down from her chores and smiled at her daughter. “What a surprise!” she said, glad to see her. “I figured you’d be holed up in the house for at least a few more days with Brett before you came up for air.”

  “He told me to get out and stretch my legs,” Courtney said, leaning against the doorway.

  Diane instantly heard something in her daughter’s voice that didn’t sound right. “What’s wrong?” Putting down her duster, she held on to the sides of the ladder and made her way down.

  Courtney rolled her eyes before stepping into the airy bright room. “Sharon Riley is behind the custody case.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” Diane pulled off her vintage polka dot apron and picked up the mint julep drink she had been nursing on the end table. Taking a sip, she wiped her brow. “Want one?”

  “Sure,” Courtney said, taking a seat on the white tufted leather sofa facing the large bay window overlooking the Bogue Sound waterway.

  This room had always been so peaceful to her with its sea blue walls, expensive paintings, white crown molding, dark hardwood floors and maple ceiling-to-floor bookshelves. Her mother had turned the room into a reading haven with a perfect little bar in the corner and surround sound speakers to blast Cuban jazz and Al Green.

  She stared at the blue water and boats sailing with envy. She’d much rather be out there catching a wave then dealing with real life right now. “Why are you cleaning so hard?” Turning from the picturesque view, she watched her mother tend bar like a professional.

  “Your brother is due to arrive home tomorrow. I want the house spotless,” Diane said with a spark of excitement.

  Courtney was glad that David was coming home, but she also knew things would change dramatically when he got here. She couldn’t explain why, it just always did. David had a knack for polarizing any situation.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I doubt that he will notice the dust on the bookshelves,” Courtney said, kicking off her loafers.

  “He might not notice, but I will,” Diane said quickly.

  “You work too hard, Mom.” Courtney knew before she said it that those words were lost on her mother, but she still had to say it.

  Diane ignored her daughter’s pleas. “You can only have one these since you are driving home,” she said, pouring the pre-made contents out of a pitcher into a crystal tumbler.

  “In that case, please make it a big one.”

  “I made this pitcher of sunshine to get me through the day, especially with your father gone to play golf. I have the house all to myself.” Diane threw a little mint on top just to make it pretty and then walked over to the sofa. “There you are, my lady.”

  “Thanks,” Courtney said, folding her leg under her and taking the glass. “Dad finally got out and did something outside of tinkering in the shed like the Unabomber?”

  Diane sat beside Courtney and decompressed after a long afternoon of deep cleaning. “Yeah, I know. It surprised me too. He got up, grabbed his golf clubs and said he was going to play 18 holes.” She ran a hand over her side ponytail. “I did not protest.”

  Courtney noticed the sweat coming down her mother’s forehead. “You need a maid,” she joked. “It’s not expensive to get a service. They can come in and do this for you once a week.”

  Diane wiped her head again. “Jeffery said the same thing. But you know, I would never feel comfortable with anyone else cleaning my house, and going through all my things.” She dismissed the idea completely. “I’ve done it all these years. Why stop now?”

  “Falling off that ladder and breaking your hip could be a reason. It’s not like you don’t have the money. And what if you did fall and no one was here?” Just the thought sent chills up Courtney’s spine.

  “Enough about my cleaning habits. Tell me what is going on with Sharon,” Diane said, resting back on the large comfortable pillows. She would hear no more about this maid business. It was worth the risk of falling off a ladder to keep some woman away from her unmentionables.

  “Well you know we were served with papers saying that we have to be in court to answer a paternity suit case by a man who claims to be Cam
eron’s biological father, and then today, Sharon called throwing a fit about why she hadn’t seen Cameron.”

  Diane eyed her daughter. “Why did she call you? Doesn’t she know that Brett is home?”

  “No, Brett doesn’t like for me to tell her anything at all.”

  Diane pursed her lips together. “Well, it would not have been out of the question to tell her that, but never mind…go on.”

  “If you knew how Brett felt about them, you would understand. Anyway, we both had some choice words for each other as usual, but this time she really showed her butt. She said that she was not about to throw a rock and hide her hand. Then she said Cameron had no business in the house with us because he was her blood.”

  “Let me guess, she was implying that you being African-American were a bad influence on her poor grandson,” Diane said, rolling her eyes.

  “Exactly.” Courtney shook her head in disgust. “She was overtly racist today and it took everything in me not to go off and curse her out. She said that she couldn’t wait for this Leo guy to take Cameron away from us.”

  Diane rubbed her temples. “That woman is a bane to the human species. And there is no doubt that she is a racist hick from the back swamps of rural North Carolina, but you will not lower yourself to roll around in the mud with her. Trust me – that is what she wants.”

  “I know how you feel about that, but Mom, trust me, there is only so much that I can take.”

  Diane found the solution to be simple. “Block her number from your phone and ignore her.”

  “Ignore her for how long?” Courtney’s impatience began to show.

  Diane reached over and touched Courtney’s hair. “Until the court appearance. Then you can paint her as the confederate flag that she is. You can explain to the courts why you will not put your son into a negative environment where his morals can be irreparably warped.”

  “I told her that she couldn’t see Cameron now that she said all that until after a judge orders it. Do you think that was right? Can I do that?”