Page 35
“Thank you, you’re good boys. Truly, I’m blessed beyond measure to have you both.”
I ate the scrambled eggs, overlooking the tiny crunch of an egg shell piece, “They’re perfect,” I announced, shooting Oakland a wink.
He beamed and sat down with his own heaping plate.
After breakfast, I carefully combed my hair, taking great care not to bother the stitches. I styled as best I could around the tiny shaved patch, and for the most part I thought I did a good job. Oakland was already off, running the town on his bicycle with Eric and the boys. I grabbed myself some coffee, and headed out onto the front porch. Victor was in the driveway, off to the right working on the motorcycle he’d purchased a week before he was arrested.
My thoughts began to shift with the wind, while I watched him adjusting some piece or other.
“How do you know you aren’t gonna mess it up? Shouldn’t you take that thing to a mechanic?” I squinted against the sun, focusing the other eye as I brought my hand up to plank across my forehead.
“Eh,” he mumbled with a shrug. “Ain’t much to it really. Montana showed me a few things when I first got–”
“Who?” I didn’t mean to cut him off, but curiosity got the best of me.
Even in his squatted position, I saw every muscle in him freeze. Both of my sons were terrible at hiding things from me, I knew every ‘tell’ them boys had. Victor always looked like rigor mortis had set in when he was caught hiding things, or doing things he ought not to be doing.
“If you tell me it’s that pretty boy with the blond hair, I’m gonna hurl this drink at you. Son or not.” I warned.
Victor laughed, looking back over his shoulder at me, “What the hell? What pretty boy?”
He looked around bewildered. Finding no source of any other men, his attention wandered swiftly back to me.
“That pretty-haired prick that wears the vest like Cole does. Say’s President on that patch he sewed over his self-important chest.”
His eyes rounded, widening with disbelief or shock. His lips, however, twitched as he fought a cheshire grin, “I think you mean Mr. Miller. He owns–”
“‘Mister,’ my ass. He is most definitely something else, but it damn sure ain’t a gentleman.” I couldn’t help the huff that climbed out of me before I admitted, “I wish I would have bounced a second napkin holder off that dense noggin’ of his.”
The tool slipped out of Victor’s hand, but he didn’t even seem to notice. He whirled around and stared, openly looking for me to laugh.
“Mom… Mom, say you’re bullshitting,” he whispered.
“Oh, I’m not bullshitting. That big head of his was a hard target to miss. He ought to be thankful he wasn’t yappin’ when I threw it. As much as he’s on about nothing with that big mouth of his, why, he might have swallowed that damn thing whole.” I allowed my accent to bleed freely as I drawled out every word, relishing the horror that played out on his face.
“Mom,” he kept whispering, but I told my tale.
“You best not be talking about that Montana,” I shook my head, staring out across the driveway, my expectations known.
“What Montana is that?” Cole asked, venturing up from the opposite side of the yard.
He had a hound with droopy lips and big eyes secured on a leash. The thing looked like it wouldn’t have had the energy to stray even if it wanted to. When Cole came to a stop, the dog flopped down beside him.
“Did you walk him all the way from Biloxi?” I laughed, unable to help myself.
“Hell, it felt like it.” Cole laughed, “What did my brother do, though? What was you saying?”
I sipped the coffee, inspecting him over the rim, “I wasn’t saying anything about your broth–”
“She’s talking about Mark,” Victor cleared his throat, and quickly returned to the bike.
“There is a family and friends day, up at the clubhouse. You should come. My brother will be there.”
“Mmm,” I stressed, while tipping my head like it was a tempting offer, “You know I think I’m late for a date to mop the driveway.”
His face fell, and a snort of amusement sounded from near the bike.
“‘Mop the driveway,’” Cole repeated.
