by Eros, Marata
Sophie looked at him and smiled. He grinned right back. All was forgiven.
Huh, I guess he was practicing after all.
****
Bry had been late because he had to work during the summer. Us gonna be freshman had it good as nobody gets to work before sixteen anymore. (Gramps had a LOT to say over that.) Bry worked, as he called it, as a “landscape gopher.” He ran around doing all kinds of gardening crap for rich people.
We all cleaned up our plates and put them in Gramps' sink.
“Where's the gray water thingy?” Sophie asked.
Gramps' standard response to everything, “Grandfathered.”
“Ah, okay. So, where do I?” She looked around in confusion.
I took the plate from her and stopped up the drain and began running the hot water, which churned out about sixty gallons per second, steaming as it landed against the white porcelain. I then added soap and bubbles formed.
The Js followed suit since they knew their way around the house better. They scraped their plates right into the trashcan as Tiff said, “Wow, no separator. How does he get away with that?”
“Grandfathered,” the Js said in unison.
Gramps barked out a laugh and nodded at them, good thinking.
Bry took a real look around the house, noticing all the non-sanctioned stuff.
“Well,” Gramps responded, “I take all my trash to the Kent Separator and give them my, I-don't-give-a-tree-hugging-damn-card, and they have to suck it up and take my trash,” he said with a grin.
The girls gasped, the Js grinned and a big smile started to form on Bry's face.
Brother.
“So, let me get this straight,” Bry said, looking around. “You don't believe in saving the environment?”
Gramps planted his hands on his hips and I was eerily reminded of Mom, who had a similar stance right before she was gonna Make Her Point. “It's the principle Bryan, that these tree-hugging liberals and bleeding heart types aren't going to tell my old ass what to do. It rubs me the wrong way.”
No, really?
Gramps had a way with his delivery, he and Jonesy got along marvelously.
Huh.
Bry was dying to swim after a hot day in the sun battling the plants so we took off to unearth Gramps' canoes. He had two biggies, one orange and the other blue. We piled into them, two guys in each one and had canoe fights for two hours. Jonesy would hit the flat end of the oar, skimming the water's surface and the arc of water would catch Bry in the face. Jonesy, a natural athlete, was so consistent with this maneuver that Bry leaped out of the canoe. Tipping me out in the process, as he swam to Jonesy, who in a state of panic jumped out of the canoe and headed for shore.
Bry tipped the Js' canoe, effectively drowning John (who was guilty by association) and swam with a vengeance for Jonesy. His muscles bunched and worked and Jonesy's terror at getting nailed made him speedy. In the end, Bry caught him and gave him a few hundred dunkings.
Gramps strolled up and said diplomatically to Jonesy, “Better say 'uncle' or Bryan here is going to feed you to the fish.”
“Uncle!” Jonesy screamed.
The girls giggled at Jonesy's girl-like squeal. Which, of course, made us all turn to them and triangulating their position, we all swam after them like bees to honey. They thought they were safe in the water! They squealed as we approached, laughing so hard they weren't making good headway. As we got to them, I could hear Gramps' laughter in the background, just another summer day at the lake with a bunch of energetic teenagers.
He didn't know the half of it.
CHAPTER TWO
We straggled out of the lake like a pack of drowned rats, heading to the munched up pile of beach towels and started drying off.
“I need to take off soon. Who's gonna need a ride?” Bry asked.
We all looked at each other. Mom was gonna pick me up in an hour and I figured that Bry didn't have the room for us all and I said that.
“Nah, I can stuff the whole crew in there.”
We looked speculatively at the car, not sure if it could hold us.
Not sure if it could make it.
“Thanks, but it might be a hassle and there aren't enough restraints,” I said.
Bry shrugged. “Okay, suit yourself.”
Gramps was picking up around the lake's edge where the concrete met the water. Back a million years ago when Gramps was a “young stud,” as he always explained, he had a super-fast jet boat and used to water ski. I couldn't wrap my mind around that.
“You kids coming next weekend?” Gramps asked, bending over to get a towel off the grass.
He shot me a look in question, but Jonesy was the one that answered, “Hell yeah!” He did a fist-pump.
Gramps said, “Language infidel.”
Jonesy said, “Ah, right, sorry.”
John and I smiled. Only Gramps could truly put Jonesy in his place.
“I want to. Dumb school starts in two weeks and then summer's over,” I said with true dejection.
John said, “It's not going to be that bad. We're finally freshmen and you can get some training.”
Yeah, training.
Zombies: sit, stay, roll-over, play dead. Perfect.
Jade put her arm around my waist, her flesh warm against the damp band of my swim trunks, squeezing my side. I half-turned, pressing her body into mine.
Bry yelled, “Tiff, come on.”
Tiff was running around, trying to collect all her crap (for a guy-ish acting girl she sure had an ass-load of gear).
“Hold on to your trunks, ya pain.”
Bry sighed and walked over to his car, turning to Gramps he said, “Thanks, Mac.”
Gramps gave him a smile. “Anytime.”
Just then, a car full of kids came slinking past Gramps' front gate, swung open to accommodate Bry's car. Slowing to a crawl, I squinted, trying to recognize the driver.
It was Carson Hamilton.
My sworn enemy, the jerk-off that had given me a truckload of crap last year and finally declared an uneasy truce. I narrowed my eyes into slits. What the hell did he want?
“Hey isn't that...” Bry started.
“Yeah,” Tiff answered.
“This can't be good,” John said.
“What are those dickheads doing here?” Jonesy said.
Gramps walked up giving Jonesy The Look again but was distracted by the honking.
It was Brett, leaning over the top of Carson, palm flattened out on the steering column, laying on the horn with his body.
“What in the Sam Hill is going on here?” Gramps asked rhetorically, throwing the towel down, hitching up his pants and striding over to the car.
Oh crap, this was going to get bad. Gramps had less of a filter than Jonesy.
I jogged to keep up with Gramps and just as we got to the car, Carson yelled, “Having fun with the fags and sluts, Caleb?” Then Brett gave the middle finger salute to Gramps and I.
Gramps leaned forward, a vein pulsating in his forehead. Oh, wow...
Carson tramped his foot down on the accelerator, peeling out where the asphalt met the driveway. Gravel sprayed up under the tires as they spun off, two or three hands waving out of the car. All with strategic fingers splayed.
Guess which ones?
Jade walked up behind Gramps and I, her beach towel clutched tightly around her. “I thought they said they wouldn't bug us.”
“Well, that's a long time for those morons to have 'bully-amnesia',” John said.
“It's been what? A whole two months?” Bry asked.
“Two and half,” I said.
“Who was that carload of assholes?” Gramps asked, lighting a fresh cigarette that bobbed distractingly as he spoke.
“Some creeps from our school losers ,” Sophie said.
“Why would they be here, though?” Tiff asked logically.
“I don't know, but it can't be good,” I said.
Gramps turned, shielding his eyes from the fading sun
. “They have people out here in Driftwood Point?”
I didn't think so. Hell, it was thirty minutes from Kent, well out of the range of cruising territory.
Bry snapped his fingers. “Wait a sec,” palming his chin, “isn't Carson a freshman? What's his dumb ass doing driving?”
Good point.
“You guys didn't know? He was held back.” Sophie said.
Figures.
The Js nodded and Jonesy asked, “He's how old then?”
Tiff rolled her eyes. “Gee, I wonder Jones? Sixteen maybe?”
She had him there. Ya had to be sixteen to drive. Mama and daddy must've paid for that special summer driving course.
“That makes sense, I mean, his parents probably heat the house with bundles of cash thrown into the fireplace,” Bry said.
“Nobody has fireplaces anymore, bright one,” Tiff said and Bry shot her the shut up look. Still, he was right; they were loaded .
My parents made decent money (my dad the bigwig mapping the human genome and that). But Mom thought we needed to “stay grounded,” or something. Whatever: show me the money. That's what I'm talkin' about.
Gramps (who we'd forgotten about, he'd been so quiet) said, “Sounds like you have a spoiled brat on your hands.” He looked at me. “Is this that mouth-breather that's the fire-starter?”
I nodded.
“Swell,” Gramps said. “I'll be prepared the next time.”
Wonderful, I wasn't looking forward to my Gramps becoming the flaming inferno.
Gramps saw my expression and laughed, ruffling my hair (no small thing as we were almost eye-to-eye now). “We've got John-boy here and he'll set him straight, right John?” he asked, turning the laser eye on John.
John was a psychic Null, if he was “tuned up,” nobody was torching anybody.
John's faced reddened and he said, “Yes, sir.” The Js weren't sure about admitting the whole paranormal agenda to adults. But this wasn't any adult. It was Gramps, he was disqualified as a real adult.
Gramps smiled at him and the tension slipped down a notch. “Caleb, pulse your mom and tell her you're ready to go.”
Bry shook his head. “Never a dull moment with Caleb.”
“That's part of his charm, Bro,” Jonesy said.
Right.
“Might be a family thing,” Bry said, his glance encompassing Gramps.
I hadn't considered that but maybe he'd rub off on me. The world could only have so many Jonesys and Gramps'.
“Well, thanks,” Bry said, sticking his hand out and Gramps shook it, clapping him on his back. “Come back next weekend with the kids, Bryan. You're always welcome here.”
Bry nodded, turning to get the screaming door open. Jade ran over to hug Gramps and he was stiff as a board, awkwardly patting her back and doing the backward lean.
“Thanks so much for having us over, I had a great day!” she said.
I knew better than anyone how much a normal family event meant to Jade. Her dad had been sprung from prison last month and she was on edge that he'd pop up like a drunken piece of toast in her life again. I knew, in my guts , that we hadn't seen the last of him but I never said anything. All the guys in the gang knew and we had our eyes peeled for his abusive bullshit.
I didn't like that Carson and Brett were back on the scene and so far from our home turf. Huh, something to think about later. There was always a new complication.
“Hey,” Gramps said.
I raised my eyebrows, Jade moving back to my side.
“Where’s Black Dog?”
“Onyx?” I said.
Gramps shrugged, he liked calling him Black Dog, anything to be contrary. Mom came by that honestly.
“He's at home. Mom has a cow when he comes home smelling like wet dog.”
“Humph!” Gramps muttered. “She oughta be okay with that. He's part lab, he can't help himself. And she had our dog in that lake for three months straight every summer until she moved out. Sleepin' on her bed every night... as a wet dog.”
Really?
I slung an arm around Gramps. “Was she a neat teenager, Gramps?”
“Who? Your Mom ?” He laughed, slapping his knee. “That's rich? Neat, hell no!”
Interesting. Ammunition for later.
“Okay, see ya dudes later,” Tiff said, having heaved herself in Bry's car.
Bry gave the guy-salute to the rest of us.
“See ya,” Jonesy said.
The car lurched and choked out of the driveway, making the long limp home to Kent.
****
Mom and Gramps quietly talked by her car window. After what seemed like a long time, Gramps tapped her car door and squeezed her shoulder.
Turning to us kids, he said, “Next weekend if the weather cooperates.”
Mom smiled. “I think it's okay Pops, after all, it's past the Fourth, no worries,” and they shared a laugh. I never did get that but I guess the summer didn't get nice until after Independence Day. Whatever, if it was above sixty degrees and not raining (and sometimes when it was) we came to Lake Tapps, period.
The girls piled into the back with the Js and it was a tight squeeze. “That's not going to work. Here, let me move this stuff.”
Mom got all her crap off the front seat where it lived all the time: dedicated reader, her purse and a hoodie. Geez.
“Jade, sit by me. Caleb can sit by the window, the Js and Sophie can hop in the back.”
“We woulda never fit in Bry's car,” Jonesy remarked.
“Never,” John said.
“That wreck? Caleb, I think we've spoken before about Bry's car not being safe enough for you to ride in,” she said, fumbling with her water bottle, lip gloss and all the other crap that had rolled out of the purse (suitcase). Jade and she were collecting it all and putting it back in her (yawning chasm) purse.
“Mom, it runs but we didn't have enough restraints so I opted out.”
“Opted out?” she said, a sly smile appearing on her face.
I smiled back, nodding.
“See, Ali. Caleb, my man has some...” Jonesy started.
“...discernment,” John finished.
Sophie and Jade rolled their eyes.
“I like it,” Mom said.
We crammed into the car, Jade squeezed between Mom and me, never complaining. We backed out of Gramps' driveway.
As I turned around to wave, Gramps stood on the front porch, legs apart and planted firmly on the stoop, cigarette stuffed between clenched lips. He stayed there until we were out of sight. A lone figure equal parts stalwart and imposing. He was part of what made up my internal barometer of right and wrong.
Gramps got me.
I watched him until he was a dot in the distance. I sighed, turning around, thinking of Brett and Carson making a reappearance after being MIA all summer. Whatever the significance was I didn't like it.
“Gramps told me about Brett and Carson showing up,” Mom said, her eyes trained to the road.
“Yeah, they're back on board.”
“It's okay Ali, A) Mac will attack, and B) Brett will be going to derelict KM.”
Uh-oh.
“I went to that school.”
It became alarmingly quiet in the car.
John saved it with a hail Mary. “My folks too. I guess it's gotten pretty bad in the last couple of decades.”
Minor fumble.
“On that note, I don't wish for Pop to get involved with that element,” she said, worry slipping into her tone. “He's old and volatile and could add fuel to the fire.”
Fuel to the fire with Carson. Nice. Gramps? He wouldn't do that.
Right.
Mom looked at me then back at the road. “I guess that wasn't the best play on words. Caleb, you haven’t told Pop much about those two have you?”
Enough .
Out loud I said, “Just the highlights, Mom.”
“Ugh! I wish you hadn't...you know how your dad feels about Pop knowing stuff about the family. He gets riled up
easily.”
“It'll be okay, Dad can handle it.”
Time for off-topic. “I think I've decided to help Garcia.”
The Js said, “Really?” at the same time.
Mom's eyebrows came down into a straight line. “I know that you want to help with their murder investigation but I don't like the idea of you in harm's way, you and Tiff,” she tacked on.
“Tiff and I can't leave it alone, Mom. You know that. Besides, this is a chance for me to do something with the AFTD.” Affinity for the Dead was worthless unless I could help people. It was cool as hell that I could jerk zombies out of the ground but I wanted to do more. Running into the ghosts of those dead kids filled me with purpose. I could help and I wanted to help.
“Dad's cool with it.”
“Your mom has a small point,” Sophie said.
I turned around in my seat and gave her a glare that said clearly, don't help me, thanks.
Sorry, she looked back, but undaunted, she finished her thought, “What if that loser is alive, still killing kids and he catches on to the fact that you're the AFTD brains behind the tail on him. Yeah, he's going to really want you guys to keep breathing.”
Again, thanks so much for that, I thought sullenly.
Jade came to my defense, “Sophie, you remember how awful it was at the cemetery shack. Remember how sad it was? How many there were?” She shook her head, giving a small shudder at the memory. “He has to try. That's all he's saying. He and Tiff want to give something back.”
“Yeah. I mean, we survived last year with the Graysheets and all the other zombie crap and the drunken adults.”
Thanks Jonesy, another big help.
Jade looked down at her lap, her hands tightly clenched, knowing that one of the drunken adults had been her dad. I covered her hands with mine, splitting up their nervous embrace and holding them in one of mine. She looked up at me with a grateful smile, Mom ignoring the small intimacy.
Silence rolled out for a time, the highway stretched before us and we entered the valley area of Kent, cruising past Kent Station. I noted the Seattle Post-Intelligencer satellite office where I'd spilled my guts to Tim Anderson about the Graysheets; the loser, super-secret government group.
Professional creepers.
