by Reinke, Sara
It’s nice to meet you, too, he signed back, after a moment’s indecision as to which he should do first, offer a response or accept the handshake. His hands had fluttered, nervous and impotent—the deaf equivalent of stammering—before he managed to gesture back in reply.
To his credit, Augustus had never discouraged or disparaged Brandon’s relationship with Lina. The only comment he’d ever offered about it—“She’s human—your natural prey,”—had been more puzzled than derisive, as if instead of trying to condemn Brandon’s relationship, Augustus had been struggling to reconcile himself to it.
Brandon realized right away that Latisha wouldn’t be as receptive. He could read her mind, though not on purpose. Quite the opposite, in fact; sometimes proximity made it difficult, especially when on a subconscious level, he was curious about another’s thoughts. Latisha had indeed heard a lot about Brandon, and while all of it had been good, as relayed through daughter and son, her impression of him had been clouded by that of his family as a whole, and of his grandfather, Augustus, specifically. On some level, she considered Brandon himself—even more so than Augustus—responsible for Jackson’s termination from the farm all of those years ago and more recently, for Lina’s legal troubles.
Lina turned, as if distracted by a sound behind her, and grateful for the reprieve from Latisha’s unflinching gaze, Brandon glanced away. Someone had stepped out of the front door of the house and onto the porch, a tall African American man dressed in a white wife-beater tank top and nylon athletic pants.
Brandon was five-foot-eight and 175 pounds. This guy had him beat by at least five inches and forty pounds—all of it thick, strapping muscle. His head had been shaved bald, and his eyes narrowed beneath his brows as he looked across the yard toward the driveway. He was a big, mean-looking son of a bitch, and if Brandon hadn’t known him—and loved him like a brother—he probably would have been scared shitless at the sight of him.
Jackson, he thought with a delighted grin, one that Jackson Jones mirrored as he rushed down from the porch. Crossing the yard in three broad strides, he bypassed his younger sister, heading straight for Brandon.
Hi, Jackson, Brandon started to sign, forgoing his one-time pet sign for the larger man—tracing the letter J against the bridge of his cheek—for fear that Jackson would have forgotten it, not recognized it after all of that time.
He made it as far as J-A-C and then Jackson hooked the back of his neck with one massive hand, drawing him into a fierce, crushing embrace that left the younger man stumbling onto his tip toes, choked breathless but laughing, all at the same time.
“Look at you.” Although deaf, Jackson wasn’t mute like Brandon, and as they drew apart, his dark eyes gleamed with tears. With a smile, he pressed the palm of his free hand to Brandon’s cheek. “You’ve gone and grown up on me.”
****
“They sold the house next door,” Lina observed, keeping one arm around Latisha’s waist as they walked together, side by side to the front door. It amazed her how her mother still smelled exactly the same—that warm, comforting, wonderful blend of hairspray, lipstick, facial lotion and White Shoulders perfume she remembered from her childhood.
With her free hand, Lina shielded her eyes from the sun as she glanced at the neighboring yard. The last time she’d been there—less than seven months ago—a realty sign had listed prominently in the lawn, but was now conspicuously absent.
“Yes, a few months ago.” Latisha nodded. “A nice woman bought it, a widow, with a son about Jackie’s age and a daughter a little younger than you.”
Behind them, Jackson and Brandon had started sparring playfully, each of them using wrist grabs, arm maneuvers and neck holds from the martial art of aikido to try and fend off, flip or throw the other into the grass, both of them grinning and winded. The women left them to their rough-housing and went inside the house, leaving behind the oppressive heat for the sudden, startling crispness of air-conditioning.
“How are you feeling, Mama?” Lina kissed her cheek. Although somewhat camouflaged by the drape of her blouse, when she’d embraced her mother, the conspicuous absence of Latisha’s left breast had been apparent. So, too, had the fact that she’d lost weight—a lot of it—and Latisha had never really had that much to spare. She felt delicate to Lina, spindly and frail, and again—as it had from the moment Latisha had called to tell her she’d been diagnosed with cancer—Lina found herself all-too uncomfortably aware of her mother’s fragile mortality.
“I still get tired pretty easily,” Latisha admitted. “But my appetite’s coming back, slowly but surely. Every day a little bit more.”
“Well, you look wonderful.”
Latisha made a half-laughing, half-scoffing sound. “Child, please. I look a mess. My hair’s still too short to do anything with and it’s too hot outside to put on any of my wigs.”
Lina looked around the living room, and beyond it to the adjacent lanai with its panoramic windows, the unobstructed view of the fruit trees and canal out back. “Something smells good,” she said, glancing toward the kitchen. “Really good. Are you cooking?”
Latisha shrugged. “Just making some biscuits. And I’ve got some potatoes on to boil. I figured you’d be hungry after your long trip. I thought I’d make fried chicken for supper.”
“You don’t have to go to all that trouble, Mama,” Lina began, but Latisha laughed, cutting her off.
“It’s no trouble at all. I never cook much anymore. I’m looking forward to it.”
“You shouldn’t tire yourself…” Lina said, but Latisha waved her hand dismissively.
“I’ll be fine, Angelina. It’s chicken, not climbing Mount Everest.”
Because she was still laughing, Lina laughed, too, then hugged her once more, breathing in deeply her mother’s sweet, comforting fragrance. “I’ve missed you, Mama,” she whispered, feeling idiotically on the brink of tears. “So much.”
“I’ve missed you, too, honey.” Latisha kissed her ear through the thick curls of her hair, then cupped Lina’s face between her hands and drew her back so they were eye to eye. “But before we go any further, and before those two quit their knocking around out front…” She hooked her thumb toward the door, indicating Brandon and Jackson beyond it. “…let’s you and me have ourselves a talk.”
Oh, shit, Lina thought, biting back an inward groan. Here we go.
That she’d managed to make it that long and far across the threshold without her mother mentioning anything about her prolonged absence—and all of the trouble that had necessitated it—had been astonishing. Latisha wasn’t ordinarily the sort to fool with niceties or to beat around the bush if she had something on her mind.
“Look, Mama,” she said. “It’s taken care of. There’s nothing left to talk about.”
“Three people are dead, Lina,” Latisha said dryly.
“I know, Mama.”
“One of them used to be your boyfriend,” Latisha continued, “who you were apparently picking a fight with the day before he died.”
“I didn’t pick a fight with Jude,” Lina said with a frown.
“I’ve had the police burning up my phone for the past six months, telling me stories about vampire cults and human sacrifices…”
“Mama, it wasn’t anything like that.”
“The FBI had a warrant to tap my damn phone, Angelina,” Latisha said, planting her hands on her hips. “I had federal marshals standing in my living room—right where your feet are planted—questioning me like I’m some kind of criminal, trying to track you down like you’re some kind of criminal.”
“I’m sorry,” Lina said. “I told you, Mama, it was all a big mess, and I’m sorry you got involved, you and Jackie both. But it’s over now. I’ve been cleared of any suspicion.”
Latisha arched her brow. “Thanks to Augustus Noble and his grandson,” she remarked. “Without whom you never would have been involved in any of that ‘big mess,’ as you call it, in the first place.”
“
Mama…” Lina began, exasperated.
Latisha held up her hand like the proverbial school crossing guard, cutting her short. “I don’t like that man. He’s done you a kindness, and for that, I’m forever grateful, but it doesn’t mean he’s on my Christmas card list from now on. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mama,” Lina said, hunching her shoulders, trying to adopt an appropriately rebuked posture.
“Now I don’t want you to think for one minute I’m going to hold any of that against this boy,” she said, with a nod toward the front door, meaning Brandon. “But I want you to hear this and understand it good so you know where I’m coming from.”
“Yes, Mama.”
Latisha studied her for a long, hard moment, then, with her lips pressed together in a thin line, she nodded once. “Alright, then,” she said. Clapping her hands to Lina’s cheeks again, she gave her a kiss on the forehead. “I’m really sorry about Jude. I never thought he was right for you, but he had his good points.”
“I’m sorry, too,” Lina whispered with a nod. Because, yeah, Jude could be an arrogant asshole, and yeah, like Latisha said, he hadn’t ever really been a good fit for her. But she’d loved him once, and he’d loved her, too, and no matter how much you thought you hated someone, when they were dead and gone, it was easier to remember the good times, to think of them more kindly.
The door opened behind them and Brandon and Jackson came inside, both of them winded and grinning ear to ear. Brandon’s hair was a tousled mess now, his shirt rumpled from their wrestling, and Jackson’s bald head gleamed with a bright sheen of sweat.
“There’ll be none of that aikido nonsense in my house, Jackson Lamar Jones,” Latisha admonished with a smile and a half-hearted finger wag. “You go wash your hands and clean yourself up, then help your sister and our guest get their bags.”
Brandon, having read her lips as she spoke, blinked in visible bewilderment at Lina, his smile faltering.
“Uh, Mama, you know, I was thinking that it would be easier all around if Brandon and I just checked in at a hotel or someplace like that,” Lina said. “You don’t have a lot of room here, and…”
“What?” Latisha looked surprised and somewhat wounded. “Don’t be silly. You’ll both stay right here.”
“But Jackie’s using the second bedroom,” Lina began.
“I’ve got the fold-out futon on the lanai,” Latisha said. “And I thought you and I could just bunk together.”
“That’s really sweet of you, Mama,” Lina said. “But it’d be really crowded, what with one bathroom and all.”
“I’m sure we can manage,” Latisha said, turning to Jackson and Brandon fully now so they could lip-read as she addressed them. “Don’t you boys think?”
Lina looked helplessly at Brandon. This hadn’t been part of the plan. If they couldn’t tell Latisha and Jackie right away about their relationship, at least they would have had their evenings together at a hotel. No one would have had to know they’d be in one room, not two. And as much sex as we’ve been having—and as good as it’s been—I don’t know that I can quit cold turkey like that, Lina thought. God, I’d die.
When Brandon met Lina’s gaze, she heard his voice in her mind: It’s no big deal, Lina. Really. Don’t worry. We’ll work it out somehow. Besides, this is why we came here, remember? To spend as much time with Jackson and your mom as possible.
To Latisha, he raised his right hand, his fingers spread wide, and touched his thumb to his chest. Pivoting his hand forward, he signed, Fine by me. If you’re sure it wouldn’t be any trouble…?
“Of course not,” Latisha said. “No trouble at all.”
He was trying to be polite, Lina realized—bless his heart. He probably sensed her mother’s animosity toward his grandfather, and indirectly toward him because of it. He was trying his damndest to get on Latisha’s good side.
“Alright, then,” Lina said, forcing herself to smile brightly. “I guess it’s settled.” Looking back at Brandon, she offered in her mind: I’m really sorry about this.
He smiled at her, gave his head a quick shake. Don’t worry about it. It’ll be fun.
Yeah, she thought dryly—keeping this one to herself as she thought of how Latisha’s mouth had turned down, a discernable frown, as she’d mentioned Augustus by name. Here’s hoping.
****
I remember this, Brandon signed with a soft, somewhat sad sort of smile, balling his hand into a light fist, tapping his forehead lightly, then drawing it down to meet his opposite fist. He stood in the guest bedroom of Latisha’s house—which had unofficially become Jackson’s for the duration of his stay with his mother—and looked at a framed photograph on a bookshelf. In it, he was no more than twelve years old, a puny scrap of a kid, standing with his father on one side and Jackson on the other. In the background, he saw one of the barns from his grandfather’s Thoroughbred farm, and in the distance behind it, the unmistakable, sleek silhouette of a racehorse out for a practice trot.
It was early enough for the sun to be little more than a rose-colored tint on the otherwise gray horizon, and cold enough for them to be wearing winter coats and hats, with hands shoved down into their thermal-lined pockets. Brandon grinned toothily at the camera. And why not? he thought now, some ten years later. I was with my two best friends—the people I loved the most in the world: Jackson and my dad.
I’m sorry about your father, Jackson signed. He draped his hand gently against Brandon’s shoulder to draw his gaze, then said aloud: “He was a good man, Brandon. And he loved you very much.”
Brandon had always envied the fact that Jackson had retained his ability to speak, despite the loss of his hearing. Jackson had explained that it wasn’t such a great thing, because his speech was anything but perfect. Although he’d once been able to discern sounds, elocution and nuances of pronunciation, he could no longer. I probably sound like I have a nose full of snot, he’d told Brandon once. And like English is my second language.
With a wistful nod, Brandon gazed at the framed picture in his hand. It was funny how he’d never really noticed how much Sebastian and Augustus looked alike until after Sebastian was gone. In the photograph, he could now see the resemblance was uncanny; with the exception of their hair—because Augustus’s was waist-length and a pale, ivory hue, and Sebastian kept his short-cropped and dark, nearly black, like Brandon’s own—they could have passed for twins.
I miss him, Brandon signed, a forlorn sequence of gestures—first, a tap of his index finger to his chin, then a twist for miss, then he cupped his fingers into a C-shape which he then drew to his forehead and out again. He found himself feeling choked up all of a sudden as he gazed at the haunting image of Sebastian’s face—his smile still fond and familiar to the son who had idolized and adored him.
How can you think that Augustus Noble is going to somehow take your father’s place? Lina had asked him before they had left California. Why the hell would you want that?
Because I miss him, he thought helplessly, putting the photograph down and turning away from it, blinking against the sudden sting of tears. In the corner of the room, he noticed a stack of boxes, each one sealed with heavy-duty packing tape and labeled in black magic marker: Jackie’s.
What’s all this? he asked, glancing back at Jackson again and taking note of more boxes on the other side of the room, beside a computer table. BOOKS, one had been labeled, and another said, MISC. – JACKIE.
Just some stuff from the apartment, Jackson signed back. I went back north a few weeks ago. My aunt Yvette came to stay with Mom while I was gone. I had to take care of some things. I brought some of my stuff back with me.
With a silent laugh, Brandon said, Looks like you’re moving in. And when Jackson didn’t respond to this, simply glanced away, his brow arched as he thoughtfully scratched the cap of his head, Brandon blinked in surprise. Are you? he signed, the movements drawing his friend’s gaze.
Jackson shrugged. For a while, anyway, he signed back. Just until
I can find my own place, get settled in. A friend of mine, Valien Cadanahe lives next doorhe's got an apartment in town, in the back of a motorcycle garage he owns. I'm thinking about moving in there once I'm sure Mama will be okay on her own.
But what about your job? Brandon asked. Jackson was a teacher at St. Bartholomew’s, a parochial school for hearing-impaired students. He’d been on a sabbatical from the position while Latisha had undergone surgery and chemotherapy treatments, but it had been Brandon’s understanding, as relayed to him through Lina, that Jackson had every intention of returning north eventually, and resuming his work in the city.
I quit, Jackson signed, surprising Brandon anew. It’s alright. I can find another one. I’ve already got a couple prospects lined up around here. In the meantime, I’ve got enough in savings to put down on a house of my own, as soon as I find one I like. And with the insurance settlement, I’ve got enough to live on, help Mom out some, in the meantime.
The settlement he’d mentioned stemmed from damage to his apartment that had occurred following a scrap between Brandon and his deranged brother, Caine, and sister, Emily. They’d tracked him from Kentucky to Jackson’s rooftop flat, and had attacked him in the middle of the night, leaving the place trashed as a result. It didn’t take a genius, or a long look around the room—and to see the handful of potted plants scattered here and there—to realize that the exotic, tropical plants that Jackson had collected hadn’t survived.
About your apartment… Brandon began to sign, his expression sheepish. Although Jackson had always had strong suspicions and misgivings about them, he had no idea what they were, or what powers and abilities their birthright as vampires had endowed within them. As far as Jackson was concerned, some of his students from the school had broken in and had a party while he’d been out of town.
The insurance pay-out left me enough for something else, too, Jackson signed with a sudden, mysterious sort of grin. He motioned with his hand, then turned for the door. Come on.
