“Marisol adores me, what are you talking about? She’s off today. Dad’s here. He’s out back, building a workbench. He’s got grand designs for this place. A gym, a guest suite, a media room, you name it.”
Luke chuckled. “You’ve been watching the house and garden channel again, I see. I hope Dad is planning on building a ramp.”
“The fastest ramp in Pine River! Hey, Luke,” Leo said, and turned his head slightly, as much as he could. “Go easy on Dad, okay? He does the best he can.”
Luke smiled sadly. Personally, he didn’t know how their father managed to do what he did; it all seemed so overwhelming to Luke. “I know, man. I know.”
He walked on through the little house, his nose wrinkling at the musty smell. There were water stains on the ceiling, and the rust-colored carpet was threadbare in places. The wall paint was peeling around the window frames, and where there wasn’t paint, there was a garish, seventies-era gold paper on the walls.
Luke paused in the kitchen to deposit the chips and beer on the tile counter. The kitchen was a small galley type, but it had the requisite appliances for an all-male household: a microwave and a dishwasher. The dirty dishes stacked in the sink looked as if they had the remnants of pasta clinging to them, and the handle of a ladle stuck out of a pot on the stove. Since Mom had died, this was how the Kendrick kitchen looked—like a giant Petri dish of experiments gone wrong.
Luke opened the back door onto a small, bi-level deck. There was room for only one folding chair and a table on the upper deck. On the lower deck, Dad had draped a two-by-four across the railing and was busy running a belt sander across it. When he paused, Luke called out to him.
Startled, Luke’s father jerked upright. “Luke!” he said, his face one big grin. He turned off the sander, rubbed his palms on his jeans and walked up the steps, his arms outstretched. He was an affectionate guy, and gave Luke a tight bear hug, slapping him on the back a few times before letting go. “You look good, son. Real good,” he said.
“Thanks. Are you all right, Dad?”
“Right as rain,” he said.
“And how’s the world’s best armchair quarterback?” Luke asked, referring to Leo.
“Oh you know him,” Dad said. “He’s always good. Got him a new video game and that’s all he’s talking about this week.”
“Marisol is still coming every day, right?” Luke asked, fearing that for some insane reason, his dad wouldn’t tell him if Leo’s in-home care stopped coming. Luke worried about it—he paid Marisol what he thought was a pittance, but it was all he could afford.
“Oh yeah, yeah, she comes around every day, like clockwork. She had some personal stuff today, that’s all. Leo loves her.”
Luke snorted. “I can imagine—Marisol is a good-looking woman.”
His dad smiled a little. “She is that.” He looked down at his hand, stretched the fingers wide, and said apologetically, “Sorry you had to come all this way, son.”
He looked tired, Luke thought, and as usual, a wave of sympathy coupled with a stronger wave of guilt swept through him. “I wanted to come. I haven’t been home to see you guys in a while.” It was only a small lie; Luke hadn’t wanted to come. He liked being in Denver, where he didn’t have to think about the perpetual sea of trouble on which his family seemed to bob around like little buoys. “How about a beer?” he suggested.
“Love one,” his dad said.
In the tiny kitchen, Luke tossed his dad a beer and helped himself to one.
“A party and no one invited me?” Leo called from the living room. A moment later, he and his chair crashed in through the narrow doorway. Luke tried hard not to grimace, but the marks on the door indicated Leo was having a difficult time getting around this tiny house.
“Have you been keeping up with baseball?” Leo asked as he maneuvered himself into a spot at the table. “Dude, you won’t believe the pitching depth the Rangers have this year.…”
The three men talked about sports—well, Leo did most of the talking there—and about life in general. Dad and Leo asked Luke about his work in Denver. Leo expounded about Marisol’s finer qualities without mentioning her mind, and Dad and Luke laughed along like pigs. It felt like old times, when they’d all lived on the ranch where Luke and Leo had grown up. Back before Leo got sick. Before Mom died. Back when they’d been three guys hanging out, talking about guy things. Before Luke got calls at night saying Dad and Leo weren’t at the ranch anymore.
But then Dad reminded Leo that he was not supposed to eat cookies, only soft foods, and reality roared back into that little kitchen on a freaking freight train.
Leo, God bless him, just grinned. “That means you’re going to have to put my pizza in a blender, bro,” he said to Luke. “Be sure and get a big straw because I like lots of cheese.”