Homes with just three people can have a dining table large enough to seat more than ten.
White-trimmed French doors revealed a patio and pool in the backyard. Off the dining room was a family room dominated by a wall unit and a TV screen the size of a picture window. A second fireplace, this one framed in wood, was accented by a huge portrait of my dad, Liz, and Brady. They were dressed in white shirts and denim, and they posed in the midst of a grove of oaks, the three of them looking relaxed and at ease with each other and the beautiful setting. Other photos of the three of them were placed among the shelves of the wall unit: Brady in his football uniform, Liz in her nursing clothes in a sea of ebony faces, my dad in his army uniform in front of one of his helicopter crews, and a few other family shots of them by the ocean, and on a sailboat, and one of the three of them with the dog.
What I didn’t see was the picture of Brady and me that was my favorite, the one of us on the beach that I kept a copy of in my cigar box back home. It had been framed and on display in my dad’s last house, but for some reason he had opted not to put it out here.
He continued with the tour, apparently unaware that I noticed that picture’s absence. “The cleaning people come Tuesdays and Fridays, so they were just here today.”
“They?”
“Liz found a service that sends out three maids at once. They can get in and out in less time. They have the key, and they know the alarm code and all that. So you don’t have to be here when they come. We never are.”
It struck me that I might need a bigger notebook.
Dad moved on to a hallway that branched off the kitchen. “Here’s the laundry room. Brady can show you how to use the washer and dryer. Garage is right through here. Oh, and look what I found since the last time I saw you.”
We walked through the laundry room. Dad opened the door into the attached garage, which was big enough for three cars.
“Here’s what I want you to see,” Dad said as he moved past a silver Honda and the red 1973 Dodge Challenger he’d had the last time I had visited, to the far side of the garage. There sat a midnight blue sedan with lots of chrome and a long front end.
“It’s a 1969 Pontiac GTO.” Dad was smiling from ear to ear. He looked up at me, awaiting my response to his newest acquisition. He always did this whenever he got a new muscle car, but as automobiles weren’t a regular part of my world, I usually had to feign my excitement.
“Wow. That’s a nice-looking car.”
“I’ve been wanting one of these for years. This one’s in great shape. The best I’ve seen without taking me to the cleaners, if you know what I mean.”
I was pretty sure I did.
I didn’t know what to say beyond another comment that it was a nice car. Whatever I was looking for out here, I knew it had nothing to do with a vehicle.
“I’m glad you finally found it then,” I said.
He ran his hand across the car’s smooth side. “It needs a little fixing up, and a good detailing on the inside. But not much else.” He paused for a moment. “Sometimes I wish…”
I waited, not sure where he had been headed with that.
“Maybe when I get back from Qatar, I can take you out in it,” he finally said.
“Sure.”
An awkward silence followed that wordlessly reminded us both that the life I had lived up to this point had not included cars.
He abruptly turned from the vehicle. “Well, let me show you the rest of the house.”
As we moved back across the garage, Dad gestured to the silver, smallish sport utility vehicle that was parked closest to the laundry room door.
“That’s Liz’s. It’s a Honda CRV. You can use it while you’re here. Or mine.” He turned to me. “Been a long time since you’ve driven?” He said it with a small measure of what I could only describe as trepidation.
“Ya.”
He patted my shoulder. “It’s like riding a bike, Ty. It’ll come back to you the minute you get behind the wheel. Just take it slow. And stay in Newport Beach and surface roads if you can. Brady can get a ride to school with the neighbor kid while I’m gone and another kid’s parents will bring him home after football practice every day, so you won’t have to worry about that unless you want to.”
“All right. Whatever Brady wants. He and I will figure it out.”
Retracing our steps, we went back through the kitchen, the little dog following us, excited to be on the move again. Dad pointed to a closed door on the farthest family room wall as we walked past.
“That’s my den. There’s another door to the patio in there, and my desktop computer if…if you care to use a computer. Brady can show you, uh, how to find your way around on it.”
“I use a computer at the library, Dad. We order parts from our suppliers off the Internet.”
He seemed pleased. “Oh! Good to know. I guess I haven’t been to your grandfather’s shop in a while.”
“Twelve years. Brady was two the last time you came.”