Dad looked at his watch. “About time to go get Brady. You want to drive? Might as well get back on that bike.”
He opened the door to the laundry room, grabbed a key ring off a decorative hook, stepped into the garage, and then pressed a button on the wall. One of the garage doors began to rise. He tossed the keys to the Honda to me.
I told myself as I got behind the wheel and oriented myself to the Honda’s pedals and gears that the vehicle was nothing more than a buggy with a well-trained, invisible, very powerful horse. I backed out slowly, feeling especially nervous as I eased alongside my dad’s car, which was still parked there in the driveway.
The fifteen-minute ride to the high school was unremarkable. Dad sat beside me giving me directions and pointers. I didn’t break any laws or run into another car or cut anyone off, though one guy did honk at me for driving too slow. Dad just laughed and told me to take as much time as I needed.
When we arrived at the school, we got out of the car and stood by it while the football team members dispersed onto the parking lot by the gym. Brady was soon walking toward us with another teammate. Both had freshly showered hair and gym bags slung over their shoulders. The friend said goodbye when he arrived at his own car. Brady hiked up his gym bag and continued on toward us, one of the few, I realized, who had no car of his own.
I don’t know what I was expecting exactly by way of welcome. I hadn’t seen Brady in two years, and though I figured he wouldn’t come running to me with arms outstretched, especially not in front of the other guys, I did think he would at least pick up the pace, maybe drop his bag when he reached the car to give me an enthusiastic hug or two-handed shake. Yet, if anything, his paced slowed when he saw me. As he closed the distance between us, I could see that he had grown more than I had imagined. He was nearly as tall as I was, and he looked much older than fourteen.
“Hey, Tyler,” he said casually, when he was a few feet away, as though he had just seen me the day before. He made no move to embrace me, which was fine, but he didn’t stretch out his hand to me either. So I stretched out mine.
“Hey, Brady.” When he took it for a shake, I pulled him close to give him the same kind of half hug our father had given me.
But he stiffened at my touch and pulled away quickly. When his eyes met mine, I saw traces of disappointment. Or maybe annoyance. Anger, even?
“How’s it going?” I asked, pretending I hadn’t noticed.
“Great.” He answered quickly and politely, but with no enthusiasm.
We got into the car and exchanged a few more pleasantries, and the tone of my brother’s voice and demeanor didn’t change. As we drove out of the parking lot I was sure of two things.
First, Dad had greatly exaggerated Brady’s enthusiasm that I be the one who stayed with him while he and Liz were out of the country.
Second, something had changed between Brady and me since the last time we had talked.
He was definitely not pleased to see me. And I had no idea why.
ELEVEN
Dad took us out to dinner at one of his favorite seafood restaurants. It was a noisy place, full of people enjoying buckets of crab legs, beer, and a basketball game on big screens scattered throughout the restaurant.
It was hard to have a meaningful conversation, though maybe that’s what Dad wanted. Surely he had sensed Brady’s less-than-genial attitude toward me, not just in the school parking lot, but after we got home and in the hour or so before we left to go out to eat. The raucous vibe of the restaurant didn’t lend itself to intimacy, so we didn’t need to feel awkward about our lack of it.
I tried to engage Brady in conversation anyway, but his one-word replies to whatever I said stifled any true dialogue. He wasn’t rude. He answered every question, but he didn’t elaborate and he didn’t ask me anything in return. Dad was the one who brought up my grandparents and Jake, and he asked whether I was still seeing Rachel.
When we arrived at the house again, Brady excused himself to go upstairs and do homework. Dad invited me out on the patio, tossing me a UCLA hoodie to wear because it was chilly enough for a jacket but not so cold that I would need the coat I had worn when I left Philly that morning. He grabbed a beer from the fridge and offered me a drink. I spotted a tall, skinny bottle of Italian orange soda, which looked interesting, so I decided on that.
As we settled onto chairs, he turned on the fire pit. I had to smile at how effortless it was for him to start a fire. Another for the book.
Fires are worked by remote control.
I waited to see if he would bring up Brady’s attitude toward me. When he didn’t, I knew I had to.
“So what’s up with Brady? Does he not want me here?”
Dad took a swig from his bottle. “I honestly don’t know why he wasn’t happier to see you. I told you on the phone he’s going through a phase of some kind. This must be part of it.”
“But you also told me he wanted me to come.”