Jacob's Ladder (18 page)

“Whoa!” I said. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. My brother just got here.” Candace and Bianca had the grace to blush.

“Save the catfights for when he knows you and can put money on them.” Bianca swatted me, and Candace offered the glacial raise of one perfect eyebrow.

“I"m going,” I said, wrapping a hand around my brother"s upper arm and shooting Muse a grin. “Anyone who wants to see us will have to show up at Nacho"s later, but I make no claim that I"ll be recognizable by then.”

“You"ll recognize me.” My brother saluted the ladies. “I"ll be the one holding up his fairy ass.”

We walked to Dan"s car, leaving a pocket of silence behind us.

I turned to him as we left the parking lot. “You did not just say that.”

“Yes, I actually did.”

I turned to him again, almost because I couldn"t keep myself from checking to see if it was true. My brother was there, smiling and free. “Welcome back, Brother.

I"ve missed you so much.”

“Me too, man.” Dan didn"t look my way, but he shoved my shoulder hard enough to knock me into the passenger door. “Me too.” 100

Z. A. Maxfield

Chapter Fifteen

Since I"d just had lunch at Miss Independence and Dan had grabbed breakfast late, we helped each other through an enormous bowl of chips and salsa and lined up beer bottles on our table until the busboy finally took them away. Someone came by and told us it wouldn"t be right not to have guacamole, so we ordered some and a couple of shots of Patrón, because by that point both those things seemed like a good idea.

By the time the late-afternoon sun slanted onto the patio, we were laughing at elephant jokes and making plans to become surf bums.

“That"s where it"s at. We could get an RV and follow the weather, go where it"s warm. Surf when we feel like it.” Dan spun the beer in his hands and then lifted it to hover in front of his lips. “You can take the Pan-American Highway to Chile.

Once you get to South America, it runs all along the coast except for a small chunk of rain forest.”

“Who are you, man?” I asked him. Dan"s familiar face, his dark brown hair and eyes, his olive skin; all the features that were so very much like my own zoomed in and out of focus, but his voice sounded familiar.

“I don"t know, Jakey.” He picked at the label from his beer. “I have no idea, and it"s killing me.”

I couldn"t think what to say. When I"d gone to Israel with Zeyde, I was barely out of high school. Dan had been in graduate school. In the ensuing years he"d done everything right. Gotten his MBA, then his broker"s license, and immediately begun to work exclusively in the pricey Monterey Bay area, both selling real estate and investing in it, buying and flipping homes in Santa Cruz while it was still a viable way to earn heady cash, and also making independent loans, buying and selling mortgages. He"d done extremely well, and it looked for a while like the sky was the limit. But the past three years had been a swing of the pendulum in the other direction that had cost him and others like him a great deal of his accumulated wealth, which I calculated to have been—at one point—in the millions.

It looked like his marriage was ending too, and it was hard to know how to respond, because I"d never liked his wife. As he drank and talked, it became clear to me, at least for the moment, that he wasn"t fatally depressed by his change in fortune. In some indefinable way he felt freed by it.

This Dan drinking with me was the same Dan who raised his arms to the sky in triumph on the day we celebrated our freedom from tyranny—the day my zeyde St. Nacho’s 3: Jacob’s Ladder

101

took us to the Jersey Shore so our dad could sneak away. That was a season of incredible highs and gut-wrenching lows. In the end, even counting the loss of our father, I don"t think we had ever had a better day than that. Anything we dreamed seemed possible—even likely—then.

Dan smiled shyly behind his beer when the dinner crowd found its way into the bar. He began to hum with the music of Nacho"s talented violinist.

“What the hell?” Dan craned his neck around to get a better look at the musician, who played a mariachi favorite.

“Isn"t he something?”

“How come I"ve never been here before?”

“Probably because your wife doesn"t eat,” I snarked.

“This place is awesome. Is this the place with the brunch?”

“Yeah, I guess. If we get hungry enough, we can order dinner. Food"s great.

Later it turns into a gay bar.”

His eyes widened. “No kidding?”

“No kidding.” I caught familiar faces out of the corner of my eye, two of the local firefighters. Not Cam. I was pretty sure he was still on shift until the next day.

They acknowledged me, and I lifted my chin in their direction.

“Looks like you already know some of the locals.”

“Yeah, well, with my history, did you doubt it? It"s either the cops or the EMTs.” I took a sip.

Dan frowned. I could tell he was cataloging the traces of the fight I"d had with Sander, some of which were still faintly visible on my skin. “You going to go back?

To him?”

“
No
.” I said it more forcefully than I had planned. “No way in hell.”

“Good.”

“I don"t know if I still have a job at Il Ghiotto either.” Dan leaned back and gazed out toward the beach. “Aren"t we a pair of fucking losers?”

“I"m not a loser. I don"t feel like a loser.”

“Because you"re shitfaced.” He rose. “I need a cigarette.”

“You don"t
smoke
.”

He laughed as he pulled a pack and a lighter from the front pocket of his jeans, then sat back down. “Not in front of anyone who could tell Mom or BreeAnna.

Mom"s dead, and I don"t give a fuck about my wife so… I can smoke here, right?

We"re outside.”

“I think so; people do.”

“Don"t look at me like that.” He lit the cigarette and took a deep drag. “If you don"t have a job, what will you do?”

“I was thinking about moving again. There"s nothing keeping me in LA.” 102

Z. A. Maxfield

“Yeah?”

“I"ve been thinking about moving here.”

“This place?” Dan glanced around. “What"s here?”

“There might be a job offer. Pastry chef for a new bakery. I"ve actually been working under the table at a pie place.”

“Like a Marie Callender"s?”

“No, this is a place that does pies for delivery to local restaurants and markets.

The owner is thinking of opening a retail space, something like a French café. And she needs a pastry chef.”

“If she"s doing the pie business, that means you could do pastries, bread, and cakes. You could manage the retail space, and she"d be free to enlarge her delivery empire.” He tapped his cigarette ash out on the patio floor; a busboy caught him and brought an ashtray. “Would you be partners?”

“Doesn"t that cost money?”

“Everything costs money.” He stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray. “Some things are worth it, though.”

I knew he was thinking about BreeAnna and what it would cost to be rid of her.

“I can back you in a small business.”

“Won"t your finances be difficult to sort out until after the divorce?” Dan chuckled and picked a stray bit of foil off his beer bottle. “Can you say prenup? We had an infidelity clause.”

“Oh, you lucky
fuck
. What the hell was she thinking?”

“She wanted to keep
me
from cheating and make me pay if I did. Plus she thought I"d be an asshole.” He grimaced. “Maybe she was right there for a while. I acted like one.”

“Uncertain times make things hard between a husband and wife,” I said. “It"s pretty common to fight over money.”

“She wasn"t used to hearing the word no. It"s been hard for her. I don"t want to fight with her, and I won"t have to because that clause gives me the right to throw her out on the street. Most of what I had was acquired before we met, so legally it"s mine anyway. She gets the house, a car, some spousal support. Things got bad when the market tanked, and I won"t be doing as well, but she"ll be happy I didn"t toss her out, and that will buy me peace of mind.”

I nodded. “Peace of mind is good.”

“You can"t buy that,” he agreed drily.

“But you just said—”

“Has any of this drinking and snacking given you an appetite?” He signaled the busboy over and asked him to send the waiter.

“Not really,” I told him honestly.

St. Nacho’s 3: Jacob’s Ladder

103

He rolled his eyes. “Don"t say that. For the first time in five years I"m in a restaurant where I can actually eat without apologizing.” I felt bad for not being hungry. “I didn"t think of that.”

“I am
free
.” He lifted his beer bottle. “
Viva la revolución
, Yasha. It"s Independence Day!”

A voice from behind echoed his enthusiasm.

“Viva! What are we celebrating?”

I turned an instant before Cam put his hand on my shoulder. I was beginning to wonder whether the firefighters" shifts were all part-time. “Hi, Cam. Do fires only occur between the hours of eight and five? You guys all seem to just knock off for the night.”

Cam glanced back toward the bar. “Some guys are actually off shift. I just came for takeout. They"re making paella at the station tonight, and I"m allergic to shellfish. If we get an alarm while I"m here, my pager goes off, and I have a minute and a half to get back to the station.” He preened, showing his muscles. “I"m big
and
fast, so I can make it.”

“Big, yes.” I felt like teasing him. “But fast? I"ve yet to see this speed of yours.”

“I"m big all the time.” Cam gave me a predictable leer. “But I take my time with all the really important things. I"m only fast when lives need saving.” Dan spoke. “Why don"t they just make it without shellfish?”

“What?” Cam turned his attention on my brother and did a double take. My brother was an older, more refined version of me. When we were kids, I always felt like he was James Bond and I was barely GI Joe. In a world where I could be said to have an appeal based on friendly, unassuming charm, Dan radiated something more elegant and cool. Something powerful that BreeAnna hadn"t entirely eclipsed with her neediness and hauteur. She"d eroded the foundation of self-confidence I"d always admired in him, but it seemed to be back with a vengeance.

I wanted to sing the “Hallelujah Chorus.”

“The paella—why don"t they leave the shellfish out?” my brother clarified.

“Because they like it,” Cam answered as if Dan were stupid. “It"s not hard to run over here and pick up something, and it doesn"t make sense to deprive them of something they like.”

Dan grinned up at him, trotting out his lethal charm, and Cam did something completely uncharacteristic. He blushed and looked down at his hands.

“Okay, bye. I gotta go.” He turned and headed back inside the restaurant, picking up speed, and didn"t look back.

“Do you think his pager went off?”

“I don"t know. I"ve never seen him like that. It"s like you just…deflated him.” Dan smacked his forehead with his hand. “I"m in a
gay bar
.” 104

Z. A. Maxfield

“Yeah. But not everyone in here is gay. I don"t think he thought anything, if that"s what you mean.”

He was laughing, and I thought that was a good sign. “Thank goodness Sister BreeAnna Homophobius is no longer with us. She"s like the fucking church lady when she gets going.” He mimicked her unkindly, and I nearly spit my beer. “
That’s
because your brother’s unnatural, and when someone is unnatural, they’ve forgotten
that they become the tool of a little homosexual guy we like to call Satan, the prince
of darkness, the son of man, the devil, the beast, beeeeeelzebuuuuub
…“

“
Dan
…what the hell?” I busted a gut laughing. I had no idea who this person—

who looked and sounded exactly like my uptight, humorless brother—was, but I loved him. “Why did you marry someone like BreeAnna in the first place?”

“I dunno. I thought I loved her enough to make it work.” I must have made a sound of denial, because he shook his head at me. “I really
thought
if I… Anyway, I don"t know. It didn"t take long to see the problems we"d have.”

“I can"t imagine how you stood it.”

Dan leaned over the table toward me, cupping an empty beer bottle between hands, which were like a mirror image of my own. It was as if—suddenly—all the fight went out of him. “I"m not him.”

“Who?”

“I"m not Dad. I didn"t hurt her, and I didn"t leave. Even when I wasn"t happy.” Dan"s loyalty to BreeAnna had always baffled me, but now I understood it was another of my father"s strange legacies. Like a bill marked
payment due
from Dad"s hand to ours.

Shit.

“
Dan
.” I breathed.

“Never mind. It"s not important anymore, and it could have been worse.” He grinned. “I had to pass my own test. I had to prove I"m not Dad. I never will be. Best million I"ll ever spend.”

St. Nacho’s 3: Jacob’s Ladder

105

Chapter Sixteen

Why wasn"t I the least bit surprised when JT showed up at the bar at around ten wearing his femme du jour on his arm?

For that matter, why was I still there? Dan and I had spent the entire day and into the night drinking and reminiscing. I"d long since lost count of the number of beers we"d drunk and baskets of chips we"d eaten. We"d stopped only long enough to order plates of tiny grilled fish tacos. They came—succulent mild whitefish topped with crunchy shredded cabbage, pico de gallo, soft Mexican cheese, and the hottest smoky hot sauce, which necessitated our switching to margaritas. Between the booze, the memories, and the terrific food, it was no wonder time had simply flown by.

I was heading back to the patio from the bathroom when I spotted JT. He milled through the throng and pressed the flesh of those locals he knew, tugging his date along like a puppy. I saw his face when he caught sight of my brother and stopped in his tracks.

Dan and I really do look alike. We were different enough in age that we"d never been mistaken for twins as children, but now it wouldn"t stretch the imagination too far. Except for his hair, which was starting to go gray at the temples, and the bulk I"d gotten in the Tzahal which I"d kept by the hard work and heavy loads I often carried at Il Ghiotto, we could easily have been twins. I saw JT"s gaze travel the crowd, and when he found me, he realized I knew he had been looking for me. He lowered his eyes and pushed his date toward the bar.