The Amish Groom ~ Men of Lancaster County Book 1 (17 page)

T
WELVE

I
was awake when I heard my dad getting ready to go to the airport. It was about five in the morning, which was eight back in Pennsylvania. Given that I was usually up before sunrise at home, sleeping in this late felt almost decadent.

I dressed for the day in my new
Englisch
clothes and slipped on my watch, though I had to loosen the strap first. It had been a few years since I’d worn it. When I opened my bedroom door, Frisco was there to greet me. He had apparently heard me moving around and assumed I’d be coming out. He danced at my feet, and I leaned down to pet him before heading to the stairs. I had yet to warm up to the odd little creature, though his presence made me miss Timber all the more.

The house was bathed in darkness, and out of the large window in the living room I could see that the street lights still shone and stars had only just started to wink out. I found my dad in the kitchen, sipping a tall glass of orange juice as he stood at the counter-height table, tapping his finger on an iPad.

He looked up when he sensed he wasn’t alone. “Tyler. Hey. Did I wake you?”

“No. It’s just way after sunrise back on the East Coast.”

“Ah. Of course. Farm life and all that.” He powered down the iPad and slipped it into a black leather case slung over one of the tall chairs. “Any last-minute questions for me?”

We had already gone over a lot, from how to use the Keurig coffeemaker to where the dog park was located to what day and time Liz needed to be picked up from the airport. The minor details I had down. The things I wasn’t sure about, he couldn’t address.

“Can’t think of anything at the moment.”

“You know you can email me whenever you want. I’ll be checking it often during the day. Do you still have email?”

I nodded. I had a Gmail account I had opened a few years back that I used only for the buggy business. It had been a year since I had used it for anything personal. I really didn’t have anyone to email except for my dad and Brady. Dad wasn’t one for email small talk, and Brady had barely used email since he had gotten his iPhone and could text instead.

“You can call me if there’s an emergency. And make sure you give Brady the number to that cell phone we got yesterday.”

“Will do.”

Dad grabbed the leather case off the chair. We walked toward the front door, where his bag was already waiting. From inside a coat closet he pulled out a leather jacket.

“I tried talking to Brady last night after you went to bed,” Dad said, a sigh in his voice. “I asked him why he didn’t seem too happy you were here. He acted as though he didn’t know what I was talking about. I didn’t press it. I’m on thin ice with him already. I know you probably don’t want to hear this, but I feel that you’re my last hope. If you can’t reach him, I don’t know who could.”

“God could, Dad.”

He smiled wistfully. “Sure. God could.” As an afterthought he added, “So maybe you’ll put in a word with the Big Guy on our behalf?”

“I already have,” I said with a smile.

He opened the front door, and the warming night sky was tinged with dawn. Dad inhaled deeply and then turned to me. “I feel like I didn’t do right by you, Ty. I’ve felt it for a long time. I can’t change what’s in the past, but I can try to do better with Brady.”

In my entire life, I had never once heard my dad speak of regret when it came to me. I didn’t know what to make of it now.

“I don’t feel that you didn’t do right by me,” I said quickly.

He nodded, but not by way of agreement. It was as if he already knew that’s what I would say. “I kind of wish you did,” he said softly, almost so soft that I didn’t hear it.

A white van pulled up to the curb, its side painted with an airport shuttle logo and a navy blue jet.

He thrust out his hand to shake mine in farewell. “Thanks for being here, Tyler. It really means a lot to me.”

Our eyes met, and for some reason my father suddenly looked different to me. He was only fifty, but he seemed older than that and…defeated somehow. My heart went out to him. With a sigh, he stepped onto the tiled walkway, pulling his black suitcase behind him. Frisco was at my ankles, watching him go and barking the whole time. I scooped up the dog to shush him before he woke up the entire street.

My dad got into the van, slid the door shut, and the vehicle pulled away.

I went back inside the quiet house, set the dog down, and headed to the kitchen to have a cup of coffee, read my Bible, and contemplate what had just happened here.

I feel like I didn’t do right by you, Tyler. I’ve felt it for a long time.

I had to admit, just hearing those words filled some need inside of me, one I couldn’t explain and didn’t even realize I’d had until now.

I was showered and dressed and already on my second K-cup, as Dad had called it, when Brady came down the stairs a few minutes after six. He looked half awake and irritable.

“Hey,” he said to me as he crossed the kitchen floor and grabbed a clean coffee mug and a K-cup for himself. As I watched him use the machine, I mentally added another one to my list.

Individual cups of hot coffee can be made in a wide variety of flavors with the push of a button.

I almost made a comment to Brady about him starting the day with coffee at his age, but thought better of it. I was drinking coffee at fifteen. “Morning,” I said instead.

He shuffled over to the fridge and pulled out a tall container of flavored creamer. “Dad get off okay?”

“Yes.” At last, a question instead of just an answer. “Can I take you to school today?”

“Nah. I got a ride.” The coffeemaker sputtered and spewed as it filled my brother’s mug, ending the cycle with an odd mechanical whir.

“I’m happy to take you. And pick you up after football.”

“Yeah, I know. I got a ride, though.”

Brady poured the cream in his cup and stirred it lazily. He turned to leave the kitchen.

“Brady, can you hold on a second?”

He stopped.

“Look, I just want you to know that I’m really glad I can be here with you while Dad and Liz are gone. And I’m looking forward to finding out what you’ve been up to since the last time we talked.”

“Okay.” His tone was cordial but void of warmth.

“Can we catch up at dinner tonight? I think I can figure out the grill. I could make us some hamburgers. Would that be okay?”

He blinked. “Sure.”

Again, he started to leave.

“Wait, Brady.”

Again he stopped. This time, I detected a sigh of annoyance.

“What?”

I moved closer to him so that just a few feet separated us instead of the entire kitchen. “Have I done or said something to offend you?”

“What do you mean?” There was no questioning lilt to his voice.

“You’ve barely said a whole sentence to me since we picked you up from school yesterday.”

“What would you like me to say?”

Was he serious?

“I guess I’d like you to tell me what it is that I have done wrong so we can clear the air.”

Brady took a sip of his coffee, but his eyes never left mine until he lowered the cup. “How could you have done something? You don’t even live here, man.”

He turned from me to head back up the stairs, but I called out after him, asking if he wanted eggs.

“Okay,” he mumbled, not even glancing my way as he went.

As a child, I had helped
Mammi
in the kitchen often enough to know how to prepare eggs. I sprinkled a bit of paprika on them as they were finishing, just like she did, and popped bread into the toaster. When Brady came back downstairs, he grabbed the plate I made for him, grunted his thanks, and took it over to the family room. He clicked the remote for the TV to an ESPN station and ate while he alternately watched the TV and fiddled with his phone.

I brought my plate into the family room too. I took a seat on the other side of the couch, set my plate down on the coffee table, and pulled out the phone Dad had bought me the day before.

“I have a cell phone to use while I’m here.”

“Yeah, Dad told me.” Brady didn’t look up from his own phone.

“Can I give you the number so you’ll have it?”

“Just text me. I’ll have it then. Dad said he gave you my number.” Again, no eye contact.

“Sure.” I found Brady’s name in the short list of contacts and tapped out a message.

How are the eggs?

I sent it and waited. Almost instantly, Brady’s phone made a trilling sound. He grinned ever so slightly and tapped a message back to me.

Not bad. Add some grated cheddar next time.

I responded with,
Will do
.

And then I quickly followed up with,
Is there a camera in the house I could use?

He looked up at me when he got the message. “What do you want a camera for?”

“I don’t know. To use as a doorstop?” I smiled, but he didn’t exactly appreciate my attempt at humor.

“Well, duh, you know what I mean. What do you want pictures for? You can’t take them back with you.”

I shrugged. “I was thinking I might sign up for a photography class or something.”

Brady stared at me. “A photography class.”

“Yes.”

A few seconds passed before he responded. “You’re kidding me, right?”

“No. No, I’m not. Do you have one? A camera, I mean?”

“I use the one in my phone. Dad uses his phone. My mom has a real one, but I’m sure she has it with her in Honduras.”

“Ah.” My heart sank. I hated the thought of having to buy one when I didn’t even know yet if I was going to like it or not.

“There might be a couple old ones in a cabinet in Dad’s study. I think I saw one or two in there when I was looking for an HDMI cable.”

I didn’t know what an HDMI cable was, but I supposed it didn’t matter. “Great. Thanks.”

“You’re only here for a month, though,” Brady said. “How much can one person learn in that amount of time anyway?”

“I don’t know, but time is the one thing I do have. From what I can tell, there’s not one unfinished project to complete or broken appliance to fix or even flower bed to weed around here. You’re gone all day. I might as well put those hours to use somehow.”

“Uh-huh. Like with photography?” My brother over-enunciated the last word just in case I hadn’t recognized the sarcasm.

I ignored it. “That’s right. You know of a place where I could take a few classes while I’m here?”

Brady still seemed to be waiting for the punch line. An Amish man learning to use a camera? I supposed that made
me
the punch line.

“Well, my mom took a community ed class on tai chi last year in Irvine. It only lasted six weeks. You could maybe look into something like that if you’re serious. But I don’t think you’re going to find a class that only lasts a month and that starts, like, this week. Maybe you could hire a professional to tutor you.”

“Great idea.”

“Though that could get pretty expensive.”

I thought for a moment. “What about, instead of a professional, a gifted amateur? Aren’t there people like that who will just teach me one-on-one for a few lessons?”

“Well, you could look on Craigslist or the classifieds, but…” He made a face.

“But what?”

“You just need to be careful, Tyler. You’re not in Amishland here. Not everybody who says they have something to offer can be trusted. Know what I mean?”

I did. His concern for me trumped his Amishland comment. He may have been mad for some reason, but he still cared about my welfare.

“Here’s a thought,” he continued. “My friend Aaron has a sister who goes to Orange Coast College. I think she’s majoring in photography. Maybe she can recommend someone. I’ll ask him at school today.”

“Orange Coast College? Is that local?”

“Yeah. She lives at home and commutes to school.”

“Okay. Thanks. That would be great.”

“So, you won’t go contacting people you don’t know, right?”

I laughed. “I promise I won’t contact people I don’t know.”

“Good. And if you need something to do while I’m gone, here’s a suggestion. Find out everything you can about the Vikings. And I don’t mean the football team. I have a paper about them due on Friday, and I haven’t even begun thinking about it.”

Brady rose from the couch and headed toward the kitchen, so I clicked off the TV and followed him there, telling him I’d be happy to round up some resource materials if he thought that would help get him started.

“Where’s the public library?”

Brady set his plate in the sink. “I don’t know. Except for in school, I haven’t been to a library since I was a kid. Why?”

“To help with your research?”