The First Time Again: The Braddock Brotherhood, Book 3 (5 page)

“I doubt it,” Lisa replied. She glanced at her watch. “He should be getting out of school about now.”

“The school says he missed first period today,” the man replied.

Baylee heard Lisa’s audible sigh of resignation. “I don’t know if he’s here or not, but you might as well come in. Maybe Dad knows.”

Jack Frost—yes, that was his real name, Baylee reminded herself—followed them in. His physical presence seemed to fill up the living room, shrinking everything else into insignificance.

The twins were in the kitchen. Baylee could hear the sounds of them putting together a snack, but there was no sign of her father.

“Daddy?” Lisa called.

She went down the hall to his bedroom. Baylee set her purse down and turned to Officer Frost. “You’re welcome to have a seat.” She indicated the worn sofa, matching chair and her father’s recliner.

“I’m fine,” he replied, his piercing gaze making her uncomfortable even though she’d done nothing wrong and had nothing to hide.

Lisa was knocking on bedroom doors and calling to her father and Matty before opening them. She came back empty-handed. “Dad’s not here. Neither is Matty.”

“Mind if I take a look in Matty’s room?” Frost asked.

Lisa’s gaze collided with Baylee’s.

“I’ll go with you,” Baylee said. She opened the door to Matty’s room and stepped inside. Frost did likewise, taking a walking tour of the small space. There wasn’t much to see. A twin bed with a rumpled plaid comforter, a matching dresser and bookshelf took up most of the space. The closet door hung ajar. Frost opened it a bit wider and glanced in. Nothing to see there, either, Baylee thought. Except for Matty’s clothes and shoes, and basket of dirty laundry. A few personal items were scattered around. A car magazine. Some loose change. A fast-food wrapper and empty cardboard cup.

Matty was messy like a lot of teenage boys, but he wasn’t slovenly. Diana wouldn’t have stood for it. He’d retained at least some of what she’d instilled in him, Baylee thought sadly. But she’d be hurt if she’d lived to see his frequent brushes with the law. Which hadn’t started until after her death.

“Okay,” Jack Frost said. He indicated his inspection was over and followed Baylee back to the living room. Lisa had escaped to the kitchen with her sons. The murmurs of their conversation were barely audible.

“You know an unexcused school absence is a violation of his probation.”

“I know.”

“I need to speak to your father.”

“I know.”

“And to Matty.”

“Yes.”

They’d been through this routine so many times before, Baylee had it memorized. She wasn’t Matty’s guardian. She had no control over him. Therefore, she was powerless. Her father, though legally responsible for Matty, had been unable to deal with his disappointment when Matty first started getting into trouble after Diana’s death. He drank before then, too, but since the loss of his wife, he found solace in a bottle and seemed to have given up on their adopted son.

“How have you been?” Frost asked.

He’d relaxed his stance somehow and looked slightly less official in his capacity as Matty’s probation officer.

“Me?” Baylee asked in surprise.

“Yes. You.” He almost smiled. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him smile before.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you?” He did smile. He had a nice smile even though he looked like he could break somebody’s neck if he wanted to.

“Yes. I am.”

“How are things going around here in general?”

They’re falling apart
, Baylee wanted to say but didn’t. “We’re doing the best we can,” Baylee told him, which was the truth.

From his shirt pocket he withdrew his business card and handed it to her. “I’m sure you have one of these, but take this in case you don’t. My private cell number’s on the back. Call me if there’s anything I can help with. Or if you want to talk. For any reason.”

Baylee stared at him. Was he flirting with her? Her twisted radar where men were concerned made it hard to tell. She accepted the card. “Thank you.”

“Don’t forget to have both your father and Matty get in touch with me.”

“I will. Goodbye.”

She closed the door behind him and turned the card over to see the handwritten phone number. She dropped the card in her purse, trying to think why she would ever need to call him.

Chapter Four

“Hi, Mom.”

“Trey!” His mother’s delight came through the phone. “I was going to call you later, see if you got in okay.”

“Yep, I’m here.”

“You should have let me stock up for you. Did you get to the store?”

“I’m heading there, now, as a matter of fact.”

“You’re coming for dinner, though, right?”

“I don’t know, Mom. How’s Dad?”

“He’s fine. You’ll come.”

Trey ruminated for minute. He wanted to see his mom. Wanted her comfort and acceptance. But that meant he’d also be sitting at the table with his father.
You can only do what you can do.
Brad’s advice again. Avoiding people or unpleasant situations wouldn’t make them go away. The bad feelings they brought up wouldn’t go away either. His father would have to get used to having Trey around because for the foreseeable future he wasn’t going anywhere.

“I’m roasting a chicken,” his mother wheedled. “Mashed potatoes. Gravy. Baby peas.”

“Are you making biscuits?”

Lynn Christopher laughed. They both knew his agreement was a foregone conclusion. “Of course. Want to know what’s for dessert?” she teased.

“Chocolate chip cookies?”

“It’s a surprise. We’ll see you at six.”

“I’ll be there.” Trey disconnected. If his mom knew about him getting pulled over last night, nothing in her manner now gave it away. More likely his dad would hear something at the hardware store today and he’d be the one to break it to her. Or one of her friends might get wind of it and tattle.

“Great,” Trey muttered under his breath as he maneuvered through the traffic in Hendersonville. “Just great.”

In this small-town environment there were few secrets. Reputations were built on good deeds or bad. There never seemed to be any in-between. Parents were judged by their children’s behavior from infancy on. Andy Christopher had enjoyed the admiration of his peers while Trey had been the hometown hero on his way up. But he’d also shared their disappointment when Trey’s downward spiral began and possibly a certain degree of shame when he’d hit rock bottom.

One day at a time.
Rehab drilled that phrase into the heads of everyone who went through it. There was no other way to live. He had control of the choices he made leading up to the present moment, but he couldn’t undo the past.

Recovery had taught him to be more reflective, something he’d never had time or interest in before. But the sleepless nights, the endless cravings, the actual withdrawal from painkillers and booze gave him lots and lots of time to contemplate. His physical mobility had been drastically limited due to his knee. As an inpatient he’d been forced to keep a journal. Reluctant at first, he found rambling on paper helped clear his head and deal with his emotions. Even after his release, he’d kept at it. He’d learned to meditate as well. He wasn’t exactly enlightened, but he was more at peace with himself than he’d ever been. He’d never be able to explain this kind of stuff to his dad, who was a no-nonsense kind of guy. Andy didn’t believe in psychological mumbo jumbo. He expected men to pull themselves up by their bootstraps and deal with whatever came their way. How many times had he told Trey to suck it up, rub dirt on it, walk it off, be a man?

Trey ambled through the Super Walmart in Hendersonville. He hadn’t thought about such things as obtaining milk and cereal, meat and fresh produce, for a long time. Miriam had done the food shopping. Or, he supposed, Hayley had.

Now he was on his own and he’d have to fend for himself. He supposed he could learn to cook simple meals. How hard could it be? His mom did it all the time. She wasn’t a gourmet by any means, but everything created in her kitchen tasted good and filled a man up. He sincerely hoped she’d made chocolate chip cookies and she’d send some home with him after dinner.

He stocked up without regard to nutritional value. If it looked good, he bought it, making sure to get staples like salt and flour and sugar.

By the time he got home and put the groceries away, he had some time before he needed to leave for his parents’. Time to meditate, clear his head, center his thoughts.

He found his grandparents’ back porch the perfect place to do this. He couldn’t manage to sit cross-legged on a mat, nor did he think it was necessary to achieve what he wanted. He sat at the table in one of the cushioned chairs and used another for a footrest. He’d loaded the kind of soothing music he liked onto his iPod, the kind without words, filled with chants and sitars.

He got comfortable, closed his eyes and let his mind wander.

He woke an hour later and knew he was going to be late. He yanked the ear buds out of his ears, got himself together, located his keys and called his mom.

No excuses. “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m on my way.”

“That’s fine, sweetie,” she assured him. “We’ll see you when you get here.”

His mom was used to holding meals, heating leftovers and eating on the run. She’d somehow managed to keep him and his father fed that way from the time he was in the peewee league right up until the last game of his senior year in high school. There was always a practice, a game, a camp, something to chauffeur him to. If his dad couldn’t do it, she did. She always managed to feed him before, after or on the way.

He pulled to a stop in his parents’ driveway, spewing gravel. Their arthritic golden retriever, Bo, hauled himself up from where he’d been lounging on a rug on the front porch and offered a hoarse bark.

“Hey, Bo,” Trey greeted him, pausing to rub him behind the ears.

He opened the screen door and
home
greeted him. Nothing much had changed since his visit last year for his grandmother’s funeral. He strode through the living room with its comfortable furniture to the kitchen, where his mother was at the stove, dishing up food.

Lynn turned and her face lit up. She set down the spoon and the bowl and hugged him.

His mom was all soft curves. He dwarfed her, but she didn’t seem to mind. When they separated she smiled up at him. “How’s my boy?”

“I’m good, Mom. It’s good to be home.”

His father stomped in from the mudroom off the kitchen. They eyed each other for a moment. Trey stuck out his hand. “Dad. How are you doing?”

Did he imagine it or did his dad take his hand reluctantly? He knew there’d be no hugs. There never had been. Dad was tough. Cold. Hard. Where his mom was soft, his dad was all sharp angles. Maybe that’s why they were still together. Each made up for what the other one lacked. Not just physically, but in personality. His mom’s warmth somehow balanced his father’s sternness.

“Glad you could finally make it,” Andy said. Trey wasn’t going to apologize. His mom was okay with it, and she was the one cooking dinner, wasn’t she?

“Me too,” he answered. He turned back to his mother. “Can I help? Want me to put those on the table?” He nodded toward the bowls and platters.

“Yes. Here. You take these.” She thrust the platter of sliced chicken at his dad. “Andy, if you wouldn’t mind.” If Trey remembered right, his father wasn’t usually expected to help with dinner preparation or clean up afterward. But Andy took the platter and followed Trey to the table in silence.

“I poured iced tea for everyone,” she informed Trey as she set a basket of biscuits next to him. “But if you’d like something else…”

“Tea’s fine, Mom. Everything looks good.”

“Well, then.” She reached for his hand. Trey reached for his father’s. For as long as he could remember, they’d always done this when the three of them were at the table about to share a meal together. They joined hands and his mother offered a simple blessing and thanks for food and family. Andy clasped his fingers around Trey’s whether he wanted to or not. He might be the tough one, but Trey had no illusions as to who was in charge around this house. Their tactics might differ, but Lynn had a way of bringing Andy around to her way of thinking that still amazed Trey. She also knew how to soothe his temper and make him see reason when the situation called for it.

As they passed bowls and Trey filled his plate, he wondered if she’d had to do that today, so his father would agree to sit at the same table with him for a family meal.

His mother hadn’t held any of his transgressions against him, even though he knew he’d hurt her with his careless behavior. She’d told him one of the hardest things was to see how much damage he’d done to himself, watching his life fall apart when she’d been powerless to stop it.

Moms, he guessed, loved their kids no matter what.

He supposed his father still loved him too, but he didn’t forgive and forget easily. Trey didn’t know what else to do except get in his father’s face on a regular basis, get him used to having his son around again and see if they couldn’t find some of the common footing they’d lost these past couple of years.