Page 10 of Until Landon
Where is the fuckin’ toothpaste? Rummaging this half bath drawer outside the guest room is not what I want to be doing.What is all this shit?Here it is. I put a spread of Crest on the new toothbrush and start the brushing. The nearly awake guy in the mirror stares back at me. I need strong coffee.
With one whiff, the smell of bacon makes up for everything. Then Kim’s voice.
“Who’s the exotic girl in the cool car?”
They must be looking at the photographs. And she called it right. Mom had a look. I quit with the tooth brushing and spit the evidence in the sink.
“My wife. Victoria the Beautiful. That’s what I called her.”
What? I never heard him share that with anyone. I still, and strain to hear each revealing word said to someone he hardly knows.
“I can tell she loved being called that. What woman wouldn’t?”
“Yeah, she liked it.”
He’s smiling. I’d bet on it.
“What year is this?”
“That was early on. Probably seventy-eight, nine.”
“There’s love in her eyes,” Kim says in a soft tone.
I barely can hear the words, but Dad heard each one. His hesitation is all I need to know they landed one meter too deep. He’s nodding, I’m sure. I head down the hall to rescue my father from his emotions. Shit. He doesn’t like to cry in front of anyone.
“What about the awesome looking ride? What kind of car is that?”
The subject was changed and it was smooth. She has empathy and gives him a hand out of the sadness.
“There he is. Morning, boy!”
Walking into the kitchen, Dad’s smiling face greets me. He’s faking it. The comment about Mom’s eyes left a mark. He sits at the counter rolling the edge of a napkin. Trying to get past the past. That’s his tell. The dogs are waiting patiently in the kitchen for whatever bits of food might make it to their mouths. I am completely ignored except for a quick glance from Barney.
“Morning, Lancelot,” Kim says, still at the wall of photographs. “I’m making eggs and bacon!”
“Morning, you two.”
The name doesn’t suck. Nicknames bug the hell out of me usually, but I don’t hate that she called me that. Didn’t expect this upbeat attitude. Thought it would be more about her being scared. Guessed that one wrong. I’m not going to bring last night up if she has processed it already.
“Is this you?”
“Oh yeah. With my bicycle. Best Christmas present ever.”
“Ohhh. That’s so sweet.”
“He still has the old thing.”
“Yep. Never getting rid of it either.”
“He’s like his old man. We’re sentimental.”
“I think it’s a wonderful trait. Said the woman who still has her prom dress.”
It is not her prom I’m thinking of. It’s what she wears now. My shirt over the black jeans looks good tied in front like that. If the pants were gone, she’d be cookin’ like a James Bond girl. Loose morning hair, the huge white shirt, and the tempting, pouty bottom lip. I imagine her breathlessly sayingOh, James!as we fuck like animals.On second thought, it would beOh, Landon!
Last night I noticed the oval shape of her eyes. Without makeup it is even more obvious. They are the color of a stormy Tennessee sky …what the fuck are you doing, man? Writing a poem about the girl?I attempt to get a grip.
Standing in front of the wall of pictures, Kim has no idea I’m thinking of fucking her or writing poetry in her honor. I am the only one privy to the perverted information. I move behind the wide counter and pour a cup of Yuban. But the fantasy continues. I can multitask.
