Preppy, The Life & Death of Samuel Clearwater, Part TWO (King)(5)

“I know. And I love my dad. That’s why I’m doing this. And if it wasn’t for the past due notices I found shoved into a drawer in his kitchen and the lawsuit from the mortgage company in his desk, I still wouldn’t know he was losing his house.”

“But still. This house is special to you. You look like you’re going to make out with it for f*ck's sake,” Brandon said with a laugh.

“I don’t know about the making out part,” I said, returning his smile. “But it is special to me. It always will be,” I admitted, “But if I’d known earlier what dad was going through I would have sold it a lot sooner. He should never have...”

“Stop, Dre. You needed rehab. You needed to get your ass in school. Your dad did the right thing by you. He didn’t tell you because he doesn't want you to worry. I thought you were done blaming yourself? Isn’t that another one of your NA things?” Brandon tugged me into his side and gave me a quick kiss on the head before releasing me. Brandon and I didn’t have any secrets. He knew all my dark and dirty, and I knew all of his, although cheating on a test in sixth grade is about as dark and dirty as Brandon had ever gotten.

“Thanks, Squeaky,” I said, using my nickname for him. It stood for squeaky clean. “I’m always working on it.”

I took my time opening the front door, remembering the way Mirna always used to be on the other side of it to greet me with a smile and her famous cookies. It felt wrong that she wasn’t around. In the house, or in the world.

Mirna died six months earlier.

“Well, if you are adamant about this sale then I insist on helping you fix this place up,” Brandon said, smoothing his brown hair back with both hands. He unbuttoned his shirt, revealing more sweat soaking the white tank top underneath. “What do you need me to do?”

I cocked an eyebrow at him. “You? Help? What do you know about fixing up a house?”

“Not a damn thing,” he admitted with a laugh, his dark gray eyes lighting up with amusement. His big smile showed off more bright white teeth than should be able to fit in one mouth. “But you know about all this stuff, and you can teach me. I’m a quick learner. Besides, what did you think I came all the way down here for?”

“Because my dad asked you to babysit me,” I answered honestly.

“No, for moral support and handyman services,” Brandon said. I tried to contain my laugh. The last thing handy I saw Brandon attempt was when he hung a picture. Within three minutes it fell off the wall.

I rehung it.

The house was going to need a lot of work to bring it up to sellable condition but time wasn’t on my side. I could use any hand offered and right then, Brandon was the only hand offering. “Alright, Brandon, let’s go then. I’m Tim the Tool-Man, and you’re Al.”

“Why do I have to be Al?” Brandon whined. “He wears plaid.”

“More facial hair,” I joked, but my smile quickly fell the second I entered the living room and a powerful sense of deja-vu I’d ever experienced slammed into me. Then the memories came back to me one by one like I was experiencing them all over again. Sitting in the living room trying to con my grandmother, running from a spray of Preppy's bullets into the woods, meditating with Mirna in the backyard, and sleeping with Preppy's body wrapped around mine in my little bed.

Chills danced up my spine.

Just as I got to the kitchen and another round of memories took shape in my mind a throat cleared from behind us. I jumped around to find Ray standing in the doorway. Her long blonde hair was stick-straight, the breeze blowing through the porch made it so she had to keep tucking the wayward strands behind her ears. She wore a simple white tank top and a pair of cut-off denim shorts. A baby, no more than six months old, bounced on Ray's hip, dressed in all pink. The little one shared the same bright blue eyes as Ray.

My heart squeezed when the baby giggled, pulling on a crown necklace Ray wore around her neck. “Hi, Ray, come on in,” I said, and then my thoughts immediately went to Preppy. “Is everything okay?” I tried not to let my sudden sense of panic seep into my voice.

“Yeah, everything’s fine. I just wanted to come by and say that I’m sorry about what happened this morning with Preppy,” Ray said, looking around the empty living room while bouncing the giggling baby.

“It’s not your fault. It’s nobody’s fault,” I said. “Wait, how did you know where I was?”

“Small town. Just gotta throw a rock in the right direction.”

“Hi, I’m Brandon,” Brandon said, introducing himself and extending his hand to Ray.

“Hi, so great to meet you, Brandon,” Ray said. “I’m Ray and this here is little Nicole Grace.”

"Awe, like after Grace, Grace?" I asked as Brandon and Ray shook hands.

Ray cocked her head to the side. "Yeah, like the one and only," she said, covering her suspicious reaction with another smile.

“Well nice to meet you, Nicole Grace,” Brandon cooed in his best baby voice. He shook the baby’s hand with his thumb.

“I’m so sorry. I should have introduced the two of you,” I apologized. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind right now, and it seems that my manners didn’t make the list.”

“No worries,” Ray said taking a stroll about the room, checking out the bare walls and low-hanging wood beams that ran across the ceiling. “I saw the for sale sign in the car. Is this your place? You’re selling it?”