The Fix (The Carolina Connections, #1)(10)
“Like what?” I asked, picturing my dad playing croquet or painting tiny military figurines with a little brush and a monocle. Inside my head I chuckled—outside I was the picture of serious reflection.
“Oh, you know, putting together jigsaw puzzles or collecting coins or stamps. Or painting landscapes. There are all sorts of things.” Her excitement was palpable.
Oh wow. This was going to be fun.
“I’ve got one,” Bailey howled. “We can get him some gardening clogs and a subscription to Home and Garden.” Bailey and I were swapping new hobby ideas for Dad between fits of hilarity, picturing the ultra-masculine force of nature we knew as our father in an array of awkward scenarios. All of them included our mom cheering on the sidelines. So far the best one involved the Westminster Kennel Club and some dog trimming shears.
“You cannot tell Mom about this conversation,” I reiterated, sitting across from her desk and trying to school my features.
“Duh, you shit head,” came her clever response.
It was Monday morning and we were supposed to be going over some bid paperwork for an upcoming meeting with a potential client, but I could not resist sharing our mom’s plan from the weekend.
“Oh,” Bailey started, finally getting us back to business, “I forgot to tell you. Doug called with some potentially troublesome news about the foreclosure properties on Old Oak Ridge. It seems the neighbors are not taking too kindly to having a commercial property in their midst. In his words, ‘Trouble is a-brewin’.”
I waved her off. “Tell them to take it up with the zoning office. Everything is in order on our end. If they don’t like it, tough. Tell them to move.”
“No, dear brother of mine, you get to tell them all of that. Why do you think I’m telling you? You’re going to be there anyway when the crew starts the tear down on Thursday so there’s no need for little old me to butt in.” She smiled sweetly.
“Thanks.” I smiled back, a tad less sweetly.
Meetings concluded for the day and all phone calls and e-mails returned, I finally walked in the door of my apartment just after eight o’clock. I had done a grocery run the night before so at least I knew there would be something to eat in the fridge. And beer, thank Christ. As anticipated, I had yet to get my hands dirty since I’d been back in town and it was making me irritable. I just needed a night to sit on the couch, watch some TV, and drink a beer.
Thankfully, I now had a couch, which hadn’t been the case last week. I had chosen to rent a place until I found time to shop for a house or condo and settle in more permanently. My mother, of course, had offered my old room. Yeah, not gonna happen. And I would have considered staying temporarily with Bailey but then I remembered that she was Bailey and I concluded that my own place would be just fine.
Most of my furnishings and belongings were in storage back in Austin where I lived for the last two years. When I’d gotten the tearful call from my mom about my dad, I dropped everything and got on a plane. Luckily, a job I’d been working was just wrapping up, so I wasn’t leaving a bunch of loose ends. But there was still two years’ worth of my life I just left hanging.
Some of my buddies back there kindly offered to move my stuff into storage for me and I had to break my lease, but the landlord liked me and was a big-time family man himself, so he hadn’t penalized me like he could have. It didn’t hurt that I’d helped him put a deck on his house last summer and his wife was always giving me cookies and stuff. We had a good relationship. In fact, I had several good relationships and a pretty sweet life in Austin. I was sad to leave.
After watching the game with my dad this past weekend, I had moved a couch and a few other old furnishings from their basement to my apartment. I figured it was enough to tide me over until I found a new place and could get my things from Austin moved permanently. Hopefully, once things calmed down a bit, I’d have time to search for a better place. This one was kind of a shithole, but it was cheap. And for the moment I was content with borrowed furniture, beer, and TV.
Halfway into my IPA and an episode of Ice Road Truckers my cellphone rang. I glanced at the screen.
Shit. Reagan.
I muted the TV and answered the call, “Hey Reagan, what’s up?”
“Nate! Oh my God, it’s so good to hear your voice!”
“Yeah, you too. What are you up to? How are things back in Hippie Haven?”
Her voice lost its initial excitement. “They suck without you, Nate. I miss you.”
And that right there was what I’d been afraid of. It was the reason I’d avoided her calls for the past week, although I kept promising myself I’d call back when things lightened up. Reagan was a really nice girl. Honestly. And she made it clear she found me to be a nice guy too. But I suspected she also thought I was the guy. Reagan was sweet and pretty hot, she was definitely not the girl. Who even knew if any such girl was out there, but I knew for sure that Reagan was not it.
We met at a bar a few months before I’d moved away, and we’d been casually seeing each other since—casual being the key word. I was very upfront with her because the last thing any guy wants is girl drama. But then I started noticing some big fucking red flags. She left some of her things at my apartment, and when I mentioned them she tried to laugh it off. Then I heard one of her friends ask about her boyfriend and at first I thought, oh shit, is some guy gonna jump me for banging his girl? Until I realized they had been talking about me. I tried to back off and I even sat her down for a conversation about it, but nothing stuck. I’d been planning to break things off completely when my dad’s heart attack hit and all hell broke loose.