The Obsession(53)

“Don’t throw it. He really shouldn’t run yet.”

Xander pushed up again. “Anything you don’t like on pizza?”

“No anchovies, no pineapple. Anything else is fine.”

The dog dropped the ball between Naomi’s feet, and when she didn’t respond laid his head on her knee.

“What’s the dog’s name?”

She heaved a sigh. “Tag.”

“As in ‘you’re it’?”

“No. As in he tags along.”

“Tag.” The dog couldn’t have recognized his name yet, but apparently he recognized humor as he looked over at Xander, gave a doggy grin. “It works.”





      PANORAMA


   This visible world is but a picture of the invisible,

   wherein, as in a portrait, things are not truly,

   but in equivocal shapes.

   SIR THOMAS BROWNE





Eleven




Once or twice a week Xander and Kevin grabbed a beer after work. Sometimes they actually planned it and met up at Loo’s, but for the most part it just happened.

It just happened that Kevin swung into Xander’s garage after trips to the lumberyard and the tile distributor—and the half an hour huddled with his electrician.

He knew how to juggle jobs. Naomi’s was priority, but he had a couple others going, which meant he spent a lot of time traveling from site to site.

And right now he wanted a beer.

The garage doors, lowered and locked, didn’t mean Xander wasn’t around. Just as his truck sitting in the parking lot didn’t mean he was. Taking his chances, Kevin got out of his own truck and headed around the back of the garage, where a zigzag of steps led to Xander’s apartment.

He heard the music, classic Stones; he followed it around to the rear bay—Xander’s personal bay—and found his friend tending to the love of his life.

The ’67 GTO convertible.

Or, as Kevin thought of it, the Date Car.

“Who’s the lucky lady?” Kevin asked, pitching his voice to ride over Mick’s.

Xander glanced up from polishing the chrome rocker panels. “She is. She needed detailing. I’m just finishing it up.”

Xander had what he considered a damn fine crew of his own, but nobody, absolutely nobody, touched the GTO but himself. He loved her from her chain mail grille to her eight taillights, and every square inch of her Coke-bottle body between.

He rose now to take a critical look at his own work.

She shined, sparkling chrome against the red body. That was factory red—just as his grandfather had driven it off the showroom floor.

“Are you going to take her out for a spin? I’m up for it.”

“Not today. We got rehearsal in—” Xander checked the old schoolhouse-style clock on the wall. “In about an hour. We got a wedding up in Port Townsend on Saturday. Lelo’s cousin.”

“Right, right. I remember. Got time for a beer?”

“I can make time.” Xander took one last look at his sweetheart and stepped out. “Nice evening. How about we do this on the veranda?”

Kevin grinned. “That works.”

They trooped up the steps into the apartment. The main space held the living room, kitchen, and—with the card table and folding chairs—the dining area.

Bookshelves—loaded—rose and spread over an entire wall of the living room. Kevin had built them—and the bookshelves in the skinny second bedroom used as an office, and the bookcase in the bedroom—when Xander bought the property and the business.

Xander opened the old fridge, a cast-off harvest gold number that had been the rage in the seventies, grabbed two bottles of St. Pauli Girl, popped the tops on the wall-mounted opener—a rust-colored naked woman holding the opener in upstretched arms—and tossed the caps in the trash.

They went out the bedroom door onto a postage-stamp porch and sat in two of the folding chairs that went with the card table.

And considered it fine.

“Big wedding?”

“Yeah. I’ll be glad when it’s done. The bride texts me every five minutes the last few days, screwing around with the playlist. Anyway. It’s a living.”

“Did you break your ban on the Chicken Dance?”

“Never happen. I took an oath.” Xander stretched out his legs. He’d positioned the chairs so he could just stretch them out without his feet dropping off the edge. It worked.

“I saw your built-ins in the big house—library? And the tile work in the half bath. Nice.”

Kevin stretched out his legs as well and took his first end-of-the-workday pull. “You were up there?”

“Yeah. The dog was wearing your pants, man. I gotta say, he looked better in them than you.”

“I’ve got excellent, manly legs.”

“With bear pelts.”

“Keeps me and my woman warm in the winter. It was a smart solution. I don’t know how the hell that dog kept getting out of the cone, but once she got the idea for the shorts, and we got them on him, he left his no-balls alone.”

Kevin took a second pull on his beer. “And you’re still trying to move on that?”