The following morning I woke to the smell of bacon, coffee, and eggs. My mother was sitting at the dining room table, which stood at the end of the kitchen. I heard the bacon sizzling, and when I came around the counter, I saw Tad holding the frying pan handle with one hand and a spatula gripped in the other.
“Well, well,” I said in the tone of a nobleman, “to what do I owe this honor?”
Mom put her hands to her mouth, covering up a laugh, and Tad looked at me, and said, “Tis the great feast!” He held the spatula to the ceiling and his other hand out to the side. When he was pulling the spatula down, it slipped out of his hand, and when he bent over to pick it up, his head hit the handle of the frying pan, sending bacon shrapnel to the wall and the floor. As he tried to pick it up, our dog, Hawk, sprinted from my mother’s feet to the bacon and had himself a few pieces before Tad could pick them up.
“Ma, I’m sorry,” Tad said. “Hawk can eat that?”
“Not really, but what’re you gonna do?” She laughed. “Hawk’ll eat anything.”
“It’s true,” I said, “Even the neighbor dog’s shit.”
“Leif, watch your mouth,” my mother said.
“All right, I’m watching it, but if I go cross-eyed or blind, I’m calling DCF.” I laughed, poked her in the arm, then returned to my chair. Yeah, it’s safe to say I was—still am—a little smart-ass.
The coffee pot dinged as Tad brought a plate of bacon to our table. Our plates were already setup; I assumed he did that, too. He was in such a damn good mood that morning. Of course, he should have been, right? He did just get out of prison. And the only reason I remember the breakfast, aside from the fact that it was our first breakfast together as a family in half a decade, was because of what he said when we were halfway through the meal.
“Can you put Final Destination 3 on a DVD for me?”
“Sure,” I said.
My mother hardly noticed the question; it was unimportant to her, or she probably didn’t quite understand it enough to care. I think she was just glad to have all her hatchlings back in the nest. That she was up that morning was a rarity, and the only reason she was up, was because she took some time-off to help Tad adjust. That’s my mother for you, always the saint and always putting her children before her own needs—a movie cliché, and thank heavens for her. My medical bills had damn near killed her. She got a settlement from Mr. Wilmer—the drunkard—but it only went so far. Post medical care for a paraplegic is expensive; it’s a downright crime really, and the money doesn’t stop with medicine. She had to get a van with one of those automated ramp gigs, pay for my chair, which wasn’t so bad, because I had outright refused to get an electric one. If I was going to be stuck in the damn thing with worthless legs, I’d at least pride myself by gaining some arm strength. I wasn’t ripped or anything, but I was lean; it was all I had going for me.
“Do you have any plans, now that you’re out?” my mother said to Tad.
“I left the Suns.”
My mother and I looked at each other as if Tad weren’t in the room. I’m pretty sure joy, glee, bliss, and every other word for happiness was plastered across our faces. I didn’t know too much about the Suns. Tad kept me out of it, but my mother knew. She hated them. They had absorbed her son, changed him. Tad had dropped out of school to wholly join the Suns, and began earning money in ways he never told any of us about and could never file, truthfully, on a 1040-EZ.
My mother let out a breath. No, two. She closed her eyes, mouthed something to herself, looked at Tad, then said, “That’s good. I’m glad… You know, I was asking about some open positions at the hospital, and I think—”
“Can you give me some time?” Tad said. “I know you don’t owe me nothing, and I appreciate it, but I just need some time.”
“Right, no—of course—I keep forgetting how hard this must be on you.” She reached her hand out, placed it atop Tad’s. “Take as much time as you need.” She smiled, got up, and started clearing the table. Tad helped, while I played with Hawk. That little white, seven-pound, fluffy Pomeranian was my best friend. I got him for my tenth birthday.
I went to my room to burn the DVD for Tad. My DVD drive at the time had Lightscribe technology, which allowed me to put a picture on the front of the disc. I went online, snagged a poster for Final Destination 3, cropped it, and burned the image onto the DVD. It took about fifteen minutes in all, and the disc looked as close to the real thing as free would allow it to be.
“Tad,” I said, well screamed, rather. He came to my door a minute or so later.
“Yo?”
“I got the movie for you.”
“Word. Thanks, bro.” He took it from me, analyzed it. “Damn, how you get the photo on it?”
I explained the Lightscribe tech to him; he nodded a few times, then said, “Aight. Look, I gotta bounce for a few, but I be back.”
“Where’re you going? Can I come?”
“Ah, man, I wish you could, but it’ll only be for a few. I was gonna take the Nissan, and… well.”
I knew where he was going with that, and decided to play along, as if it didn’t matter that I couldn’t actually ride in his car without it being a major inconvenience for both of us. My dear mother had kept Tad’s Altima in the driveway ever since he was arrested. She drove it around the block once a week to keep its parts moving, even filled-up the tank the day before Tad was released.
“Oh,” I said. “Okay. Don’t forget school just started back up, and it’ll be Monday before you know it. I want to hang with you before I go back.”
“No worries, little bro. We’ll hang. There’s just something I gotta do. Or someone, actually.” He winked, patted me on the shoulder.
“Another one… or Rachael?” Tad had dated a Rachael Harris on-and-off since he joined the Suns. She was Tony’s sister and two years older, but it was pretty much love from the start. She was short, skinny, and had a rack you could hang a wardrobe on. Not much of a back door, but, Tad wasn’t really an ass guy, anyway. She suited him and he suited her. I don’t know if they ever kept in touch while he was locked up; she stopped coming by our house not long after, and I hadn’t seen or heard from her since.
“Ah,” Tad said, “we’ll see. We’ll see. I be back. Love you, Leif.” He hugged me, then headed out the door.
If I had been mauled by a garbage disposal and lost two fingers, I could count on that nubby hand the amount of times Tad told me he loved me. That was the second time.
“Love you, too,” I said, and he was gone.