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I don’t know how in the world she says the best possible thing, or worst possible if I let myself think rationally. She says, “You’re burning, too.”
The drill makes a loud thump as it hits the tile. The belt sander is a little quieter because I’m positioned so when I drop it, it lands on the little rug McKenzie’s mother has in front of the kitchen sink. Neither of us look where the tools drop. Our eyes don’t leave each other’s face until they close when my mouth reaches hers and this time the kiss is going to last until I’m damned good and ready for it to end.
There’s a movie from when I was a kid about a princess bride about to marry an evil prince. The guy who plays Detective Columbo is a grandfather in the movie reading the story to his grandson, the boy from a sitcom when I was a kid. Who cares about the story. It’s a funny fairytale, I guess. The important part is the end, when the grandfather reads the part when the princess and the pirate who rescues her kiss. The guy says, “Since kisses were invented, there are only three of them that can be called perfect, passionate, and pure. This one left them in the dust,” or something like that, anyway. If that makes four perfect kisses in the world, there are five now.
The way the kiss begins is almost exploratory, almost like a continuation of the test kiss from before. It doesn’t take long before any hesitance on McKenzie’s part disappears, though. She goes from kissing me to being kissed. Any defenses this girl might possess disappear. Her guards come down. Her gates open. Any other way you want to put it, there’s nothing happening at the moment for her but me. Since my world is distilled down to Mack and Mack alone, I’m completely happy with that.
Perfect. Passionate. Pure.
And then the front door opens, and Hank says, “What the hell is Grant doing over here?”
McKenzie and I back away from each other and there’s that look of terror on her face again. “I didn’t need you bitching about me borrowing your tools and never returning them,” I say as I reach down and pick up the drill and the sander.
McKenzie says, “Daddy, you’re home!”
He comes around the corner holding a suitcase and I open the garage door. “Goddam snowstorm. The airport’s closed. They waited until we got to Vegas to tell us.”
“So, we flew back,” Grace, Hank’s wife, says stepping in.
I smile at her and step into the garage. “If you need me to kick his butt and make him drive you to the beach or something, you let me know.”
I hear something about driving along the coast or something, but the door has one of those automatic closers. I end up in complete darkness in the garage and have to put the sander down to fumble for a light. When I get it on, I reach for the sander and freeze.
There’s a box full of kid booze in the garage…flavored vodka. Those cherry and grape things Canadians call alcopops that used to be called wine coolers back when I was Mack’s age. Jägermeister. Peppermint schnapps. Mack’s planning a party or something. This is the booze kids throw parties with.
I can feel my muscles tensing but I force myself to walk to the workbench and slide the drill case into its slot. I put the sander in its slot just as the door opens. “What the hell is taking you so long?” Hank asks.
“I’m just trying to figure out if it’s safe to drive around when the guy with a loaded weapon, the one in the passenger seat, is the kind of a psychopath who has perfectly sized cubby holes for his power tools right next to all the hand tools color coded with electric tape on the handles.”
“Says the guy who calls me if he wants to fix his drywall.” I turn around and chuckle, and he says, “We’re taking off in the morning. Gonna drive up to San Francisco and do the weekend there. Taking Monday off.”
“Guess you get to stay married, then,” I say as I walk back toward him. If I can just get him out of the garage, the alcohol goes unnoticed.
Why the hell do I want that?
“What the hell is this? McKenzie. Get in here!” Okay, so that ship has sailed. Both McKenzie and her mother step in. Her mother looks curious. McKenzie looks… Well, she looks a hell of a lot like before, when she kissed me to keep me from walking into the garage and seeing her stash. “What the hell is this?” he says gesturing to the box, “You know how many kids I have to scrape off the pavement getting drunk and all the crap it causes?”
McKenzie’s goes pale as a ghost. Her mother says, “Your father asked you a question.”
“What’s going on?” I ask. I can’t believe I’m doing this.
“There,” Hank says. He points to the box without taking his eyes off Mack.
“Aw hell, Hank. I brought that.” He and his wife turn and look at me. “Caught a college kid delivering to some high school kids on Valley View. Not on duty, just picking up my dry cleaning. Anyway, I figured making them shit their… Sorry, Mary. Sorry Mack. Uh, what I mean is, I flashed my badge, scared the college boy and the kids, and sent them on their way. I figured you might want it for your bar.”
“Seriously? What am I gonna do, throw a rave?” He glances at McKenzie, “Sorry, Honey.”
“Do kids still do raves?” I ask.
He lifts up the box. “I guess I’ll take the schnapps. Holidays coming up.”
“You don’t want anything else?”
“Nah.” He looks at his wife. “Grace?”
She smiles and says, “Are we going to invite the other kids and playNever Have I Everand that quarters game?”
“Well, I don’t want it. Hey Mack, why don’t you pour all that out in the sink. You mind?”
