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“Good. There was an accident along I-40 that set us back a bit, but we’re here.” He crossed the threshold and looked around. “Wow. This looks different.”
“I hope you like it,” Brock said, suddenly unsure. “I can change anything you don’t like.”
“Are you kidding?” Pawpaw stroked the back of the leather sofa. “This is the nicest place I’ve ever stayed.”
“You’re not a guest, Pawpaw. This is your home.”
They both pretended not to notice the sheen of tears in his eyes. Pawpaw was a real man and real men didn’t cry. “I still can’t believe it.”
His mom shuffled her feet. “You got a restroom in this fancy place, or do I need to squat in the bushes?”
Brock directed his mother down the hall to the guest bathroom. He’d mentally tallied all the supplies he’d placed in the room, knowing he’d find something she’d swiped after she left.
“Brock, this is too much,” his pawpaw said. “I can’t acc—”
“Yes, you can. And it’s not too much. Let me show you around and you’ll see it’s the perfect size. Totally manageable for you on your own.” He led him into the kitchen and opened a drawer. “I put all the pots and pans here so you won’t have to bend over to cook.” He opened a cabinet. “Glasses and mugs here.” Opened another. “Plates and bowls here.” He pointed to a small drawer next to the dishwasher. “Silverware is in that drawer, and there’s a spice rack next to the oven.”
“There’s two ovens,” Pawpaw said with awe in his voice.
“Seems a little silly to me, but you know I don’t cook.”
“I guess I can put a casserole in one and a loaf of bread in the other.” He glanced from the kitchen to the dining area to the den where Brock had mounted a sixty-five-inch TV. “I wish your granny could get a look at this place. She wouldn’t believe her eyes.”
“She can see it, Pawpaw. I think she’s happy you’re back home.”
Pawpaw cleared the emotion from his throat. “I know you’re right.”
Brock’s mom sauntered back from the hallway, glanced around with a look of disdain. “Swanky place you got here, Paw. Ol’ Brocky-boy set you up real nice.”
Here we go.Brock gave her a scathing glare as she prowled the den, flicking her fingers over blankets and lamps, scowling at books, and touching the plant in the corner to see if it was real. She picked up a coaster from a stack on the end table and flipped it over, probably looking for a price tag. “You must have piles of money to burn.”
“I do okay,” Brock said.
She cackled, flashing her stained and crooked teeth. “I’d say you do better than okay. I’d say you’ve got enough to go around.”
“Sissy,” Pawpaw said. “We talked about this in the car.”
“I ain’t sayin’ nothing, Paw. Just giving the boy some props.”
“You’ve used the restroom,” Brock said with steel lacing his voice. “Is there anything else you need before you get back on the road?”
“Well, I—”
A knock at the door stopped his mother cold, had them all freezing in place. Brock didn’t know whether to feel grateful for the interruption or irritated at whomever was delaying his mother’s disgraceful departure. He opened the door to find Erin once again on his doorstep.
“Hi,” she said with less vitriol in her voice than in their last encounter. “Sorry to stop by unannounced again.”
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I saw another car in your drive and since it’s Friday, I thought maybe your grandfather had arrived.”
“I know you’ve got money to burn,” his mother called from behind him. “But you’re lettin’ all the cold air in the house. Why don’t you invite the girl inside?”
Irritated. Brock was definitely irritated at Erin’s untimely intrusion. Of all the people he didn’t want to show weakness in front of, it was little Miss Fake Sunshine. He stepped aside and let her enter.
“Hi,” she said to his mom and pawpaw. “I’m Erin. I live in Cherry Creek Reserve with my grandmother.”
“Ain’t that nice,” his mom said, flashing Brock with a mocking stare. She loved nothing better than embarrassing her son. “I’m Brock’s mother, Priscilla.” She held her hand out in an oddly formal greeting.
