She offered him food. Gregory wanted to laugh. Wasn’t that so motherly? They hadn’t seen each other in years, and the first time they reunite, she wanted to feed him.
Or maybe poison him.
When he hadn’t responded, she simply walked around him and headed to the kitchen. She started taking items out of the massive refrigerator. Mayonnaise, cheese, slices of ham and pickles.
His mother hadn’t been much of a cook. It looked like she hadn’t changed. His father, on the other hand, created masterpieces even with leftovers. Gregory remembered the aromas coming from their small kitchen. It was half this size.
He welcomed the change of scenery. At least this room didn’t have trophies and photographs of his brother.
“What are you doing here, Peter?” she asked casually as she opened cupboards for bread and maybe a sharp knife.
“You invited me to join you for the holidays.”
“A little heads up would have been appropriate.”
In the kitchen window behind her, the sky lit up. A rumble of thunder followed. She turned to glance out, and the corners of her mouth curved downward. It was an expression he recognized. The weather was disappointing her. All those things she just couldn’t control.
“Where’s good old Carl?”
Her eyes darted to a clock on the wall, then back to the sandwich makings spread across the countertop.
“He’s away on business. He’s trying to get back as soon as possible.”
“Because of the boy?”
Now she turned to look at him. He finally had her full attention.
“What do you know about him?”
“That’s who they’re all looking for, right?” He waved his hand in the direction of the front of the house. “Mickey’s boy. I didn’t even know he had a kid.”
“Maybe if you came around more often, you’d know things.”
“He looks exactly like him.”
There was a flicker of panic in her eyes. He saw it before she put it away.
“You saw the photographs.” She probably didn’t think he could hear the relief in her voice.
“I thought I’d seen a ghost.”
“He does resemble his father.” There was a smile now.
“Does he know about me?”
She glanced up as she slathered a slice of bread with mayonnaise. “He’s probably seen your picture.”
“Doesn’t look like there are any of me.”
She shrugged. Not concerned. No guilt. No regret.
“He didn’t seem to recognize me.”
Her head jerked up, and her eyes darted to his. The panic mixed with anger now. “You? You took him! Peter, what did you do?”
“What did you do to my father?”
Noise came from outside the kitchen. The garage door was going up.
His mother’s eyes flew to the connecting door, then back to Gregory. She froze. Though clearly, she wanted to run, yell...do something to warn the person coming.
No, he was wrong. She expected to be saved. Yes, of course, that’s exactly what she was thinking. He could see it now. There was even another smile, a smirk.
When the man came through the door, Gregory was surprised how small and diminished—how old—her hero looked. Especially compared to Gregory’s memory of the man. Thin with broad shoulders now a bit hunched, he yanked off his ball cap to reveal a shock of white disheveled hair. His arms were still long and lean from days of physical labor. They still looked just like Gregory remembered in his nightmares. Even the tattoo was the same. A blue anchor on his left forearm.
Carl saw only his wife as he said, “Damned I-10 traffic. I almost—”
His mouth stayed open. His eyes went wide despite the fatigue and wrinkles.
“Well, if it isn’t dear old step-dad. You’re just in time.”