Everest grabs another beer from the bucket and sits on the kitchen floor next to me. He's close enough that my shoulder touches his arm. After a moment, I pull myself together and I stop crying. When my breathing is back to normal, he hands me a tissue. I wipe my eyes and blow my nose.
Everest's got amazing green eyes. It’s almost the same shade of green than Brian’s eyes. But Everest has blond hair trimmed by a buzz cut. Everest is sexy.
What's wrong with me? Brian's kiss has kicked my libido awake. It had been asleep for years, and it's coming back with a vengeance. Seriously, Lisa, you're thinking about sex on the day you buried your brother? Yeah, I guess I am, but then, is there a better way to celebrate life?
"How are you feeling?" Everest asks, compassion in his eyes, but not just that. There's a twinkle of something else.
"Lost... broken... sad... angry... and also scared," I answer slowly as I think about it, looking in the emerald sea of his eyes. He's got incredibly long lashes for a man.
"Wanna talk about it?"
"No, not really," I say, but then, because there's something about him that makes him easy to talk to, I start thinking out loud. "I need to do the best that I can with the hand I'm dealt. I'm thinking about moving back here with my mother because she can't live alone. But that'll be okay as long as I find a way to finish school. I know in time I'll be fine... Oh, and even if I just hang around for the summer only, I need to find a job to keep myself busy until the fall."
Everest chuckles when I stop talking, so I smile at him and ask, "What's funny?"
"Your version of not really wanting to talk. I wonder what it's like when you spill your guts," he says.
I mock-punch him in the shoulder and say, "You're not allowed to make fun of me today."
He tilts his head sideways to get a better look at me and says, "Then I guess I need to come back another day to get another shot at it."
"I would like that very much," I spontaneously say. I really like him. What's not to like? He's not handsome per se, but he's pleasant to look at, and he seems sweet and caring.
"The good news is that your mother won't be able to object to your going out on a date with a police officer," he says.
"Why not?" I have no idea why he's saying that. On the contrary, I believe my mother is going to tell me to stay as far as possible from anyone whose job can get them killed.
"Seriously?" he asks, and I nod. "I have the feeling you're going to be seeing a lot of Captain Williams. He seems quite sweet on your mother."
"Wow, I never saw that one coming," I blurt out. The idea of my mother dating or being the subject of a man's attention is so foreign to me that I have to ask, "You're sure?"
"Why are you surprised? Your mother's a fine-looking woman, and I think she's just about the right age for Steven." He laughs. "Anyway, it's time for me to go."
He gets to his feet and offers his hand to help me up. His hands are warm and strong. He's really a sweet man. I walk him to the front door, and he picks up a helmet that he had left on the porch. I notice a cool bike parked on the street.
"Nice ride," I say.
"You like it?" he asks stepping down from the porch. There's a spark in his eyes when he looks at his machine, as though he's really proud of it.
"Yeah, I don't know much about engines and stuff; I just love the feeling of freedom you get."
Memories of crazy rides on the beach with David hit me, and I fight the tears, which are threatening to come back.
"You have a safe ride now, you hear," I say as I retreat to the house.
I lock the door behind me and straighten the furniture in the main room. I'm thinking about picking up the rest of the stuff, and then I decide against it. I'm going to leave it there; it will be good for my mother to have something to do tomorrow. I'm just going to load the dishwasher and then lose myself in a good book.
The second I step back into the kitchen, the back door slams open. It's Brian. He's dressed just as he was when I ran into him at the pharmacy; he's got the total-badass look, and he's just as angry and sinfully sexy as he was that day.
But today I'm just as angry as he is. Perhaps more. I'm mad because he was a no-show at the service and at the burial. No matter what they fought about when David and he went their separate ways, it's no excuse for not coming to show his respect. And if he didn't care enough to bother attending the funeral, what is he doing here?
Before I have a chance to ask him, he grabs a beer from the cooler and sits on a stool.
Looking at the can as he cracks it open, he says, "I thought he would never leave."
I take a step in his direction to confront him, and then I think better of it. I just ignore him and do what I intended to do in the first place. I load the dishwasher with the dirty glasses. I throw side-glances at him. He's drinking his beer and watching me make a big show of acting as if he wasn't there.
I know it pisses him off because I've been doing it since I was a kid. Clamming up and sulking is my forte, and it's always driven him up the wall. It used to annoy the heck out of David, too. When I was a teenager, I would still do it every time I got raving mad about something. Instead of telling them what I was upset about, I would act as if they didn't exist until they figured it out.
Of course now that I'm an adult, I realize it's very immature behavior. It's a lot healthier to spit out what's eating you up instead of letting it simmer in you for days. However, today I don't think I'm being immature. If he can't figure out why I'm mad at him, then we really don't have anything more to say to each other.
Once the machine is loaded and closed, I take the few remaining cans from the cooler and place them in the fridge. The melted ice from the cooler goes into the sink. I leave it upside down to dry.
That's it. I'm done. I wipe my hands on the towel and glare at Brian then turn away and head for the door to the main room.