Because of The Brave - lanyon Josh. Страница 13

“Stop.” He pulled his wallet out of his jeans and handed the driver his fare and a tip. He was standing in the street with his gear, looking up at the house when the cab took off and drove away behind him.

Peter knocked on the door, and for a long time nothing happened. He heard scuffling noises, like the scattering of insurgents when he was raiding a suspected enemy combatant’s compound. More than one person headed to the back of the house, and someone, he could hear from measured footsteps, was coming toward the door. He fought his instinct to take cover and prepare for battle, standing his ground instead and waiting patiently for the door to open.

“Yes?”

“I’m Peter Hsu.” He kept his hands to his sides. “I’m here to visit my mother?”

“Peter?” The sound of locks grinding in their housing followed, after which, the door opened. The sight that greeted him was exactly what he expected, and yet he still wasn’t prepared for it. His aunt Lyndee, at sixty-one, stood before him as wide as she was tall.

“Peter!” She enfolded him in her gargantuan bosom and ruffled his hair warmly. No matter that he was a head taller than she and in his late twenties, his mother’s sister never failed to manhandle him and leave him with the vague impression that she was sure he was going to need her to walk him to the library for picture books.

“Hi Aunt Lyndee.”

“We weren’t expecting you tonight, hon.” She clucked at him and fussed with his clothing. “I thought you were staying in the cities until—”

“Slight change of plans.” He’d wanted this over with. “I’m sorry I didn’t call, I thought I’d make it sooner but there was a delay.” Another reason to hate flying commercial.

“It’s okay, you can just bunk down on the couch in my office for tonight.”

He realized he still hadn’t let go of his duffle. He didn’t want to. “Mom wrote a while back and told me her car was here. Maybe I could take it and go back to the house…?”

“Baby that car hasn’t worked in three months. I know for a fact that at the very least the battery is dead and it needs new tires. Robin was driving Shelly back and forth to her appointments but when Hospice took over…well, she hasn’t gone anywhere since.”

“I see.”

Lyndee took his arm and led him to the room with the big screen. It cast an eerie bluish light over the tableau of old people and furniture he’d seen from the street. “C’mere and talk with me for a moment, Pete, will you?”

“Can this wait till tomorrow Aunt Lyndee? I’m beat.”

“No.” She sat at a small table in the corner he thought might be intended for cards or puzzles, but which looked odd and unused in this space where people sat staring at the TV. “I need to talk to you now.”

Peter shrugged and sat down, his fingers still wrapped around the handles of his duffel. His best-case scenario, taking his mother’s car to her house and getting a good night’s sleep was a no-go. The next best thing would be if he could sack out someplace and repair the car in the morning. The less time he spent here the better. He was adept at hiding what he was thinking, but a place like this could grind a guy down and make him careless. A place like this would make him crawl out of his skin.

“Shoot.” He tried not to flinch.

“The doctor put your mom on hospice about three months ago, do you know what that means?”

“Yes.”

“Everything that it means?”

He looked at the toes of his boots. “Yes.”

“In case you don’t—”

“I do know what it means, Aunt Lyndee. It means she’s circling the drain and she doesn’t want to be pulled out if she starts going down it.”

“Peter.” Damn. She still had the look. Like he let one fly in church.

“I’m sorry. I’m used to being blunt.”

“You can be blunt but be decent. Your mother’s disease has progressed to the point where no intervention will save her life. It will only prolong her pain.”

“I see.”

“Once she’s on hospice, caregivers simply manage her pain and keep her comfortable. It’s her wish to let nature take its course.”

He snorted. “Mom never had much use for nature up until now.”

Lyndee pulled a pamphlet from basket on the bookshelf behind her and hit him over the head with it. “You read this,” she said between clenched teeth. “I’m cutting you some slack because you’re my favorite nephew and because you never could react to anything in a logical way.”

“What…?”

Peter remained still while his Aunt Lyndee did that thing. She grabbed his head and pressed a sloppy kiss to it, smudging her lipstick on his skin and then wiping it off with her thumb until his forehead burned. She always did that thing when he couldn’t or wouldn’t conform and she wanted to let him know that she was on to him, inside of him, looking around, feeling through his guts and getting a pretty good picture of what he was thinking regardless of what came out of his mouth.

“You’re still a pain in the ass.” She removed her thumb from his skin. These days she could—and did—smooth age lines away.

Peter remained silent as she led him to a room behind the wide, upgraded kitchen, with its professional appliances and food service work areas. They came to a door marked ‘Private’ and ushered him inside.

“I’ll get you linens and a pillow for the bed, and there’s a bathroom right here.” She opened a door and he saw it was a tiny powder room. “We can get you to your mom’s house in the morning and you can shower there. Look—”

“Thanks Aunt Lyndee.” He held up a hand. “I’m just tired, can we talk more tomorrow?”

She peered at his face and sighed. “Sure hon. You get some rest and we can finish up in the morning.” She busied herself shutting the blinds on the windows behind her desk and then fumbled through a cupboard, finally unearthing a blanket and a small pillow with a pillowcase folded on top.

“Thanks again.” He caught her hand just as she was about to leave the room. “Really. Thank you.”

She smiled and he felt its reassurance rush like water through the resistance he’d caked onto his emotions to dam them up. She left quickly enough that the structure held. Only Peter knew how close he had come to a cataclysmic breakdown.

Bright light jarred Peter awake. He threw an arm up to shield his eyes, even as he leapt to his feet, looking for something—anything—he could use for a weapon.

“Good morning sunshine,” said a man’s voice, cheerfully devoid of the sarcasm Peter usually heard along with those words. “And how are you on this very fine June morning.”

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” Peter growled, only to hear the voice chuckling at him from the doorway.

Rich and musical, the man’s voice held nothing but amusement and the remnants of a Jamaican accent. “Oh, I don’t think you can kill me with that, Peter, although if you should try I would have to tell you where to stick it…” The man’s laughter floated back to Peter where he stood letting his eyes adjust. “Breakfast is almost over and don’t expect me to be carrying it in here for you. I do for your mama only. She’s looking forward to seeing you.”

“Who. The fuck. Are you?”

Peter could see the man’s mouth form in an O of surprise. “You mean to say my fame has not preceded me?”

Peter only gave the briefest thought to the way the man’s accent lent more syllables to each word, giving mean two and preceded four. “I…No.”

“Well, Peter Dylan Hsu, your fame has certainly preceded you. Shelly believes you hung the moon, and looking at you now, I’d say she had that about… half right.” The man’s white teeth shone in the midst of his dark rich skin when he grinned.

Peter looked down and blushed to discover his fully erect cock pushing out of his briefs. He never remembered his dreams, he’d probably taken it out in his sleep and—“I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Take your time sunshine. I’ll fix you a nice plate. I was just teasing about you missing breakfast. You’re mother would never forgive me. I’m Robin. I’ve been with her since she was first diagnosed, and I came to work here at Hopewald House for your Aunt Lyndee when your mama transferred here. Your Mama’s my special girl.”