As much as I’d wanted to kick his ass from here to Ocean Beach, seeing him dragged away in handcuffs had been pretty satisfying.
“Remember that con artist Brother Bob?” Scout sits at the kitchen table holding a coffee mug while Hope and Jesse are at the counter behind him in front of a large mixing bowl.
“Add a third of a cup of peanut butter.” Hope holds a silver measuring cup over the bowl while my son scrapes the contents with a wooden spoon. “The snake handler who recognized you?”
She gives my brother a wink, and my son’s head jerks around. “Who got a snake?”
My brother stands and goes to where my son is on a stool beside my beautiful wife. “A bad man who took a bunch of people’s money.” He leans closer. “That smells good. How much longer?”
“Finish telling us what happened!” Hope gives him a bump with her hip.
“He got caught with a fan of Rod’s in his hotel room playing hide the sausage.”
“What’s hide the sausage?” Jesse’s little nose curls, and I cut my brother a look.
“It’s something you shouldn’t play until you’re a grownup.” Hope kisses the top of his head.
“Because sausage is messy?”
“Yes.” She grins, looking at me, and I shake my head. “Sausage can make a big mess if it’s not handled properly.”
“Some people like their sausage messy.” Scout waggles his eyebrows, and I punch him on the arm hard.
“You don’t say?”
“Ow, shiiooot.” He rubs the spot. “That’s going to leave a bruise.”
“What kind of snake was it?” Jesse’s stirring the pancake mix, and Hope puts her hand over his to help him.
The way they get along so well warms my heart.
“Copperhead.” Scout grabs a handful of chocolate chips. “He was a bad man, and he got what was coming to him.”
“Scout!” Hope fusses. “Don’t eat all our decorations.”
“What was coming to him?” Jesse watches his uncle while Hope pours the pancake batter into a squeeze bottle.
“Nobody listens to him anymore.”
Jesse is confused, but Hope pulls him back to their preparations. “Good. Now, Jesse, you’re going to use this to make your pancakes. I’ll show you.”
“Where’s GA?” I step up beside my brother, grabbing a few chocolate chips.
“John!” Hope bumps me with her hip while she holds the squeeze bottle over the frying pan. I give her cute little butt a pinch and she squeals. “You messed it up…”
“She had to go to the church for some reason. Probably more prayer chain.”
“I think it looks like a turtle.” Jesse watches his pretty stepmom drizzling batter on the hot pan.
“It was supposed to be a heart.” She narrows her eyes at me.
I wink. “There’s more where that came from.”
Hope snorts a laugh, shaking her head as she passes the bottle of batter to my son. The two of them spend the next few minutes spelling out their names, my name, Scout, Gran, then they make shapes. After they’ve finished playing and flipping the pancakes, we’re all around the table spraying whipped cream and adding chocolate chips or banana slices or walnuts or all three.
“This is the best pancake ever!” Jesse is shouting again, which means he’s happy. Or hopped up on sugar. Or both.
I expect to see my grandmother when I hear voices at the back door. I do not expect to see my ex-wife and father standing in the small mud room at the side of the kitchen.
“Sorry to interrupt.” Dad seems uncomfortable. He and I still haven’t come all the way around.
“Oh!” Hope jumps up from the table. “Jesse’s soccer game.”
Becky strides into the kitchen, looking around and crossing her arms. “What’s all this?”
“Hope makes special pancakes, and we wrote our names and made shapes. I even made one that looked like Dad!” Jesse is turned up to eleven.
“Inside voice, Jess,” his mother scolds. I wish she’d give him a hug and smile at him like Hope does. “Chocolate and whipped cream? Not a very healthy breakfast.”
Hope returns to the room carrying Jesse’s cleats and shin guards. Her eyes are worried as she scans the empty plates. “I did use whole wheat flour, and the peanut butter is organic…”
“That’s a lot of sugar.” Becky’s eyes move up and down my wife in her typical judgey way. She’s not smiling.
I step up beside Hope, putting my arm around her waist. “He’ll burn that up in five minutes playing soccer.” Giving Hope a squeeze, I kiss the side of her head. “The most important thing was spending time together.”
Hope gives me a grateful glance. Becky’s still watching us with her arms crossed and her upper lip curled. She’d better think twice before she tries to make trouble with Hope.
“Let’s go.” She pats our son on the head and turns for the door. “We’ll have him back in time for dinner.”
“Have fun!” Hope calls, and Jesse makes a U-turn running back to where she’s standing. Hope instantly drops to her knees, and he throws his arms around her neck, giving her the biggest hug.
“Thank you for the pancakes.” He kisses her cheek, and I’m ready to high five him. “Bye, Dad!”
He takes off running out the door, and Hope stands, clasping her fingers in front of her mouth. “He’s so adorable.”
“I remember when I used to get the hug bye.”
I watch my father leave and think about how I started this journey, burning with rage and hell-bent on revenge. Karma has settled the scores far better than I could’ve.
He has nothing, he’s married to that shrew, and he works for me. I actually feel sorry for the guy—when I think about him.
I have my son, and I have Hope. Her eyes meet mine, and it’s sunshine breaking through the clouds, warming my heart and calming my anger.
GA plops down at the table. “That Rebecca St. John is so horny, I swear.”
Hope and I jump back, but Scout slides in beside our grandmother unaffected. “Ornery, Gran. The word’s ornery.”
“That’s what I said!” GA snaps. “She’s so damn horny. I wish she’d try a little kindness sometime.”
Hope’s hands move from in front of her mouth to covering her face, and we both start to laugh. I’m collecting plates, and Scout joins me at the sink to wash them. I’m not sure how we got stuck with dish duty, but it started that day at GA’s house when we first rolled into town.
“You’ve been spending a lot of time in Oceanside.” I glance at my brother, taking the clean dish from him and drying it.
For the first time all day, he grows serious. “You remember Daisy Sales?”
Leaning against the counter, I try to remember. “Was that the little girl you were so into junior year?”
“We dated senior year.”
“I was gone your senior year.”
“I remember.” He drains the sink, seeming pissed at me for graduating. “They tried to make me quarterback that year.”
“Mistake.” I fold the towel, thinking. “Her dad owned a furniture store?”