In and around Tulsa, there was oil money, and only the extremely fortunate drove such cars. Luckily, there were enough oil barons to keep me afloat.
“That’s a shame,” I said, brushing the hair clippings off his ears. “About the shopping carts.”
“Siblings?” he asked.
“Nope,” I said. “Just me.”
“Brax told me about your parents. Shame any time something like that happens. Glad to have you here, but I’m sorry that’s what brought you.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Life isn’t always easy, I guess. That’s one of those things I’ll probably never understand.”
“Were you able to get the funerals taken care of before they banned public gatherings?”
“They asked to be cremated. It’s all been taken care of.”
“That’s what I want, too. Something about being buried doesn’t set very well with me.”
“Me, neither.”
“Leave any kids back in Oklahoma?”
“Kids?” I chuckled. “Nope.”
“Kids get in the way of living life,” he muttered.
It seemed like an inconsiderate thing to say, considering Braxton was willing to pick him up from the hospital, take care of him, and run to get his prescriptions.
“I don’t know about that,” I replied. “Can you imagine life without Braxton?”
“I dream about it sometimes. Then, I have a nightmare. One where he’s still around. Snatches me right out of my sleep in a cold sweat.”
I turned off the clippers and stepped in front of him. “That’s crap,” I argued. “And you know it.”
He let out a heavy sigh. “Kids are like big feet. They’re with you for a lifetime no matter how much you hate looking at ‘em.”
“You’re evil,” I said.
He grinned. “Thank you.”
Like most women, my early dreams included having children. The hope faded a little with each failed relationship. When I passed my mid-thirties, I wondered if it would ever happen. After my divorce, I felt fortunate that I wasn’t another single mother raising children without a father in their lives.
“When I was younger, I wanted children,” I admitted. “Looking back on things now, I can’t think of anyone I’d liked to have had them with. I guess it wasn’t meant to be. Back to my understanding life comment. It’s not always easy.”
He patted the side of his head. “It sure isn’t.”
After a few more careful swipes of the clippers, I was nearly done. Using the comb as a guide, I blended the sides of his hair to the top. After snipping a few stray strands, everything looked good.
I handed Hap the mirror. “Well?”
He held the mirror in one hand while brushing the palm of his free hand up each side of his head. “Looks good, feels good,” he said with a nod. “You did a fine job.”
I took the mirror and removed his cape, being careful not to get hair on him. “Thank you.”
He brushed his hands against the thighs of his pants and then looked up. “When this virus is over, are you staying or going back to Oklahoma?”
Of all the things he could have asked, I wish he wouldn’t have asked that. It was a tough question to answer, truthfully. I’d like to think I’d be staying but had no idea how things with Braxton might change once the stay at home order was lifted.
“I haven’t decided,” I replied.
“What’s preventing you from deciding?”
The sound of Braxton’s SUV caught my attention. I found his arrival ironic.
“Uncertainty,” I replied.
He cocked his head to the side and raised his brows. “Of what?”
I didn’t want to admit that things might not last between Braxton and me, therefore, I didn’t care to answer the question.
The front door opened. I glanced at Braxton, forced a smile, and then looked at Hap.
He met my gaze, held it for a second, and then patted me on the shoulder. “No need to respond,” he said. “You just gave me all the answer I need.”
Braxton
The three of us stood at the dining room table, eyeing the “Welcome Home” meal Anna prepared. Hap had been acting like he had a burr up his ass since I got home from the pharmacy. I hoped the homecooked meal brought him out of his bad mood.
Anna gestured toward the food. “We better start before it gets cold.”
I kissed Anna. “Thank you.”
Hap’s favorite meal was roast with carrots, onions and potatoes. He demanded my mother serve it with quartered yellow potatoes and mashed potatoes with gravy. Anna had done her best to replicate the meal, even baking homemade bread for him to mop up the gravy with.
Sporting a fresh haircut, Hap leaned over the table. He looked everything over and closed his eyes. He drew a long, slow breath through his nose.
Anna took her chair. “I hope everyone enjoys it.”
I sat down beside her.
Hap took his seat. “Smells divine.”
I glanced at the various offerings that were on display. It was the maiden voyage for the serving platters and a good portion of the dishes we were using. To be honest, I had no idea where most of the dinnerware came from.
I looked at Hap. I realized it was the first time he had eaten in my home.
Excluding Christmas and Easter, the last time I could recall eating a meal with my father that wasn’t out of a takeout container was when my brother was alive.
He’d been gone for over thirty years.
When I lived at home, we sat down every night and ate at the dinner table, as a family. We said please and thank you. No one got up from the table without being excused, and we didn’t complain about quality or quantity, regardless of what was served.
Yes, Sir and no, Ma’am were as common as pass the potatoes, please. We didn’t need to ask when dinnertime was, because it was at the same time every night, without fail.
5:30.
After my brother died, the Marine Corps became my only family. It wasn’t by choice. By design, every moment was consumed by training, combat, and travel, leaving no time for my blood family.
By the time my military career ended, my mother was gone. Although I loved my father dearly, I never felt that he and I comprised a family. We were merely two men who were bound by blood. Together, we were a father and son team. A family, we were not.
“Mind passing me that roast?” Hap asked.
“Not at all,” Anna replied.
Each item was passed from person to person until our plates were filled with all that Anna had prepared. When the last platter was set into its place, Hap cleared his throat.
“Are we saying grace, or just digging in?” he asked. “I feel like I ought to be thanking him for letting me make it to this meal.”
When I was a kid, my mother said grace before every meal. When I left home, the tradition stopped. Short of Anna saying a prayer before we ate the parmesan chicken, I hadn’t blessed a meal in over thirty years.
I was surprised Hap asked.
“I’ll say grace,” Anna replied. “If it’s okay.”
“Probably be best if you did it,” Hap replied. “I doubt Dipshit and the man upstairs are on speaking terms, and it’s been so long since I said anything over a plate of food, I’ll likely embarrass myself.”