by
phair
The truck choked then sputtered to a stop. Sam was able to steer the powerless, gliding truck the last few feet to the curb. Shifting to park lurched the silent vehicle to a halt. The sound of rain pounding on the steel and glass seemed like thunder to Sam’s ears. Then thunder cracked with a flash of lightning across the night sky.
“Fuck,” Sam mumbled.
He took a deep breath. Looking out the windshield, Sam recognized the road he had stalled out on. It was years since he was last driven down this street. It was on the day of his mother’s funeral. The line of cars drove past the home she grew up in on the way to her final resting place; the cemetery on the hill over the ocean at the end of town.
Sam felt the clenching in his belly just like he had felt that day. His sister, sobbing, sat to his left. His father, silent, sat on his right. Directly across from them in the back of the undertaker’s limousine, sat his mother’s father. Old Thom’s eyes were red rimmed. He wiped at his nearly constantly dripping nose. Any conversation the old man began was abruptly ended with one word answers from Sam’s father. After the casket was lowered into the grave, Thom caught a ride with another family member and Sam never saw him again. Sam never saw any member of his mother’s family again.
Now all these years later, in the heat of nor’easter, under a pitch black sky, Sam could clearly see the porch light burning bright at his grandfather’s house.
“Hello, I’m Sam Allerton, your State Senator and your long lost grandson. May I come in because I don’t know where else to go tonight?” Sam practiced his introduction as he got out of his truck into the fierce storm.
His knock was answered by a muffled voice behind the door. Wind whistled and howled in an impromptu chorus. Sam could not stop his teeth from chattering. His clothes were soak through after a walk of less than three hundred feet. Once the door swung open, Sam was surrounded by radiating warmth from within. It reminded him of running home from school and into his mother’s kitchen.
“Sammy, what’cha doin’ out on a night like this? Get yourself in here before you get the chilblains,” the old man prattled and pulled Sam into the living room.
“You, you remember me?” Sam was startled by the familiar welcome.
Old Thom chuckled. “You’re in the paper most days. You’re some kind of politician or something important, ain’t you? ‘Course I recognize you. Besides, you look just like your mother.”
Sam swallowed hard in a dry throat. Nobody discussed his mother. It was the number one topic his father forbid. There were many topics his father would not allow but his first wife and mother of two of his children was the primary taboo.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” Sam tried to refocus his thoughts with the matter at hand. “My truck broke down. I don’t have triple A or anybody to call. I don’t, I don’t even have money for a cab on me. And, I don’t know what I’m gonna do about anything. I don’t know what I’m gonna do about everything.”
Sam’s head dipped in an effort to silence his rambling. His shoulders slumped; defeated. He sensed more than felt his grandfather’s arm encircle his shoulders. The old man guided him across the room to a rag tag couch. Sam either tripped or was pushed down to the cushions.
“Sit. I’ll put on the kettle. Ain’t got no booze. I’m a drunk from way back. Took the cure when you mother got sick. Couldn’t do it when she was healthy but managed to stick with it since. Ah,” Thom waved his hand as if wiping away the memories, “never mind that now. Do you want instant coffee or tea? I think I have a tea bag somewhere.”
“Nothing. No, I’m good. I’m sorry to barge in on you. I just,” Sam stuttered a little, “I just, got into some trouble. And, I was just driving around. My truck broke down. I don’t have anybody to call…,”
“Sammy, you don’t need no reason to drop by. You’re family. You’re always welcome wherever I’m welcome,” Thom reassured. “Let me set the kettle to boil. You look like you’re cold.”
Sam wiped some of the rain off his face with his bare hand. “Maybe a towel?”
“Rightie!”
The old man toddled off deeper into the darkened house. Sam looked around the living room. It was much as he remembered it to be; old furniture haphazardly strewn about the room, framed faces from his memories hanging on the walls.
“Here we go,” Thom happily announced as he shuffled back into the room. “I got some pajama bottoms and a undershirt you can borrow. And, this here towel ain’t never been used. Still smells like the cedar chest. Go ahead, sniff it.”
Sam accepted the bundle of items with a nod.
Thom shook his head a little grimly. “I ain’t got no extra beds. You don’t want to sleep with me. I leak a little at night. Damn prostrate, can’t get to the toilet fast enough.”
“Prostrate?” Wondered what the old man was jabbering about.
“You can sack out on the couch, my boy. I’ll get you an afghan. Then we’ll have a cup of joe and you can tell me your troubles.”
Sam watched the old man waddle off to the the kitchen. Against all reason, Sam felt comfortable in the dirty house watching his aged and most likely dementing grandfather puttering around the cluttered kitchen. Clanging pans and muttered curses aside, Sam felt a sense of peace clam him with the scent of cedar filling his nose. He stared at the towel in his hands and remembered a Saturday spent shopping instead of playing baseball with his friends.
“Mom bought Grampa this towel for her very last Christmas ever,” Sam muttered but Thom missed the revelation.
Sam smacked his lips and gave a satisfied snort as his dreams started to drift away. He was scrunched up on his Grandfather’s beat up sofa and barely covered by a ragged afghan but he was quite comfortable. His long talk with the old man the night before helped him work out some of his anxiety. It gave him a renewed sense of confidence. He knew he could salvage his future. Sam was certain everything would be okay.
“You son of a bitch!”
The angry shout was coupled with two strong hands grabbing Sam by the borrowed undershirt. He was dragged off the sofa and punched. His knees buckled but the grip on his undershirt would not let him collapse.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing here? You a fuckin’ pervert or something?”
Sam barely recovered enough to lift his face before the next blow to his bleeding mouth was delivered. He whimpered as his head snapped back and forth from the force of the strike. On instinct, he grasped the wrist holding him up. He was instantly tossed backward to the couch. Sam cringed but managed to blink up at his assailant.
The woman towering over him was furious. Her long black hair seemed to be caught in a self generated gale force wind. Her eyes were so deeply blue they could have been black. The taught muscles in her jaw radiated down her leather jacketed shoulders to tightly clenched fist. Her biker chaps and boots creaked when she leaned forward and took hold of Sam again. She pulled him to his feet and cocked her fist back to land another blow.
“Coyote, stop smackin’ up family. Ain’t no way to treat relations,” Thom muttered as he shuffled to the kitchen with a stifled yawn and a discrete ass scratch.
“Huh,” the woman’s hold lessened slightly as her elbow dipped a bit.
Thom nodded in Sam’s direction. “He ain’t no trespasser. He’s your cousin. You don’t need to be kissin’ but I don’t want you killin’ him either.”
The woman released her grip but kept an eye on Sam. “What do you mean cousin, Gramp?”
The kettle clanged onto the stove’s burner. A click followed with the hiss of gas but no sound of the flame popping to life. The unnatural odor of natural gas began to waft from the kitchen into the living room. The impossing woman gave a heavy sigh and pointed directly at Sam.
“Stay!” She commanded before turning on her boot heel and heading to the kitchen. “Gramp, you have to have the matches in your hand before you turn on the burner. You’re gonna blow up the whole house doin’ it this way.”
“Ahh, you kids with the safety ssshhmafety talk. It always works okay for me like this,” Thom defended.
The woman chuckled as she shut the gas off, “Humor me, will you?”
The old man let out a belly laugh. He stretched up and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. Red flushed from the the point of impact to the rest of the woman’s face as her smile spread.
“Good morning, Gramp.”
“Mornin’ Coyote!” The old man chirped before he turned to make his way into the living room. He dropped heavily into the overstuffed chair across from the couch. “So, my boy, I see you were playing with your cousin already but I don’t think you’ve been formally introduced.”
Sam sat brooding and dabbing his bleeding lip with the back of his hand. “No, she didn’t get to say hello before she started pounding my face into a bloody pulp.”
“Fuck you too, you sissy,” Coyote called casually from the kitchen.
“She be your cousin, Coyote Nightmoon. She’s my boy’s girl…,” Gramp began to explain.
Coyote interrupted. “I’m one of your son’s many girls and boys.”
“Don’t be bitter. It’s unattractive,” the old man admonished. “But, you ain’t lying. Jackson is a dog. No two ways around that. He’s got half dozen kids I’ve met and at least four other’s Coyote’s found in her travels.”
“Black Jack gets around and then some,” Coyote stated evenly as she entered the living room with a coffee mug.
Sam watched the old man take the mug and sip.
“Blah, you used that micro-ray, didn’t you?” Thom grimmaced at the taste.
Coyote grinned before glaring at Sam. “So, who’s the wimp?”
“He’s my girl’s boy, Sam.”
Coyote extended her hand in greeting as their grandfather continued the introduction.
“Samuel Allerton.”
Coyote’s hand dropped to her side. Her lip drew back into a sneer. Sam swallowed hard when her saw the anger return to her blue black eyes.
“The fucking homophobe Senate Sam Allerton? Are you fucking kidding me? My cousin is GLAAD’s number one enemy? That’s just perfect!” Coyote fumed.
“I wouldn’t say number one but I’m in the top ten,” Sam grinned.
“I ought to…,” Coyote hissed and took a menacing step toward the couch.
“No fighting!” Thom shouted. “I don’t want the furniture to get all chipped up.”
Coyote frowned but stopped her advance. “I’m getting out of here. Give me a call, Gramp, when the breeder heads back to his ivory tower.”
“Don’t rush out on my account,” Sam taunted.
“Knock it off both of you before I feel the need to fake a heart attack for some undivided attention,” Thom warned.
Coyote shook her head, “Don’t try to get cute, Gramp.”
“Okay, then I be sure to take a tumble. God knows, what will happen to my hip.”
Sam raised his eyebrows with concern, “That’s not funny, Grandpa.”
Thom set his coffee mug down and glared at both of his adult grandchildren. “I ain’t tryin’ to be funny. I’m makin’ a solemn promise. If either of you bolt before I get my breakfast and some good brewed coffee into me, I’ll be sprawled on the floor scream I can’t get up. It’s a guarantee.”
“Grandpa, don’t be talking nonsense,” Sam’s reprimand was interrupted by Coyote.
“He ain’t screwin’ with us. He’s done it before.”
“Just the once,” Thom clarified.
“Once was enough. Fractured his pelvis trying to chase me when I peeled out of here the first day I came here looking for Black Jack.”
“You was gonna run off and I wouldn’t know how to get in touch with you. I had to do something. Runnin’ after you was better than my other plan,” Thom explained.
“Which was?” Sam asked.
“He was gonna call the cops and say I stole the bike out of his driveway,” Coyote answered and stalked across the room to plop down on the couch next to Sam. “Okay Gramp, you win. I’ll brew the coffee and pussy boy here will make you something to eat. Then are we free to go?”
Thom smiled. “Depends on how close to lunch time it is. You might need to make me a sandwich before you head back on your way.”
“He drives a hard bargain,” Coyote grumbled as she turned to Sam. “Truce in Gramp’s house, okay?”
Sam nodded agreement.
“But,” Coyote hissed her promise, “if I catch you on the street outside or anyplace else, I’m gonna beat you so bad your cock’ll fall off.”
