“Great idea,” I grind out. “I’ll do that.” Jackass.
My mom looks away from the phone for a second, then says, “I have to go. Your father’s smoking another cigar and his cardiologist said no more than one a day.”
“Okay, bye,” I say. “See you tomorrow!”
“I better.”
“I love?—”
She ends the call, leaving me to say, “you” to an empty screen.
I toss my phone onto the sofa. “That went well.”
Vivian nods. “Definitely could’ve been worse.”
But the truth is, I have a terrible feeling that this streak of bad luck is just getting started.
4
The Good Life
Mac
“Hey, it’s Big Mac!”Jack says as soon as I walk in the door to his brightly-painted kitchen. He’s standing in front of the counter slathering his special blend of garlic, parsley, salt and butter on a hero bun that’s been sliced down the center. His 1950s satellite station is playing in the background, and he’s wearing his usual loose cotton button down shirt with short sleeves over some cargo shorts. His black crew socks are pulled up halfway to his knees and he’s got his feet tucked into the same pair of leather sandals that he’s had since the ‘70s.
“Hey, Jack,” I say, setting the cooler on the counter. “How are you?”
“Excellent and improving.” That’s always his answer. Unless something’s really wrong, in which case he says, “Not worth a donkey fart today.”
“Glad to hear it. I hope you’re hungry,” I say, flipping the top on the cooler to reveal the two lobsters.
He peeks in and smiles. “I knew I had a grandson for a reason. I get to eat like a king in my old age.”
“Ah, you’re not that old.”
“Tell that to my knees,” he answers, opening the cupboard next to the stove and getting out the big pot. He places it in the sink and starts to fill it. “How’s Tweety runnin’?”
Tweety is my seaplane, on account of the bright yellow paint job. “Good. The new fuel pump is doing its thing,” I say, rummaging around in the fridge for the salad fixings and a couple of bottles of beer.
“Good stuff. I imagine you’re out some cash you were expecting to bring in over the holidays.”
I pause for a second, wondering if he might know about my arrangement with Violet. “Nothing fatal.”
“Listen, kid, if you ever need some cash, you can come to me.”
I look over at him and give him a nod. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“I won’t give it to you, but I just want you to know you can always tell me so I can laugh at you.” He chuckles at his own terrible joke while I shake my head and hand him a beer.
“Thanks, Jack.”
“What are grandfathers for?”
“I’m honestly not sure,” I tell him with a wry smile.
We get to work making dinner and in under half an hour, we’re sitting in front of the television eating. Jack points at the slightly fuzzy screen, where the announcer is talking excitedly about the Benavente football team having made the Caribbean Cup for the first time since the turn of the millennium. “They play Friday afternoon. Do you want to come over and watch it?”
“Since when do you care about soccer?”
