Chapter 44 - Becca - Vegas, Baby
“Becca?”
“Hi, Uncle Silas. You still have room for me?”
I’m standing on the front porch of Uncle Silas and Uncle Patrick’s Spring Valley home after an early morning flight and a quick taxi ride. I’m so exhausted that I feel like I walked here.
Uncle Silas grabs me and wraps his huge arms around me, squeezing so tightly I can barely breathe. I missed this.
“Cy,” Uncle Silas tilts his head back and yells into the house. “Becca’s here. Come grab her and I’ll bring her luggage in.”
Uncle Patrick comes around the corner wearing a flowing floral romper and runs down the hallway to me. Ugh. Why does he always have to look so much better than me, no matter what he wears?
“Becca, baby,” he says, pulling me away from Uncle Silas and wrapping me up in a hug. “Why didn’t you tell us you were coming? You know I would have picked you up at the airport.”
I heave a huge sigh and sink into his arms. “I know. I sort of decided in a hurry and didn’t plan much out. I’m not even sure what I’ve got packed in my suitcase. I just grabbed stuff and threw it in.”
“Oh, honey. Come in. I was just finishing making breakfast.” He takes my hand and leads me into the house. “We’ll eat, then have a look through your suitcase. We might need to make today a shopping day.”
That sounds good to me. I’m thinking I might need one of those rompers Uncle Patrick has on.
Over a breakfast of the best pancakes I’ve ever had outside of a diner, I tell my uncles all about Johnny and what’s been going on. Uncle Silas slams his hand down on the table when I tell them he agreed with mom, and what exactly it was he agreed with.
“We’ll talk about Johnny in a minute,” Uncle Patrick says through gritted teeth. “I need you to tell me, from the very beginning, exactly what your mother has been saying to you. The very beginning.”
I’ve never told Uncle Patrick or Uncle Silas the full truth, not even way back when Uncle Silas was tattooing over my scars and helping me with Milo. Not any time over the years when I’ve visited. Not any time over the years when my mother has been extra hard on me. It was my burden to bear. My fault for pulling that pot over myself and ruining her life the way I did. I just dealt with it as best I could, alone, because it was what I deserved.
Uncle Patrick has tears in his eyes by the time I’m done my story. Uncle Silas is another thing altogether. Have you ever seen an almost seven foot tall, three hundred fifty pound, hairy, bearded, and tattooed giant of a man in a legitimate berserker rage?
I do not recommend it.
He stormed off into the backyard as soon as I stopped talking. A peek out the french doors to the back deck shows that he’s out there throwing around lawn furniture and yelling.
“FUUCKKK!” I hear through the doors, not muffled by the glass in the slightest.
“Is he okay?” I ask Uncle Patrick . “He’s going to break all your patio furniture.”
Uncle Patrick doesn’t even hear me. He’s staring off into space while tears silently stream down his cheeks. I reach over and place my hand on his arm. He shakes his head and wipes the tears away, turning to look at me with a sad smile.
“I am so, so sorry, Becca.”
“It’s not your fault, Uncle Patrick. I never told you. I never told anyone until recently. Hell, I just told my best friend Alex the other day, and she’s the first person I’ve ever told.” I chuckle. “It’s not like you know my mother, or what kind of person she is.”
“I should have,” he says sadly. “I should have known.”
Uncle Silas is still raging in the backyard. I look out the window and see that he’s about halfway through kicking down the storage shed that they store their pool equipment and yard tools in. I shake my head. He’s madder than I’ve ever seen him. Madder than I’ve ever seen anyone. And it’s all on my behalf. Amazing.
Uncle Patrick is still sitting at the table, looking stunned. It’s the least enthusiastic he’s ever been. I think maybe we’re both a little tired after that story.
“Uncle Patrick? I’ve been up all night so I’m going to have a quick nap, if that’s good with you? Then maybe later this afternoon we can go shopping. I have a feeling you’re going to need all new patio furniture and a new garden shed.”
“Huh? Oh, yes, of course, sweetie. Let me show you to your room.” He gets up and takes my hand. But he doesn’t go anywhere. Instead, he wraps his arms around me again. “I love you, baby. I will make this right,” he whispers before taking my hand again and leading me down the hallway.
He opens the door to the room that’s to be mine, and I instantly love it. I haven’t been to visit since they moved out to Spring Valley, so I haven’t seen this room before. There’s a wall shelf full of vintage cameras of all makes and models, and a giant king-size bed that looks like it might actually be made of clouds.
“I’ve been collecting those for years,” Uncle Patrick says, when he sees me examining the cameras. “I wanted to make a room just for you and I thought the cameras would be a fun touch.”
“I love them, they’re amazing.” I say. “I can’t wait to inspect them all more closely. I’m going to have to order some film and whatever else these cameras use so I can try them out.” My mind races with thoughts of a potential art installation, something that hasn’t happened to me in years.
