a paperback, Calvin propped himself up as best he could with pillows and decided to read until the pill kicked back in.
Chapter 4
Brock sighed. It was too fuckin’ warm, but he couldn’t afford to switch on the window AC units.
So take off the sweatshirt, dumbass! the voice in his head told him.
Reluctantly Brock raised the hem of the garment and pulled it over his head. Immediately he felt cooler, as what air there was drifting through the house caressed his naked chest. Folding Calvin’s sweatshirt over the back of a kitchen chair, Brock eyed the pile of dirty dishes with distaste, but knew he couldn’t put off the unpleasant chore any longer.
Turning on the faucet, Brock waited until the water started to run hot. Adding dish soap, he began to scale the mountain.
The phone in the hallway rang. Fearing it would be the hospital’s debt collectors, Brock paused, hands still in the sudsy water.
Or maybe it’s Calvin, the annoying voice announced.
Brock dried his hands and went to get the phone before the answering machine had a chance to kick in.
“Dad!” Junior said before Brock could speak.
“Hey, Champ. You having a good time?”
“It’s awesome!” Brock had to move the phone an inch or so away from his ear.
“You won’t want to come home when it’s over, eh?”
The line went quiet. “I am having a good time, but I’m really missing you.”
“That’s good to hear, son.” Brock had to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat. “’Cause I’m missing you one hell…uh, heck of a lot, too.”
Junior laughed. “Hey, Dad, guess what?”
Brock smiled. “What?”
“Guess.”
Laughing, Brock said, “You got signed by a scout from a major league team?”
“Ha! No, I pitched a one-hitter today.”
“That’s my boy!” Brock’s chest swelled with pride.
“And that’s not all.”
“Oh?” Brock went back into the kitchen and rested his butt against the countertop.
“In the last inning today I got a double and drove in two runs.”
“Hooboy! That’s fantastic.”
“You really think so?” Junior sounded a little unsure.
“Hell…heck, yeah. I’m real proud of you, son. Maybe I should start callin’ you ‘Slugger’ instead of ‘Champ’.”
Junior giggled.
“Wish I could have been there to see you play.”
“Yeah, me, too. I miss you.”
“Miss you, too, Junior.” Feeling the conversation was getting too downbeat, Brock said, “I got a big contract today.” He pushed himself away from the counter and reached into the fridge for a drink.
“Yeah?” Junior sounded brighter.
“You remember Vice Principle Hamilton?” Brock popped the tab on the can.
“He once gave me detention for punching Ronnie Halsop.”
“I remember. You were trying to protect a freshman.”
“Yeah.”
Brock had been called to the middle school where he’d been told his son had indeed punched another student. Junior hadn’t challenged this, and had told the vice principal and Brock he’d done it in order to defend a smaller kid who was being bullied, and added that, if it happened again he’d punch the bully a second time. It was something Brock wished he’d had the courage to do when he’d been in school.
“Mr. Hamilton knew that, which was why you only got an hour’s detention instead of a week’s suspension.”
“Guess so.”
Brock took a long swallow of his drink and burped softly. He rubbed the cold can against his naked chest.
“But getting back to what I was saying. Mr. Hamilton has taken early retirement and—”
“What are you drinking?” Junior asked, tension obvious in his voice.
“Soda.”
“M’ kay.”
Brock knew Junior was concerned he had been drinking beer. His alcohol consumption was the only major bone of contention between them. Brock—wanting to keep the peace—rarely drank in front of his son.
“What about Mr. Hamilton?” Junior asked.
Brock explained about how he’d got a call from Calvin, and how his folks
Chapter 4
Brock sighed. It was too fuckin’ warm, but he couldn’t afford to switch on the window AC units.
So take off the sweatshirt, dumbass! the voice in his head told him.
Reluctantly Brock raised the hem of the garment and pulled it over his head. Immediately he felt cooler, as what air there was drifting through the house caressed his naked chest. Folding Calvin’s sweatshirt over the back of a kitchen chair, Brock eyed the pile of dirty dishes with distaste, but knew he couldn’t put off the unpleasant chore any longer.
Turning on the faucet, Brock waited until the water started to run hot. Adding dish soap, he began to scale the mountain.
The phone in the hallway rang. Fearing it would be the hospital’s debt collectors, Brock paused, hands still in the sudsy water.
Or maybe it’s Calvin, the annoying voice announced.
Brock dried his hands and went to get the phone before the answering machine had a chance to kick in.
“Dad!” Junior said before Brock could speak.
“Hey, Champ. You having a good time?”
“It’s awesome!” Brock had to move the phone an inch or so away from his ear.
“You won’t want to come home when it’s over, eh?”
The line went quiet. “I am having a good time, but I’m really missing you.”
“That’s good to hear, son.” Brock had to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat. “’Cause I’m missing you one hell…uh, heck of a lot, too.”
Junior laughed. “Hey, Dad, guess what?”
Brock smiled. “What?”
“Guess.”
Laughing, Brock said, “You got signed by a scout from a major league team?”
“Ha! No, I pitched a one-hitter today.”
“That’s my boy!” Brock’s chest swelled with pride.
“And that’s not all.”
“Oh?” Brock went back into the kitchen and rested his butt against the countertop.
“In the last inning today I got a double and drove in two runs.”
“Hooboy! That’s fantastic.”
“You really think so?” Junior sounded a little unsure.
“Hell…heck, yeah. I’m real proud of you, son. Maybe I should start callin’ you ‘Slugger’ instead of ‘Champ’.”
Junior giggled.
“Wish I could have been there to see you play.”
“Yeah, me, too. I miss you.”
“Miss you, too, Junior.” Feeling the conversation was getting too downbeat, Brock said, “I got a big contract today.” He pushed himself away from the counter and reached into the fridge for a drink.
“Yeah?” Junior sounded brighter.
“You remember Vice Principle Hamilton?” Brock popped the tab on the can.
“He once gave me detention for punching Ronnie Halsop.”
“I remember. You were trying to protect a freshman.”
“Yeah.”
Brock had been called to the middle school where he’d been told his son had indeed punched another student. Junior hadn’t challenged this, and had told the vice principal and Brock he’d done it in order to defend a smaller kid who was being bullied, and added that, if it happened again he’d punch the bully a second time. It was something Brock wished he’d had the courage to do when he’d been in school.
“Mr. Hamilton knew that, which was why you only got an hour’s detention instead of a week’s suspension.”
“Guess so.”
Brock took a long swallow of his drink and burped softly. He rubbed the cold can against his naked chest.
“But getting back to what I was saying. Mr. Hamilton has taken early retirement and—”
“What are you drinking?” Junior asked, tension obvious in his voice.
“Soda.”
“M’ kay.”
Brock knew Junior was concerned he had been drinking beer. His alcohol consumption was the only major bone of contention between them. Brock—wanting to keep the peace—rarely drank in front of his son.
“What about Mr. Hamilton?” Junior asked.
Brock explained about how he’d got a call from Calvin, and how his folks
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