Awakenings - SF1 (22 page)

Jamie decided that speaking to Ryan about seeing her at the coffeehouse would serve no useful purpose. They did not speak on Thursday but after class on Friday they stopped for their customary juice break. Jamie was amused to see Ryan pull a brown bag from her book bag and begin to eat her snack.

"Um, Ryan?" she began.

"Mmrmfh?"

"Why are you eating cold dry pancakes?"

"They're cold because they were made last night, and I don't have access to a microwave. They're dry because syrup doesn't travel well." After delivering her logical answer she gazed at Jamie with an open, placid look on her face. This was one of Ryan's idiosyncrasies that Jamie both loved and hated. She invariably answered your question...she just answered it exactly as it was asked. The thought passed through Jamie's mind that everyone she knew thought like a lawyer.

"You know that's not my real question," Jamie said as she gave her arm a little slap.

"Okay, I'll confess. I didn't call home by 3 p.m. to tell my father that I wouldn't be home for dinner. This," she said as she shook a dry cold pancake, "is my punishment."

"Um, I guess that clears it up," she replied with a confused look.

"Okay, my father expects each of us to be home for dinner at 6 p.m. sharp. It's no big deal if we can't make it. But if you don't opt out by 3 p.m. he cooks for you. If he cooks for you, you damn well better eat it. So whatever you didn't eat for dinner, you get for lunch the next day."

"But you don't have to eat it, Ryan," Jamie laughed.

"Yes I do," Ryan intoned seriously. "It's important to my father."

"What do you mean?" she asked completely unable to understand how eating cold pancakes could be important to anyone.

"When my mother died he did his best to keep us functioning as a real family. Having meals together is a big part of what makes that work. When I break one of the family rules there should be a price to pay. It's all about respect." Her deep blue eyes were serious as she gazed steadily at Jamie.

"I would love to meet the man that you love and respect so much, Ryan," Jamie said as she covered Ryan's hand with one of her own.

Ryan blushed just a little and gave Jamie a big smile. "Why don't you come for Sunday dinner and meet everyone?"

"I would love to," Jamie replied enthusiastically.

"Sunday at 3 p.m. Don't be late," she threatened ominously as she gave her cold pancake another shake right in Jamie's face.

Jamie left Palo Alto extra early to insure that she would be on time for Sunday dinner. She followed Ryan's neatly written directions as she moved along the 101 and as she exited at Cesar Chavez Blvd. She mused to herself that she had never been in this section of the city. She often took the 101, but usually only to see her grandfather up near Nob Hill. As she drove along Chavez it became clear why she had never been to this neighborhood. Her family was interested in high culture, fine restaurants and major sporting events. This modest neighborhood looked like a fine place to get a good Nicaraguan meal, but that was about it. The neighborhood wasn't terribly run down but it strongly reflected the culture of its recent immigrants from Central America.
Is this Ryan's neighborhood?
she mused thoughtfully.
I know she doesn't have much family money but this seems awfully modest.

After a couple of miles she crossed Dolores, a broad, divided street with a large greensward down the center. At that imaginary dividing line the neighborhood began to change dramatically. The houses were very neatly tended and the shops looked decidedly more upscale.
This is really cute
, she mused as she regarded the plethora of small 2 and 3 story Victorians that graced every block.

She arrived at the stated address at 2:40. She found a parking space rather easily and walked up to the neat little Victorian. She heard music playing from the attached garage and decided to check there before climbing the exterior staircase to approach the front door. Two dark figures were lying on the floor flanking a turquoise and cream Harley as she approached.

Walking into the garage she tentatively asked, "Ryan?" still not positive that one of the figures was her friend.

"Hey, Jamie," replied her friendly voice. "Did you bring your overalls?" Ryan scooted out from beneath the bike and rose to her full 6 ft. plus height. She wore her black hair in a neat braid that stuck out from beneath the bill of her backwards red baseball cap. A tight white ribbed tank top showed every one of the many assets of her torso. Very old, very faded 501's covered her long legs. The jeans bore large rips at each knee and small ones beneath the soft curves of her butt. As she stood Jamie could make out gray underwear through the rear rips that seemed to extend well past the norm
. What does she have on under those jeans?"
she mused
. Does she wear boxers?
Big brown lineman's boots covered her feet.

Jamie could almost feel her chin hit her chest when the next figure stood. She was fairly certain that Ryan did not have a twin. But the tall man who now stood beside Ryan was clearly a testosterone laden clone. Looking at them together Jamie marveled at the likeness. But where Ryan had smooth curves, the man had tight muscle. He was at least 5 or 6 inches taller and a lot broader in the shoulders, but his hips were narrow. He did not have an ounce of fat anywhere it did not belong. His hair was identical in color and texture, but he wore it short around the side of his head and a little long on top. His eyes were the same deep blue and they had the same intensity as Ryan's. But Jamie quickly noticed that they lacked the gentleness that Ryan's often bore. His gaze seemed intimidating, almost predatory, while Ryan's usually seemed open and interested. He was dressed in a similar manner, but his T-shirt covered his shoulders and his jeans had fewer holes.

Ryan looked bemused at the expression on Jamie's face. "Kinda creepy, huh?" she teased.

"Wha...Oh...yeah," she admitted. "You aren't twins, are you?"

The man was busy wiping his hands on a towel. As he finished he extended his right one in greeting. "She should be so lucky to share my chromosomes," he said with bravado.

Jamie laughed as Ryan punched him rather hard in his bicep. "This is my sweet, charming brother Conor. Conor, this is my friend, Jamie."

"I'm pleased to meet you, Conor," Jamie finally got out, aware that she was still staring, but unable to stop.

"It's only gonna get worse, Jamie. Prepare yourself," Ryan warned.

The grungy siblings spent a few moments putting away their tools and neatening up the work area. Jamie watched them work, still unable to get over the astounding similarity. After they had finished they all exited the front of the garage and hung a left to walk up the narrow staircase that led to the front entrance. When they reached the landing she noticed a very nice flower rimmed deck that obviously covered the two garages. "Nice," she said appreciatively, taking in the neat space.

"Yeah," Ryan agreed. "We've got the only deck on the whole block. Actually, one of the few in the whole neighborhood. It's a great place to sit out and get a fog tan," she chuckled, acknowledging the few clear days that The City was blessed with. Giving a quick glance at the surrounding houses she noticed that they were all of a similar type. They were all quite narrow and spaced very closely together; actually most of them seemed to touch each other on both sides.

Conor held the door for her and she stepped in before the siblings. "Your home is charming, Ryan," she enthused. As Jamie looked around she thought to herself that part of the charm was the near Lilliputian size of the rooms. The house was only two rooms wide and two rooms long. The small entryway led to an equally small but attractive living room. The living room opened into a formal dining room that was identical in size to the living room. The living room held two love seats and a comfortable looking leather wing back chair. A full sized sofa would never have fit, and the room was a little cramped with the current seating arrangement. There was a small fireplace topped by a mantel that was filled with pictures of the family. Small leaded glass windows bracketed the fireplace. Additional photos and diplomas lined the walls under the windows. The wall to the left of the fireplace held a floor to ceiling bookcase that was lined with books and more photos. The opposite wall revealed a door but Jamie couldn't figure out what room would open off the front of the living room.

As she looked around she noticed that the most attractive part of the room was all of the exquisitely detailed woodwork. The ceiling was bordered by a deep crown molding with a wide picture molding right underneath. Each window and door was trimmed out, as was the fireplace. Jamie guessed that the home was 60 or 70 years old, really too new to have all of the millwork be original. "I love all of the moldings in here," she said to Ryan.

Conor gave her a big grin as he offered a slight bow. "Thank you, Jamie," he said.

Ryan explained, "Conor's a finish carpenter. After he got out of trade school he used the house as his little project. We've got every kind of molding and trim that you can imagine."

She ran her hand over the elaborate woodwork of the mantel. "You certainly do nice work, Conor," she said appreciatively.

"Don't encourage him too much," Ryan warned. "He'll pull out his pictures and monopolize you all night!"

"Some people are interested in craftsmanship," he sniffed. "Jamie certainly seems to be able to recognize quality."

"My mother's very much into home decorating," Jamie explained. "We did a major remodel a couple of years ago and we had a lot of trim installed, so I learned a ton about your craft, Conor."

The cozy dining room held a very large oak table, rectangular in shape. It had room for 10, but only 6 places were set today. As Jamie finished surveying the room she was greeted by yet another of Ryan's clones. This one looked a bit older and while he was also well built he did not leave the impression of raw power waiting to burst out of his skin that his siblings had. "Oh, Brendan, when did you show up?" Ryan asked as she crossed the room to give him a big hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"I came over about a half hour ago, but I've got good clothes on and I wasn't going to let you grease monkeys talk me into ruining another pair of pants," he replied sagely.

"Brendan, this is my friend, Jamie," Ryan again began the introductions, and was forced to add another, "and this is Rory," she said to Jamie as the last brother entered.

Well at least he's not a clone, too
, Jamie thought. Rory was shorter than Ryan by 2 or 3 inches. His hair was also lighter, and Jamie guessed that it would be a deep red in the sunlight. His eyes were a soft green and they twinkled when he smiled. His skin was fairer than his siblings, but his features were quite similar.

"I'm pleased to meet you both," Jamie said as she shook hands with each in turn.

A voice rang out from the kitchen, "Dinner will be served in exactly 1/2 hour. Anyone with a spot of grease on them will not be served."

Conor and Ryan stole guilty glances at each other. "Flip you for the shower," Ryan said. She produced a dime from her jeans, but Conor lucked out. "Please leave some hot water for me, Conor," she begged.

"What's it worth to ya?" he inquired.

"Well, it's you who has the most to gain since I sit next to you at the table," she reasoned.

"Good point, Stinky," he relented, "I'll hurry."

The voice boomed from the kitchen yet again. "Shi' vawn," it appeared to say, "Use some manners and bring your guest in here."

"Shi' vawn?" Jamie mouthed to her friend.

Ryan looked a little sheepish. "It's my real name," she admitted. "I changed it long ago, but my father doesn't acknowledge it."

They walked through the dining room and turned right into a very large kitchen. The room was rectangular in shape and ran about 15 feet to a screened door at the rear. It was only about 10 feet in width, but the high ceilings and bright tile made it look much bigger. The kitchen was not what Jamie was mesmerized by however, that distinction fell to the older male clone stirring a pot on the stove.

Gee, I guess they're not adopted
, thought Jamie. Martin O'Flaherty was clearly the original from whom the little O'Flaherty copies sprang. He was a good 4 inches taller than Ryan, with a bit of gray at the temples. His physique matched that of Brendan and from a distance he could have been 30 years old. But up close his face had the small lines and weathered skin that befitted a man who worked at a dangerous profession. His eyes, however, were exact copies of Ryan's, deep blue, warm and friendly.

"Da, this is my friend, Jamie," Ryan again made the introduction.

"Ahh, Jamie," he said warmly with a more than a hint of an Irish accent. "Shi' vawn speaks of you well and often. I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance, but I wish it had been weeks earlier," he said as he shot a glare at his smirking daughter.

"If she speaks half as well of me as she does of you Mr. O'Flaherty, then I'm a lucky woman," Jamie replied with a twinkle.

"Shi' vawn are you certain this little one is not from the old sod?" he said with a laugh. "She seems to have kissed the Blarney Stone rather recently. But there is no Mr. O'Flaherty here
,
darlin'. You may call me Martin or Marty, whichever you choose."

"What do you prefer?" she inquired.