Two Family Home (14 page)

A
s Walker approached the laundry room door, he heard Booger's mad scratching and picked up the pace. He really didn't want to replace another door.

Although that might make Lindsey happy. Give him a reason to have a date with Jake again.

He shook his head. The woman was strange, but he liked her. She tried to do what was best for him. He wasn't going to start bro-ing down with the whole county, but Jake was an all-right guy and Walker was glad to have made a friend.

So what if he had to be tricked into it by his . . . by his Lindsey.

He opened the door and Booger bolted through, running a lap around Lindsey's apartment. “She's at work, buddy,” Walker told the dog. “I know. I wanted her to stay home, too.”

“You talking to the dog?”

And that was why he wanted Lindsey to stay home. It was a little bit easier to face his father when Lindsey was there. He felt less like he might murder the guy.

But Walker had promised Lindsey that he would give Red a chance, and Walker was not the kind of guy who took promises lightly, even if those promises were tricked out of him by the pressure of an amazing set of breasts against his arm.

“Sleep all right?” Walker asked.

Red looked surprised. “Fine, yeah. Once the dog stopped growling at me.”

Walker patted Booger on the head.

“Breakfast?” Walker asked.

“You cooking?”

“Sure.”

“You still make those egg waffle sandwiches? Remember those?”

Walker remembered. Scrambled eggs with ketchup sandwiched between two frozen waffles. He made those for dinner the first time when he was about twelve because he was pissed that Red hadn't bought any groceries and wouldn't let them order takeout. If Red wouldn't get him real food, his adolescent brain reasoned, he would show him by eating something totally disgusting.

Walker knew now that it was because Red had no money, but at the time, it seemed like Red just wanted to piss him off. So Walker wanted to piss him off right back. Instead, Red had laughed, like Walker was some kind of culinary genius, and ate two of them.

They actually weren't bad, the waffle-egg sandwiches, especially when he added bacon.

This must be the bonding portion of the visit, Walker thought. Reminisce about the good old times when Red was a shitty father and Walker learned never to trust anyone.

“I don't have any waffles,” he told Red. Even if he did, he wasn't going to make Red a special sandwich, dammit.

“How about we go out somewhere. My treat.”

“I thought you didn't have any money, Red?”

“I got enough to buy my son breakfast. Just make it somewhere cheap.” Red laughed his damn head off and slapped Walker on the back.

Great. The bonding portion of the visit was just beginning.

 

Thursdays were Walker's day with Myron. He sometimes spent other days with him, too, but every Thursday they had a standing lunch date.

Lindsey pretended she wasn't watching for him at the door of Shady Grove.

So did Myron.

Walker had been simmering a low-burning rage since his father had come to stay. He was ornery and short-tempered, and was always trying to walk away from her rather than have a conversation. It was just like when she first moved in.

She did not reminisce about that period fondly.

In Walker's defense, he didn't snap at her, and she could see him trying not to snap at his father. This meant that Walker spent a lot of time in the garage. He would work until late at night, then come crawl into bed with her. Sometimes he'd just hold her, sometimes she'd insist she was awake, so he better get to smoochin'.

No matter how gentle (or not gentle) he was at night, though, in the morning he was back to his silent, grumpy self.

Myron, for all his flaws, had some kind of magical power, as if his own grumpiness somehow neutralized Walker's. That was the one time she'd seen Walker smile since they discovered Red in the garage—when he was here, visiting Myron.

“What's he like?” Myron asked from his seat by the sunny window.

“What's who like?”

“The pope. Who do you think? Walker's dad.”

“Didn't you meet him? Back when you were teaching?”

Myron snorted. “Red wasn't exactly a get-involved kind of parent.”

Lindsey sat down in the chair next to Myron. It was sunny, and the day was quiet. She could take a break. Or, if she kept talking to Myron, she could call it an assessment.

“I'm worried about Walker,” Lindsey said, totally failing to assess Myron. “He's not handling this well.”

“Handling what? What's the guy doing here, anyway?”

“He just got out of prison, Myron. He didn't have anywhere else to go.”

Myron waved her concerns away. Lindsey knew she had talked Walker into letting his father stay, and she still thought it was the right thing to do.

She, apparently, was the only one who thought so.

“Well, speak of the devil,” Myron muttered. And just like that, Walker came through the door, followed by Red.

Oh, this should be fun
, she thought.

“Hiya, sweetie,” said Red, using his brand-new, super-fun nickname for her. “Cute scrubs.”

Lindsey made a mental note to burn these scrubs.

“Hey, Red,” she said politely. “Hey, Walker. We were beginning to think you wouldn't show.” She tried to communicate empathy in her gaze.

“You got a problem with your face, Lindsey?” Myron asked.

Lindsey sighed. So much for meaningful looks.

“You must be Myron,” Red said, holding his hand out for a shake.

Myron looked at it. “You didn't bring the dog?” he asked Walker.

This is going great. Lunch will be fun,
she thought.

“So, where are you guys off to today?” she asked in a voice that sounded forced, even to herself.

“Actually, I was gonna let the boys have their time,” Red told her.

“Big of you,” muttered Myron.

“I thought I'd see if you needed any help around here. You know, to pay you back for putting me up.”

“Oh,” said Lindsey, surprised. She looked at Walker, but his face did not give her any clue about what she should do with Red's sudden generosity. “Okay, sure. Um . . .” What could she have the ex-con help her with?

“I can do some landscaping if you need it. Or help out in the kitchen . . .”

“Well . . .”

“Or just hang out with people. I miss hanging out with people. If you've got some supplies, I could teach a painting lesson.”

“I bet you could,” muttered the ever-helpful Myron.

“Gosh, that's . . .” She looked desperately at Walker, who shrugged like that idea was probably fine.

She did a quick mental inventory of the art supplies. Gladys and Mae came out from the lunchroom and watched the little group curiously.

“What do you say, ladies?” Red asked them. “Should we paint some happy little trees?”

If she set Red up in the art room, she could keep an eye on him while simultaneously getting him out of Walker's hair for a while. Plus, Red was obviously a good painter. After all, some of his forgeries worked, she thought. And he would only be here for a few more days. How much damage could he do?

“Okay, that would be great. I'll get you set up.” With a quick glance back at Walker, she led his father to the art room, trailed by some very curious senior citizens.

W
alker pounded through the front door.

Red was sitting innocently in the easy chair, reading a magazine. He was even wearing reading glasses. The picture of innocence and civic responsibility.

Then Walker noticed his duffle bag, packed and zipped by the edge of the couch.

“What did you do, Red?”

“I don't know what you mean,” he replied, flipping the pages.

“You going somewhere?” Walker kicked the duffle.

“My week is almost up. Thought I'd get a head start, is all.”

Walker narrowed his eyes at his father. “I'll ask one more time . . .”

“I didn't do anything! I told you, I've changed. I'm not the guy I was before I went in.”

“Yeah, I know. You've had ten years to think about your crimes.”

“You can get sarcastic about it, but it's true.”

“You suddenly realized that what you did was wrong?”

Red stood up and threw the magazine onto the floor. He turned away from Walker and into the kitchen.

Of course he hadn't realized what he did was wrong. Red Smith would never admit he was wrong.

“I did a lot of things I shouldn't have, but I was just trying to provide for you, son. The government says I paid for my crimes. When is that going to be enough for you? I was just trying to make a life for us.”

“Some life. Was that why I ended up in foster care? Were you so busy out providing for me that I wore shoes with holes in them?”

“Oh, poor Walker! Like you're the only one who's struggled. And look at you now! I must not have done too bad if my poor, neglected son became a world-renowned artist.”

“That has nothing to do with you.”

“Doesn't it? Who taught you about art, huh, kid? Who's the one who showed you how light and dark play off each other? Who taught you how to capture movement and sound in a goddamn picture?”

“You taught me how to copy other people's masterpieces. That's not art, Red. That's forgery.”

“All art is forgery, Walker. Wake up.”

“Oh, big existential talk from the con man who lost his touch.”

“That's right. That's me, a washed-up old loser who didn't have a father to support his talent. I shared my gifts with you, son, and what did I get for it? Ten years behind bars, where I had the creativity sapped out of me, staring at those damn cinderblock walls. You might think I'm a con man, but I was just playing the game using whatever I could. And now—” Red's voice broke, and Walker actually felt a little sorry for the guy. He might have been a con man, but at least he'd had something. Now he was just a con man without a con.

That sympathy quickly disappeared as Walker thought about how much time Red had been spending at Shady Grove.

“Red. What are you really doing here?”

“I told you. I need to get back on my feet. Don't worry, though, I'm out of the art game.”

“What game are you in?”

Red straightened so he was toe to toe with Walker. “I'm in the game of life, son. And you can sit here in your pretty house with your pretty white fence and your pretty dog and your pretty girl, but some of us don't have it that easy. Some of us've gotta take what we can, or we're out in the dirt with nothing. Don't you dare judge me for that.”

Walker stepped back and crossed over into Lindsey's apartment. He came back a minute later with his little fireproof box. He pulled out a check and started writing.

“Take this,” he said, handing the check to Red.

“Oh, son,” Red said, sounding suddenly contrite and grateful. “I can't—”

“It's not a gift. I'm buying you off. Take this, and never come back here again. Whatever information you took from those people at Shady Grove, lose it. Lose it, or I'm calling the cops on you.”

Red stared hard at the check.

“So you'll rat out your old man again?”

“That's right. I'll rat you out, but not because I'm bitter that you were a crappy father. And not because your world view is so screwed up that you think everyone is out to get you, when really you're just too lazy to figure out how to do things right. I'll do it because what you're doing is illegal, and it's wrong. Those people worked hard for that money. And even if they hadn't, even if they were born with a goddamn silver spoon in their mouths, it doesn't matter. It's not your money, Red. You're not entitled to it just because you think you're smarter, or because you can take it.”

“I am smarter. It's not my fault people are too stupid to hold on to what's theirs.”

“You're right, Red. Nothing is your fault.”

Red tried to skirt past Walker, but he held firm, made himself a wall between Red and whatever he wanted to take that he didn't deserve. As far as Walker was concerned, Red was done taking.

He must've gotten the message, because he finished shoving his clothes into his duffle, and yanked the zipper so hard it broke off.

Walker guessed that was his fault now, too.

Red looked down at the check. “This is real generous of you, son, but I got no way to get anywhere.”

Walker didn't hesitate. He grabbed the key ring out of his pocket, pulled the keys for his truck off, and tossed them at Red's feet.

The older man started to say something, but Walker just turned on his heel and went upstairs. He sat down on his bed, his spine straight. He listened until he heard the truck pull away, then dropped his head into his hands.

 

When Lindsey got home from work, she noticed Walker's truck was gone. She called out as she went inside. When no one answered, she figured Red was gone, too. Maybe they were off having a fun male bonding trip.

Or maybe Walker was burying the body.

Not funny,
she thought.
Walker hasn't had a murderous gleam in his eye since the first night Red showed up.
But Red did need to get a move on, his wonderful art lessons notwithstanding.

She'd done some research on how ex-cons can enter the workforce. It wasn't going to be easy. Red would need someone willing to give him a chance, and it probably wasn't going to be his dream job, at least not at first. But if he could get his foot in the door and prove himself, Lindsey was sure he could get back on his feet.

That's why she'd spoken to Ned Grubb. Red had been so great with the seniors, encouraging and instructing, and all without any preparation. He was a natural teacher, and if he could channel his talents for good, he could make a real difference in the world.

Ned was willing to hire him to help Glen in the kitchen on a trial basis. It wasn't glamorous, but it was a start. Red could keep teaching classes, and eventually, he would build up enough work experience that he would have an easier time finding a job. Preferably, a better job in a new city.

Not that she didn't like Red. It was just that . . . well, she didn't like him. She hated to admit it, especially since she seemed to be spending so much time telling Walker to keep an open heart. But Red was Walker's father; Walker was never going to escape that connection, so he might as well make the best of it. Lindsey couldn't shake the creepy feeling she got from him, though. She couldn't explain it. He was perfectly nice to her—more than nice, he was generous and helpful and told her that she was good for his son. She had no evidence that he was anything but reformed.

She chalked the creepy feeling up to her own prejudice, a prejudice she didn't know she had. He'd been a criminal. But he paid his debt, and she wouldn't let his past dictate how she felt about him.

She tried. She really tried.

She tried for Walker's sake. But if she was really honest with herself, she would rather Red was gone. And since the main obstacle to his leaving was his lack of gainful employment, Lindsey was pretty pleased with herself for managing to find a solution to the problem that would suit both Red and Walker.

She would miss sharing her space with Walker. Not that it was official—all of his clothes were still in his apartment, and he basically just slept in her bed. (Well, slept and did other stuff—hooray for other stuff.) She liked waking up with him. She realized she was getting dangerously close to having a relationship, but she didn't mind. It didn't count if she didn't have to give up any closet space for him.

Poor Walker. Kicked out of his own place and forced to live apart from his clean boxers. She would make it up to him. She thought about the lingerie set, and how disappointed he'd been that he hadn't gotten to see it up close. Maybe she'd send Red out to the movies so Walker could get a real good look at it. Maybe she'd spring for a double feature.

As she walked through the kitchen, she noticed that the light was on in the garage. Maybe they could get a do-over on the last time she tried to seduce Walker.

But if Walker was in the studio, where was Walker's truck? He was pretty adamant about not letting Red drive it since his driver's license had expired while he was in prison. And where was the dog?

Then, as if she'd conjured him, the garage door opened and Booger came galumphing out, followed by Walker. He was backlit by the overhead lights, and it made him look angelic until the door closed behind him and he was just regular old Walker again.

Good thing she liked regular old Walker.

She met him on the steps to the back porch, her curiosity trumping her desire to seduce, or at least re-prioritizing her desire to seduce. She still had plans for that lingerie.

“Hey,” she called. He looked up at her and gave her a tight smile.

At least it was a smile.

“Get some work done?”

He nodded.

Okay then.

She leaned down to snuffle Booger, who was bouncing madly at her feet. At least the dog was glad to see her.

“Where's Red?” she asked, squinting up at Walker.

“Gone,” he said, and shoved past her. Snuffling as she was, she lost her balance and landed attractively on her butt, legs rising in a slow-motion, failed attempt at balance. “Sorry,” Walker muttered, and grabbed a hand to right her. “You okay?” he asked.

She raised her eyebrow at him. “If I wasn't, would you start acting like a human being?”

He ran his hand through his hair. Lindsey recognized that as Walker's I'm-frustrated-but-not-at-you gesture. She'd become very familiar with that gesture this week. As soon as it was near enough, she put her hand on his forearm. That was her You-can-tell-me-about-it gesture.

Walker didn't take the bait, though, and turned away from her toward his back door.

“Hey,” she said. “Is Red okay?”

“Yup,” Walker said. She followed him inside.

“Did you let him borrow the truck?”

Walker didn't respond. Something was definitely wrong, and Walker had put up those old walls again. She hated those damn walls.

“Walker!”

He whirled around to face her so quickly that she had to take a step back. “He's gone, okay? I gave him money, I gave him my truck, and he's gone.”

“What?”

Walker didn't repeat himself. That was fine. Lindsey had heard the words, she just couldn't make sense of them. “What do you mean, you gave him the truck?”

“I mean he needed a way to get out of town, so I gave it to him.”

“Why did he need a way to get out? Did something happen?”

Walker ran that frustrated hand through his hair again. “Not yet.”

“Not yet? What does that mean?”

“It doesn't mean anything, okay? He's gone, that's all you need to worry about.”

Lindsey tried to put out her listening hand, but Walker backed away.

“Stop it, Lindsey. Just drop it.”

“Drop it? But—”

“Dammit, Lindsey! It's none of your damn business. Just leave it alone! In fact, just leave me alone.”

“What?” she asked softly. She was beginning to sound like a real idiot.

“You heard me. Stay out of my business. Stay out of my life. None of this would have happened if you had just kept your mouth shut.”

She recoiled, but Walker wasn't done. “I should've just kicked Red out the second I saw him, but you had to stick your nose in it and tell me what was best for me. Well, you were wrong. He's not my father, not in any way that matters. He's not reformed. He's not secretly a good person.”

“What did he do?”

“He didn't do anything, not yet. But he could have. He would have, and you know why he would have? Because you let him. You let him stay, and you showed him kindness. But Red doesn't see it as kindness, he sees it as weakness.”

“And so you saved me from the big bad man, is that it?”

“God, Lindsey, you are so naïve, you know that? You've got your head up in some goddamn rainbow clouds. Wake up, Lindsey. My father is an asshole. No amount of magical thinking is going to change that.”

Lindsey stared at the man she thought she knew. She thought his gruff exterior hid a soft, gooey inside. And maybe it did, but if it did, she still hadn't hit it. “I guess you're right. You're a lot more like him than I thought.”

She waited a second to see if he wanted the last word, to see if he would argue with her, prove her wrong about him. She was wrong about Red, fine, but she didn't have to be wrong about Walker.

But when she turned to go, he let her.

 

Booger sat on the back porch, looking at two identical closed doors. He looked back and forth, left and right, waiting for someone to come out and tell him which one was his. But nobody did, so after a while, he went back to his old spot under the porch and fell asleep.