Beneath the Stain - Part 7 (13 page)

Trav’s dad just listened and smiled occasionally. He only really got rolling when the conversation was about politics.

And Mackey didn’t say a word.

They’d landed at La Guardia, which was about a two-hour drive from their suburb in New Jersey. After the first hour, Trav was about a heartbeat away from screaming for Heywood to stop the car because they’d left the real Mackey back at the airport.

It felt like sitting next to a replicant, Mackey was so still, and it was starting to give Trav the heebie-jeebies.

When Mackey shifted his attention from a sort of morbid fixation on Trav’s silent father and chattering mother, Trav was almost relieved. God, Mackey—they were just people! Trav had known he was nervous, but
Jesus.

Quietly, like he was sneaking his phone out in the middle of school, Mackey reached into his pocket and checked a text.

“What?” he mumbled. “Kell, what in the….”

“Mackey? Is everything okay?” Trav asked underneath his mother’s excited monologue.

“
Son of a fucking bitch
!” Mackey burst out and then started texting madly. “Kell, you stupid motherfucker, how could you? She was a
virgin—
them things are like fucking unicorns!”

Uh-oh. Trav had realized that Kell and Briony’s relationship had progressed beyond hand-holding. He could have sworn Mackey was on board with that, but apparently it was one thing to encourage your friend to do something and another to find out she’d actually done it.

Suddenly Mackey’s eyes bulged out, and he hit a button and held the phone to his ear.

“Kell, you miserable fucktard, you could not keep your fucking thing in your pants?” he snarled. The chatter in the car ground to a halt. “You were using birth control? Well that’s a fucking plus, because in our family that counts for
shit
! You fucking know that! That girl was our
sister
! Okay, she was
my
sister, but you had to go knock up the only friend I’ve ever fucking had? You
know
we get pregnant when God fucking sneezes! You couldn’t have doubled up, used a fucking rubber for sweet Christ’s sake? Yes, I know it’s a pain in the ass, but I swear, if I didn’t know what a fucking condom was, I’da been having assbabies all over the goddamned world!
Jesus fucking Christ
, you
asshole
! What’s her mother gonna say? You get one chance to get to know decent people and you
knock up their daughter
? Oh, so you’re going to get married? And who says that girl is going to take us? I was lucky she wanted to be my friend, man, you think she wants to be your
wife
?”

Oh no—Mackey was near tears. This had gone far enough. Trav struggled to grab the phone while clapping his hand over Mackey’s mouth, but he got in one more sally before Trav won the wrestling match. “It’s like you were
trying
to break your fucking heart! You fucking ass-rags keep telling me
I’m
the fuckup, but holy fucking shitburgers, Kellog, you knocked up my best friend and now we’re gonna have to scrape you off the fucking floor!”

The noise stopped when Trav won the phone, and as he pulled it up to his ear, he took stock. His family was in hysterics. His mother was laughing so hard she couldn’t breathe. His father’s face was as red as a tomato, and he was holding his stomach in silent laughter. Heywood was biting the side of one hand and steering with the other. Trav wanted to tell him to pull over or he’d wreck the damned car.

But first, damage control.

“Kellogg?”

“Yessir,” Kell said, sounding small and scared.

“Congratulations. You and Briony are getting married?”

“Yessir.”

“Well, I think that’s an awesome idea, and Mackey will too.”

“We… we knew he wouldn’t take it well.”

Trav let out a short bark of laughter. “Well, it was probably wise of you to wait until he was out of the state. By the time he gets back, he’ll be thrilled for you both.”

Mackey made some sounds of outrage, but Trav pinned him with a glare and he subsided. His eyes were red-rimmed, and Trav thought that maybe he was terrified for both of them. God, this did put a monkey wrench in the lives of two people he really loved.

But since they really loved each other, maybe it would be the best kind of monkey wrench.

“You think so?” Kell asked wistfully.

Trav’s voice softened, and Mackey relaxed just a tad under his body. “I know so,” he said with conviction. “Congratulations, Kellogg. I think you’re going to make a hell of a father.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I’ll help you guys plan the wedding after Christmas.”

“God, Trav, that would so help. My mom’ll probably wanna say, and Briony’s too, but I’m so ass-fucking lost about it!”

“No worries. I promise. It’ll be a good thing.”

Mackey held his hand out imperiously, and Trav sighed. Well, he couldn’t do any more damage, right?

Mackey took the phone, and Trav took his hand back and watched warily as Mackey sighed and started talking. “Brother, I love you,” he said, shocking the hell out of Trav. “But man… I just want you guys to be happy.”

He listened for a minute and then smiled, that quiet, radiant smile that had sort of knocked the wind out of Trav from the very beginning.

“Yeah. We’ll have a baby in the house. Katy’ll have someone to play with when she visits. Hey—you’ll have to let Shelia design the nursery; she’ll be jealous as all hell. Yeah. Okay. You all might not suck. Yeah, fine. No, I’ll talk to her later, when I’m not all emotional and shit. Yeah, merry fucking Christmas to you too.”

He hung up the phone with a sigh that echoed through the now silent SUV, and then, a day late and a dollar short, he looked up at the audience he’d forgotten he had. His mouth dropped slowly and his face turned red, and he looked at Trav in utter panic.

“Oh fuck,” he said, his voice as small as a schoolboy’s.

“Assbabies?” Trav said, his voice as dry as toast. “Really?”

“That came out wrong,” he said, hiding his eyes.

“No, no, I think that came out just right.” Heywood chuckled. “Damn, Mackey—you just became my most interesting relative.”

“The rock star thing didn’t do it for you before?” Mackey retorted, and Trav’s mom and dad joined in the laughter.

“Congratulations, Mackey,” Linda Ford said. “I understand you’re going to be an uncle.”

“Yeah, well, I expect it’s going to happen a lot,” Mackey muttered. “But thank you, that’s kind.”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Trav said, feeling at ease for the first time since they’d gotten on the plane, “I give you the
real
Mackey Sanders.”

Mackey slugged him softly in the arm, and Trav placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. Yeah, once his fingernails grew back, he’d be just fine.

A
MY
L
ANE
is a mother of four and a compulsive knitter who writes because she can't silence the voices in her head. She adores cats, Chi-who-whats, knitting socks, and hawt menz, and she dislikes moths, cat boxes, and knuckle-headed macspazzmatrons. She is rarely found cooking, cleaning, or doing domestic chores, but she has been known to knit up an emergency hat/blanket/pair of socks for any occasion whatsoever, or sometimes for no reason at all. She writes in the shower, while at the gym, while taxiing children to soccer/dance/gymnastics/band oh my! and has learned from necessity to type like the wind. She lives in a spider-infested, crumbling house in a shoddy suburb and counts on her beloved Mate to keep her tethered to reality—which he does, while keeping her cell phone charged as a bonus. She's been married for twenty-plus years and still believes in Twu Wuv, with a capital Twu and a capital Wuv, and she doesn't see any reason at all for that to change.

Website: www.greenshill.com

Blog: www.writerslane.blogspot.com

E-mail: [email protected]

Facebook: www.facebook.com/amy.lane.167

Twitter: @amymaclane