Season of Change(117)

                Christine tucked her cell phone back in her pocket and kept working.

                And braced herself for the next battle, as certain as a sunrise—her dad’s arrival.





                                      CHAPTER NINETEEN

                SOMEBODY WAS KNOCKING on Slade’s front door.

                No one ever knocked on the Death and Divorce House door.

                Disoriented, Slade sat up on the couch, fitting each shirt button through a hole before he stood. He gazed around the living room, but couldn’t find his tie.

                Christine must still have it from the night before.

                “’Bout time you answered.” Takata stood on his doorstep in cargo shorts that almost drooped off his nonexistent hips and an orange-and-blue Hawaiian shirt. He looked like a half-starved Macaw. He pounded his cane on the porch. “I need you to drive me somewhere.”

                “I thought that was Becca’s job.”

                “That girl’s too busy with people who need her help. Go get your keys.” He shouldered his way across the threshold. “Why haven’t you gotten rid of the chair Daniel hated?” He did the cane shuffle over to Slade’s father’s chair. “Your mother bought this for him. He hated it.”

                Slade let the screen door close. “My dad loved that chair.”

                “He loved your mother,” Takata corrected, choosing to sit on the couch. “The chair he hated. Said it made him feel like he was driving a lowrider. Just look at it—it’s not a chair for anyone over five feet. What does a tall man do with his legs in a chair like that?”

                Slade did look. He did see. “I hate that chair.”

                “Most people, when they hate stuff, they get rid of it.” Takata thumped his cane on the floor. “Hop to, boy. I have places to be.”

                “I’m not going anywhere without a shower and some coffee.” He half wanted Takata to give up on him.

                The old man didn’t. He rested his hands on top of his cane. “I’ll wait for the coffee.”

                Slade set the coffeepot brewing and went upstairs to shower, passing by the closed door to the master bedroom. He had no idea what his friends had done in his father’s room last night. Curiosity had yet to beat anxiety, had yet to make him open the door.

                Showered, fresh shirt, fresh slacks, fresh tie, and Slade was back downstairs.

                “You didn’t shave.” Takata waved him back upstairs.

                “I thought you were in a hurry.”

                “I am, but that doesn’t mean I want to be seen with someone who looks like he was on Miami Vice.”

                “You watched that movie?”

                “I’m talking about a television show in the ’80s. Speedboat? Five-o’clock shadow? You look like you’re out to bust somebody.” Takata sighed. “Where’s my coffee?”

                Coffee wasn’t all Takata wanted. He wanted eggs. And some of the cantaloupe Slade had yet to slice into, which was sitting on the kitchen counter.

                An hour later, they were on the road.