Carla fumed waiting for Brian; it was past midnight. For weeks now, instead of stopping by The Eden Café when he finished his shift at Bed Bath & Beyond, Brian was teaching Trevor to drive.
No matter that Trevor had a license. No matter that these lessons were late at night, after Trevor had already crisscrossed the county in the afternoons, blasting music in Angelina’s luxurious but sturdy station wagon. To Carla’s mind, Trevor’s afternoon deliveries, for which Angelina paid him “X-amount,” equaled a stupid and unnecessary risk. (Everyone knew Angelina had money galore.)
And before Trevor’s arrival, Angelina’s garden crop had been a private matter. Now, Trevor cultivated the “best” marijuana inside a not very well disguised shed, with solar panels for daylight and special lamps at night. Angelina’s friends paid $650 an ounce.
“Very I-table—big-hearted,” Trevor claimed.
[Click here to read the first episode, or here to read the previous one.]
It so worried Brian that Carla almost offered Trevor a last chance singing at the café again. If nothing else, she’d see Brian more often; he wouldn’t spend every night futilely, dangerously, warning Trevor about solid double yellow lines.
“When I tell him to watch the road,” he had told her, “he says no worries. The road watches him.”
Carla recalled scoffing. “That’s Trevor’s whole thing, isn’t it? Please, Bri, just leave it between him and Angelina.”
Angelina got wind of Carla’s disapproval and warned her, “Stay out of this.” Angelina and Trevor intended the pot-sales as a springboard to turn the rental cabin grounds into an “avant-garde arts/eco community. Kinda like the old Black Mountain College,” Angelina said. “My grandparents were administrators there until it closed.”
Carla shrugged. She hadn’t known about any art colony, and didn’t ask. Brian staggered into their cabin after a full day of work; after trying to teach Trevor a few road skills; and after an hour of chopping wood. Standing over the sink, he ate a handful of pretzels and drank a few beers preceded by two fast shots of whiskey. Carla listened from their bed as he rinsed off.
She flinched when he landed like a dead weight beside her, and thrashed about, unable to sleep. She lay still, resisting the urge to fight with him. Brian was already punch-drunk. An effect Trevor had on Brian, possibly without knowing it. Trevor never saw beyond how much people liked him.
Of course, initially Carla had fallen under Trevor’s spell same as anyone. Now she didn’t like him at all and did her best to hide the fact, because it wouldn’t help. She hated Trevor depending on Brian for everything. Worse, though, she hated how much Brian loved Trevor. It was creepy, whether it lessened his time for her or not. That aside, it tormented Brian, whose self-image suffered because of his prodigal little brother returned from his island escapades.
Brian lay beside her, his muscles so taut Carla ached to loosen them. Aware of his eyelids quivering to stay shut, she gave way to a hideous suspicion. It seized her so thoroughly that her skin clung tighter to her bones: Brian loved Trevor more than he would ever love Carla!
An insane thought, she silently insisted. Yet, if she said as much out loud, Brian not only would deny it—he just might leave Trevor to his fate. If she dared, Carla could plead with Brian: They should move away and stay away. And chances were good she could goad Brian into acquiescing. But, in the dead, dread of night, an evil Carla argued with the good Carla. Brian wouldn’t rebound without Trevor.
That’s how much he loved his troublesome younger brother. Good, bad, no version of Carla could fast-forward to a happy, active Brian, living independent from Trevor.
Soon Carla was admitting what she wanted more than anything—to run and someday own, or partly own, The Eden Café. Maybe she loved the restaurant the way Brian loved Trevor.
Carla was having a bad dream, that’s all. In her sleep she argued with her fears, and without watching the road, hit her wit’s end.
“Carla,” Brian asked gently, aware that she’d surfaced from her surreal meanderings, “what’s going on? Are you okay?”
“Bad dream, I guess. How are you, sweetheart?”
“He’s never going to learn to drive, Carla. I told him tonight, no more lessons.”
“Good, because I miss you, Brian. It wears on me how much I miss you.”
(Click here to read the next episode.)
