When Brian returned from Asheville early Monday afternoon, Angelina called him over before he closed the car door.
Her hands and Polly’s hands fluttered together, but as Brian approached, Polly slipped inside.
“Why didn’t you tell me Trevor doesn’t have a driver’s license?” Angelina lifted her hands in mild exasperation, her wrists laden with beaded bracelets.
“No license?”
“Stephen Parker stopped him for turning without signaling. Good thing Trevor had finished delivering, though I can’t believe Parker would search my car. Besides, didn’t Trevor look smart and serious, dressed for business?”
“Angelina,” Brian said, “of course, you know what’s what around here. But the laws for you are less stringent than they are for Trevor. That’s normal.”
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“Like minds,” she winked. “Can you drive him to the DMV? Maybe test him on a few basics beforehand?”
Brian shrugged. “Whenever he’s ready. He knows that.”
Angelina went inside her place and Brian saw Carla was waving from their cabin across the yard. But first Trevor sauntered up, grinning like mad, a bare arm wrapped around a pretty young woman.
“Angelina’s giving us the other single,” Trevor said, glancing over his shoulder at the cabin Polly occupied whenever she and Angelina quarreled. “And, uh, yeah, meet Hailey. She’s gonna help me sing.”
Hailey smiled at Brian, beautiful teeth, dark, doe eyes, and coppery, smooth skin. When Brian extended his hand, she dipped her head and giggled before her fingers quickly brushed his palm. She turned to Trevor who kissed her cheek, a loud smack bursting between his lips and her skin. Two seconds later, she had disappeared.
But not before the brothers, standing side-by-side, watched her gliding toward the far cabin. So easy and light was her gait.
Against the overhead sun, Brian put on sunglasses. “Don’t start breaking hearts, Trevor. It’ll come back to you.”
“Why even say that?”
He frowned, impatient. “I see things now. Not like when I was a kid.”
Brian nodded, and anxious to get through to Trevor, took off the sunglasses. “Not a good idea to go off in Angelina’s car without a license.”
“She talked to the cops,” Trevor heel-toed his feet. “So no one would stop me. Small confusion, is all. She’s paying a fine—no traffic court.”
“She assumed you had a license.”
“Can you take me this afternoon? Or tomorrow. Either way.” “Let me see Carla first.” Brian matched his schedule with Carla’s. They both had Monday and Tuesday off. Except, since he still hoped for a PhD, Brian taught Monday morning WesternCiv, giving the same lectures and same tests as he had five years ago.
“Another thing, Brian. Hope you don’t mind,” Trevor retrieved a paper from his pocket. “Hailey made this list. Stuff we could use from Bed Bath & Beyond.”
“After your driver’s license, maybe, we’ll go there and use my discount.”
Carla was waiting for Brian at the cabin door. “Wish he hadn’t taken up with Hailey. She’s one of my best waitresses, but she has brothers, who want to back Trevor when he sings.”
Brian stroked Carla’s shoulders, glad, almost giddy, that she wasn’t in love with Trevor. Carla said she loved Brian more than anyone. Who had ever loved Brian more than anyone? And so what if the coconut-smell in her hair sometimes bothered him? He loved everything else about her.
“Thing is,” Carla was whispering in his ear, because he held her too close for speaking normally. “I want to fire him.” She pressed on Brian’s chest, so he released her.
“I need to fire him, Brian. Because “Kinky Reggae” isn’t a café song. No one orders appetizers during “Get Up, Stand Up,” whether Trevor sings it well or not. He sings it with enough conviction so that half the restaurant’s up and dancing, and no one—but no one—cares about tiny raviolis in garden-fresh pesto.”
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