“I had my first beers in Salt Lake City. Three of them. Pissed Aisha off big-time.”
He nods. “I think if you’re worried, you shouldn’t drink. It gets bad, Carson. And it happens fast. Once that train starts rolling, you can’t stop it. I promise.”
In that moment, I make a vow to myself. I may have a million other problems. I may make all sorts of mistakes in my life. But I will not become an alcoholic. I will not cross that line, and I’ll do it by never drinking, ever. It’s the only way I can be sure.
“Thanks. You may have just saved my life.”
“Don’t mention it,” he says, smiling.
He sees the waiter and asks for the check, and when the check comes, he motions for the waiter to bend down so he can whisper in the guy’s ear. The waiter looks confused, and then he smiles. And I’m like, Is he propositioning the waiter?
When the waiter walks away, I say, “What was that all about?”
Turk waves me off. The check comes, and Turk gives the guy his credit card.
We sit in awkward silence. “You’re really not going to tell me what that was?”
“Don’t you worry about it,” he says, giving me a quizzical look.
The guy brings back two credit card slips. Um, what’s happening here? Is he paying the guy? Is this like a prostitution thing? A drug thing? My stomach sinks.
“Now you really have to tell me,” I say.
“Carson,” my new grandfather says. “For God’s sake. Drop it.”
As we leave the restaurant, the waiter gives Turk a hug. Once outside, I stop walking. “No. You one hundred percent have to tell me what’s going on. I am freaking out here.”
He shakes his head at me. “Good God, you’re a drama queen. You really need to know?”
“Yes.”
“You’re very nosy,” he says.
“Just tell me,” I say.
He runs his craggy left hand through what’s left of his hair. “I just attempted to do a random act of kindness, if you must know. I paid the restaurant an extra sum of money, none of your business how much, so that the next few people could eat for free. But since it was supposed to be an anonymous random act of kindness, I suppose the anonymous part is null and void now.”
He walks on and I just stand there, feeling dirt low about what I suspected. “Sorry,” I mumble.
He waits for me to catch up, and we walk on together. “Don’t worry about it,” he says.
“No, really,” I say. “I’m sorry. I trust you. I won’t do that again.”
“You’re a sweet kid,” he says. “Like your grandpa.”
“He was, like, forty, right?”
“That’s a kid,” he says.
By the time we get back to his place, I feel like I’ve known Turk forever. I curl up on the couch, and Gomer sits next to me and rests his muzzle on my feet, which is cool. Maybe I’m beginning to get dogs.
“So what’s the average price of a present you would have given me, say, every birthday and Christmas?” I ask, patting Gomer’s head, which makes him turn around and pant, his mouth open wide, his tongue sticking out.
Turk laughs. “Is this a shakedown? On the very first day of my grandfatherhood?”
I nod. “Yep. Total shakedown.”
“What the hell do I care?” he says, throwing his hands in the air. “I got all the funds I’ll ever need, and a severe lack of family. Seems like a good trade. What do you need?”
When I explain to him the first thing I really want, he isn’t so sure he can do it.
“You sure? How about a nice sweater? I would happily improve your wardrobe. Because this,” he says, pointing up and down at my ratty T-shirt and Gareth’s baggy shorts. “This is unbecoming.”
“This is unbecoming because we left for a day trip a week ago and all I’ve had since then is what I was wearing that day, plus what a Wyoming oldster and a Salt Lake City boozer-in-training was willing to give me. And, of course, most of what I have is currently in Aisha’s car.”
He wrinkles his nose. Then he sits down and relents. “Fine. Dial for me.”
“Thanks,” I say. “I owe you on this one. And since this has no monetary value, we’ll start on the birthday and Christmas presents after, okay?”
He grins and mutters, “The kids these days.”
Turk takes the phone from me. He nods slightly when the call is picked up.
“Hi,” he says. “Would this be Aisha Stinson? I’m calling on behalf of a misguided child named Carson Smith. This is Turk Braverman, Carson’s late grandfather’s ex-lover.”
I can’t hear the words, but I can actually hear a happy shriek through the phone, and I realize how much I miss Aisha.
“Well, get on over here. I’ll catch you all up. And yes, you have a place to stay tonight.”
He listens more.
“I’m well aware you’re angry at him. As Carson’s newly minted grandfather and as someone who knows his bloodline a wee bit, I feel it’s my place to tell you he comes by his stubbornness honestly.”
“Hey!” I yell.
He ignores me. “And his selfishness, and his moodiness. Now, young lady, what part of this is on you?”
This I want to hear, but all I can do is watch and listen.
“Fair enough. Come on over and we’ll work things out. You have directions?”
She does, so they say good-bye. He hangs up and gives me an impish look, which is funny on an old guy. “All settled. She’s willing to consider forgiving you for being a jackass — her words — if you’re willing to consider forgiving her for being a janeass — my word.”
I laugh. I have liked a lot of people on this trip, but none of them so much as I like Turk right away.
While we wait for Aisha, we talk about what needs to happen next, and Turk is generous to a fault about it. No problem is too big. Everything has a solution. So when it’s all settled, I call my mom.
“So I’m coming home,” I say, by way of hello. Gomer sits up and licks my cheek. I wipe his slobber off my face. Gross.
“Good,” Mom says, her voice icy.
“Yeah,” I say. “Are you going to ask where I am or what I’m doing? Because it’s pretty big. I have big news.”
“Carson,” she says, “I just want you to come home. I really don’t care to hear any more stories. Your dad is doing very poorly today.”
“Tell him to hold on, please. Tell him I’m coming home and I have something for him. Tell him that exactly, okay?”
She exhales. “Just tell me when you’ll be here, please.”
“I’ll be back tomorrow evening. We’re flying in. As I said, we have a surprise. Okay?”
She hangs up on me.
I look at Turk. I don’t know what he sees, but he puts his arms around me.
“Well, that hurt,” I say.
He nods and nods. “Your mom is a tough one?”
“Yep.”
“I’ll work my Turk magic on her,” he says, and that makes me smile.
I call my dad, and my mom is right; he sounds rough. I keep it nice and short.
“I’m gonna be back tomorrow night.”
“Good,” he says. “Good.”
“I love you. Did you know that?”
“Wow,” he says. “That’s … nice, Carson.”
“I love you and I’m just sorry for everything that’s happened to you in your life.” I feel myself getting emotional, and Turk gives me a supportive nod.
“Thanks,” my dad says, sounding bewildered.
“When I come back tomorrow, I’m gonna have … some answers for you. It’s gonna be good. You’re gonna hear some things that you need to hear. It’s gonna be all right, okay?”
Long pause. “Okay.”
Nothing more.
“I’m scared,” he says.
“Don’t be scared. I’m done being scared. Just know I love you. You’re loved, Dad.”
“You’re freakin’ me out,” he says.
“I’m a little freaked out too. But good freaked out. Well. Yeah, good. Trust me. All will be revealed.”