Chapter Nineteen

Elijah

 

I laid sod where the water truck destroyed the yard, and planted a few flowers around the pool to spruce up the place. I thought about cutting down the tree in the front yard but decided that could be someone else’s problem. The outside of the house was looking good, like a home. My skin crawled at the thought of how easy it was, how little money and effort it took to make it so charming. It was beginning to look like a backyard that a kid would’ve loved to grow up in: one that I would’ve loved to grow up in.

It was unusually humid for a late January day in Molokai, with temperatures reaching to the high eighties. I was glad to be working inside and happy for the warm weather and hot sun to warm the pool water a little faster.

The living room was left just as I’d remembered it as a kid. The old couch with an orange-brown covering and two green chairs that looked like they came from a thrift store were still there, along with the TV with rabbit ears antennas, and a thick rug woven with a mixture of earth tone colors. I carried the TV outside, setting it on the curb for the trash. I remembered how it blared late into the night, and sometimes all the way into the morning with heavy static when the programming would go off the air for the night. Dad, good ole dad, he’d pass out in front of it, lying on the couch with a beer in his hand, and if you dared to try to shut it off, he’d wake in a furious rage. I learned to sleep with the noise, and even now as an adult, I prefer to have some noise in the room or near my room in order to get a good night’s sleep. I chuckled at the irony. I hated the noise as a kid, and now…I have to have it.

The screen door barely hung on its hinges, and the screen was ripped right down the middle. I yanked it from the front door, carried it to the trash, and added that to my list.

I didn’t really want to buy new furniture, but I knew what was here just made the house look old. It needed to be removed so I could repair the hardwood floors anyway, so fuck it, out it goes.

The couch smelled of whiskey, beer, and a slight hint of urine. I nearly puked as I pulled it from the house, dragging it to the curb with the other furniture. The green chairs came next, and then the old wooden coffee table that was so sticky with years of spilled alcohol that it would need to be sanded down before used again. I didn’t have the energy to care for the items in my childhood home. It was easier to throw them away and buy new. I’d make this place look like a million bucks so some happy family could move in and turn it into a real home.

I strolled through the house, taking into account all the items that needed to be replaced. Getting the crap out was going to make it easier to work in here, painting, repairing floors, carpeting, and plumbing, but with each piece of furniture I moved out, it created an eerie feeling in my soul.

The only piece of furniture in the entire house left was my bed. I chuckled as I rolled my hand around the headboard post, feeling for the notches I’d made. I’d actually made real notches in my bedpost for each of my sexual encounters, conquests as I called them back then. My finger ran across one, two, three, and then four indents into the wood, made with a small pocket knife I hid under my mattress. I realized it didn’t seem as impressive as it had back then, just four girls, but in high school, on this small island, it was quite a feat.

Sweat poured down my face from all the heavy lifting. I grabbed a towel, wiped off, and got back to my list. Fuck, this place is a money pit.

I knew of a nice second-hand store by the beach that would have most of what I needed to refurnish the place, but first, I had to get it cleaned up and repaired.

My list for old man Frank at the hardware store was growing with each step I took around the old house. The shed out back was going to be packed full of power tools and supplies, and I wasn’t sure I’d have enough room to store it all. I needed a random orbital sander, a power hand sander, lots of sand paper, a vacuum since the one here was spitting out more dust than it picked up, some mineral spirits, stain, and polyurethane. That was just for the flooring. I knew this job would take at least two to three days to finish, pushing back my expected leave date even further.

I sat down on the front stoop, staring out at the pile of trash, once furniture for the small home I grew up in. It was getting late, and I knew if I wanted to get to the hardware store before old Frank closed the doors for the weekend, I’d have to be leaving soon. Shit, the weekend. I promised Taylor I’d get in touch with Xander and plan a trip for next week, letting her know before this weekend so she could take the time from work. I still couldn’t believe she was willing to make the trek up at mountain side.

I pulled out my phone and dialed the number Xander entered into my phone. As it rang, I chuckled to myself, figuring he’d probably installed a damn tracking device on it while he had it in his possession. “Hey, Elijah!” his voice was filled with excitement.

“Xander, how’s life on the mountain?” I asked, knowing for Xander, it was just fine.

“I actually just made a trip into town, walking up the last mile now,” he said, his voice not even winded.

“I was planning on making another trip to see you before I left,” I announced.

“Good, love to see ya.”

“Well, I’d be bringing Taylor along this trip,” I stated casually.

“Oh yeah? I’d love to see little Taylor. You sure she can handle the trip?” he questioned. It was a question I’d asked myself. I’d barely made it up.

“She’s determined to get up there and see you,” I chuckled. “Monday good for you?”

“Monday’s great. I even bought a case of wine, just in case you decided to bring Taylor along,” he added.

Xander always seemed to be one step ahead of me. My thoughts drifted back to the cameras in his home, how he knew everything about all the SEAL brothers, even ones that were somewhat off the grid. He was impressive; a little scary, but impressive.

“I’ll see ya then,” I hung up, and dialed Taylor’s number.

“This is Taylor,” she answered so professionally.

“This is Elijah,” I mocked her playfully.

“Hey, how’s the house coming along?” she asked.

I laughed and then growled into the phone. “That bad?” she giggled.

“Oh, it’s bad. I may be here a little longer than first expected,” I admitted.

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing,” she hinted.

It isn’t. I liked being here on the island with Taylor. The thought of leaving her actually made my stomach ache. The other thought that made my stomach ache was about Bailey, and what decision I’d make; hopefully the one that was best for both of us, not just myself. She was a beautiful little girl, my little girl. I still couldn’t wrap my head around having a daughter.

“Did you call Xander?” Taylor asked.

“I did. He’s all set for Monday, if you are still up for it,” I teased.

“Oh, I’m up for it. I think you’re the one scared of making that trip again,” she laughed.

She wasn’t wrong. It sucked. The trip was hot, wet, itchy, and my calves still ached from the uphill climb. “I’ll be fine. I’ll carry you if I need to,” I boasted, knowing good and damn well that wasn’t going to be an option. She’d have to make it on her own two feet; otherwise, neither of us was going to visit Xander,

“I’ve already got the entire week off. I have to run, my last patient is here,” she rushed off the phone, hanging up before I could ask her about plans for the night. I wanted to see here. I needed to see her.

“Hey, Elijah,” Clinton approached the porch as I started to get up and leave. I looked at the time on my phone. I had a few minutes to spare, but that’s it. “That’s quite a pile you have there,” he chuckled as he pointed to the furniture on the curb.

“Yeah. I figure it’s best to get it out of the way while I do the inside, and it wasn’t exactly worthy of carrying back inside when I was done,” I explained.

“That’s gotta be hard though, tossing out all those memories. If there’s anything you’d like to keep, I’d be happy to store it for you,” he offered.

“Take what you want. There’s nothing sentimental to me in this house,” I replied. Not even the house, but I didn’t add that.

“Speaking of sentimental, I’d really like to talk to you about your dad,” he pushed the topic I’d been avoiding since I arrived.

I appreciated him taking care of the pool chemicals for me, for caring, but I didn’t want to talk about my dad with him or anyone. I didn’t want to talk about my dad at all, ever. He was a drunk, a mean fuckin’ drunk. What was there to talk about?

“My dad isn’t a topic I care to talk about,” I admitted.

“I understand, but this I think you need to hear,” he insisted.

“Look, if he owes you money, I’ll pay it, if he did something to you and you feel the need to get it off your chest, I get it, but all I can do is say I’m sorry, he was a mean ass drunk,” I rattled.

“No. It’s nothing like that. Elijah, there are things I think you need to know, and should know. If you could please set aside some time to have dinner with my wife and me, or even just share a beer by the pool one night, I really think you’d appreciate what I have to say,” Clinton explained.

“It’s gonna be awhile before that happens, Clinton. I want to get this house completed, and there are a couple other things going on in my life right now that are taking priority over a chat about dear old dad,” I smirked.

“Okay. Take all the time you need. I won’t bring it up again. Just be sure that we have a talk before you leave for Miami,” he smiled, patting me on the back and letting his hand rest on my shoulder for an awkward few seconds.

“I hate to run, but I have to grab supplies before Frank locks the hardware store,” I apologized, making my escape from the awkward hand to shoulder moment, and the conversation that I had no desire to have.

Once I left for Miami, I’d probably never be back here, at least not at this house, next to Clinton. Who cares if I ever had the talk? I didn’t.