“You know it, sir. Please.”
Canaan did his usual more-milk-than-coffee routine while Renzo praised the coffee and asked Grandpa which beans he used. Damn. He was good.
“We better get loaded up,” Renzo said after Canaan had finished fixing his coffee and snapped the lid on. “It was nice meeting you, sir. I promise I’ll keep Canaan out of trouble this weekend.”
Canaan bristled. He could keep his own damn self safe, thank you very much. But Grandpa ate it up, beaming at Renzo.
“You do that.” To Canaan he added, “Text me when you get to Flagstaff, okay?”
“I will.” Canaan gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile before grabbing his overstuffed backpack. Renzo had one of those flatbed covers for the truck that would keep their stuff safe from the elements. Renzo had two cases of water, tarps, rope, and a toolbox in addition to his own backpack already in the truck.
“Wow. You are fantastic at the whole sir-and-respect game.” He got settled in the passenger seat.
“It’s not a game.” Renzo frowned as he backed out of the driveway. “Sure, I can joke around with my buddies same as anyone else, but I’ve gotta deal with brass from admirals all the way down. I like showing respect to people who’ve earned it. Plus I was raised that way. We’re a loud, fun, big family, but we take care of our grandparents.”
“Well, I think it worked here. You probably made his day. He doesn’t talk about the years he served much. He was an engineer for forty years after that, so that’s what I hear about more.”
“You were raised by your grandparents?” Renzo made the turn back out of the neighborhood and headed toward I-8. They were going via Phoenix because it was a little quicker than the southern route.
“You picked up on that?”
“There’s pictures of you all over the living room.” Renzo laughed. “Like three times as many of you as any other kid. Either you’re the total favorite or you grew up with them.”
“Both.” Canaan didn’t mind being thought of as the favorite. “Yeah, they raised me. My mom’s the youngest of their three kids. She had me at seventeen. Lived at home with me and them while I was little, but she had trouble sticking around. Too young, I guess.”
“Do you still see her some?”
“She visited here and there, but then she died when I was nine. Accidental drug overdose, they said. Weird interaction of two things she took at a party.”
“I’m sorry.” Renzo sounded genuinely sympathetic. “That must have been hard.”
“Yeah. Though in a lot of ways she was more like a big sister than a mom. Felt like I barely knew her.” The past year had been weird, realizing he was reaching the point where he was older than she’d ever had a chance to be. Made him feel both super old and super vulnerable at the same time, and he hated that.
“That’s too bad.”
“When Grandma died two years ago, that was way, way worse.” Outside, the San Diego suburbs were rushing past, exits for San Diego State giving way to La Mesa and El Cajon and the eastern reaches of the region that Canaan seldom had reason to visit.
“I was deployed when my dad’s mom died.” A muscle in Renzo’s jaw twitched. “Sucked. Family didn’t want me distracted while I was deployed so they waited to tell me, which made everything worse. You were there for her passing?”
“Sort of. I was in Europe when she first got sick, touring with the band. Kirby’s Revenge has always been way more popular abroad than in the States. Anyway, she didn’t want to tell me about the cancer at first. Then Grandpa finally told me it was bad. That’s when I left the band. I came back to help take care of her.” It was a condensed version of some of the worst months of his life, but it was way more than he usually shared.
“And now you want to be a nurse? Help other older people like her? That’s pretty cool, man.”
“Yeah. The hospice nurses kept saying how good I was with her, and I went with her to all her appointments. Turned out I was good at keeping track of all her meds and symptoms and stuff. Besides, not enough people choose geriatrics as a specialty.”
Renzo moved to the fast lane before speaking again. He was a good driver—very attentive with nice reflexes. “But you don’t miss music? The touring life?”
Only every damn day. But even now, he wasn’t sure if what he missed more was the music or the band, the sense of family they’d had for years. Sure, if he’d stuck it out, he’d have a good life—modest fame, decent money, and the music. Most of the time he was cool with the choices he’d made, but sometimes...