I patted the pockets of my cargo shorts and made sure I had everything—wallet, phone… Where was my folder? I found it on my dresser. I extended the blade, as I did sometimes, just to check the “Never Forget” engraving. Then I folded the knife again, attached it to my back pocket, and headed out. I snatched my keys from the hallway table on my way.
If I was feeding four eighteen-year-olds for the weekend, I was gonna need to swing by the store. But I had time. Angelo still had to get a rental and drive out here. It was gonna take at least an hour and a half.
As I drove along the dirt road leading from my place, I spotted Rebecca’s horses running across the field to my right. Beautiful creatures—one of the reasons I couldn’t live in Brooklyn. I needed to be close to animals and fresh air.
Before I hit the main road, I received another text from Angelo.
They’ve lost my fucking luggage. I’m gonna be late.
That sucked, but we had all weekend. And I assumed there was no use in telling him we could pick up his luggage tomorrow instead.
That settled it, though. If Angelo was gonna be late, I was definitely heading to the store first. I had eggs, meat, butter, milk, vegetables, and cheese to feed an army, but I couldn’t host my nephew and his friends without sugar. I’d pick up waffles, donuts, and cookies. I was running low on bread too.
Someone had blown life into the carnival when I got back there, and the massive field that’d been nearly empty before was packed with cars. Pillars of smoke came from the food vendors, children screamed and laughed on and around the rides, lights flashed everywhere, and parents were eyeing beer tents with envy and their empty wallets with resignation.
I’d gotten an update from Angelo too. His luggage had somehow ended up in North Carolina and would arrive at Dulles in a couple hours. Since he’d waited so long already, he was gonna stick it out. In other words, I’d grab dinner by myself, and we’d hit up the carnival tomorrow instead. But we’d still meet up tonight for a couple beers. His hotel was just a few minutes away from here, and I had a feeling he’d need some alcohol to forget the day.
When the carnival reached Manassas next weekend, I was gonna bring my buddy Sloan and his kids. Unless he canceled because he was fighting with his wife. It happened. In fact, the majority of the time when Sloan came out to me, with or without the kids, was because he needed to get away from her. And unlike Angelo, none of them had any dumb allergies to dogs that kept him from staying at my place.
Angelo needed allergy meds.
Sloan needed to quit knocking up a wife he barely tolerated.
I needed to kill three hours at a carnival.
Part of me was tempted to go home again. The other part wasn’t. For as much as I loved my home, it felt empty. Even more so on the weekends when I wanted people around me.
Fuck it, I could grab a burger and then go win some stuffed animals.
“Uncle Greer!”
Shit.
I threw the last ball and got a full score.
“Congratulations, sir!” a young girl said. “You can pick a prize from the top shelf.”
Kaden came up behind me as I eyed the shelf. Then I eyed him too. He wore a yellow vest that read “Maintenance.”
“Didn’t I ban you from this area?” He grinned.
“I remember you trying.” I scratched my jaw and decided between a koala bear for Sloan’s youngest—Jamie loved Australian wildlife—and a pink bunny. Because Sloan had a baby girl on the way. “Gimme that pink bunny, thanks.”
Kaden shook his head in amusement. “I thought you were meeting up with a friend.”
“He’s running late.” I nodded in thanks as I received the stuffed animal, then shifted my attention to Kaden. “I figured I could kill some time by getting my Christmas shopping done.”
“Christmas shopping in July,” he laughed. “I don’t know if that’s funnier than seeing you with a pink stuffed animal.”
I furrowed my brow. “What’s funny about this? It’s for my buddy’s unborn daughter.”
Kaden shrugged and scratched his nose. “Everyone around us don’t know that when they see a 6’5” mean-machine behemoth walking around with a pink toy for toddlers.”
See if I cared what other people thought. Christ. They’d probably assume I’d lost my kid somewhere around here.
“You’re still bitter about not being as tall as your big brother, aren’t you?” I smirked. It’d been a thing between my brothers and me back in the day. Now it was a thing for my nephews. Always a contest to see who was bigger, taller, stronger.
The Finlays produced tall boys with competitive streaks and tendencies to turn everything into a pissing contest. Unfortunately, we’d never competed for higher grades, just bullshit we had no control over. Like height.