Free Jacob's Ladder by Z. A. Maxfield Page B

grinned.
    “Yes. Not being a doormat is now the family business. What about your family?”
    “The only one left is my brother, Daniel. He lives in Santa Cruz. He"s a mover and shaker.”
    “Family"s good.” She returned her attention to a group of gulls at the water"s edge. It was nice, sitting with her. Maybe she was a little dark, but she sort of sparkled with it. It gave her a resilience and a patina I found refreshing.
    I remembered a different time and a different ocean. I remembered looking out at the water off New Jersey"s Sandy Hook. My zeyde borrowed a car from one of the men he worked with at the appliance store and drove us down to New Jersey for a day on the beach, although at the time, I didn"t know why. It was the off-season, and cold, and he"d picked us up from school in the early morning, before lunch even.
    None of those things made sense to Daniel or me, and we sat in the back of that big car—probably a Cadillac Eldorado or a Lincoln Town Car—trying to figure out what all of it meant. Daniel had a black eye and a cracked rib that day, but at fourteen he felt triumphant. He"d stopped our dad from hitting our mother, taken the punishment himself, and the two of us were flying high—him from fighting back for a change and me from hero worship.
    Zeyde wore his usual navy blue wool sport coat over a white shirt and a thin blue cardigan sweater with gray slacks. He"d had on an understated silk tie and wore his ubiquitous Borsalino wool felt hat. I thought at the time he was the epitome of sophistication, and apparently women thought so too, because wherever he took us, he attracted ladies like a magnet.
    We arrived at the beach, and Zeyde told us to go have some fun, that we"d earned a day off school and a chance to enjoy ourselves. He gave us money for treats and took us to lunch and dinner. He chatted the waitress up and left her a show-off tip that made her pink and happy.
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    Z. A. Maxfield
    When we got home, my father was gone, along with every last trace that he"d ever existed. His clothes, his equipment, photographs, records, tools, letters, paperwork—all gone.
    Neither Daniel nor I ever forgave ourselves.
    “Yeah.” I remembered Muse was there, and she"d said something about family being good. “Family"s good.”
    “Are you okay?”
    I spoke hoarsely. “Sometimes the way the light glitters on the water hurts my eyes.”
    She gave me a shove with her hand. “Mine too. Especially when I"m crying.” St. Nacho’s 3: Jacob’s Ladder
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    Chapter Seven
    Muse and I said good-bye when it was time, and I made my way over to Nacho"s Bar. At first glance it was exactly the kind of place I like. Food service and a full bar. A game on the television. Nothing that spoke of pretension or desperation. It was a neighborhood place, and an assortment of people made themselves at home at its sturdy, dark bar or clumped casually around tables on the Saltillo tile floor. I found my firefighters out on the patio, mostly dressed now in jeans and T-shirts that read SIFD Sparks . They were relaxed and enjoying some beer. Cameron smoked, holding his cigarette in one hand and an ashtray in the other.
    When he saw me, he put them both down on the table and pulled me over, grabbing a chair and placing it next to his. Apparently he didn"t doubt his charm. I waved at JT, and he acknowledged me with his eyes as he took a long pull of beer.
    The way his lips looked wrapped around the neck of the bottle was so hot, I stumbled a little while I was in the process of sitting down. Cam gripped my forearm to steady me.
    “Whoa there, cowboy.” He let me go and lifted his hand—a signal to one of the guys to bring more beer. “You okay?”
    “I fell asleep on the beach for a minute,” I told him. “I guess I"m still a little out of it.”
    “The motion of the ocean.” He peered at my face. “You look a little flushed.”
    “I got a sunburn.”
    “ Aw .” Even though we were both seated, Cam was nearly a head