(Probably Not Canon)
As Blake walked with Scott to the rental, he wondered now if he was doing the right thing.
Scott had showed up the day before at his doorstep. Instead of packing, he had the sex that he had put off before. Afterward, satiated and blissful, Blake extended the invitation.
So Sunday morning, they were on a plane to Charlotte, heading to Blake’s daughter’s house for Thanksgiving.
Scott seemed to read his mind: “Are you sure about this?” he asked as they approached the car.
“A little late now, isn’t it?” said Blake, giving him a smile. “Go on, get in.”
“I can still fly back.”
“Nonsense. Get in.” Blake put their luggage in the trunk of the Lexus and also got in. After examining all the controls, he pressed the button to start it. “Hate these push-button cars,” he said, as he pulled out of the spot.
Scott was silent as they left the airport. They got on the highway and Blake asked, “Penny?”
“They know about us, right?”
“Diane does.”
“Who else is going to be there?”
“Oh, Diane and her boyfriend du jure, Diane’s daughter and her boyfriend du jure, her kids, maybe my ex-wife…”
Scott said, “Are you absolutely sure?”
“Yes.” Blake was prepared. If the boyfriends started any shit, Blake was going to give him the Alpha Glare and if he was too dense to get it, he would follow it up with a punch to the face. That would get his attention.
Scott put his hand on Blake’s thigh. Blake smiled and patted Scott’s hand.
They drove for about an hour before getting off the highway. The road was countrified-yuppie, with houses with huge lawns and banks of trees as fencing. He pulled off onto a badly paved road which led past two rows of young trees, and opened out into a large yard and a house, the size and shape just like the rest of the ones they had passed.
“She rich?” Scott asked as they pulled up the circular driveway.
“No, she’s a Realtor. Got this house for a song.” He parked the car inside the curved end of the circular driveway. He got out of the car, stretched. “It’s warm for November,” he said, taking off his jacket. Scott shrugged out of his as well. He wore a t-shirt and jeans underneath, which was more clothes than he wore in Millennium City. Blake went around the car and glanced at Scott. “Ready?”
“I’ve done this before,” he said.
Blake chuckled, “Right.” He started up the drive to the front door and rang the doorbell. Scott stayed behind and to his left. Blake stepped back so the two could stand side by side.
No one came to the door.
“Hm,” he said, and rang the doorbell again. They waited. “Well, I guess we have to go around back.”
“Are they home?”
“I told her when my flight was coming in,” he said. “She should be home.”
They stepped off the stairs and walked in front of the shrubbery when Blake heard the door open. He stopped, turned around.
A long-haired blond guy in shorts and no shirt or shoes stood in the doorway. “Hey,” he said.
Blake didn’t like him. “Who are you?” he asked.
“Rattler, yo. Who’re you.”
“I’m Diane’s father.”
“Oh. She ain’t home.”
“Who is?”
“Who’s that?” yelled a girl’s voice from deep inside the house.
“Your mom’s dad,” he yelled into the house.
“Oh, shit!” yelled the voice.
Blake stormed back up the small hill and pushed his way into the house.
“Hey, you can’t come in here.”
Blake whirled around and glared at the kid. He backed down immediately. “Sheila!”
“Hold on!”
Blake went down a set of stairs that led from that front door and saw two kids, hypnotized by the TV, a baby in a swing, and no parent anywhere. He was slowly becoming livid.
A girl flounced down another set of steps and stood smiling. She was a petite little thing, looked more like a gymnastic pixie than a girl. She walked past Scott up to her grandfather and gave him a kiss on the cheek. She smiled warmly at him. “Hi, Grampy.”
Scott raised an eyebrow.
Blake wasn’t buying it. “You were having sex. With your kids down here.”
“What? Look, they’re fine.” She walked over to the baby swing and cranked it up, gave it a little push and it swung on its own. “I can have sex. I’m over eighteen.”
He looked at the long-haired kid and then at Sheila. Sheila, though, noticed Scott. “Hi,” she said, and offered a floppy hand. “I’m Sheila Fisher.”
“I’m Scott Angrier.”
No recognition. He hand was limp. “And you know my grandpa?”
“Yes,” Scott said, releasing her hand.
“He’s a friend of mine,” said Blake. “He hasn’t seen North Carolina.”
“A friend. Ohhhhhhhhh.” She giggled.
Blake turned red and clenched his fists. He heard a car come in the driveway. He wondered fleetingly if he could murder his granddaughter before his daughter would get in the house.