Sea Cliff

Chapter 4

Chapter 4Occasional homes along Manila Road resembled the weathered way she remembered farm houses always looked. Farm equipment sat here and there on the properties. The shaded lawns beneath tall pin oak trees invited.

Rachael tapped the button to close the sunroof, dust being prevalent in the farmlands. Pulling into Brandon's dirt and gravel driveway, she eased to the right edge, as her brother insisted. Parking closest to the side door was his spot. He didn't appreciate having the space blocked. Brandon's pickup was gone.

Tina leaned down to see out Rachael's side window. “What a gorgeous old place.”

Rachael glanced around the property. The tractor and trailer rigs remained in the same spot where they stood idle for more than a month. Weeds grew tall under the beds and around the tires. Trucks not rolling out on a regular basis was a bad omen. Certainly, there was enough business in the Central Valley to keep each truck on the road.

A feeling of unrest came over her. Brandon would have to do something soon, if only listen to her or his financial advisor. Idle trucks meant bills would not get paid. Creditors might cut off the privileges they extended to Brandon on his father's reputation.

She wondered how much Brandon remembered of his father's work habits. If trucks are sitting for any length of time, they should at least be moved to rotate the tires. Over winter, they'd be driven onto planks of wood or onto concrete to prevent the tread from rotting in damp soil.

Rachael sighed heavily. “Brandon's suppose to renovate this house. From the look of things, it's not happening yet.”

They climbed out of the car.

Tina seemed awed by the size of the house. “What a decorator's dream.”

Rachael laughed. “Well, don't be too surprised when we go in. He hasn't done anything inside either. It's always a mess.”

“I'm not going in. I'm gonna walk about as far as I can see down this great country road.” She leaned forward against the car, stretching her calves.

“I'll be about an hour.”

Tina removed her sweater and tied the arms around her hips. “Don't hurry. I haven't seen this much open space in ages.”

Rachael let herself in at the kitchen entrance and her mouth dropped open as the smell of stale food assaulted her nostrils. Dirty dishes were left stacked in stale water where soap had gone flat. Pans used for food preparation, not even rinsed out, sat on the greasy stove. Fingerprints were everywhere. The black and white checkered floor desperately needed to be mopped and waxed.

She looked in the refrigerator for a bottle of cool water wondering if anything in the house would be safe to put to her lips. A few bottles were pushed to the back behind a large covered container that looked to have something growing inside. She twisted the cap off and wiped off the mouth of the bottle on a paper towel. She sipped as she made her way around the front of the staircase to the den on the opposite side of the house. Everything looked more unkempt than ever. In four years time, Brandon remained living in only two rooms of the sprawling old Victorian that once stood as a grand lady of the croplands.

Sighing, she sat down and booted up the old desktop PC. Brandon insisted on paper invoices and receipts because he hadn't learned anything about electronics. Putting a batch of invoices in order by date, she came across one from a florist for eighty dollars and another from a jeweler for one hundred twenty five. Who could be worth that much? Did he find a girlfriend? Brandon's frantic conversations about women led her to believe he'd settle for nothing short of a royal princess. What it looked like was that he was trying to bribe one.

Entering his checks and expense account items, she found more restaurant receipts than usual, tell-tailing expensive dinners. Various business meetings were scribbled on the backs, mostly with women. Having learned long ago not to ask questions, she shrugged and entered them. As more and more evidence turned up, and with vehicles standing idle in the field, it was plain to see Brandon was doing more playing than working. She wasn't going to question him. She had long ago grown tired of his excuses. She was there to update the books. Later, the CPAs could approach Brandon about anything that might be questionable. Hopefully, they could put some sense into his head.

Rachael paused. She really understood her brother. He was too far gone to listen to reasoning. He had grown paranoid and expressed no fear or remorse about lying to cover his actions and shortcomings. His attitude was that he owed no one an explanation. The business was his and his alone.

She sat quietly, lost in thoughts that drifted back to other men she knew, namely the two disappointing young men she once dated. Her mind flashed onto Matthew in the park. He arrived one day driving a white pickup loaded with construction equipment. He evidently had a job and worked out, judging by his physique. He seemed to have more purpose than any other guy she remembered. Brandon seemed having lost his.

She was about to shut down when she remembered she meant to run a check on the system. His old computer had little capacity and responded sluggishly. As far as she knew, the accounting program she'd installed was the only one on the system. Brandon was intimidated by computers and wanted nothing to do with them. If it was malfunctioning, he wouldn't know.

Keying up the directory, she found a word processing program added. The CPA or someone must have installed it for him. She brought up the directory found and numerous women's names appeared in a column. There must have been at least three dozen. Internet services were added and he had many bookmarks. Rachael's curiosity wasn't above letting her take a peek.

Dishes and pots and pans rattled from the kitchen. Brandon must have come in. Certainly he wouldn't come into the office for fear of having to explain his expenses.

Rachael clicked a link. A file came up revealing her brother's response to a girl who ran a personal ad to meet men. Rachael scanned it briefly finding it boastful, long and boring, typical of those ads. The rest of the files must have been the same. Rachael didn't bother to check further. Brandon's grammar was atrocious. In order to meet women, he was probably forced into learning the PC and keyboard because he hadn't learned to write well by hand. At least, he seemed to be learning word processing. She visualized him struggling pathetically through dyslexia to finish the emails. She sighed heavily. She loved him so much. She keyed out and shut the system down. If only Brandon could find a nice girl he could care for. In love, someone might get through to him.

After straightening the office, she went immediately into the kitchen to find Tina wiping down the cleaned counter. A lot of dish soap had freshened the air somewhat.

“You didn't.”

“I started as a waitress, remember? I own a restaurant.”

“Brandon's mess? I hoped I'd finish before—”

“Never mind. I'm not one for sitting around doing nothing.”

Regardless how her brother became more and more indifferent, Rachael would do whatever she could to help him. She'd have done the cleaning before leaving and was glad he wasn't home to know a stranger did it. Or maybe, it might have shocked him into remembering a little more self-respect.

During therapy, Rachael worked through the pain of losing the closeness she remembered sharing with her brother in times long past. Having to admit they were far from being as close now was a traumatic experience that brought a lump to her throat. “In that case, let me wet Swiffer before we go,” she said.

Tina went to sit in the car with the door open. On the way out, Rachael left a note hanging outside the back door.

Pausing on the back steps, Rachael glanced again toward the aging pickups, tractor-trailers, and flatbed trucks. She imagined her father puttering around his equipment, servicing or hosing them down. She remembered Brandon doing those same tasks beside him. How much his actions resembled those of their dad. While Brandon's hair and facial features looked like those of their red-haired mother, especially her green eyes, the rest of him was nearly a carbon copy of their father. While Rachael had sparkling brassy hair and clear skin, Brandon's thick hair was rust red and he had freckles. Kids in school use to bully him, saying freckles were for girls.

She wished she could get through to her brother. In therapy, she had worked her way clear of the effects of a***e, or at least understood their residual effects and how to deal with them. She could see that Brandon, not having help or understanding of any kind, was sinking more and more into assuming their father's belligerent personality. That alone would not allow him to submit to therapy.

“Well, I'll be damned.”

Rachael turned quickly. “Brandon, you startled me.”

“I never thought I'd see the day you got close to these old trucks again.”

“I didn't realize I'd walked over here.”

“Don't tell me you're missing Dad.”

“No, actually I was thinking how much you remind me of him.”

“Oh, thanks a lot.” Brandon said, voice heavy with sarcasm.

“What I meant was that you remind me of him. You're thin like he was and you've got his height, and the trucks—”

“I'm six feet, and I've been taller than him for a long time.”

This seemed definitely not a day when Brandon was relaxed and civil. Nor was it a day for conversation. Sibling respect from him had dwindled to cautious apprehension. Each meeting proved another example of how far apart they had grown.

“Did you just get here? You aren't taking your friend inside, are you?”

“I'm ready to leave. I've finished.”

He glanced back toward the house, seeing the note taped to the handle of the screen door. “Something important?”

“I wanted to let you know the floor might be wet.”

“Again? Why do you do that? Why don't you let me live the way I live. I'm not part of your snobby upper crust city life.”

She didn't dare tell him Tina cleaned, didn't want to hurt him in any way, though maybe he needed a little shame. “Brandon, you don't need to live like that. We, at least, grew up clean. As long as you don't have help, I'm probably going to straighten up each time I come. There's no way I can walk away and leave you to—”

“Hey,” he said, interrupting and smiling suddenly. “I might have a new girlfriend.”

“Don't expect your girlfriends to clean up after you.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Maybe you're right.”

“And maybe they won't go out with you again when they see how you live.”

“I never thought of that. Who's your friend?”

“She's too old for you. Brandon.” Rachael said, trying to smile. “What am I going to do with you?”

“I don't think you're supposed to do anything.”

“You want to go to lunch with us? Let me treat you.”

He let out a sharp breath. “Why are you always trying to be one up on me? I don't need to be treated.”

“Oh, forget I asked,” Rachael said, blurting it out and then regretting it. “We don't get to see each other very often. I thought it would be nice to sit somewhere and talk for a while, like we used to when we were kids.”

“Kids? I don't care to remember much of that. I'm better off the way I am now. You live too much in the past.”

Rachael did not live in the past. She had gotten on with her life. He hadn't taken the brotherly courtesy to learn how she fared. There was no getting through to him. She turned to leave. “I guess I'd better be going.” She reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze.

“Well, thanks, Rach. I hope the paperwork wasn't too messy.”

Hearing him express some appreciation was a surprise. She stretched up on her toes to give him a quick hug. He didn't respond and pulled away as soon as he could.

“You'll always be my brother, Brandon,” she said quietly.