Brody Comes Home

Chapter 2-1

Chapter 2After a couple of weeks, Brody began to feel a bit more settled, less a stranger in his own home town. He’d taken off a morning to make the thirty-minute drive to the Colby State University campus and register for fall classes. He hadn’t declared a major, but the veterans’ advisor told him that could wait a while.

When he was finished on campus, he dropped by the new Cox Floral shop in Colby, where he met Missy Fielding, Bobby’s second in command. Her name, she told him, was really Melissa, but nobody called her that. He got the message. She took care of weddings and other special events, and she tended to float between both stores, as did Bobby.

Brody had a standing invitation for Sunday dinner at his brother’s house, and he’d enjoyed the first one so much, he made a point of going back. The six years’ difference in their ages meant that he and his brother had never really been close. Because of a change in major from pre-med to business, Bob had spent five years at Kent State. When he came home, he married Samantha, who’d graduated that year and was teaching history at Higgins High School. Bobby had immediately gone to work at the flower shop. The following year was Brody’s senior year. Bobby occasionally came to see Brody’s baseball games, but often he couldn’t get away from work. Brody was busy with the usual senior activities, so he seldom saw his brother or the by-then pregnant Sam.

Brody had worried that Bobby might resent his parents more or less requiring him to take on his kid brother in the business. Knowing all about the chain of command, Brody had made clear to big bro he knew who was boss. His brother and sister-in-law, however, had both made him understand how happy they were to have him around, so that worry was erased. And Sam’s Sunday feasts were as delicious as he remembered his mother’s being. Marine food had been plentiful and nutritious, but it never reminded him of home cooking.

On those Sunday afternoons, pleasantly stuffed, he liked to get down on the floor and play with the kids. Lil Bob, as the five-year old was called, was disappointed the first time he saw his uncle because Brody was wearing khakis and a polo shirt. The boy had seen pictures of “Unca Brody,” but in all of them he was in uniform. Three-year-old Lisa, dark and tiny like her mother, just wanted him to hug her. After about five minutes, though, she was down and running off to do something else. But both kids coaxed him to read to them, which he was happy to do. Lisa usually went to sleep before the story was finished, but Lil Bob was there, all ears, eyes sparkling. Sam said he talked all week about when Unca Brody was coming back.

The next time he went there for Sunday dinner, Brody showed up in his marine khakis. It was just too hot for the dress blues, and he thought camis would be too informal for the occasion. Needless to say, Lil Bob was thrilled.

It was the evenings that were lonely. Brody had cable installed and then grumbled because most days after he’d stopped somewhere and gotten fast food or else nuked a TV dinner in the apartment, he’d flop in his recliner, flip through seventy-some channels, and find nothing to watch. About the only things he enjoyed were the baseball games, especially when either the Tigers or the Indians were playing. Not that either team was having a good season, but they were the teams he’d always rooted for, and seeing them on TV did help make him feel like he was home.

The first Saturday night after he’d started work, he dropped by Gridley’s, a local bar. It was raining, but he didn’t want to sit around the apartment all evening. He’d never frequented the place when he was in high school because he was too young, but he’d known it was a popular hangout with the locals. He could have gone to Colby to a gay bar, but he didn’t figure he was ready for that yet.

He’d worked that morning to make up for the time he’d taken off to sign up for fall courses. That afternoon he watched an Indians game on television. Then, not wanting to spend the rest of the day in front of the tube, he took a shower, put on fresh khakis and a clean tee, and went to Gridley’s, dinner and a couple of beers. The place was busy, mostly men in their late twenties or early thirties plus a few mixed couples. There was a booth with two older couples, maybe in their forties, in the back.

He sat at the bar. The bartender looked as if he could be ex-military, his well-muscled body, short haircut, and general posture all adding to that impression.

“You’re Brody Cox, aren’t you?” he asked as he set Brody’s order in front of him.

“Yeah. How do you know me?”

The guy held out his hand, and Brody shook it. “I’m Al Green. I graduated with your brother.”

“Damn, man, I was just in sixth grade when Bob graduated. How could you recognize me?”

Al laughed. “I don’t recognize you from back then. But there’s no mistaking the resemblance. You look a lot like him.”

“Oh, yeah. I guess we do look alike.”

“So I hear you’ve been in Iraq.”

“Jesus, did somebody take out an ad in the paper?”

Al laughed again, and Brody liked the way his deep voice sounded. “No, I just heard one of our patrons talking about you being back from the Marines a few days ago. Can’t remember now who it was.”

Brody took a sip of his beer.

“Well, I’ll let you eat your chow while it’s hot. Nice to have you back in town, Brody. Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Yeah, thanks, Al.”

After dinner he still didn’t want to go back to his little apartment, so he drove to the mall. He found an action/adventure flick on at the Cineplex and decided to watch it.

After an hour or two of mindless violence on the screen, he headed out of the theater. Standing in line to come in he recognized Pete Clifford’s parents.

“Hello Mr. and Mrs. Clifford,” he said.

“Brody, dear, we heard you were home. How are you? It’s so good to see you!”

“Yes, ma’am, it’s good to see you, too,” he said as he was shaking hands with Pete’s dad.

“What are you doing now that you’re out of the Marines?” Phil Clifford asked.

“I’m going to start to CSU in the fall, and I’m working in the shop this summer.”

“Well, Pete will be happy to hear that. He’s coming home Monday.”

“Great! How’s he doing?”

“He’s fine,” Marie Clifford said. “And he’s planning to be around a lot this summer. I’m sure he’d love to see you.”

“It’ll be good to see him, too. I still have the same email address. Would you ask him to get in touch, please?”

They promised they would and moved on into the theater.

* * * *

Monday evening when he got home from work, Brody flipped open his laptop and found he had an email:

Hey Sarge, my folks told me they ran into you at the mall the other night. Mom’s all gushy about how great you look. Now she’s got me leaking in my boxers. LOL. Call me. The number’s still the same. Your favorite Peter.

Chuckling because that was the way Pete always signed off his emails, Brody grabbed his newly-acquired cell phone and punched in the Cliffords’ number from memory.

He was taken four years into the past when Marie Clifford answered the phone. “Clifford residence.”

As he’d said many times before, “Hi, Mrs. C. Could I speak to Pete, please?”

“Oh, Brody, dear, Peter’s been eager for you to call him. Hold on a sec, and I’ll get him.”

A moment later a deeper voice than Brody remembered said, “Hey, Marine, how the f**k are you?”

Pete was obviously in his room, or he wouldn’t have used the F-word.

“I’m fuckin’ fine, dude, how are you?”

Pete chuckled. “Glad to hear your voice! After four years, man, I want to see you. What are you doing this evening?”

“Nothing special. Wanna get together?”

“Mom says she and Dad planned a special meal because this is my first night home. We’re gonna have steaks on the patio. And she says you’ve got to come. Then, she says, if we want to go somewhere and catch up they won’t complain.”

“Well, if your mom says I’ve got to come, I guess I’d better get my ass over there. What’s the uniform of the day, and when should I be there?”

“Class Z or whatever. A T-shirt and shorts will do just fine. That’s what I’ve got on. This is out back, remember. And whenever you can get here will be fine.”

After he put down the phone, Brody stripped and threw all the clothes he’d been wearing into the hamper in his bedroom closet. He’d asked for and been given three more of the company polos. That wasn’t a week’s worth, but at least he didn’t have to wash out the shirt every night. He decided to shave, even though he seldom shaved twice in one day. Then he showered, his c**k plumping up as he thought of seeing Pete again. After he dried off, he decided to wear what Pete had suggested, so he pulled on khaki shorts and a light blue polo—chosen to go with his eyes. Then he put his new Reeboks on again. So far he’d bought only the one pair, but since he was wearing them to work, he realized he’d better get another pair for “dress.”

He’d changed the sheets the day before, but he put fresh ones on his bed just in case. No harm in being prepared.

So far as he knew, the Cliffords had never suspected he and Pete were anything more than good buds. Thus when Pete met him at the door, Brody was careful to hold out his hand for the traditional greeting between two adult males. Pete, however, grabbed Brody into a hug. Since neither of the parents was there anyway, Brody relaxed and held Pete tight against his body. The two stayed that way for a couple of minutes. Pete’s smell brought back a flood of memories. It seemed that four years hadn’t passed and that the two of them were still just as they’d been at eighteen.

Then Pete pushed Brody away. “God, man, you look fantastic! The Marines have made you into even more of a stud than you were.”

Pete had changed, too. He was maybe an inch taller, 5’11” now, but also thinner. His dark brown hair was a bit longer than he’d worn it in high school, not shaggy, but long enough to part. He’d grown a mustache and a jawline beard. He no longer looked like that kid who’d been Higgins High School’s best shortstop ever. He was more mature, not the boy-jock Brody remembered, but a man. Not old, but definitely older. He was wearing white shorts, a yellow collarless tee, and sandals.

“Thanks, Pete. You’re looking incredible yourself.”

Their reunion was interrupted by the persistent nudging of Molly, the Clifford’s black Lab.

Brody dropped down on one knee and hugged her. “Hey, Molly girl, you still remember me!” He gave her the kind of scratching behind the ears he knew she loved, noticing as he did there were white hairs mixed in with the black.

“She’s looking a little old, Pete.”

“Yeah, she doesn’t get around as well as she used to, either, but she’s in basically good health. We’ve got her on a special diet for older dogs now so she gets the nutrition she needs without becoming obese.”

The Cliffords had had Molly just about as long as Brody could remember, and he’d always been jealous that Pete had a dog and he didn’t. He’d spent a lot of time petting and scratching Molly. So, of course, he’d always been one of her favorite humans.

“Come on,” Pete said, “Mom’s in the kitchen and Dad’s out back.” He led the way. Brody followed, admiring his friend’s ass.

The Cliffords’ patio had new furniture and a new gas grill. Otherwise it looked pretty much the same. Phlox and day lilies were blooming along the fence at the back of the yard, and Brody noticed Mrs. Clifford had put in pale yellow marigolds and blue ageratum as a border in front of the taller plants.

Pete’s parents asked questions about his parents, how they liked New Mexico, saying how surprised they were when the Coxes retired and moved away. The steaks, potato salad, and cole slaw were delicious, but Brody’s favorite part of the meal was the shortcake served with local strawberries and whipped cream for dessert.