Daybreak in Sandbridge

Chapter 3-2

Andy was definitely nervous, not that Scooter could blame him. He’d been bouncing back and forth between uncertain silence and random babbling since the moment they’d set foot in the airport back in Virginia. Now, as they made their way through the terminal in New York—Christ, it was crowded, worse than the beaches on the Fourth of July—Andy was all but vibrating, moving his backpack from one hand to the other, slinging it over a shoulder only to drop it back to his hand a few steps later.

Andy veered sharply around a corner and led Scooter toward an escalator. “—someone to meet us,” he was saying. “But if she forgot, we’ll just grab a cab. I’m not going to subject you to the subway until we’ve been in the city for at least twenty-four hours.” He threw Scooter a shaky grin.

Sure. How the f**k were they gonna spot someone sent to meet them? There were so damn many people, Scooter could feel them invading his brainwaves. Not like they were paying any particular attention to him, but the press of humanity was just…Terrifying, really. Scooter’d practically memorized the clothes Andy was wearing, just so he could spot the man if they got separated in the crush.

Scooter still wasn’t too sure how he felt about flying, though the seats had been comfortable enough and the flight attendants solicitous. Andy had pointed out that they were flying first class (thanks to his mom) and that the general experience of travelers was not nearly so pleasant. The kind of money that went into their tickets was…a little boggling, really, and then she wasn’t even going to meet them herself? Scooter shook his head; Andy didn’t talk much about his family, and Scooter didn’t push, but he was starting to feel that Andy had left out even more than Scooter had suggested.

Scooter had only ever seen airports in movies, and the one time he’d dropped Jason and Kat off for a vacation. This…this was nothing like Norfolk, and Scooter wasn’t sure how Andy had any goddamn idea where he was going, but since he obviously did, Scooter kept as close as possible without actually putting a hand on Andy’s wrist like a toddler.

As soon as the escalator stopped, Andy was moving again—Jesus, how big was this place?—but he finally pulled to a halt as the walkway opened up into a broad area full of baggage carousels. They hadn’t checked any bags, but Andy was studying the board anyway. Before Scooter could ask, he started moving again. They walked past three carousels…four…Scooter was pretty sure Norfolk didn’t even have a tenth the number.

Andy’s path suddenly curved away from the actual carousels and the clusters of tired people around them. After a moment, Scooter realized they were moving toward a stocky, balding man in a suit. He was standing near the wall, posture almost military-straight, though his hands were clasped in front of him.

“Kenny!” Andy said, and the stocky man turned toward them, and his patient, bored expression split into a wide grin.

“Mr. Howard!” he said, deftly taking Andy’s bag and slinging it over his own shoulder before greeting Andy with a one-armed hug.

“Oh, God, Kenny, don’t call me that,” Andy groaned.

“Whatever you say, boss,” Kenny said, his eyes scrunching merrily.

Andy rolled his eyes extravagantly and took Scooter’s arm, tugging. “Scooter, this is Kenny, my mom’s driver. Ken, this is Scooter. My fiancé.” Andy smiled at Scooter proudly, not noticing the briefly startled look that Kenny shot him.

Jesus Christ, what had he gotten himself into? Andy’s mom had a driver? A permanent employee who had obviously been with the family long enough to remember Andy, who’d been gone from home for years. Scooter fumbled with his bag—it was new enough he still hadn’t figured out where all the straps were and it never seemed balanced correctly on his arm. He managed to get himself straightened out and offered the man a hand. “Nice to meet you,” he said, aware his drawl was…very obvious.

Kenny didn’t seem to notice. He shook Scooter’s hand firmly. “Pleasure’s all mine,” he said. “Can I take your bag, sir?”

Oh, boy. Sure. Scooter took a deep breath and shook the bag down his arm. “Thank you.” He twitched a little; there wasn’t much in the bag that was particularly valuable or anything, but he wasn’t used to people carrying his stuff. It was weird. Weirder was someone calling Andy boss. Or Mr. Howard. Andy was just…Andy. Except, obviously, he was someone else entirely here.

Kenny slung Scooter’s bag over the same shoulder as Andy’s—he didn’t seem to have trouble with the way it balanced—and said, “Car’s this way,” before heading toward the bank of smoky glass doors.

Andy caught Scooter’s hand in his as they followed. “It’s weird, huh? I guess I should’ve explained a little more. Mom doesn’t drive. I don’t think she even has a license.”

“Climate change,” Scooter said, trying not to dwell on it. “Adapt or die, right?” He squeezed Andy’s fingers, wondering if it was okay to hold hands, and then forgot about it when they got outside. Andy’s mom’s car was…something else. That was a f*****g Bentley or Scooter would eat his ball cap. “Think I mighta forgot to ask about your net worth, Andy.”

Andy tightened his grip. “I turned up on your doorstep with about twenty dollars to my name,” he said seriously. “My folks are…Uh, okay, they’re pretty well-off. But it doesn’t mean anything, not for us. I promise. I won’t let you drown. C’mon.” He climbed into the back seat, tugging Scooter with him. “It’s only a couple of days, right?”

Only a couple of days. Right. Scooter was sitting in a f*****g car that was worth half as much as his entire restaurant, but it was okay. “Right.” He glanced at Andy, who was both smiling and doing that weird tightness around his eyes that meant he was thinking too hard, or thinking about the wrong things, and Scooter remembered suddenly that Andy hadn’t just shown up at his door broke, but also broken. And he’d still said Nick was better than his father.

With that firmly in mind, he was able, a little, to push aside sitting in a three hundred thousand dollar car like it was only a little weird. He was here to support Andy, not make Andy spoon feed him through this mess like an infant.

Kenny closed the trunk with their bags in it and came around to the front, climbing into the driver’s seat.

Andy leaned forward, not relinquishing his hold on Scooter’s hand. “When’d you get this?” he asked Kenny. “How’re you liking it?”

And then Kenny and Andy were talking about the car’s engine and handling, and that was Andy all over. Scooter had spent more than one evening watching Andy and Martin argue about cars and engines and performance ratios and words that didn’t even make sense to Scooter’s ears. Andy glanced back at him and smiled warmly, then went back to talking to Kenny, who’d pulled out into the traffic so smoothly Scooter hadn’t even noticed the movement.

Scooter tuned that out, taking a few minutes to gawp out the tinted windows. He’d obviously seen New York City in countless movies and television shows—the most familiar skyline in the world, he’d heard it called. The sky itself seemed…very far away. Home to eight and a half million people…Jesus. Scooter ran his hand through his hair, feeling weirdly small and insignificant. Andy’s hand was warm in his, and Scooter summoned up a quick grin. “So, how long’s it take t’ get anywhere in this mess?”

Andy snorted. “In a car? You remember that day there was an accident just on the other side of the roadwork in the middle of the summer? It’s like that, only every single driver is also an entitled prick.”

Well. He supposed if you were going to spend all your time sitting in your car, it should at least be a comfortable one. Which reminded him, he should let everyone know they’d arrived safely. If that’s what he wanted to call this. Scooter dug his phone out of his back pocket. Turned it on. It buzzed several times as the texts rolled in. Ug. Kat had written all hers in Ukrainian, just to make his eyes bleed. Speaking Ukrainian was one thing, reading Cyrillic was an entirely different matter. He muttered a few choice phrases at the phone and not any of Kat’s fake cussing, but the actual swears while trying to get to the keyboard options for that language. She’d have words with him—not kind ones—if he answered her in English.

“Apparently Debbie’s trying to convince Jason that she should be in charge while we’re gone,” he reported to Andy after a while. “That should be entertaining to hear about.”

“God, why would she want—Nope, never mind, I forgot who we’re talking about.” Andy sat back in the seat and leaned into Scooter’s side. “How’s Jason taking it?”

Scooter tipped the phone to show Kat’s string of texts. “From here…to here…that’s all cussing.” And then there were some pictures she’d snapped, one of which had Jason in an apron and up to his elbows in dishwater.

“Real cussing, or Kat cussing?” Andy took the phone from him to look at the picture more closely. “Who convinced him to do a damn dish? My hat’s off to whoever it is. Even if it was Debbie.”

“Suspect it was Jeff doing his normal half-assed job,” Scooter said. “Jason’ll take the damn dishes away from you if you hand him a plate with streaks on it. Kat’ll get him back in line in a day or so. Just in time for us to come back, I reckon.”

Andy grumbled, “All this time he’s been too high-and-mighty to help out when I’m in the weeds and it turns out the reason is I’m too competent?” He scowled at Scooter exaggeratedly.

“At least we don’t have to listen to him complain,” Scooter pointed out. He thumbed back another quick message. Ugh. He had to be careful when texting in Cyrillic. Probably why Kat had done it, his normal texting grammar was hideous. He glanced out the window again; the buildings were enormous. And filthy. Ugh. And he’d thought downtown Richmond was metropolitan. He snapped a quick picture of the world outside and sent it off to Kat.

They chatted back and forth for a while, Andy pointing out points of interest amidst gossiping about their friends, and then the car shut off—rather suddenly, to Scooter—and Kenny exited the vehicle. They must have arrived. Andy closed his eyes and took a slow, bracing breath, then looked at Scooter. “Thank you for coming with me,” he said. “I don’t think I could do this without you.”

This, apparently, was a house three times the size of Scooter’s restaurant, at least. Five stories straight up, a wrought iron fence circling the whole thing, with high tech motion capture cameras set in the various corners.

“Oh, my god,” Scooter said, not quite able to stifle it. He counted: there were two other front doors in the building, so this was an end-unit, but still. For a long, long moment, Scooter wanted to just turn tail and run; there was nothing here for him, and if this was where Andy came from, this was…No. He very clearly remembered Andy, straightening up and facing down a sleazy, looming Nicholas Grant and enunciating, “I’m not going back to New York, with you or anyone else. I’m already home.”

Scooter stepped out of the car when Kenny opened the door, not because he was waiting for the driver to do it, but because Scooter was honestly stuck in the car, unable to function in the face of that intimidating house. “Yeah, baby. I’m right here with you.”

“Mrs. Howard, she’s been real excited to see you,” Kenny told Andy. “I expect she’ll be waiting right in the—”

“Front parlor,” Andy finished, with a sigh. “Yeah, I figured. Thanks for the ride, Kenny.” He took Scooter’s hand again as they faced the door, his own trembling, just slightly. “Well. Ready to go face the dragon?”

“Wish you’d told me,” Scooter said sincerely. “I’d have packed a sword.” He squeezed Andy’s hand. “A few days, an’ if we have to, we can leave whenever we want, right?”

“You bet,” Andy said. “Bus ticket to Virginia Beach is less than forty bucks.” He gave Scooter a small smile, then squared his shoulders and stepped forward.