"I'm putting everything away," I said. "Why don't you go rest a while on the sofa in the sitting room."
"No rest for the wary." he said-- instead of the weary. "Get it?" He laughed and left the kitchen.
He's getting drunk. I thought. It's not good. Suddenly, my mother's worries had become my own.
When I returned to the dining room. I saw he had taken my advice and gone to the sitting room. He had taken his one remaining beer. I cleaned the table, put everything away and in the dishwasher and then went to look for him. He was sprawled on the sofa, shoes off, eyes closed and a soft, contented smile on his lips. For a few moments I was able to look at him without his being aware.
I remembered once trying to imagine what it was like to be a boy. I was about seven or eight at the time and I had been looking at Roy just the way I was now looking at Brady. Roy was asleep on the sofa in the living room. I sat across from him and watched his chest lift and fall. I saw the very slight flutter in his lower lip as he exhaled. All of his features seemed to settle into a mold formed by his facial bones.
Boys have to look harder. I thought. Their bones have to be thicker so all their features are wider. longer. That's why he looks so different from me. If I were a boy, I'd look like that. too.
It was different gazing on Brody. When I saw a resemblance to my mother. I saw a resemblance, ever so vague and slight, to myself. Of course, he had inherited many of his father's features, too, and they seemed to overpower my mother's and mine. There was no mystery as to why Brody didn't look at me and think, could she be my mother's child, too?
He stirred, the corner of his lips dipping. Then he opened his eyes and looked at me without speaking. His expression suggested he thought he was dreaming and was waiting to see if I would remain there or pop like a bubble when he blinked.
"Hi," he said.
"Hi."
"Maybe I drank too much," he confessed. "Maybe you did."
"My head started spinning so I lay down."
"I see you managed to bring your beer. however."
"If you'd had some. I wouldn't have drunk so much."
"Just like every man I know: looking for a way to pass the blame onto a woman."
He laughed.
"Are you really going to head for home?" I asked. "Or was that just something you told your aunt?"
"Just something I told," he replied.
"Well. I'm going to bed early tonight. My body aches from my ride today. You turn and twist and get bounced in ways you never imagined when you're riding a horse for the first time in a long time."
"I could rub you down." he offered. "As a football player. I know exactly what needs to be done. The trainer does me almost twice a week during the season."
"No thank you," I said.
"I'm good at it," he bragged.
"I don't doubt that. but I thinkI'll pass and just get a good night's sleep. which I suggest you do, too. I'll be up early and make you some breakfast before you go."
"Anxious to get rid of me. huh?"
"No, but I don't want you to get into more trouble with your family, and I certainly don't want any more trouble with them," I said standing.
He remained prone, his hands now behind his head as he looked up at me.
"You are one pretty woman. Rain."
"I don't feel very pretty right at the moment," I said.
"I can't imagine you ever being caught by surprise. I bet you're even more gorgeous in the morning when you first open those big beautiful eyes."
I laughed.