Bulldozer (Hard to Love 3)

I’ve made my share of mistakes in life. Okay, more than my share, but three years ago I turned it around and got my act together. I decided it was time to stop blaming my past for the way my present was shaping up, which did not look in the least bit promising. Serious changes needed to be made and I was ready to do the work.

For starters, I had to quit drinking. And while I was busy doing that my oldest brother, Calvin, stepped in and stepped up, something he’s been doing his entire life. He and his wife, Camilla, who at the time worked for him, took care of Sam. They made a really difficult situation bearable for him and for that I’ll forever be grateful. Unfortunately my very clever son has learned to use them against me whenever he’s not getting his way.

“Your dad really wants to get to know you,” I continue with nothing but positive vibes. Gotta stay positive. “Can you please give him a chance?”

“Cam said I could stay with them.”

“Camilla is busy with your new baby cousin and please stop kicking the seat. You can go visit when the baby starts sleeping through the night. Sammy––would you look at me?” Begrudgingly, he does as he’s asked. “When he calls, can you please try and listen to what he has to say?”

“Whatever.” He slings an arm around Roxy and she licks his face. “I think Roxy has to go to the bathroom.”

In the rearview mirror, I find him smirking. And then it hits me. Gagging, I roll down the car window for breathing room. The cool June air bites my cheeks. The pungent smell of the Atlantic clears my lungs and soothes my nerves. I turn on the radio. John Mayer croons about second chances and forgiveness. I can only hope he’s not full of toe cheese.

Known as the summer stomping grounds of the New York elite, the Hamptons is a group of small towns located at the farthest tip of Long Island, north east of New York City. It’s unique in the way that multimillion-dollar homes rub up against small organic working farms and over-the-top luxury stores and restaurants sidle up to trendy cafés and specialty stores.

Drive down Main Street or Newtown Lane and the ultra-luxury shops are disguised as quaint colonial turn-of-the-century stores. Don’t let the small-town New England vibe fool you, though. You’re practically required to have a black Amex just to step inside some of these places.

“We’re here,” I announce with unabashed joy ringing in my voice. I’m so excited I’m practically floating. Looking around at the postcard scenery makes me want to cry. And count my blessings. The trailer park outside of Jacksonville, Florida, where I grew up is a long way from here.

When Calvin was drafted into the NFL second in the first round, it transformed all our lives. And by all I mean all eight of us. I have seven brothers, which makes for interesting holidays.

As we head toward Main Street, we drive by a sign marking the town limits. “Look! Established in 1684. Isn’t that cute!” Go optimism. I am all about optimism these days.

Sam looks up from the video game he’s playing to gaze out the window and shrugs. He doesn’t seem as impressed as I am. Then again he’s never had to share a twin foam mattress with two other little boys who continuously karate kicked in their sleep.

“You’re acting weird.”

Leave it to a ten-year-old to rain on my parade. “Can we try to be positive? And by we I mean you. It’s summer. We’re at the beach. Let’s focus on having fun, please.”

“Whatever.”

A short time later, I’m driving down a shell driveway and my brother’s house slowly comes into view. A goofy smile takes up most of my face as I stare in wide-eyed wonder. The pictures Camilla sent me of the two-story house don’t do it justice. The Nantucket-style natural wood shingle exterior is accented by glossy white shutters and an equally glossy white front door. A lawn as manicured as a putting green meets a wraparound porch perfect for spending lazy weekends reading. All this plus a wide, starkly empty beach serves as the backdrop.

I am in love.

I’ve never had a home. Not in the true sense. I’ve had plenty of places I lived in, places where I’ve stayed. But never a home. Since leaving Florida at seventeen, I’ve seen displays of wealth that boggle the mind. And yet this––this house with its slightly worn-in feel, framed by rambling, overgrown hydrangea bushes exploding in shades of blue and purple—is straight out of my dreams. The sight of it alone makes me feel better, makes my knotted-up heart muscle relax.

Calvin bought the house last year but with Camilla going into labor sooner than expected they haven’t spent much time here. Which works out perfectly for me and Sam since we need a place to crash for the summer while I get The Little Bend open for business and the rents being what they are here––beyond expensive––made it a real problem for me.