Birthday Wishes: A Brett Mccarley Locomotive Engineer Story
Shelley J Alongi

 

The shape of the hamburger patties was perfect, the just browning meat giving off a fragrance that wafted its way throughout the back yard. Brett picked up a sturdy metal spatula, slipped it under the first patty, easily turned it so that its pink side lay against the hot metal rack. The metal wrack hissed as the meat touched the grill, the fragrance of the almost perfectly cooked meat rich, giving Brett a sense of tranquility.

�Brett!�

A voice called him from the steps. He looked behind him, turned so he could take in the framed porch, the three steps that led down to the patio. His brown gaze swept the stone patio, resting on the tall woman who stood framed in the doorway. Her hand rested on the handle of the security door, a towel draped over her left arm. Stubbornly curling strands of hair stuck against her sweating forehead. A shudder went through him, something he still had to get used to, his lips smiled.

�Yeah.�

He held his spatula, the edge of it still touching the grill, the heat making him lay it on the side of the barbecue.

�You have a phone call.�

�A phone call?� He needlessly repeated the question. His wife came down the three stone steps, walked through the cobblestoned path and across a large expanse of green grass out to the barbecue, her white towel still draped over her arm. The towel slipped, hanging by a corner as she stepped to him. He reached out his hand and adjusted it so that it hung securely on her arm.

�Debbie,� she said quietly. �They are coming to the party today.�

�they probably want money,� he said, his brown eyes darkening just a little. Brett�s attention focused on the barbecue as grease dripped down onto the bottom under the grill. A sudden red flame arched. He took the meat off the grill and put it aside, wiped the grease with a fire repellent mitt, and calmly shut the lid to the grill.

Laurie took the plate out of Brett�s hand and placed it on his work table. He smiled at her, thanking his wife with his eyes.

�they�re going to ask for money,� he said quietly, his voice inflected with irritation.

�Brett,� she soothed. Laurie kept her words to herself, taking a deep breath to stem the flood of annoyance that threatened to ruin this perfect day. If she spoke she knew she would be coming to him apologizing. She watched as her husband turned back to the barbecue and picked up the spatula and slid it more forcefully than usual under the meat and flipped it.

�Damn it!� he suddenly exploded. �Don�t these kids ever learn?�

Laurie knew the question was not meant to be answered. �They just keep asking. Can I help it if the bank won�t give them the money for the house?�
She stood watching as he turned and shut the lid on the barbecue. He turned to her.

�You look like you want to say something.�

�Brett,� Laurie said quietly, �you�ve been like this for thirty years. What can I change?�

�You could tell me I�m being stupid,� he said, �that I shouldn�t help out so much.�

�That you shouldn�t get up so early and give up most of your life for them? And that would make you change your ways? I don�t� think so,� she said gently. �I fell in love with who you are not who I thought you should be.�

Brett came to her and pushed that strand of hair off her forehead. His hand, greasy now left a smudge on her forehead and he smiled.

�What?� she stepped back. �Is that all you can think about?�

�Amazing isn�t it?�

�Who said you were old. You�re three years from retirement; it doesn�t mean you�re��

�Yeah.�

�What about that phone call?� Laurie�s protest was submerged in a kiss, her face buried in his beard, his moist mouth covering her�s.

�What phone call?� His voice soothed away any protest, falling gently On her ear, emanating from her hair, his mouth exploring.

�You�re daughter, sweet train engineer,� she was pliant, only slightly pushing him back from her. �Go take that call. No,� she drew out, now caressing his forehead, letting her hand fall across one tiny little bald spot. �My love,� she whispered gently, her fingers curving down his neck, feeling the slightly wrinkled skin, loving him with her finger tips, her lips sliding quietly along his cheek. His hands tensed where they lay near the back of her bra straps, she tightened her hands only slightly, her mouth exhaled sweet breath into his shirt.

�God,� he drew out gently, �I love you.�

Her response lay hidden in his sudden deepening kiss.

�Your daughter,� she said weakly into his hair.

�I know,� he stood up still holding her. �Happy birthday Brett,� he breathed.

�Merry Christmas,� she said sweetly.

�hey.�

Brett turned suddenly to the barbecue and quickly turned off the gas flame.

�I think we�re done here,� he said, spreading the spatula across the grill. Laurie took the plate out of his hand and covered it with her white towel. His eyes bored into her�s.

�Happy birthday,� she whispered gently.

�The phone call,� Brett soothed, putting those arms about the woman who waited patiently for him outside that cab. �Come,� he eased his hands around her, possessing her with his fingers. �Come to your train engineer. Come.�

�Merry Christmas.�

Laurie wiggled her fingers lose, curled them around one of the thick wrists, slid her fingers down to the muscular contours of his hand, let it rest there. Her other hand slipped up to his face, she touched his glasses, gently removed his glasses. He stepped back a little, letting her keep his hand.

�Which hand operates that throttle?� she asked, looking at him from under her lashes.

Brett chuckled. Meekly he let her lead him across the grass.

�The phone call,� he whispered into her ear as she led him to a spot on the grass.

�She hung up.�

�yeah?� His word was a question, it reminded her of so many times looking up into that cab, getting the same response. She sat down beside him, removed her shoes.

�Company,� the train engineer only slightly protested.

�Happy birthday, Brett.� Her body curled up on his lap, he responded, curled her to his embrace, covered her mouth with his.

�Mm,� he moaned. �Yeah. She did.�

�Gold digger,� he whispered.

�Start digging,� she said. �Come.�

His fingers found her breasts, circled them, his breathing tensed, his head moved to her breast, his prickly cheek caressed her chest, she tensed, relaxed, pressed herself to him, weakened, tensed, dug her nails into his back.

�Left hand,� he said, finally answering her question. �Left hand.�

Silence, a long, deep kiss that made up for so many years, for all those missed birthdays, his mouth claimed her�s, she lay beside her husband, her legs over his, a hand caressing the spot between his hip and knee, the one that always awakened him.

�Laurie!�

�Hush sweet train engineer.�

�Yeah.�

The sun seemed to have moved directly overhead, she lay beside him, his head on her shoulder, his mouth on her neck, his quiet, rhythmic breathing signaling that this man she loved slept on his birthday. She turned slightly, let her lips trace across his shoulder.

�Huh,� his word was quiet.

�Brett.� His name was a chill; a sunny day, a hot flash. He responded, moving little closer. His kiss was quiet, gentle, unhurried, sweet, slightly reminiscent of coffee, maybe with the sugar he took in the coffee with the two tablespoons of milk. She lay meekly there feeling his breath, their breath was one.

�Were you sleeping?� It reminded her of the first call she ever made to him, waking him innocently; it was early evening and he wasn�t working that day; he had the day off; it was a holiday. She sat in the caf� at the train station, no one was there, it was cold. Why did she call him? She said she would behave, that she wouldn�t abuse the privilege.

�Hello,� the voice spoke quietly, it startled her a little; she was so used to him yelling from that cab window, or at least projecting. Now it was almost a whisper, she knew it was him, but it wasn�t him. She remembered how he took the phone and turned it to see the number, perhaps not recognizing it.

�Yeah.�

�Are you sleeping?�

�No,� the word was warm, it was a lie. He had been sleeping. during quiet moments alone she thought of him sleeping on that recliner. Now he lay sleeping on her shoulder, something he did after loving her. She moved her hand to his eyes, down his cheek, tracing it through that beard, maybe there was a hint of grease, the smell of meat as it cooked when he worked with it; his hands left their residue of his preparations on her body.

�Laurie?�

�Yeah.�

�What time is it?�

He stirred gently on her breast.

�Do we care?�

�No.� His word caressed her very soul. �No.�

She covered his lips as they tried to form that word again.

�Alright,� he said now, �alright.�

Now he was the one who was pliant. The sun caressed the sky, the barbecue sat untended ready for it�s master�s hand. It�s master employed those hands in other skills and finally he turned to his wife.

�When are they coming? Debbie and Mike? They want to ask for money. They want me to co sign for the house.�

�They�re not coming early.� She stretched out beside him, took his hand, caressed its life time of scars.

�So?�

they both fell silent. A bird chirped somewhere.

Debbie and her husband Randy wanted a house of their own but they needed a co signer. They needed help. How many times had Brett pitched in over the years? Maybe it was his fault for not teaching them to get things on their own.

�What do you think?� he asked. �I want to know. Even if you don�t agree with my decision.�

�You know what I think. Can they make the payments?�

He sighed. �I think they can,� he admitted. �I just don�t want to be responsible this time. It means getting up early and commuting and frankly I�m just getting a little tired of it. I have enough seniority I don�t have to do this so much anymore. I�m being selfish.�

His body tensed, she turned to him and gazed into his face.

�Brett,� she ran her fingers through his still wavy shock of gray hair. �Let�s not think of it now. You�ll make the right choice. Or you�ll make the choice you can live with. I�ll call her back and say you�ll talk bout it later, but not today. Does that work?�

�I�ll call her,� he said, helping her to her feet. �Come on, we have a party to get ready for.�

�I�m all done with the cooking. The potato salad is done. I have the dishes out. I�m not in a hurry to get back into that kitchen.�

Brett stiffened a little thinking of his wife who never cooked.

�Are you thinking of that again?� she said to him. �Carol. I�m a little different.�

He sensed her acceptance, maybe he was the one who was tense about the memory.

�I�m not her,� she said. �I don�t have the relationship you had. I�m not jealous. I�m more secure than that. Don�t you know that?�

�yeah,� he whispered into her hair. �I know. It just reminded me of..�

�Those days?�

He nodded.

�Brett,� she took her hand and ran it through his hair still warm from the sun and a little wet from the grass, she let it rest on his forehead. �I�m not like that. You had a lot of those days. I married you with my eyes open. I know you have a lot of different experiences. It sounds too good to be true.�

�I am sorry,� he was apologetic. She held him.

�Anyway,� he said, suddenly freed from his memory, �I could use some help here at the grill. Will you come help me out?�

She slid her fingers into his, smiled and nodded. She followed him over to the barbecue and picked up her towel. They had a birthday party to get ready for.

 

 

Copyright © 2010 Shelley J Alongi
Published on the World Wide Web by "www.storymania.com"