Chapter Three: Riunione Sconosciuta
Sam sighed as she stared at her reflection in the rear-view mirror, "Jeez, don't I just look fantastic?"
She reached down and turned on the radio, "Misery Business" blared over the sound system and Sam smiled.
"Nothing like Paramore to cheer you up." She muttered to herself and started to mumble words along with the lyrics. She had just started her car up again just as the man who owned the lawn that she was currently occupying made his way to her car. He had cop written all over him, "Well, speak of the devil."
The man – Detective by the looks – approaching had a country boy cross Cali surfer swagger in his walk, topped off with worn in blue jeans and a lose fitting, yet form fitting, t-shirt with faded wording on it. As he knocked on her window with his knuckles, Sam noticed that freckles dotted his face slightly and his clean cut hair was more red than the dark chestnut she had assumed it to be.
"Yes, Detective?"
A eyebrow lifted into view from where it had been hidden by the sunglasses, "Lieutenant, actually."
Sam frowned slightly, she had been wrong – that was unusual for her, "Ah, pardon me then."
He studied the woman who's car was currently parked on the outer part of his yard, he thought recognized her as the Mom who had just moved onto the corner. The Fitzhugh sisters live on the right and Hope's Gully was located down a ways to the left. The back of the property faded off into the small woodland area behind. That too was also named after the young girl who had supposedly died there. His new neighbor had a pair of glasses on that looked like they belonged on the face of a 1950s highway policeman, they were obviously covering up tear stained eyes – from crying or allergies he wasn't sure. She had a mass of wavy auburn hair the was falling out of her sloppy pony-tail in stages and with her sharp cheek bones and defined nose her face looked to be that of a porcelain doll's. She had a nice tan too, which told him she either was addicted to those cancer giving beds or she merely worked outside.
Mentally shaking his head he concentrated on speaking, "Need any help Ma'am?"
Sam could see that his right hand slightly rested on his hip where he could access his weapon quickly and efficiently.
"Guess it is slightly strange for a car to be parked on your lawn, eh? I've just moved in down the street, just needed some time to think. Sorry if I've disturbed you. Though, I'm not much of a threat Lieutenant."
The Lieutenant opened his mouth to inquire what had led this lady to say something like that, surely she didn't know that his hand was resting on his firearm. Then again, she had placed him for a high ranking officer. He couldn't blame her for seeing him as a Detective, lots of people couldn't believe that a 31-year-old man – who looked to be years younger, at least that's what he was told – was a Lieutenant.
Before he could question her about it Tammy, the local dispatcher, was calling him in to go over to the High School because two stupid kids were getting a little boxing in on their school day – one of those kids being of his blood.
Sam could see his face harden as the dispatcher called through his radio that was hooked onto his belt.
"You'll have to excuse me Ma'am, duty calls." He tipped his imaginary hat and traced his steps backwards until he came upon his driveway, where he opened his red Chevy truck's door to rev the motor.
Sam watched at the roaring truck traveled the way she had just been driving from, "Hmm that would be the 'cop boy' then."
Sam slowly pulled out of the ditch where she had parked her car temporarily to only drive down a house and across the street. As she stepped out of her car she stared up at her house, it didn't look so menacing now that the outside had been picked up. In fact it was much better than the rickety house it had first been when she moved in. Now it faintly reminded her of Hudson's porch on the outside and something of Gram's old apartment on the inside. There was plenty of space for her and her children. Sam had gotten the two story house for a steal. Granted that the house wasn't all up to date and needed major repairs in some places, the house with its six bedrooms, four and a half baths, living area, comfortable sized sunroom, office about the size of the small bull pen that she had shared with her team back in D.C., and kitchen with a private nook connecting to the dining room was just right for her family.
Sam dragged herself up the steps, the house was perfect for three or more people but just one person being there seamed ridiculous. She hated being home, there was never anything to do… besides house work. Sam shuddered at the thought of anything related to 'keeping house'. Sam Pulaski was no housewife. She might not need a job but she sure as heck was going to be searching for one.
Until then there was only one thing to be done… laundry. Sam gagged as the word came into her brain. "Ready or not, here I come."
Folding the laundry was a slow and boring task. Because of the fact that Sam put it off until the last moment there was always loads and loads to wash and dry. Added on to this she would have to hang most of the shirts up because they would shrink in the wash. This being a common known fact Bry and Cesca were usually forced to wash their clothes, though said clothes usually came out a different color than what they first were. Especially Cesca's, the poor child was just that – a child.
Sam gently set the last of the shirts down on the pile of more folded shirts as though it might jump up and make all the other shirts become unfolded. And that was something she did not want to happen, "Okay, I've worked long and hard – break time!" She smiled to herself as she grabbed a bottle of light beer, "Ahh, the joys of being over twenty-one." To complete the mood of relaxation Sam walked out to her porch and sat on the bench swing that she and Bry had installed.
"Mmm," Sam sighed as she fluffed up a outdoors pillow and laid down with one foot pushing the swing back and forth; the sounds of the outside and the creak of the wooden swing her only company.
- - - -
"DUN-NUH-NA-NA-NA-NAH… DUN-NAH-NA-NA-NA-NAH… ON THE DAY I WAS BORN –"
"Wha th' frickin?" Sam sat up as the lyrics to Bad to the Bone started playing in her ear, "Jeezum Cracker," She wiped the corner of her mouth of sleep drool and ran a hand threw her hair before answering.
"Pulaski."
"Ah, hey Mom."
She yawned, "Br-igh? This isn't your ringer. You been messing with my phone?"
"Nah, Mom. I haven't, I'm calling from school not my phone."
"School?" Sam had to pause and think about the word, "School! Is it three already? I didn't think I slept that long, no wait. Aren't you staying for baseball practice? That would end at four, right? Two hours of practice?" Sam asked as she brushed her hair from her eyes.
"Um, baseball practice goes until five Mom, and I don't have it today anyway; but that's not the reason I called, it's only twenty after eleven." Bryant explained his voice tight.
"Then why – No. No, no, no. You got in a fight didn't you! Didn't you! Ho pensato che lo avessimo accosentito smettessimo di combattere!" Sam lectured sitting up straight on the swing causing it to slide back and forth, almost dumping her onto the deck.
"Sì Mamma che conosco." On the other end of the line the girl sitting next to Bryant looked up at him in awe.
Sam took a deep breath and stood, quickly ran inside to grab her keys that had been placed on the coffee table in the living room, "What is it then?" She asked coolly, in her first language – English. They had spoken about the fighting, at first it had just been her – she felt ashamed to feel it but she didn't want Tony to deal with her son. Then after that she'd turned her older brother's on her son, they'd set him straight. Of so she thought.
"Well, I didn't get hit –" Bryant started but was interrupted by his mother again.
"I knew it! Fighting!" Her tires squealed as she pulled out of her driveway, "Il combattimento è stupido Bry. What the fucking hell caused you to punch someone?" Sam growled in her phone, slamming on her breaks a little too late and almost hitting the car in front of her. When the young woman driving the sliver mustang turned around and glared; Sam glared back and shouted some words that had Bryant muffling his speaker.
"Oh Dio." Bryant muttered to himself, his mother's temper was lit and there was nothing that could put it out.
"Do not oh Dio me!" Sam shouted at her son as she peeled out of her stopping spot.
"Sì, Madre." As soon as Bryant had said the word he wanted to take it back. His mom hated to be called mother to her face – even if it was over the phone. It made her feel old and strict.
"Madre? Non dissrespect me con quel tono del bambino di voce di miei. Non sono una certa anziana soffocante, voi ricordo quel Bryant. Le anziane soffocanti non lasciano i loro sport del gioco di bambini, rendono loro il lavoro. Le anziane soffocanti incitano i loro capretti a andare ai partiti di tè. Lo volete frantumarlo nell'anno prossimo Bryant? Giuro Bry, voi ottengo in altre lotte che non significa baseball. Nessuno! Capisca?" Sam rambled off in her Italian and Bryant held his cell away from his ear.
The light brunette headed girl next to him smiled pityingly as he blushed.
"Conoscete che cosa? Non voglio parlare con voi ora. Comunicherò con voi alla scuola. Cristo." Sam huffed and Bryant heard the click that told him he was now speaking to a dial tone.
"That went well?" The girl next to him smiled a bit, obviously trying to lose the awkward silence that had appeared once Bry's mom had hung up the phone.
Bryant let out a breath and smiled, "Hardly."
She smiled, "That's what I figured but I don't speak… Spanish?"
"Close – well not really, Italian. Mamma, she tends to speak it when I push her off the deep end." Bryant ran a hand through his hair making it stick on end, "Which I tend to do – a lot."
She smiled again, she had a nice smile Bry noticed, "What do you do to make her so mad?" her long light hair fell over her shoulder as she tilted her head slightly like a dog questioning its master, "I'm Chloe Sable, by the way."
"Bryant Keyes, Bry really, and my fist, uh, tends to meet a lot of faces."
"Well, Bry Really, I'll have to thank you for letting your fist 'meet' Zack's face – he's a real arsehole."
Bry lifted his eyebrows at Chloe's accent and the fact that she'd just said asshole, "Is he?"
Chloe laughed, "The biggest, I've known him now for like ever. So I ought to know."
"Hmm, must have been a fun experience," Bryant left room for Chloe to fill in what hadn't been said.
"Ya, 'e's my kinda-not-really ex sibling. When Da needed to send me off – he's apparently touring – he usually sends me to live with Her, nasty old witch, 'cause 'pparently she owes Da. But the hag wouldn't even let me into that huge old mansion that they live in this time. Said something about the past needing to stay buried and freaked. Truth was, I was planning to scram on out that night anyway." Chloe's voice was hardening with each word.
"Harsh, where are you know?"
"Hmm, oh. You know the Pup Parlor," though Bry shook his head Chloe continued on, "Well Holly works there, she set me up a room, I work there too."
"Sweet, I've got some dogs. I'll have to bring them by some time."
"Yea' – woah, that your mom?"
Bryant looked up to see his Mom marching into the school building in all her glory. She was dressed the same as she had been when she dropped him off. Despite the heat she wore an old hoodie, which Bryant knew belonged to Zane at some point in time, a white shirt with blue half sleeves was underneath, baggy jeans with a hole in the knee the size of Texas, and a pair of green high-tops. One of the funniest things about his mom was that no matter what the style of the time was, she always seamed to have it – even though she didn't have a clue in fashion.
"Unfortunately."
"Hmm, sucks for you."
"Oh don't worry you'll most likely be dragged into it too."
"Lucky me."
The two teenagers sat back and watched as the fired up mother stomped into the office; Chloe was sure there was blood in her eyes.
Translations: (Very rough, I only speak an itty-bitty amount of Italian – please, correct me if I'm wrong!)
I thought we had agreed you would stop fighting – Ho pensato che lo avessimo accosentito smettessimo di combattere
God – Dio
Yes Mom I know – Sì Mamma che conosco
Fighting is stupid – Il combattimento è stupido
Yes Mother – Sì Madre
Mother? You will not disrespect me with that tone of voice child of mine. I am not some stuffy old woman, you remember that Bryant. Stuffy old women do not let their children play sports, they make them work. Stuffy old women make their kids go to tea parties. Do you want me to ground you into next year Bryant? I swear Bry, you get in any more fights it means no baseball. None! Understand? – Madre? Non disrespect me con quel tono del bambino di voce di miei. Non sono una certa anziana soffocante, voi ricordo quel Bryant. Le anziane soffocanti non lasciano i loro sport del gioco di bambini, rendono loro il lavoro. Le anziane soffocanti incitano i loro capretti a andare ai partiti di tè. Lo volete frantumarlo nell'anno prossimo Bryant? Giuro Bry, voi ottengo in altre lotte che non significa baseball. Nessuno! Capisca?
You know what? I do not want to speak with you right now. I will talk with you at school. Christ. – Conoscete che cosa? Non voglio parlare con voi ora. Comunicherò con voi alla scuola. Cristo.
Q&A:
Who is Bry's Dad? I'm sure you all know C= he looks just like his dad who appraently had red hair and chocolate eyes sound familiar?
Who is Cesca? Francesca would be Tony and Sam's child. Tony was Sam's hubby.
