Chapter 10—Pierre's Story

Saturday, March 6

Stephanie's POV

I didn't sleep well last night, thinking about my mom and all those years of anger and pain she put herself and my dad through. Now I was banned from the house. I called hoping Grandma would answer. She did.

"Plum Mortuary, you stab 'em, we slab 'em," I heard as Grandma rasped into the phone.

"Grandma, don't tell Mom I called, but I'd like to see you today and talk about what happened. Can you walk down to the corner and I'll pick you up?"

Grandma was silent for a bit and then answered, "Sure…Emma…I'll meet you in twenty minutes."

I picked Grandma up at the corner from our house and drove her to Tasty Pastry for a little pick me up. We sat in the car and ate doughnuts while Grandma told me what happened when my dad got home yesterday and found what was waiting for him.

"Helen took all his clothes, shoes and other stuff and threw them in your old room. She was locked in her bedroom when Frank got home. They yelled through the door for an hour before your dad stomped out of the house and drove away. This morning, he came out of your old room and yelled at me, like always, until I got out of the bathroom. When he came downstairs, your mother had breakfast ready, but stormed up the stairs leaving your dad to serve himself. He ate and then left in his cab. It doesn't look good, Stephanie."

How did this all go sour so fast? I couldn't help but feel I'd caused all this. If I hadn't taken the job, if I'd kept it hidden from my mom. Right, like you can keep anything hidden in the Burg. I dropped Grandma off at the corner and stopped by Cluck in a Bucket and got a chicken sandwich and a super-sized order of fries and cola to drown my worries before heading back out to the Center.

As I drove up, Tank was sitting on the veranda steps waiting for me. I remembered he was here to learn what I'd planned for his friend, Bobby. I pulled myself together.

He was petting the neighbor's cat when I walked over. I sat down next to him as the friendly feline jumped into his lap. "Sapphire likes you, Tank. She doesn't usually let men hold her."

Tank smiled as he scratched the purring cat behind her ears. "I like cats. I had one when I was a boy. She was a Siamese just like this one."

He pulled his wallet out of his pocket and showed me a dog-eared photo of a young dark-skinned boy cuddling a little Siamese kitten. The boy was about 10 years old, scrawny and had an Afro, but I could see the resemblance to the huge bald man sitting next to me.

Several pieces of paper had fluttered out of his wallet so I leaned over and picked them up. One was his driver's license. "Pierre?" I smiled as I handed him the license.

Tank looked embarrassed, "I'd appreciate it if you'd keep my given name to yourself, Stephanie. I'd get razzed unmercifully if the guys knew it."

"Your secret's safe with me, Tank, if you tell me why your parents named you Pierre." He winced as I emphasized his name and then he looked around to make sure we were alone.

"That's blackmail, you know? OK, but you have to promise not to tell anyone." I crossed my heart.

"Well, my father was in the Army, in Vietnam, when he met my mother. She was French and very beautiful and my father said it was love at first sight. Her name was Claire and she was a tiny little thing, barely came up to my father's chest. She spoke French, English and Vietnamese and worked as a translator for the French Consulate."

Tank was on a roll, "They married only a month after meeting each other and I was born nine months later. I was named after my mother's father who died when she was a young girl. We returned to the States, and took up the Army life, moving every few years."

I said, "That explains the French name. I imagine the other kids gave you a hard time?"

Tank blew out air, "That's putting it mildly. I was small for my age…" I looked at the mountain of a man sitting beside me and looked skeptical.

"Well, I was, Steph. I didn't start growing until high school and then I shot up like a weed on steroids. The rest of my story sucks. My mother got sick and died when I was thirteen. My father sank into a depression and started drinking. I spent lots of nights dragging him out of his truck into the house. One night he wrapped his truck around a tree. The sheriff came and yanked me out of bed to identify my father's mangled body." Tank's face and voice stayed steady, but I saw his hands clench into fists and his stomach muscles tighten.

I was horrified at the thought of a young boy having to see his dead father much less be the one responsible for identifying him. Fighting back my rush of tears, tears that I knew Tank would never allow himself to shed, I looped my arm through his and put my head on his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, Tank. No child should have to go through something like that. What happened after you lost your father?"

He shrugged. "I spent the next four years bouncing from one foster home to the next. I was lucky to barely graduate from high school and went immediately into the Army. Best thing I could've done. I was running with a bad crowd and was a hothead. The Army gave me discipline and purpose. My first squad leader took no lip from me and whipped me into shape. He was much smaller than I was, but the first time I mouthed off he threw me to the ground and dropped his knee on my throat. I learned to respect and admire the man, not the rank or insignia, and never to judge a person based on appearances."

I had a hard time imagining any man being able to drop Tank and said so.

Tank shook his head, "I was impulsive, a street fighter and relied on my size. My squad leader was trained in martial arts and was a master at marshalling his emotions. I wanted that skill and control and he offered to teach me. After that, we became good friends. He even took me home on leave with him, and his family 'adopted' me. It's a big family with lots of love, noise and chaos, everything I'd missed since losing my parents. He and I stayed together through the rest of our time in the Army and now we're starting up a business together."

"That's quite a story, Tank. I really appreciate you sharing it with me. It's nice to get to know the man behind the stern face. You've had some really tough times, but it sounds like things are going well for you now," I said.

Tank was still holding the cat and snuggled his face in its soft fur, "Yeah, now I just need to find someone to share it with."

I squeezed his arm, "Tank, any woman would be lucky to have you in her life." I could hear my mom now, 'See, even big scary men want to get married.'

Tank put his arm around my shoulders and kissed the top of my head, "Now that you know my life's history, tell me what you have planned to get Bobby motivated and enjoying life again." I happily launched into my plan for 'Operation Bobby's Bliss.'