Triad

Kurt and I had run a successful catering business, we’d just disagreed on where the profits should be invested. My plan involved spreading the money between a joint account, a managed fund and a stock portfolio. Kurt felt it would be better deposited in the panties of barely legal pole dancers.

“Yeah, well I‘m still sorry, Aunt Nicole.”

“Please, Ben. It’s just Nicole now. You’re all grown up, and I divorced him three years ago.”

He looked me up and down, his eyes rolling over my body like hands. I dabbed at my copper hair, but it was too late to fix the mess I’d become. I can’t imagine how I must have looked, a skinny thirty-six-year-old woman roused from bed, wearing her ex-husband’s old t-shirt as jammies.

Ben smiled and shook his head. “Always said Uncle Kurt was fuckin‘ crazy.” He flopped heavily into the couch and pointed to a photograph on the wall. “I miss that place.”

It was the big old house Kurt and I bought all those years ago when we’d first married. Ben was nearly eleven then, and he used to come over just to hang out with us. We were way cooler than his parents, simply for not being his parents. Plus Kurt was real good with kids, with making up wild stories and stupid games. Yeah, my ex could’ve charmed a homeless man out of his shoes.

Still pointing at the photo, Ben looked at me. “Remember that cool rug you had in the sun room?”

“The one I used to lie on to read?”

“Yeah.”

“Until you’d creep up and jump on me.”

He chuckled, a throaty rumble in his chest. “Yeah. You were a pretty good fighter, Aunt- sorry, Nicole.”

“That’s ’cause I knew your weakness.” I waggled my fingers. “Tickles.”

Harley was sitting across from Ben, his head swiveling to follow our conversation. I turned to him. “Sorry, Harley. We‘re being rude.”

“No, it’s all right. ‘s kinda nice to see you guys gettin’ on so good.”

I scanned him for a second. He was hunkered into the chair like it was a foxhole, his shoes suddenly fascinating, as if in compensation for having to speak. I turned to Ben, a silent question on my face.

“Harley’s down from the country, doesn’t really have a lot of family. Those he has, he’s not on real good terms with.”

“I’m sorry to hear that Harley.”

He shrugged. “No great loss.”

Ben kicked his friend’s foot. “Cheer up, Softly. You have us, at least.”

That actually seemed to make a difference to the young man. He smiled, still without looking at us, and I wondered just how old he was.

“Well, boys, I was about to…” I remembered the dream, and my hand, and wasn’t sure how to finish. “…to, uh, have some breakfast. Can I rustle you up some pancakes?”

“Why do you think we came here?”

“Well I thought it might be for the stimulating company.”

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t know you had visitors.”

As a kid, Ben’s smile had always been sweet. Now, as a man, there was a real dash of spice in it, the way one side crept higher than the other, like he knew something none of us did.

“You’re not too big for me to put over my knee, baby boy.” I gawped as he stood slowly, moving like a buttered snake. “Okay, maybe you are too big.”

“That’s what she said.”

Harley seemed to have relaxed a little, seemed to enjoy it when Ben took over the conversation. He watched the bigger boy’s every move as if taking cues on how to behave in my company.

I headed to the kitchen to whip up some breakfast. The boys stayed in the lounge room and I could hear Ben’s voice rumbling as he gave Harley some choice details from our shared past, no doubt mostly the ones that were embarrassing to me.

Before long I had a huge plate full of hot and fluffy pancakes and I took it out to feed my hungry two-man army. Harley’s eyes widened as he surveyed them.

Ben looked cutely smug as he tore the first three off the top of the pile. “Man, I told you. You wanted to hit a diner.”

I swore Harley almost had tears in his eyes. As if no-one had ever made him breakfast, let alone a pile of sinful food like this.

“Go ahead, Harley. They’re hot and fresh and they’ve got your name on them.

Maple syrup’s there, butter‘s there. You boys want bacon?”

Ben moaned through his mouthful, which I took to be a ‘yes’.

“Good. ‘Cause I already made some.”

I brought out the warm plate and whipped my hands out of harm’s way as two forks descended like vultures tired of waiting. Ben flexed his right hand a little, battling with stiffness.

“Hey, Benny?”

“Mmm?”

“I hate to spoil the moment, but do you have to check with anyone? The cops, your lawyer?”

“Nah, all sorted. They know I’m here.”

“That’s good. Ben…why are you here?”

“Can’t I just visit an old family friend?”

“Who’re you calling ‘old’?”

Harley backed his friend up. “It‘s true, ma’am. They know. We’re goin’ to see Dr.

Perkins.”

“Are you crazy?”

Ben shook his head. “I owe him.”

I felt like slapping him sideways. “No you don’t! You got community service.

You’re paying your debt.”

“To society. Perkins is still drinking his meals, Aunt Nicole.”

“So what, you’re going to say ’sorry’? You already said that, the day after the accident, and in court!”

“No, ma’am.” Harley squeezed timidly into our spat. “We’re doin’ his garden.”

I looked from one to the other. “His garden?”

Ben smirked and slapped Harley on the back of the head. “Yup. When he’s not in the reserves, Softly here is studying landscaping. I’m his hard-working lackey.”

“And what does that do?”

Ben stood and gathered some plates, took them out to the kitchen. “How ‘bout I make some coffee?”

I showed him where everything was, waited while he brewed up a jug. A couple months before, Ben’s mother had finally succumbed to breast cancer. It wasn’t a surprise, but it was still a shock. Ben took it harder than anyone, and he headed straight from the funeral to the local bar.

His real mistake had been driving home. He’d gone onto the wrong side of the road and hit another car. Nothing serious, but Ben had still been cut up inside and he flew out of his car and attacked the other driver, a Dr. Richard Perkins, in front of his wife and daughter.

Dr. Perkins ended up with a broken jaw. Ben got off lightly, the judge taking into account his good employment record and the circumstances regarding his mother’s death.

Finally, I could wait no more. “You gonna tell me about it?”

Ben sighed. “It’s a guy thing.”

“Try me.”

“I just needed to make things right.”

“The powers that be gave you 200 hours.”

Ben shook his head. “And I shoulda got more. But even then it still wouldn‘t make things right. Just even.”

“What else matters?”

“What about Jessica Perkins? She saw some wild-eyed fuckwit smash her father’s jaw…dethrone her king in a couple seconds.”