Totaled Read online

  With a heavy heart and somber pace, I walked down the hall into the guest bathroom to find two fresh towels, a wash cloth, and an unopened bar of Irish Spring soap piled up on the counter for me. Humbled by the sweet gesture, I smiled. These people really were just genuinely nice. I got into the shower with the intention of being quick, but found myself just standing there relishing how great the hot water felt pelting over my body. I hadn’t taken a real shower in days. I washed my hair with whatever shampoo was on the shelf and lathered up the soap, immediately thinking of my mother when the scent hit me. She always bought me Irish Spring soap. She said she liked the smell, that it was pleasant but still manly. And we were Irish, of course, she used to joke. I missed her so much. My heart ached at the realization that I would never hear her voice again. I would never feel her tiny arms wrap around my wide shoulders in a hug. I would never see her warm smile, with slightly crooked top teeth, reach her eyes as she laughed. I started to get teary right there in the shower and willed myself to snap out of it. I finished bathing and got out, quickly noticing why Joan had provided two towels. One wouldn’t even wrap all the way around me. I guess she noticed that I’m kind of a big guy. I chuckled and finished drying off. I secured the towels around my waist, making sure everything was covered, and walked back down to the room where I had slept. Digging a pair of clean-ish cargo shorts out of my bag, I dragged them on over my boxer briefs. I noticed that the majority of my clothes were gone. I was searching for a t-shirt, wondering what the hell happened to my stuff, when I heard a gentle knock on the bedroom door.

  “Come in.”

  In walked Joan. She sat on the foot of the bed, which I had already made before taking a shower, and looked up at me as if she was waiting on me to say something.

  “Thank you for the towels, and the soap. That was sweet. I guess you smelled that I could use a proper shower, huh?” I asked with light humor in my voice, trying to break the ice.

  “Nonsense, hun, I was just being hospitable. Did you find everything else you needed?” she questioned.

  “Oh, yes, ma’am. I just need to get to the store and buy some disposable razors. My electric one died yesterday morning after my shave at the rest stop. This stubble will get thick pretty quick,” I confessed.

  “I’m sure we have extras around here. I’ll track one down for you and you can use some of Mick’s shaving cream. And I threw most of your clothes in the wash already.”

  “Thank you so much, Joan. You’ve been so kind to me. I can’t possibly thank you enough,” I said with sincere appreciation. The tension from the elephant in the room was uncomfortable. I could see in Joan’s expression that she wanted to ask me about the dream, but didn’t want to push. “I’ll be getting out of your hair soon. I think it’s best that I get a room at the closest hotel. I feel awful about waking you up last night,” I explained, ashamed.

  “Oh, that won’t be necessary, son,” she said, patting my hand in a compassionate gesture. “You didn’t bother me a bit. I just came in to make sure you were okay. What were you dreaming about, anyway? It sounded dreadful.”

  “Oh nothing. I can’t even really remember the details,” I responded, lowering my head at the lie. “I just have nightmares sometimes.”

  “Well, if you ever want to talk about it, or anything at all, I’m a good listener,” she offered, seeing right through me. She gave a kind smile and her eyes lowered to my chest, which I realized was still shirtless. She paused, staring at the tattoo over my heart. “What does your tattoo mean?”

  “It is a Celtic knot, the symbol for mother or motherhood. Tá grá agam duit means ‘I love you’ in Gaelic,” I explained. “My mother always used to say it to me.”

  “Used to?”

  “Yes, ma’am. She passed away a few months ago,” I replied, almost whispering because it was painful to say out loud.

  Joan smiled wide. “Will you say it again?”

  “Tá grá agam duit,” I answered, sounding like “taw graw oggum gwitch.”

  “It’s beautiful, Drew. That’s a very special thing to have shared that between the two of you. I’m so very sorry to hear that she’s no longer with you,” she said sadly, and lowered her head, grieving right along with me.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” I responded. Please don’t ask me how she died.

  “Well, I’ll leave you to finish getting dressed. Breakfast is almost ready downstairs. I made a breakfast casserole,” she said excitedly as she left the room and headed down the hall.

  Thank Christ. That was close.

  A few minutes later, I sat down at the table next to Mick, just where I was seated the previous night for dinner. He lowered his newspaper and smiled at me, picking his paper right back up to finish reading whatever he was in the middle of.

  “Breakfast smells delicious, Joan!” I exclaimed. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”

  “Nope. Just sit there and look handsome. It’s almost done. Would you like coffee, milk, or orange juice?” she proposed.

  “Coffee sounds great, thank you. I didn’t sleep very well last night, as you heard. Again, I’m so sorry about that,” I apologized.

  “Now, now, I told you already, it’s not a big deal at all. Cream and sugar?”

  “Oh, uh, yes please. Both,” I replied appreciatively. This was the nicest “hotel” I’d ever stayed at.

  Mick set his paper down and folded it up crudely. He took a sip of his coffee, which he was drinking out of some sort of Mason jar with a handle. After clearing his throat, he looked over to me. “I spoke to Bubba already this mornin’ ‘bout your truck. Most of the parts ain’t gonna be here ‘til this afternoon, so it won’t be ready ‘til late tomorrow, if not the next day. So, since we got a day or two to kill, I figured you maybe could help a middle-aged man with a bad back with some repairs I’ve been aiming to get to on my fence.”

  “Yes, sir, I’d be happy to help you with anything you need me to do. Although I don’t know much about fences.”

  “Aww, that’s quite all right. I’ll tell ya what to do. I just need yer muscle, which you don’t look to be lacking,” he barked, laughing at himself.

  “No, sir, I’m pretty strong, I guess.”

  “You a body builder or somethin’?” he asked, appraising me seriously.

  “Oh no. I fight. I mean, I’m a fighter. Mixed Martial Arts,” I explained.

  “Like them boys on them UFC fights?” he questioned with a raised eyebrow.

  “Yes, exactly like that. In fact, I’m training now to try to get onto the national circuit. I hope to fight in the UFC one day soon. I’ve been trying to go pro for about two years now.”

  “Well, ain’t that somethin’! You hear that, Joan? We got ourselves a bonafide MMA badass right here in our kitchen!” he boasted.

  “You watch your mouth, Mick!” Joan snapped back.

  “You’re never gonna believe this, but a good friend of mine that I grew up with owns and runs an MMA gym in Fernandina. You should meet him!” he offered with glee in his voice.

  “Fernandina?”

  “Yeah, Fernandina Beach. It’s ‘bout an hour from here. Nice little small town right on the water in between St. Simon’s Island and Jacksonville. Matter a fact, you should just go there instead of Daytona. I mean, you said so yourself that you just wanted a fresh start somewhere where there’s ocean. I think you’d really like it there. It’s calm, quiet, real purdy, and my friend Pat can set you up with getting back into yer training at his gym,” he said, promise all over his face. “What have you got to lose? If it’s not the right fit, you can just drive down to Daytona like ya planned.”

  I thought about his offer. I couldn’t believe these people were for real. They didn’t even know me, yet they were extending themselves to help me over and over again. I didn’t know what I did to deserve the help, but I was definitely appreciative. It was like this nice couple was just here at the right time and the right place, like guardian angels in a sense. I couldn’t say no. I mean, he a
ctually knew someone who owned an MMA gym in a small beach town not far from here! I at least had to check it out. Mick was right. If I didn’t like it, I could always leave. I was finally free to do whatever I wanted to do. At the very least, his friend Pat probably had some contacts elsewhere for me to talk to if I did plan on traveling further south.

  “I would love to meet him,” I answered firmly. “Fernandina Beach it is.”

  “Well I’ll be. I’ll call him later today then,” he said as he offered his right hand out to me. I shook it firmly and nodded my head in appreciation.

  We all sat together and ate breakfast, which was outrageously good. Stick to your ribs hearty. If I did end up in Fernandina and ever needed to gain a few pounds to make weight for a fight, I was coming back here for Joan’s cooking.

  The conversation was carefree and casual as we finished breakfast. I rinsed all of our dishes off in the sink, until Joan came up behind me and insisted that I let her take care of cleaning up. I followed Mick out to their backyard and was surprised at the sight that greeted my eyes. Acre after acre of beautifully landscaped pasture lay before me. I slowly walked forward on the wooden deck and sauntered down the steps, staring out, in awe of it all. Counting four horses right away, I couldn’t help my jaw from dropping in amazement.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Mick asked from behind me.

  “Yes, sir. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “This here is my happy place. I’ve always loved to ride, but never really had time until I retired. Now this is what I do every day. It’s my hobby, I guess. I work on the house, the yard, and take care of my babies,” he said, walking over to one of the horses. He made some sort of clicking sound with his mouth, as if to call the horse over, and sure enough, it turned and started to gallop towards us, slowing down as it reached Mick. He held his hand out to rub over the nose and I could do nothing but stare. I was frozen, partially in fear of what my brain perceived as a powerful beast that could end my life with one swift kick to the sternum, and also in admiration of the beauty that was this graceful creature. Mick seemed to almost have it under his spell. They obviously had a relationship and bond with each other filled with trust and comfort.

  I’d never seen a horse up close and I didn’t have the slightest idea what to do next. Mick must have realized my apprehension. He slowly approached, bringing the huge horse over to me with him.

  “This is Ginger. She’s my baby girl. I’ve had her for twelve years. She’s my favorite. The white mare over there with brown splotches all over her is Freckles. The black and white one is Elvis and the chocolate brown one is Gator. They’re all part of our family,” he said with love in his voice.

  “They’re beautiful,” I replied, not able to think of anything else to say.

  “You’ve never been around horses, huh?”

  Embarrassed, I replied, “No, sir. I’ve never even seen one up close. Only on the TV and movies, really. They actually kind of scare me.”

  Mick chuckled and reached his right arm around my upper back, urging me to walk alongside him towards the others. “This ought to be a hoot,” he said as we walked away from the house side by side.

  I felt like it was my death march. My heart was thumping out of my chest. We stopped in front of a stable and Mick unlocked a padlock on the double doors enclosing the structure. He stepped into what looked almost like a closet and started rustling around, making a racket. At the sound of the noise he was making, all four horses trotted right over to me. With my body frozen and my facial expression surely fixed in one of pure terror, I stood as still as I could, sure I was about to be trampled. I was shocked by my intimidation and fear, but I had no control over these huge wild animals. I felt like I was about to die.

  The horses all came to an abrupt halt just inches away from me. Ginger, the copper brown one that Mick introduced me to a few minutes prior, bent her head down and nudged her nose under my right hand, as if to say, “Pet me, you shmuck!” I had no idea what I was supposed to do. So I pet her. I stroked her nose and scratched behind her ears and on the top of her head, similar to how I would pet a dog, which was sadly the only basis I had for comparison. She blew breath out of her nostrils and seemed to like it, so I continued doing it until she abruptly raised her head up to stand at full attention, her ears pointing up, poised and alert. She looked straight ahead at Mick, who came out from behind the structure’s door carrying a large bag of something. He grunted, laboring to carry the bag and struggling to raise it over his head.

  “You gonna just stand there or give me a hand?” he asked me.

  I quickly took a hold of it and propped it over my left shoulder. He exhaled briskly and walked me over to a hollowed out half bucket that was nailed up to a fence ledge. He held out a pocket knife, urging me to take it from him.

  “Slice that bag open and pour half of it in this feed trough and the other half in that one,” he instructed me, pointing over to another one about fifty feet away.

  I did just as he instructed to the first one and walked over to the other trough with the half emptied bag of feed, two horses following me right at my heels, and poured it all in. They all started eating immediately and I smiled, exhaling a large breath of relief.

  While the horses were all eating, Mick urged me to walk along with him away from the stable. We walked along the fence as he tried to reassure me that his “babies” were nothing to be afraid of. Large and intimidating to those unfamiliar with horses, sure, but gentle and kind with good hearts and loving natures. Just misunderstood. I felt like I could relate. Although I didn’t feel gentle or kind most of the time.

  We reached a spot in the fence line about a hundred yards away from the stable where the wood had splintered and broken, leaving a large gap.

  “I built all of this fence myself, and it’s held up pretty well for a good while,” Mick said, running his hand along a rail, “but there’s this spot and two others that I need to patch up. I was hoping you’d help. It’s so much easier with two people.”

  “Of course,” I enthused. “I’d love to help you any way I can. Just tell me what to do.”

  We rode up to a local hardware store together and I followed Mick around like a lost puppy. It was quite embarrassing, not to mention humbling, to be surrounded by do-it-yourself supplies and people who seemed to just know exactly how to do-it-yourself. I had never even entered a hardware store, much less knew what to do with all of these raw materials and tools. I felt emasculated and insecure. Here I was, this large, muscular man, and had never hammered anything other than a nail into the wall to hang a picture.

  I lifted things as Mick pointed to them and crossed things off the list. He had boards sawed off to an exact measurement in the lumber department and I stacked it all up on the rolling flatbed. I offered to pay for it all at the register, insisting that I need to pay him back for giving me a place to stay. He declined, almost acting offended, and assured me that my company and manual labor was plenty thanks and a huge help to him.

  We packed it all into the back of his pickup truck and headed back to his house. After unloading it all and hauling it into the backyard, Joan called us in for lunch. She had prepared ham and cheese sandwiches, two for each of us; she even cut them in half diagonally, as if we were children. It was endearing and sweet and reminded me of the little touches that my own mother used to add. She had sliced up fresh fruit and baked fries in the oven that she cut from fresh sweet potatoes and seasoned with sugar and cinnamon instead of salt. It was amazing. She was amazing. I scarfed down every morsel and drained my lemonade until the ice cubes hit my teeth.

  Fixing the fence line with Mick was laborious but relaxing at the same time. We just talked the whole time and I truly felt, in that moment, that I had found a friend in him. He taught me with patience and kindness, showing me how exactly to hold the tools and at what angle to hammer the nails in to make the barricade as strong as possible. I couldn’t help but wonder how different my life would be now if I had gro
wn up in a household like this. I knew that my mother had done the best she could to provide me with a stable and loving home, but it was difficult to distract my mind from envying a different sort of upbringing. If only I had experienced a father like Mick.

  He talked to me about his horses a lot. He truly loved and cherished those animals like they were almost his children. When I asked him about his children, his demeanor shifted.

  “Our daughter, Camille, lives in California with her husband. They got married a few years ago and moved out there. He works for some sort of computer company. They don’t have any kids yet. And our son…we had a son, too. Russell. He was killed in Afghanistan last January,” he stated simply, a hint of emotion in his voice.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t mean to upset you,” I apologized, mortified that I’d brought up such a painful subject.

  “I know, ‘course you didn’t. It’s okay. You couldn’t have known. He was a good man, caught up in this damn war, in the wrong place at the wrong time. You remind me a lot of him, actually,” he commented with a smile that reached his eyes. “He’s been dead for fifteen months and was gone overseas for three or four months before that. A year and a half since I saw him last, but it still don’t get any easier to talk about.”

  I felt his sorrow as I sat on the steps of the deck, listening to him. I grieved his loss right along with him and knew to my core exactly how he felt. It hurts, losing someone you love. He spoke of his son like he was on a pedestal, truly proud of the man he was becoming before the horrors of war stole him from this world. He was only nineteen years old, with his whole life ahead of him. He joined the military to get his college paid for. Not wanting to burden his parents with paying for his education, he enlisted with goals of becoming an equine veterinarian one day. He was just as into horses as Mick seemed to be. Gator was Russell’s, he had raised the chocolate brown horse from birth.