“Looks like you have enough to feed the congregation.” Brad laughed, grabbing two coffee cups out of the cupboard. “That’s a big pot.”
“Yeah. Your mom will want to can the leftovers.” He gestured with the knife. “You should call Valerie. See if she wants to come eat, too. She always did like my tomato soup.”
“Sure.” He poured coffee into the cups and grabbed a banana out of the fruit bowl then glanced at the clock on the stove. “I’ll call when it’s not five-fifteen.”
Phillip chuckled. “Guess we’re weird.”
“Guess so.” As he walked out of the kitchen, he looked back at his father. “Enjoy your tomatoes.”
On his way out the front door, he stopped and grabbed a fleece jacket out of the coat closet. He stepped out into the cold morning, feeling the chill of the sidewalk on his bare feet. He quickly dashed to the pool house, letting the lighted path guide his way in the dark, careful not to spill any coffee. The humid air greeted him as he slipped into the room.
In the summer, they would retract the ceiling and remove the walls. In the winter, though, they heated the water and covered the pool. That’s where he found Jon.
He walked over to the table where Jon had left his clothes. On top of his towel, Brad found Jon’s watch and saw the timer counting down. He had ninety seconds left of his thirty-minute timer.
Jon had come home from Egypt a changed person, angry, impatient, anxious. He’d snapped at Brad over little things that would never have bothered him before, and Brad worried something had happened during his trip.
Two laps later, the alarm went off and Brad watched Jon slow his pace and lift his head up out of the water. He held up a cup of coffee and waited for his brother to climb out of the pool.
Jon slipped off the goggles and took out the earplugs. He accepted the towel Brad offered and wiped his face. “Coffee smells good. Is it still hot?”
“Yeah. I poured it just now.”
“Beautiful.” Jon sat on one of the patio chairs and took a sip. Water pooled at his feet and under the chair. “Thanks.”
Brad noticed the tattoo on Jon’s shoulder, a geometric shape that made him think of ancient pottery. He’d never seen it before, and he often brought his brother coffee to the pool house. That meant he got it in the last three months when he was out of the country.
“Nice ink,” he remarked.
Jon looked at his shoulder as if surprised to see it there. “Right. Forgot about that.”
Brad chuckled. “Mom see it yet?”
With a sigh, his brother said, “I’m twenty-nine. I hardly need my mother’s permission to get a tattoo.”
Brad took a sip of his coffee before he very dryly said, “Nevertheless.” He set the coffee cup down and peeled his banana. “You already give her enough reasons to pray for you. That might send her over an edge.”
“We can’t all be the perfect and highly favored son, can we, Bradford? Some of us need our own identity.”
Brad raised an eyebrow. “Is that right?” As triplets, they all craved and sought individual identity. He took a bite of banana and chewed and swallowed before he said, “You think I don’t have my own identity?”
“I think you’re doing exactly what dad wants you to do in exactly the way he wants you to do it. Follow the rules. That’s always been your M.O. Strictly. You’ve never even stood close enough to see the line, much less toe it or cross over it.”
Irritation clawed at the back of his throat. “Just because you hope to break every possible rule before your thirtieth birthday doesn’t mean those of us who choose to abide by them are doing something wrong.”
“Every rule?” Jon chuckled. “One tattoo and two missed church services now constitute every rule?” He picked up the mug of coffee. “You need to get out more, Brad.”
“Maybe.”
“I had high hopes for you the other night at dinner. I thought you’d finally speak your mind. Instead, you chickened out, clammed up, and left. Then you found the gumption to get up the next morning and put on that tie.”
Brad’s lips thinned. “Actually, I’m at peace with my position now. I came to an inner understanding. It’s a relief.”
Jon nodded and rubbed at his wet hair with a towel. After taking another bite of banana and washing it down with coffee, Brad decided to change the topic of conversation before something got said that ought not get said. He surprised himself by saying, “I’m thinking of asking Valerie to be my date for Calla Jones’ restaurant opening.”
Jon raised an eyebrow. “Date date? Or, an old family friend come as my desperation guest date?”
“Date date. Like I should have asked from the moment dad allowed us to date. That kind of date.”
