That Thing You're Good At (A Starview Novel Book 1) Read online

  “Open the door, Bryce-boy. I know you’re in there.”

  “Not interested, Brody. Leave me alone.”

  Keys scrambled and before he’d had a chance to grab the knob from inside Officer Brody Jensen, his childhood friend from elementary school and now the Sheriff of Primrose Valley, swung the door open and entered the house in full police uniform then slammed the door shut behind him, making Bryce’s late mother’s serving dish hung to the wall rattle in fear. Brody clipped his sunglasses to his chest pocket.

  “Are you hibernating, Bryce-boy, is that what this is? You becoming a bear?” He grabbed Bryce by the shoulders and turned him so Bryce could face himself in the hallway mirror, making their two reflections stare back in annoyance.

  Bryce shrugged and stepped out of Brody’s grip. “It’s my face, I do whatever the fuck I want with it. Grow a beard or keeping it clean like a baby’s butt, like yours.”

  “Shut up, Bryce. You need to shake whatever this is off your shoulders and become your normal self.” Brody looked him up and down and shook his head. “Are you depressed? I get it. But I have people you can contact for support. Heck, I’ll be your support should you just let me in or take my calls.”

  “I’m not . . . really, you know, depressed. It’s not like I’m ill. I just don’t feel like going to work. Or leaving the house. Period.”

  “What, are you like four or something throwing a tantrum because you don’t feel like doing something that is necessary for your survival?” Brody took out a piece of white folded paper from his pant pocket and handed it over to Bryce. “From your sister. She came in to file a report on someone snooping around her trash cans at night and asked me to give you this, since you haven’t returned any of her million calls and text messages either.”

  Bryce unfolded the paper as Brody leaned over to spell the message out for him before he had a chance to tuck it away from his ogling eyes. “Stop moping. I love you, awe . . . that’s short but sweet, Bryce-boy.”

  “Don’t you know it’s not polite to read other people’s mail?”

  “Hardly a letter of large substance, yet, maybe it is. Stop moping shall we and get shaved for work. One or two more days and you’ll lose both your employment as well as your benefits. You know better than this.”

  Bryce sighed and slumped his shoulders, letting himself get pushed down the hallway and into the closest bathroom.

  “Don’t let Marlene win this game, Bryce. Shape up and get ready, I’ll come back in here to drag you out should my timer beep and you’re not out here. In five, four, three, two, one . . .” Bryce watched his friend set the timer on his wrist watch and shook his head knowing of Bryce’s Obsessive compulsive disorder before he pulled off his t-shirt and stepped into the warm steam pouring out from behind the shower curtain.

  ~ Chapter Two ~

  “What about Sandy then?”

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Bryce shook his head and drank a tall glass of water from the faucet, his hair still held some moisture to it after the shower and once in a while he felt a drop of water hit his back and he wiped it away with the towel he’d hung on his shoulder after he was done in the shower. That and a pair of board shorts Brody had found in his drawer and tossed into the bathroom when he’d heard the stream of water turn off.

  “I all honesty, between you and me, I cannot stand that woman.”

  “She has been nothing but sweet to you, how can you say that?”

  “There is a lot of shit I’d like to say and do to her but can’t, downfall of living in a small town and having a job in the public eye. You know what I mean, we both wear similar uniforms and are likely to help people. ”

  Brody shot him a look of death. Should his vision held blades Bryce realized he probably would have been divided in half by now. He watched Brody swallow and correct the top of his tie around his neck, fiddling with the knot, as he did when he had something to say. Out of annoyance. Or in this case, possible homicide.

  “First, Bryce, our uniforms are nothing alike. I’m the Chief of Police, you’re a paramedic.” Bryce watched the muscle twitch in Brody’s cheek. “Secondly, and more important, we are not ‘likely’ to help people, we DO help people, all the time. That’s our job!” Brody placed his hands firmly at his hips and stared at his friend. “A life not saved, or a crime not solved, are failures and unacceptable.”

  Bryce nodded and emptied the glass in his hand.

  “Is this what this is?” Brody asked, softening his voice. “You don’t want to go back to work because you’re done with handling the ‘feelings’ if a patient cannot be saved?” Brody quoted in the air.

  “No,” Bryce bit back. “I just think . . . or know that there must be more to life than . . . what I’ve live with so far and I want to change it.”

  “Well,” Brody leaned back against the counter top next to Bryce. “You’re not a tree, if you don’t like where you’re at, move.”

  Bryce scrunched his face. “That was a straight quote from your girlfriend, and honestly, don’t ever say that again.”

  “Sorry, it just slipped out.”

  The kitchen grew awkwardly silent until Brody walked to the back door, looking out the frosted glass and out to the backyard.

  “So, again, Sandy?”

  “No,” Bryce answered quickly.

  “Then why on earth are you dating her right after Marlene left you and pulling her along, she and the rest of your friends thought you were about ready to move in together.”

  “Oh, god no. Sandy paints her nails in soft pink, decorates her apartment with cute cat figurines and peonies, gives me what I want in bed, and calls me sugar, leaving out the last r.”

  “Oh, boohoo, that must be hard, a woman wanting to do everything for you. Sucks to hear about it, really.”

  “She has no energy man, no fight, nothing . . . it’s like she would jump in front of a train should I ever tell her to. Not that I would.”

  “Either way, you need to clean yourself up and this house. If she’s not what you want then man up and move on.”

  “I have no clue what I want with anything right now. I’ll figure it out, just let me mope one more day in my misery and I’ll be back, in some form, at the station tomorrow. Sgt. called, I have a night-shift under my wings.”

  Brody left, stopping in his tracks a few times before closing the door behind him as he left. Bryce heard Brody’s large boots crush the gravel outside until the sound of a car door slammed hard and the engine to Brody’s cruiser ebbed out in silence.

  He stood there in the kitchen for a while, attempting to look at his surroundings with the same eyes Brody had. He had been right about one thing: his place looked like two wild cats had been left to fend for themselves among pizza cartons, dried up fluid residue in glasses stacked at the back of the couch against the wall, and he was still in his gym outfit. From two days ago. And he hadn’t showered. The BO from his armpit told him so as he reached above his head to grab an almost empty cereal box from the top shelf in the cabinet.

  He wasn’t ready to move on yet, heck, he didn’t even know where he’d move on to? Getting back with Sandy who was always sweet, polite, and wouldn’t hurt a fly? She was like a puffed pastry, sweet on the outside, hollow on the inside. There was just nothing there, no depth, no desire, just a nice little something to have on your arm while walking through town. Someone nice to show up to dinner with and someone who did whatever you might ask.

  “Yuck,” he said, and placed the bowl of cereal in the sink, milk sloshing over its edge and down the drain. He felt as hot for Sandy as he did for the dish and grabbed for the stowaway in the back of the corner cabinet, a place he rarely visited as he was always on call for work. He unscrewed the top of the bottle and downed three gulps of amber before coughing, setting it hard on the counter.

  “Mr. Daniels,” Bryce stared at the bottle on the counter. “Tonight there will be just you and me in this house.” He grabbed the bottle and held it to his lips. “You lead the way, Jack.”
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  Morning arrived with thunder and pain to his skull. If he made it out of bed today he’d be happy, yet he had to and remembered he’d sent an email last night and needed to sober up some for what was coming.

  So, here he was, waiting impatiently for the cars to arrive outside. Pacing the rooms as he did. Then he heard them.

  Bryce held the necks of three Sierra Madre Pale Ale ready to distribute as he watched his three friends enter the front door, filling the otherwise quiet house with chatter. Brody hung his sheriff hat on the hook Bryce had previously reserved for the dog’s leash and held the door open for Jefferson and Wayne occupied in what seemed a heated discussion about the reason behind Bryce’s impromptu invitation.

  “We’re 50/50 you’re either telling us you proposed to Sandy, or maybe was a dumbass and took Marlene back, or even that you are coming out as gay, in love with either one of us. And to make it all clear, we’re all taken.”

  Bryce took a deep breath and handed each of them a bottle to stop Wayne’s mouth from spreading anymore bullshit. “Neither. Please come in.”

  “Just say it,” Wayne demanded, inhaling his beer in less than ten seconds. “I hate waiting for it. Rip it off like a sticky band-aid. The truth will hurt, but so will it be listening to you.”

  “Fine,” Bryce took a deep breath. “I bought four non-refundable, full-price plane tickets to Brazil when I was drunk last night and we are all going. Tomorrow morning.” The room fell silent. They stared at him, surprised by his response.

  “I did not expect that,” Jefferson sighed and took a sip if his beer, making himself more comfortable on the armrest of the sofa. “Are you sure you’re not gay? Because that would be totally fine if you were.”

  “I’m not gay. End of discussion.”

  ~ Chapter Three ~

  Bryce had to bundle up to keep warm against the crisp autumn day. He walked into the towering cornstalks that rattled and swayed in the breeze. He’d parked his car along one of many fields around town. This one was particularly popular with families tracking their kids, high on sugar from the caramel apples, through the corn maze during Halloween. Bryce stared up at the clear autumn sky, his eyes catching a few rays of tired, mellow rays of sunshine among the fluffy clouds floating above. He thought he had always known what he wanted, but now he wasn’t too sure.

  As the dried leaves and hay crunched under his feet he wondered why none of his ideas were working; he hadn’t manage to change Sandy’s mind about not getting back together because a few times a week her name still appeared on the caller id and every time he ignored it the same, which in reality was everything he really wanted – a woman. He hadn’t managed to get more than a sexual encounter with a girl from out of town, and his depressing attitude hadn’t made him successful at work. The lanes of the maze were long and narrow, and made it confusing to know which way to go—so many choices, and some dead ends. Much too similar to his life at the moment. Then he heard a noise behind him and turned to meet whatever was coming his way. The shadow of three men haunted his view until they fully appeared.

  “We’re all going, but you should know Raylyn is not happy about this.” Jefferson pushed his hands into the pocket of his jeans while Brody and Wayne flanked him nodding in agreement.

  “We’re packed and ready to roll this awesome idea all the way to Buenos Aires!” Wayne exclaimed and pumped his fist high in the air.

  “That’s in Argentina, Wayne,” Brody replied and shook his head. “We’re going to Brazil, Rio de Janeiro.”

  “Huh, I’ll be damned. Even at this age I learn new things.”

  “I bet you are, bro. I bet you are,” Jefferson answered and with a hand on Bryce’s back he moved the group out from the cornstalks and into Brody’s shiny white squad car, red and blue lights blinking in the early morning light.

  “I just wanted to make sure people moved out of the way,” Brody explained, answering the thought in Bryce’s head. “Should there be any, that is.”

  ***

  Outside the window cornstalks were replaced by houses, and eventually the city noise of Amerhurst poked his interest and he was relieved the trip to the airport had been shorter than he first expected. Bryce unhooked the sunglasses from his jacket and hid his shame of ordering three married men away from their families and jobs because Jack Daniel had urged his finger to hit submit when he had ordered the tickets that one night. Some would have found his misdemeanor irritating, his friends never questioned it, they followed because that’s what he needed, and he was immensely happy about that. In silence.

  “Gate 34, now ready for boarding,” screeched from the speakers above them as they walked down the yet busier corridor in search for the right gate number. The brown dirt from the fields around Jefferson’s farm came off of his boots then became engulfed by the maroon carpet rolling out like an enormous tongue until they stepped through the small door to the airplane. Wayne and Brody were the only two to have previously explored the world of aviation during trips to the Middle East while in service for the country. Jefferson’s camera snapped photo after photo out the miniscule window of the plane, instantly sending some home to Raylyn and his two beautiful daughters. Bryce turned his head away from the activity by the window, swallowed hard and counted down the minutes to when he had been told alcohol would be served in flight.

  A yellow taxi had pulled up to the curb outside the airport and a handsome older gentleman in black slacks and a white short-sleeve shirt had taken the four suitcases and miraculously fit them all in the back of his trunk faster than anyone had time to find a way to tell the man a bigger car may be needed. As the trunk closed the men were in the car, the driver gave what looked like an almost toothless grin and in chirp and eager Portuguese asked where the four men, all hiding behind black sunglasses and retail-bought Bermuda shorts, were headed.

  As Bryce stumbled across the words in the dictionary the size of a pack of Marlboro for daily conversation pieces in the native language he knew little to nothing about Brody’s arm coming into view between the two front seats. With one point of his finger on his fold-out map the driver nodded at Brody and took off as if in hot pursuit into the hustling and bustling of traffic in South America, where fists and honks seemed as common as a McDonald’s restaurant on every corner in the United States. The cab held a decent yellow paint job and with an engine rattle took them out of the city, leaving the fumes of vehicles and irritated drivers behind to enter a lush landscape from which the Beatles must have found the title to The Long and Winding Road. Up, up, and around they went, under large green leaves shading the narrow road in privacy. Endless fields of green surrounded by mountains hiding their tips behind the clouds in the sky went by the car and Bryce did his best to trace the path on the map in his lap, hoping this trip was not bound to end with robbery and death by drug lords hiding on the hill tops.

  Suddenly, the car rolled to a halt causing Bryce to break the impact with his hands shoved hard onto the dashboard of the car and the driver pointed to the map in Bryce’s lap then out the passenger side window. All four men followed the direction of his hand.

  “Hope you didn’t use up your 401k on this, Bryce.” Jefferson ran his hand through his long dark hair and stepped out of the car to retrieve bags the driver was already hauling out of the trunk and onto him, sending both him and luggage to the ground.

  “I’m not going to like my credit card statement this month,” Bryce mumbled and folded the map into the side pocket of his shorts and stepped out of the car and into the humidity of the Amazon rainforest.

  ~ Chapter Four ~

  Valerie Houston unrolled the rubbery white gloves off of her hands that had been inside a pregnant cow’s most utterly private parts in what felt like hours. Calf was fine and dandy, roasting until ready to come out and greet the pasture. Now turned the right way, that is, with the help of human hands. Hers. Literally. With the gloves came the white apron she’d fashioned, all into the trash can, and she toed off the rain boots outside the
front door to the hut.

  She’d let a chain of a week’s dirty boots and standing rakes tumble one by one to the ground in a simultaneous assembly. Sleep craved her entire body and she couldn’t be bothered by such pettiness as cleaning. It ended up secondary, always, and anyone visiting her miniature house could attest to that. Which people usually did. If they were from the city.

  The mattress was in the same mess she’d left it this morning and she had no one to blame but herself. Had she set the alarm a few minutes earlier the bed might have stood a chance. On the other hand, who would care? No one visited, except for the two tribe leaders carrying injured animals onto her home grounds. And the landlord, or should she say, “Mr. Yale and Stanford,” the American hotshot and owner of the remote piece of land, seldom visited and had her rent payment transferred wirelessly from the closest city’s post office into his account. But when he did pay a visit the too-tight navy blue dress pants and pressed white shirts still sported cufflinks with the University’s logo twenty years post graduation.