Page 163 of Bitterfeld
“Nah, you’ll be fine.”
“I appreciate the hospitality, by the way,” Carver said, and cleared his throat. “I won’t be here more than a few days, I just need a minute to get back on my feet.”
“Hey, no, stay as long as you need. I know how it is. I’m not gonna be chasing you out of here or anything.”
Carver extended a hand to him, and George chuckled and shook it.
The door to the patio opened, and Scott came inside, lugging a duffel bag over his shoulder and pulling a suitcase behind him.
“You need help with the amps and stuff?” Carver said.
“Nah, those can take a little vacation to the mechanic,” Scott said as he walked by. “Pork was 204 degrees, Georgie.”
“Hell yeah, she’s done,” George said, slapping his thighs and getting to his feet.
He got Scott to help him bring the pork upstairs to the kitchen to rest. It was so aromatic that they lingered around the island staring at it with longing for a full minute before retiring to the living room to watch the end of Lethal Weapon 4. When the credits rolled, George glanced around for Carver, who he hadn’t seen come upstairs.
“You lose your friend?” he said to Scott.
Scott shook his head. “He’s making a phone call. Family shit.”
“Ah, alright.”
The first Lethal Weapon came back on, and they lapsed into a companionable male silence again, laughing at the familiar gonzo absurdities and sprawling out on the sectional while trying to ignore the beautiful smell of pork wafting toward them from the back of the house.
“You think you’re a Murtaugh or a Riggs?” George said.
“Haven’t we had this conversation?” Scott said without taking his eyes off the television. “Riggs.”
“Nah, you’re just saying that ‘cause he’s white. You’re a Murtaugh like me.”
Scott laughed. “Alright, I’m a Murtaugh.”
About twenty minutes into the movie, Carver came back upstairs with his phone in his hand, looking flustered but smiling.
Scott leaned forward, immediately attentive to him, and George muted the television. “What happened, how’d it go?”
Carver walked over to them but stopped at the edge of the white shag rug, bouncing up and down on his heels. “They, uh, want to meet me,” he said hoarsely, and tears welled up in hiseyes. George instinctively averted his gaze to give him the dignity of his privacy.
“Yeah?” Scott said, rising from the couch.
“Yeah, like, tomorrow. They want to get lunch in the city. They sounded excited, actually, like really — I called Josh and once I convinced him it wasn’t a scam call, he conferenced Lena in, and we talked for like, a while — they said their other sister’s in Europe right now otherwise they’d bring her too —”
Scott flew to Carver and grabbed him, hugging him hard enough to spin them both around. Carver laughed, sounding delighted. George couldn’t help but smile as he watched this, despite having no idea what the fuck was going on.
When the two of them separated, clinging to each other’s arms while they caught their breath, Carver glanced over at George and explained, “I, uh, I just found out who my biological father is, but he’s been dead for a while, and I just got in touch with his family for the first time.”
“Hey! That’s great news,” George said, relieved that it was something he could actually understand. “That’s what it’s all about, congratulations. Man. That’s a big deal. You want a beer?”
Carver wiped his eyes. “Ah — I probably shouldn’t, no.”
“You want to watch Lethal Weapon and eat some pulled pork?”
“That I can do.”
The three of them settled back onto the couch together, Carver in between George and Scott, and George unmuted the TV.
“You’re gonna have to fill me in,” Carver whispered to Scott. “I’ve never seen this.”
Scott grinned. “Happy to.”
