Chapter 10

Clifford’s eyebrows rose toward his immaculately gelled hairline. His eyes darted between the two men. “She’s fine, thank you.”

Zeke furrowed his brow and glared at Clifford.

The percussion of the Harley Electric Glide’s engine beat against the younger men’s breastbones as silver buckles rippled in the airflow around the black leather saddlebags. The embroidered Christian Cruisers patch was the last thing they saw as Pastor James turned onto the county road.

“Ms. Rivers is your aunt?”

The fading whine and roar of changing gears faded in the distance.

“Uh, yeah. Great Aunt, actually.” A pink flush filled Clifford’s cheeks. “That’s how I got the job, I guess, but I keep it ‘cause I’m good at it.”

Zeke glared at his back and followed him into the house.

“Uh-huh.” He remembered his vow to not trust people at face value.

“Look, I...” Clifford turned to face him. “Listen, I won’t hold it against you that Luther Clayton was your uncle if you won’t hold it against me that Twyla Rivers is my aunt.”

He held out his hands and shrugged his shoulders. “Deal?”

Zeke considered that. It seemed like a fair deal. He had no control over Luther or this whole Clayton clan being his family. He smiled. “Deal. But under one condition.”

Clifford frowned. “What condition?”

“You gotta tell me what you know about Luther Clayton.”

Clifford’s eyes widened and an uneasy smirk lifted the corners of his mouth. “Well, I don’t know much, but I’ll tell you what I can.”

“That’s fair,” Zeke said and pushed his hand out toward Clifford. They shook. Clifford had a firm Texas grip. A good sign.

“Listen, I’ve gotta tell ya, I lost track of time and haven’t started the grill ... but the meat’s thawed out.”

“Well, that’s good,” Relief resonated in Clifford’s voice.

Zeke paused. Wonder why? He would let the issue slide for now. He took long strides toward the kitchen and prepared the steaks with salt and pepper. He walked out to the deck to fill the chimney with charcoal and set it over the flame starter on the grill. He pushed the starter button. It popped three times and whoosh the flame burned under the chimney. The charcoal began smoking.

Clifford leaned on the doorframe. His arms were crossed and his right ankle crossed over his left. The last hour of sunlight revealed the numerous freckles covering his face. Not a feature often seen with black hair and dark brown eyes but it added an interesting appeal.

“Wow, you know your way around the grill,” Clifford said.

“Yeah, I guess I do.” Zeke’s brows pushed together. He still wasn’t sure about Clifford, but if he could get the TV system working, it was all good. “There’s sodas in the fridge, help yourself.”

“Yeah, I know. I put ‘em there,” Clifford said with a chuckle.

“Oh, right.” Zeke followed him into the kitchen. “I’ll take a Dew.”

Clifford disappeared behind the stainless steel door. A Mountain Dew can appeared and Zeke reached for it. “Thanks, man.”

“Sure.” Clifford closed the refrigerator and popped the top on his Diet Coke.

Zeke shook his head and grinned.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Zeke opened his soda. Clifford was not making it easy. He picked up the microwavable potatoes and read the package. They only needed ten minutes to cook. He’d wait until the fire was ready for the steaks before he cooked the potatoes. “This is all I could find for potatoes.”

“Those are awesome, dude.”

“Good.” Zeke nodded and glanced toward the TV room. “So, you want to look at the TV?”

“Yeah, let’s see what’s going on in there.”

Clifford led the way and Zeke followed him. Clifford picked up the remote, pushed some buttons, and got the same results as Zeke.

“Hmm.” Clifford walked over to the media closet. “Okay, it’s gotta be in here.”

He disappeared into the six-foot-deep closet.

“You’re not going to believe this.” Clifford’s muffled voice drifted from the closet. “The main satellite receiver is offline.”

Zeke stepped to the door as Clifford reached up and pulled a wire out of the back of a relatively small box. The lights on it went out. He reinserted the wire and the lights began to flash like a running marquee.

“Let’s try it now,” Clifford said as he stepped backward. He picked up the remote and pushed power. The TV screen lit up and a high definition image of a newscast filled the huge screen. “Eureka.”

“Which box was that?” Zeke couldn’t believe it was that simple.

“The main satellite receiver. Look.” Clifford stepped back into the closet and pointed to the receiver.

“Okay,” Zeke said. “And, what are the rest of those components?”

“That’s the Wii player, DVD player, CD player, Internet receiver, satellite receiver, and router. Stuff like that. Oh, and that’s the security equipment.” Clifford said pointing at each unit he identified. “Pretty cool, huh?”

“Yeah, pretty cool.” Zeke rubbed his head.

“It’s not as complicated as it looks,” Clifford reassured. “It’s just that, I couldn’t figure it out over the phone. Once I was in the closet, I realized it had to be the satellite receiver. So I rebooted it and Voilà. There you are.”

Zeke rubbed his scalp. “Thanks, man.”

“Well, anyway. It’s fixed and if it does it again, you’ll know what to do.”

“True. And for that I appreciate you coming over,” Zeke said. “Now, let’s see about those steaks.”

He walked over to the bay window. The smoke had died down in the charcoal chimney.

“Coals are ready.” He put the package of potatoes in the microwave and picked up the cutting board with the two steaks. Holding the board in one hand, he lifted a steak with the grilling tongs and meticulously placed it on the grate. Sizzle and smoke filled the space between his chest and the grill. He placed the second steak beside the first and closed the lid.

Sadness crowded his thoughts of Bob’s Hoof and Claw, but he pushed them back and focused on the grill. He twisted the vent to allow some airflow and looked up. “How do you like your steak?”

Clifford, again, leaned on the doorframe, watching Zeke.

“What?”

“Nothing. Medium rare,” Clifford replied.

Had the tables turned? Was Clifford now trying to figure Zeke out?

Raw steak juices ran off the board in Zeke’s hand.

“Oh, hey.” He leveled the board and walked back into the kitchen to clean it and let it dry. The microwave displayed four minutes, thirty seconds remaining.

“So, tell me about Luther,” Zeke said, hoping to stifle the awkwardness between them.

“Well, like I said, I didn’t know him very well. When he came into the office, Twyla always scurried him into a room. Toward the end...” Concern filled Clifford’s eyes.

Zeke stared back. “I didn’t even know he existed until Tuesday. It doesn’t bother me to talk about his final days.”

“Well, the last several months, she would come out here.” Clifford looked out the window.

Hmm. Twyla said it’d been a long time since she’d been in Luther’s home. Why’d she lie?

“He spoke to me about you.” Clifford continued. “Said you were about my age. That’s why I was asked to help set up the multi-media room and the game room. Did you know the billiards table and Donkey Kong pinball machine were already here? I added the Harry Potter and the air hockey table.”

“And the exercise room?” Zeke asked.

“Oh, that was all me,” Clifford said proudly as he quickly bobbed one eyebrow. “Isn’t it the bomb?”

“Dude, it’s amazing!”

At the same time, both men took a step toward the exercise room, but the microwave announced it was finished. Zeke gingerly removed the package, and quickly dropped it into a bowl. It needed to cool some. He went out on the deck and flipped the steaks. The heavenly aroma filled his nostrils. “Hmm, charred animal flesh.”

Clifford frowned, “What?”

“Dude, The Coneheads.”

“Oh.” Clifford nodded.

Zeke returned to the kitchen, opened the package of potatoes, and dumped them in the large bowl. Sprinkling them with a generous amount of salt and pepper, he added a large spoon full of butter, sour cream, and a large handful of cheese. He mashed and stirred the mixture until it was smooth and creamy.

“There we go, homemade mashed potatoes.” He opened the cabinet doors and took down two plates. Carrying them out to the grill, he retrieved the perfectly cooked steaks and returned to the breakfast room. Clifford carried the bowl of potatoes over to the table and they dished themselves a healthy portion of creamy, cheesy potatoes.

Neither spoke while they ate.

Zeke thought of his mom. She would have said, “It must be good, nobody’s talking.” He smiled to himself.

When the last bite was eaten, they both leaned back and sighed.

“That was good,” Clifford said.

“Amen, brother.” Zeke blinked hard. Where’d that come from?

“Speaking of amen.” Clifford leaned toward Zeke. “What did Pastor V want?”

“Pastor V, huh?” Zeke smiled. “How well do you know him?”

“It’s a small community.”

“Pueblo’s not a small town, Clifford.”

“No, but this community is a small one. And the Claytons are a favorite topic of discussion among the locals,” Clifford explained.

“Why? Why are the Claytons a topic of discussion?”

“Oh, you know local gossip.”

“No, I don’t know. Come on, Clifford, I fed you steak. I could have ordered pizza instead.”

“Well, no you couldn’t. They don’t deliver out here, but”—he held up one hand—”I know what you mean.”

Zeke glared at him.

Clifford jumped to his feet, nearly turning over his wood-spindled chair.

Zeke frowned.

“Look, I ... it’s not that I don’t want to tell you. It’s Twyla.” Clifford grabbed the back of his chair. His knuckles blanched.

“What about Twyla?” Zeke draped an arm over the seat’s back.

Clifford grimaced and looked down. “She’s like one-thirty-second Apache Indian. I don’t know. It’s not a big deal to me. I’m not into the genealogy.” He looked up at Zeke. “It’s so far back in our lineage, I don’t even care about it, but she does.”

“What does that have to do with the Claytons?”

Clifford paced back to the great room and gestured with his palm up. His other hand was propped at his hip. “Look, she grew up on a reservation. I didn’t. It’s no big deal to me.”

“Okay, she clings to her Native American heritage, I get that. What does that have to do with me or my fam ... family?” Zeke looked down at the floor.

“It has everything to do with your family.”

“Uh-huh?” Zeke nodded and stared at Clifford.

Silence hung between them like the fog in the woods by the well.

Clifford sighed. “What do you know?”

“What do you mean, ‘what do I know?’ I just got here Wednesday, remember? I don’t know anything.” Zeke stood up.

“Yes, you do. What have you learned so far?” Clifford walked back to the table.

Zeke sighed heavily. “Okay, I know I have a family named Clayton. My great Grandfather moved to Texas and changed his last name to Clay. Luther Clayton was my great-great ... whatever grandfather’s ... brother ... by adoption. The Clayton family has owned this land since the mid-1800s. I know Luther believed there was a curse on the family and ... he thought ... I’m the”—he cleared his throat—”’son who has been blessed with the gifts that will break this generational curse.’”

He hurried through the quote and watched Clifford’s face for a reaction. The man remained stoic, so Zeke continued, “Let’s see, he said there was an injustice against the Indian people and that’s how the curse was put on our family.”

“He said? What do you mean ‘he said’?” Clifford sat down.

“Yeah, he said that and he gave me a Bible verse, First Chronicles four-ten ... Wait a minute.” Zeke stepped over to the kitchen bar, sifted through the paperwork, found the envelope Clifford had given him Wednesday, and turned it over. The Post-it note with the security code and password was still attached. He showed it to Clifford.

“This security code is 1-C-4-1-0 and the password is Jabez’s Prayer,” Zeke said.

“Right?” Clifford’s eyebrows pulled tightly together.

“Don’t you get it? First Chronicles four-ten 1-C-4-10.” Zeke searched Clifford’s face. Nothing was registering in his eyes. “First Chronicles four-ten is the Jabez Prayer... 1-C-4-10 Jabez’s Prayer. Same as the security code and the password to get in this place. That’s not a coincidence. My uncle was obsessed with this, wasn’t he?”

“Oh, wow!” Clifford sat back.

“Yeah, oh wow,” Zeke said. “You didn’t know this?”

“I don’t know Bible verses by heart,” Clifford said in a higher pitch than Zeke had heard before. “I didn’t put the two together. Interesting though, isn’t it?”

Zeke shrugged.

Clifford leaned on the table and ran his hand through the side of his hair. “I simply thought, since your middle name is Jabez, and you were the one inheriting the estate and all, that you were the answer to your uncle’s prayer and that was what ‘Jabez’s prayer’ meant ... then again ... I didn’t really think about it. I just memorized it so I could disable the security system when I came over.”

“Well, I don’t know the Bible that well either, but apparently, I knew about this ... in a different form.”

“What?”

“When Pastor Jam— V, told me what the Bible verse said. I recognized it from a story my moth...” Zeke cleared the lump of emotion that came from nowhere, lowered his voice, and said, “My mom use to tell me stories, like ‘once upon a time... ‘ and I recognize this Bible verse as one of the stories she told me.”

“Really, man? That’s weird.” Clifford sounded as if he were thinking out loud.

“Somehow, this all goes together, I guess,” Zeke said as he leaned back in his chair. “What do you think?”

Clifford opened his mouth and then closed it. Eventually, he said, “So, that’s all the pastor wanted? To tell you what first cronals four-ten said?”

“Chronicles. Yeah, I guess. That and to be my friend.” Zeke widened his eyes.

“Be your friend?” Clifford asked as one eyebrow shot up.

This was a common facial gesture when Clifford did not agree with something. Zeke asked, “What? What do you know?”

“Nothing. Really. I find it odd the second day you’re here, Pastor V comes over.”

“He said Luther asked him to watch out for me, or something like that.”

“But, he just shows up, unannounced? Don’t you find that odd?”