I intercept the guy about halfway down the drive. He probably doesn't mean any harm, but I still think there is something wrong going on. The guy is just over six feet, and he's still wearing that gray jacket, even though it's warm. It looks like the type that was popular back in the 80's and early 90's, the ones with those weird epaulets with the snaps. I didn't know they still made the things. He reaches out a hand even before I get to him.
"Hi there. I'm Dil. Dylan Taylor. You must be the one taking care of Sammy and the house."
I take his slightly sweaty hand. I hate shaking hands. You never know what they have touched. His grasp is firm, and I return the favor so I don't appear weak.
"Chris, Christopher Burton. I'm Sam's older brother."
"Older brother? I thought he had... Oh, you must be from John's first marriage. He doesn't really get to talk about that. I almost forgot about it myself," Dil says. He keeps the handshake going a little longer than necessary. I let go as soon as I can.
Up close, I can see why Dil kept his jacker on. It's to hide his stomach. It has the beginnings of a beer-belly. In about ten years, Dil is going to be at least fifty pounds heavier. I peg him to be a former jock, mid-40's. Doesn't realize he doesn't need to eat as much as he used to. He dyes his hair, too. I can see the grey roots even under his sweeping brown bangs. It's more noticeable on his buzzed sides. His stubble betrays his age as well. I find myself rubbing my chin, thinking about my own traces of grey from last night.
"Yeah, I'll be taking care of him for now. I'm pretty much the only one who could."
"It's a tragedy what happened. I guess you know much of what happened. So strange. I saw your car earlier, and I just thought I would see what was going on."
"Actually, I haven't been able to hear much about it." I try to keep up, but Dil just keeps talking as if he doesn't hear me.
"There's going to a showing of some of John's work at the Pierson at seven tonight. Just a small meeting of some of the neighbors and a few of his fans," Dil continues. I missed some of the conversation as my mind wanders.
"The Pierson? I don't know about the place."
"Hey! What's going on?" Sam yells from the porch. There's no way he could have made it to the kitchen and back in that length of time. He's walking towards us.
"Don't mention any of this in front of him. He's having a rough time of it."
"Understood," Dil plainly adds.
"Hello Mr. Taylor," Sam squeaks. When is his voice going to stop cracking.
"Hi Sammy. My you're getting big. You're going to be taller than John, I bet. You two look just like him. I'm surprised I didn't see the resemblance with Chris here, sooner." Dil extends his hand, but Sam wisely hangs back so he doesn't have to shake it.
"Yeah, we have some groceries to put up, so I guess we should get back inside. Nice to meet you Dil."
He awkwardly puts his hand down. "Well, I guess I best be going to. Just call on me if you two guys need any help. Bye now." Dil slowly turns around and walks back to the sidewalk.
"How well do you know this Mr. Tyler?"
"Mr. Taylor," Sam corrects me as we return to the house. "He lives next to Vin, down the street. He has been trying to be friends of my Dad's for awhile now. The two have never been too close."
"Is he okay? He seems to be a little strange."
"I guess he's all right. He works at some government office near the school. He has two sons, Burke and Madden. Burke's fifteen and into soccer, while Madden is eleven. We don't really hang out with them."
We reach the front door. "I just get this vibe of him. By the way, how tall was your father. Our father."
"A little over six-one or so. Why do you ask?" He looks me in the eye, only slightly up.
"Nothing, just something Dil said," Yeah, really wished I had gotten the height genes. Sam is going to overtake me any second now. That kid's never going to stop growing.
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