Page 22 of The Path To Us

Chapter Seven

Beau

“Beau.”

I sit back against the patio chair, enjoying the sunrise. Normally I wouldn’t call someone before six in the morning, but Grant’s rarely sleeping much past five. “Grant, how’s it going?”

Through the phone, I hear my boss sigh. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?” His voice is gruff and a bit gravelly from years of smoking cigarettes and the occasional cigar and it somehow brings me a bit of comfort.

I pause before responding, knowing that he’ll see through any sort of lie. Not that I need to, of course I’m not okay. “I’m alright… sort of.”

“What can I do? Do you need more time off? We’re doing fine here, Beau. You’ve trained everyone to do their jobs without needing to have their hands held.”

I gasp as if I’m offended. “You saying you don’t need me?”

He scoffs. “Far from it. I want you back so I don’t have to be in the office so much. I’m pretty sure the fish are missing me.”

“You mean they miss laughing at you while you sit for hours without a single bite?” I tease with a small grin even though he can’t see me.

“Didn’t you ever learn you’re supposed to respect your elders?”

“Must’ve missed that class.”

I hear a lighter flick and the distinct sound of him inhaling as he lights a cigarette. “How are you, really?”

“Angry. Irritated. Sad.”

He makes a sound at the back of his throat then clears it. “Sounds about right. How’s Zoey? The rest of the family? Your parents?”

“Same as me, though Zoey’s missed the angry and irritated portion. She’s landed pretty solidly on fear of being left by someone else she loves.”

“Poor thing. I feel awful for that sweet little girl.”

“Yeah. It’s kind of why I’m calling.”

“You’re not coming back, are you?”

I watch a squirrel run through the yard and jump onto a tree trunk, swiftly climbing up. I stand up and walk onto the soft grass. It’s damp from the dew that settled overnight. Slipping a hand into the pocket of my black basketball shorts, I pull out a quarter and spin it through my fingers. Over one, under one. It’s a habit I picked up as a teenager and do it mindlessly for no other reason than I simply enjoy doing it. “I am, but I have a proposition for you.”

“You want to start your own company.”

The quarter pauses on top of my middle finger and I flick it in the air and catch it. “Did you become psychic? Why won’t you let me finish a thought?”

I imagine him shrugging. “I know you. And I’ve been expecting this conversation for a few years.”

“You have?”

“Of course I have. You aren’t meant to be an employee, Beau. You’re a natural leader which is one of the reasons I’ve been as successful as I have. But it’s time for you to not just run the crews for me.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“Likely the same thing that you were about to.”

I start fiddling with the quarter again and say, “Ever thought about expanding?”

“Honestly? I haven’t. Figured you’d want your own name on the company letter head.”

Chuckling, I admit, “Yeah, I kind of do. But right now I need to be thinking about other more important things. Like getting back here.”

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