Page 6 of Digging Up Love
He took a seat on the black vinyl chair opposite the desk, toeing at a ripple in the carpet. Asking favors never came easy for him. He chose the roundabout route.
“We’re hosting a fossil fair at the museum. Thought maybe I could take the girls.” He tugged a pale-green flyer out of his back pocket and unfolded it onto the desk. Hector picked it up, eyes drifting over to the drawer.
“It’s next Saturday at noon.” Quentin chuckled—his brother was too proud to retrieve his glasses.
“Sorry, I’m sure they’d love that. Kids and dinosaurs.” Hector dropped the paper onto the desk. “But they got gymnastics Saturdays.”
“Oh. Can’t they miss, just the once?”
Deep-brown eyes met his, serious now. “If you saw the bill, you wouldn’t ask me that. No way am I paying up the nose for them to skip it.”
The door banged open, and at the sight of the tall Black man in the doorway, Quentin snatched the flyer off the desk. Hector slapped a hand on the stereo, and a weighted silence reigned.
Surprise registered on his father’s face, but he covered up by addressing him in a booming voice better fitted for an auditorium than the small office. “Quentin! What brings you down from the ivory tower?” His words were teasing, but his voice glinted like sharpened steel at the edges.
“Oh, you know ...” He pressed a palm to his knee, which had started to jitter, hoping his dad wouldn’t notice the crumpled paper inhis hand. The last thing he needed was another lecture on his chosen profession.
“He stopped in to invite the twins—”
“I came by to see if I could borrow one of the loaners on Monday.” Quentin flashed Hector a WTF look and cleared his throat. “For a work thing.”
“A work thing? You mean a dinosaur thing.” His dad leaned against the dinged-up metal desk, and it creaked under his bulk.
“That is my field, yes.” His dad and brother both sniffed, nostrils twitching in unison.
Forget this. He could find another way to get to Hawksburg. “Never mind about the car. I’ll figure something out.”
A mechanic in coveralls poked his head in, blinking at the full office. “Uh, could I get you to take a look at the BMW, Hector?”
Nodding, he sprang out of his chair and practically jogged out of the room.Coward.
His father blew out a breath and walked around the desk. He fished a can of Coke out of the mini fridge in the corner and flipped the top. Raised a brow at Quentin, who shook his head. Last thing he needed right now was caffeine to add to his jitters.
His dad took a sip, then bared his teeth in a hiss. “I just don’t see why you insist on keeping your nose buried in the past when you could be out there on top of it all, making a difference.” He raised his can, gesturing toward a mythical reality where his youngest son hadn’t turned out to be a disappointment.
“Again with this, Dad? All my research reframes the way we see the world. I’m studying extinct creatures to impact the future. It’s the very definition of making a difference!” Quentin shoved his fists into his armpits. “What’s your problem? Just because I’m not doing it from a law office, is that it?”
“Lawyer, MD, engineer—you name it, Q! Here you are, a grown man, asking to bum a ride.”
“And there it is. It’s not about changing the world. Everything always comes back to money with you.” And not owning a car was a conscious choice, not a budget issue.
“What if it does? You moan all the time about wanting a family. Well, what happens when you get your wish? How’re you going to provide for kids if you can barely make ends meet?” The dagger hit in a soft spot, and a spark of ire ignited under his sternum.
“I make ends meet just fine, Dad. And there’s more to life than money.” Like assistant professor at one of the top paleontology departments in the world, with a great shot at tenure. But then again, his dad hadn’t cared enough to ask about his position at work in years, and he’d long since quit volunteering news.
His dad squeezed the Coke can hard enough for the tin to dent. “That so. Hmm.” Unflinching, he said, “Excuse me for not falling over myself to praise my grown son for chasing some childhood fantasy.”
His dad’s cold retort doused the inferno in Quentin’s chest. Three degrees and fifteen years after disappointing his father by choosing a career in a field Dad insisted was on its way to extinction, Quentin yearned for a return to their old bond. But the harsh words wedged between them had created an impenetrable wall, mortared with a mix of venom and contention.
The door banged open, blinds flying, and Hector came back in, wiping his greasy fingers on a rag. He stopped short, splitting a look between Quentin and Reggie. “Uh, DeMarcus wanted a word when you’re through, Dad.”
Their father took one last swig from the almost-full can and dropped it in the trash. “You can take my truck, Q. Loaners are for paying customers.” He pushed off the desk and strode out the door without a backward glance.
Hector ran a hand up over his hair, ruffling the strands. He’d inherited their mom’s straight black hair, though Isabel’s had begun to gray. Quentin got his dad’s coarse curls and his mother’s light eyes.Abandoning the pretense, Hector fished his glasses out of the drawer. He slid them over his nose, then flipped through the filing cabinet and dragged out a folder.
Eyes trained on the sheaf of papers in his hands, he said, “You know he doesn’t talk like that when you’re not around.”
“And that’s supposed to make it better?”
