Page 26 of Letters of Faith
I clear my throat, and Kip turns back to me. He sends me a sheepish grin, but I ignore it.
“What are you really doing here, Kip?”
He’s smart enough to wince at my tone before he says, “I wanted to check on you.”
A bitter laugh slips past my lips, breaking some of the emotionless mask I always keep in place. “I’m thirty-one years old. I don’t need my daddy checking in on me.”
His shoulders tense as he considers me. “Maybe you don’t need it, but everyone wants it—someone around just to stop in and see how you are.”
I let the silence hang around us, glaring at him because he’s got it wrong—that’s not a need or want for me.
After a beat, Kip nods, accepting what I’m not saying. Defeat sinks his shoulders as he glances down the hall to see if the bathroom door is opening yet.
“That’s your niece, you know? Her name’s Avery,” he says, not looking back at me.
“Sort of figured from the eyes,” I say, bored.
He expects that to mean something to me—like I’ll drop everything and gush over this little stranger I know nothing about—but he doesn’t realize I’m good at shutting people out.
Clenching my jaw, I refuse to take this conversation any further. I don’t know what it is about Kip and Brooks dropping in unannounced, but it gets under my skin. I didn’t seek them out, looking for a relationship with my long-lost family. Life taught me several times that the people you care about eventually disappoint you. I’m not looking to add anyone else into my life.
The door to the bathroom slings open, and Avery skips out the same way she skipped in, oblivious to the tension swirling through the air. She stops when she’s standing directly in front of me and then reaches into her pocket, pulling out a piece of paper.
“Here,” she says, shoving the paper towards me. “This is for you.”
I take it from her, pinching the edges between my fingers and glancing up at Kip. He’s watching us now, and when I cock an eyebrow in question, he merely shrugs.
Unfolding it, I stare as glitter and scribbles come into focus.
Not taking a second to breathe between her sentences, she says, “It’s an invitation. I made it myself. I heard Daddy tell Mommy he invited you to my birthday party but that you probably wouldn’t come. I figured it was because he didn’t give you a real invitation. My grandma says that every party should have an invitation. I decided to make onewhen Papaw Kip said we were stopping by your house today. I’ll be four.”
She throws all that at me like a rabid animal, and I’m left stunned, grasping for something to say to this nearly four year old.
“I’ll—uh—have to check my calendar,” I say, unsure what to do with this paper that’s leaking glitter all over my original hardwood floors.
Avery nods as if my answer is acceptable, then turns back to Kip.
“I’m ready now, Papaw Kip,” she says, her chin lifted high like a queen, and like an obedient subject, Kip takes her hand and walks to the door.
When they are about to walk through, Kip turns back to me, leaving me with one final parting blow. “Grayson, your last name may not be Montgomery, but that doesn’t negate the fact that you are one. We are here for you, Son—whenever you want us to be.”
Avery tugs on his hand, and then they are out of the door, walking to the truck. I watch a moment as Kip lifts Avery, placing her in the car seat and dropping a kiss on her forehead before I slam my front door shut.
The paper that Avery gave me is still in my hand. I don’t know what makes me do it—maybe it’s the thought of all the effort she must have put into it—but I walk to my kitchen and hang it on my refrigerator, right beside a picture of Nate, Georgia, and me.
Chapter 12
Grayson
The man in front of me sits squirming in his chair as I stare down at him over the bridge of my nose.
I can’t stand incompetence. It irritates me because, at the core of it, it’s just laziness—pure and simple.
Sitting back in my chair, I steeple my fingers under my chin and study him, debating how to handle this situation. While I hate incompetence, I also realize that people rely on the jobs I give them. I’m not a man to be trifled with. The work we do is important to millions of homeowners. One mistake on our part means that a family buying a new one may experience a home emergency they aren’t financially ready for. It could mean ruin for them. I expect my employees to know what they are doing so that doesn’t happen, but at the same time, I had a mom who provided for her family on her own. We struggled, and because of that, I try to employ what little patience I have when dealing with my employees’ mistakes.
“Do you want to explain how you missed this?” I ask, setting the papers down on the desk in front of me.
The man looks like he might cry, and dang it, if that doesn’t anger me further.
