Page 73 of Rules Of Engagement: St. Louis
I knew how that went. The same bureaucratic runaround that had been going on for months. “Maybe I should just…”
“Don’t you dare.”My mother pointed a wooden spoon at me. “We’ve talked about this. Your father’s pride is worth more than the money it would cost to fix it.”
But his mobility was worth more than his pride. I swallowed the argument we’d had dozens of times and instead focused on setting the table. Whether they wanted my help or not he would get it.
“How’s the training going?”she asked, stirring inside a bowl with her spoon.
“It’s good, exhausting as it should be. The marathon is quickly approaching.”I arranged the plates she’d handed me, trying to keep the stress out of my voice. “The charity component adds extra motivation.”
“Thirty-five thousand dollars to the winner’s chosen charity is wonderful. Your father’s so proud that you’re doing this for other veterans.”
That was my father, clueless that I was doing this mostly for him. The wheelchair my father needed cost eight thousand dollars, money the VA wouldn’t approve. If I won the competition, the money would be enough to cover his wheelchair and others.
The back door squeaked open, and my father rolled in with frustration written across his wrinkled face. Mason Blackford at sixty-nine was still the most dignified man I’d ever known, in spite of the challenges life had thrown at him. Three tours overseas had worn his body, and as a result, disabled him, bounded to the wheelchair for mobility.
“Daddy.”I bent down to hug him, feeling the strength in his shoulders. “How are you feeling?”
“Like this damn chair is trying to make me a prisoner in my own house.”He wheeled himself to his spot at the table, the chair grinding ominously with every turn. “Sorry for the language, sweethearts.”
“We’ve heard worse from you when you’re watching football,”my mother said, setting a platter of fried chicken on the table. “Naomi, grab the green beans from the stove.”
Lunch was spread before us like a feast—cornbread, fried chicken, green beans slow-cooked with ham hock, mashed potatoes, and my mother’s famous sweet tea that was more sugar than tea. This was comfort food at its finest.
“Lord, bless this food and the hands that prepared it,”my father said. “And bless our family, keep us safe, and help us remember that we’re stronger together than apart. Amen.”
“Amen,”my mother and I echoed.
We enjoyed our food together, neither of us talking while we chomped down. After clearing half our plates, my mother dabbed her mouth with a napkin.
“Mrs. Henderson’s granddaughter is getting married next month,”my mother said, passing the green beans. “It’ll be her fourth wedding this year at the church. Reverend Johnson says he’s never married so many young couples.”
“Good for them,”my father said. “The world needs more people willing to commit to each other.”
“That reminds me,”my mother’s tone shifted, and I felt my shoulders tense. “We had an unexpected visitor this week.”
I frowned. “Who?”
“Gerald stopped by Tuesday evening.”
My appetite was instantly lost, and I guess it was a good thing I’d eaten half my plate, or I would starve tonight. “He what?”
“Now, honey, before you get upset…”my mother started.
“He came to our house?”My voice rose. “What did he want?”
My father set down his fork, his expression hardening. “Same thing he always wants. Money.”
“He said he needed to borrow three thousand dollars for heart medication,”my mother continued. “Talking about his insurance wouldn’t cover it and he was desperate.”
Anger flared through me. Three thousand dollars. The exact amount I’d given him not long ago. “What did you tell him?”
“We told him to call you,”my father said. “But he said you weren’t taking his calls.”
“I’m not taking his calls because I already gave him three thousand dollars for his supposed heart medication not long ago.”
My parents exchanged a look, but it wasn’t one of surprise.
“He seemed desperate, baby,”my mother said gently. “I almost felt sorry for him.”
