Page 7 of Carry On
And then he hung up. I blew out a frustrated breath. I hated calling him, but I tried again and hoped to hell he’d answer.
“You plan to keep being an asshole?” he demanded when he answered. I paused long enough to count silently to three. I wanted to snap back hard, but I held my commentary.
“Nash Calhoun,” I said instead to get his attention off of me. “What can you tell me about him?”
“That poor kid.” My uncle sighed heavily. “Why do you ask?”
“I remember seeing him when I was home for Mitchell’s bachelor party,” I replied. “He was drunk and seemed pretty rough around the edges.”
That was an understatement, but calling him a raging alcoholic didn’t seem right either. One moment in time didn’t tell me a lot about his state of mind at that time.
“Yeah, that didn’t change much,” he told me. “You know, most men just don’t come back the same. War is hard, Lincoln. It breaks you in ways you didn’t know were possible, and then it keeps on giving you shit you didn’t ask for. And that kid… well, he hasn’t had it easy like you did.”
Ah, yes,my life had been all sunshine and rainbows. Striding across my living room, I grabbed the whiskey from my bar and poured another drink. Was my life terrible? Not by a long shot. My aunt and uncle had been good to me, but before that?
Well, I compartmentalized the shit my father had put me through in the name of one thing or another. I could only think about it for so long before it became too much.
And the things that happened later on in life? Yeah, I compartmentalized that too.
“He already had the cards stacked against him, you know,” my uncle continued.
“Do you know what happened to him?” I asked.
“Oh, I haven’t seen that kid in the better part of seven… eight years? I can’t remember. Why are you asking about him?”
“I ran into him in the city.”
“Good for him,” he replied. I rolled my eyes. Oh sure, it was good if Nash left Pine Creek, but not me. Hypocrite. “I was hoping that kid would turn his life around. How is he? Did you talk to him?”
“I don’t know about all that, considering he’s unhoused,” I said. He let out another sigh.
“That poor kid. You know, you’ve had it good, Lincoln,” Beau began, and I seriously contemplated a third drink as I steeled for the commentary that came next. One would think I was used to it by now, but I wasn’t. I was just tired of trying to make him understand that being good to me didn’t erase everything else that had happened. “If he’s homeless, he needs help.”
“I agree—”
“Your help, Lincoln.”
“My help?” I repeated ludicrously. Why did I have to be the one who helped him? “There are resources—”
“Those resources suck,” my uncle snapped. “That man gave his life to protect you and your fancy lifestyle. What would you have if it weren’t for men like Calhoun? Nothing. You owe him.”
“I owe him—”
“Think of it as a way to repay this town for all it’s done for you,” he kept talking over me. Sitting on the couch, I rubbed two fingers to my templeas I listened to him ramble off all the things different people in the town had done for me over the years.
The teachers who helped me acclimate.
The counselors who helped me find direction.
The tax accountant who gave me my first job when I wanted to buy a game system as a kid.
The grocery store manager who gave me my second job when I wanted to buy a car.
The list went on and on and on. His thought process didn’t make sense to me. The teachers and counselors were doing their jobs. The tax accountant needed someone to clean and mow his yard after he broke his leg. It was either pay a kid chump change or hire a legitimate company to do it. He got off easy, considering how much I did for five dollars here and there. The grocery store manager needed a bag boy, and I was the only person who had applied for the job.
It wasn’t about helping me out and giving me a one-up in life. That was just how the world worked.
“All right!” I interrupted, unable to take any more when he started going on about my baseball coaches over the years. His list was never-ending. “Fine. I will see how I can help him. Happy now?”
