Page 64 of Home in the Country
“I just didn’t expect to be here, I guess. Hell, I’m still a kid half the time myself.”
He chuckles. “Kids are pretty great though. They’re all different, and you just love them equally in different ways.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“Listen to what that boy is sayin’,”—he pauses—“and what he’s not sayin’.” When I don’t say anything he continues, “Take Rhea for example. Girl is a firecracker just like her mama. She’s determined and self-sufficient and loves takin’ care of everyone.”
“She is a lot like Mama. Gives the best presents too. Last year she got me this subscription to a coffee of the month club,” I say wistfully because damn that coffee was good. My father nods.
“She comes to me for advice and reassurance and sometimes just because she needs her dad. But Rhea isn’t a daddy’s girl. Marlee is. My girls are different, but I love them wholly and unconditionally.”
“That makes sense.”
“You know…you’re a lot like Sorren.” My eyes go wide, and he chuckles as I shake my head because there’sno way.
“I bet Sorren is gettin’ an eye twitch right now just at the mention of that floatin’ in the wind.” This time, my father doesn’t smile.
“I’ve seen you be more yourself these past several weeks than you have been in a long time. You’ve been protecting us from the burden you’ve been carryin’, but that doesn’t mean we haven’t seen it.”
“Why not say something?”
“That’s not always how it works, son. Hank kept his secrets for more than a decade, and he probably would have taken them to the grave had it not been for Isla.”
“It took me a long time to get over that.”
“Why? You could have said something to him.” There’s no judgment on his face, but I have a feeling we’re about to come full circle with this talk.
“It’s different.”
“Is it? Are you less deserving of love and happiness than your brother?”
“No.” I toe the ground.
“Sorren’s been keepin’ secrets since he was fourteen years old, probably before that too. Is he less deserving?”
“No.” This time the word is said with confidence.
“You’re more sure about that than you are about yourself.” I don’t respond because a ball of emotion is lodged in my throat. “Do you think Briggs is feelin’ a lot of ways too?”
“Yeah.”
“I reckon that you feel so close to him because at that age he’s larger than life. He’s hope and enthusiasm and reckless curiosity. He makes you better. He reminds you ofyou.”
“He does,” I agree. My father shrugs like that answers everything.
“So what do I do?”
He smiles. “I think you already know.”
We stare at each other for a minute and then I pull him in for a tight hug. “Love you, Dad.”
“Love you too, son.”
Breaking apart, I give him a wave and walk back to my truck. I can’t explain it, but I pull my phone out and fire off a text.
OTTO: I just wanted to tell you that I love you
Three dots appear and then disappear. I’m buckling my seatbelt when a message pops up.
