Page 24 of Run For Your Honey

She halted my speech with a sad smile, her hand smoothing my face. “Honey, those are things you’ve done. Not who you are.”

I opened my mouth to argue and shut it again.

“We’re proud of you, Duke. Always have been.” Mama moved to put her feet on the ground and dusted off the skirt of her dress with her free hand. “I’ll make you a deal.”

“What’s that?”

“I’ll talk your daddy into lettin’ you get us a new couch, but you’ve gotta let us pick it out.”

A smile flickered on my lips. “That all?”

“You know he’s gonna pick some ungodly thing, don’t you?”

“I figured.”

“As long as you’re prepared.”

She smiled, leaning over to kiss my cheek before standing, bringing her smoke to her lips and squinting at the couch. “What are you gonna do with this thing?”

“Return it for a La-Z-Boy?”

Her laugh was rough and lovely. “That’s better.”

I hesitated, but asked, “Heard from Nash?”

She took a drag, no doubt struck with the same sadness about my brother that I carried around. “Not in some time. You?”

“Nothing.”

“The two of you couldn’t be more different,” she noted. “When Nash was failing school, you were making straight As. When he was getting into fights, you were friends with everybody.”

“It was the only way I knew to help you. With Dad on the road and us on our own, the easier I was, the happier you were. But…” I shook my head. “When things got hard for him, I was gone. I should have come back.”

“You bein’ here wasn’t going to turn Nash’s Fs to As.”

“No, but I’m his big brother. He listened to me. I could have helped.”

“I’ll tell you what I told you when you tried to quit school: you’re not responsible for anybody but yourself.”

“But if I’d stayed, maybe he wouldn’t have quit high school. Maybe he wouldn’t have left. Maybe he wouldn’t have gotten caught up in drinking and drugs. He definitely wouldn’t have stolen every penny you had. I’d have made sure of that.”

Her face was heavy with pain. “We lived, always do.” She shook her head. “Baby, despite what you might think you’re capable of, you can’t control everything.”

“I can try.”

“Where’s that gotten you lately? You tryin’ to control the election nearly got Poppy killed.”

“I was trying to spare her.”

“Sure, but you didn’t.”

My eyes dropped to a patch of dandelions in the dappled shade.

“Nash wasn’t the only reason you wanted to quit school. In fact, he was second to Poppy by a longshot. Can’t be easy seeing her after all this time.”

“Easier to endure her hatred of me than to fuck with her like I have been.”

“You don’t have to fuck with her, you know.”

“Except I do,” I insisted. “I’ve got Charlie and the party to answer to. Charlie took me on straight from law school and has been grooming me for this moment. I knew I’d have to prove myself, but I never imagined it’d happen here, against Poppy. Nothing can get in my way, Mama. And there’s no room for scruples here.”

“You know better than me,” she said. “But there’s always a choice.”

“I already chose. Now I’ve just gotta see it through.” I stood, needing to end the conversation before I thought too hard about it. “Should I apologize to Dad now or wait?”

“Give him a minute. What should we do with this thing in the meantime?” She nodded to the couch.

“Leave it—I’ll take care of it.”

“All right.”

I bent to kiss the top of her head. “I’m doin’ my best, Mama.”

“I know you are, baby. And you’ll sort it out. I believe in you, always will.”

With the squeeze of her shoulder, I headed into the house to change before heading back to the offices. Dad wasn’t in the living room and I didn’t seek him out, making plans to apologize and offer a new couch of his choosing when he’d cooled off. I didn’t even know if I could convince him to take that, but Mama could do what I couldn’t in that department.

I climbed the stairs and stepped into the guest room they’d put together for me. It was full of my old things—my wobbly old bed, the nightstand with the bottom drawer that wouldn’t open, the wide dresser with the mirror on the back. Pictures were still stuck in the sliver of space between the wood and glass, half of them of Poppy. I’d spent too much time looking at them, too much time thinking. My favorite photo of her had found its way into my wallet, and I didn’t quite understand why that was such a comfort to me.

My old guitar stood in the corner by the window, and I took a seat in the chair next to it to pluck and strum, tuning it absently. It wasn’t exactly my guitar—Poppy had given it to me a million years ago when she taught me how to play. It’d been one of the many guitars her dad had owned, gifted to me because I had no means to buy one of my own. Before long, I was good enough that I could play with the Blums at town hall dances, even singing with Poppy on occasion. We sang together a lot by ourselves, though mostly she sang and I listened and hummed a harmony, too thunderstruck by her to make words.

---