Well, damn, that one hurts. I knew it was coming eventually, but it’s like getting kicked in the chest, like tripping and falling all the way down to a place I don’t want to leave. I clear my throat and try to answer, but nothing comes out. He’s staring up at me, nervous. Finally, I take my hat off and put it on his head.
“Yeah,” I say. “Reckon you can.”
He smiles. “Really?”
“Yep. You can keep the hat. It’ll fit you someday.”
He’s smiling as he reaches for a bucket. We don’t talk while we fill up the feed bins. That’s how I know he’s serious, when he’s used up all his words. Pretty soon, the barn is filled with the sounds of horses chewing. I pile up the buckets for tomorrow as he stands in the far end of the barn, staring up at the mountains in the distance.
“What’re you thinking?” I ask, coming up beside him.
“I was thinking about the truck,” he says.
“Yeah? What about it?”
He squints up at me. “How long will it take to fix?”
Truthfully, I could get it done in a few weeks on my own, but I think I’ll take my time with it.
“Maybe a few years,” I say.
“Years?” His jaw drops.
“Well, you can’t drive until you’re older anyway. What’s it matter?”
He thinks that through and nods slowly. “I guess that’s okay.”
“It’s a real old truck. It was mine when I was a teenager,” I say. “It needs a lot of work.”
He nods. From the front porch, we both catch the faint sound of Della calling for us. Without speaking, we head back through the barn and up the driveway to the porch. She’s standing on the top step, Delia in her arms.
“Y’all coming?” she calls. “Breakfast is gonna be ice cold.”
Landis scrambles up the stairs. She tilts his chin up, checking if his face is dirty.
“You wash your hands,” she says. “Where’d you get that hat?”
“It’s Dad’s hat,” he says, ducking around her and disappearing inside.
Della freezes. “What did he say?”
I shrug, but really, I’m taking that extra second to compose myself. “He asked if he could call me his dad this morning, and I said yes. That alright by you, baby?”
She swallows, eyes wide. I touch her cheek. “You okay?” I press.
She nods, sniffing. “Yeah, I just…I hoped he’d ask you that.”
I bend to kiss her forehead. When I pull back, Delia makes a vicious grab for my mustache. I catch her tiny hand, letting her grip the tip of my finger instead. Della is smiling like she’ll never stop, her lashes wet.
“Things change for the better,” she says. “I guess we just had to wait.”
“We worked for it too,” I say.
She nods, her face sobering. There’s a breath on the wind that smells like summer flowers and field grass. For a second, it feels like being back where I grew up, but without all the hurt. She notices ittoo. I see the distance in her eyes as she looks out towards the mountains.
“Do you think about them sometimes?” she whispers.
“Who?”
