Page 21 of Worth the Trip

“Earlier.”

Pops slid far enough out of the cabinet to look at him.

Lennox frowned. “Why everybody looking at me like that?”

“Historical data,” I said.

“Man.”

Mama laughed and started toward the dining room. “Food in fifteen. Y’all better have that sink fixed before then.”

A drop hit the basin.

Pops looked at me.

I looked at him.

“Well?” he asked.

I set my tea down. “That almost sounded like a request.”

“Don’t push it.”

Laughing, I went back outside for my toolbox. It sat behind the passenger seat beneath a stack of practice plans I needed to review before Monday, and habit had me looking at those papers like they might accuse me of neglect if I left them there another few hours. I grabbed the toolbox instead. The practice plans had nowhere to be.

When I got back inside, Pops was already under the sink again.

“Took you long enough.”

“It was thirty seconds.”

“Felt longer.”

“You age differently when impatient.”

“Keep talking.”

I set the toolbox between us and flipped the latches. Everything was where it belonged, sockets, screwdrivers, pliers, wrenches. Pops looked over the arrangement and nodded.

“Still organized.”

“You raised me right.”

“Damn right.”

We got to work. He asked for the channel locks, and I had them in his hand before he finished the sentence. After enough years replacing brakes, fixing fences, hanging ceiling fans, and responding whenever Mama announced that something in the house had finally gotten on her nerves, Pops and I didn’t need many instructions. He knew where every tool sat in my box, and I knew which one he wanted by the way he shifted under the cabinet.

I loosened the retaining nut beneath the faucet. “You know most people call plumbers.”

“Most people waste money.”

“Most people also got enough sense not to crawl under a kitchen sink on Sunday.”

“Builds character.”

“That’s what Ramirez says about football.”

“He’s right.”