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“How’s Grandma’s girl?” my wife Jenny coos as Joey slams into her with a hug. I fold the paper and set it down on the table beside my recliner, crossing my ankle over my knee as Rhett comes limping into the room.
“Good,” Joey says, her sweet voice turning into a laugh as Jenny gives her a tickle. Rhett smiles, a rare occurrence these days from my solemn son, and steps forward to give Joey a rub on the head.
He’s been through a lot over the years; I know this much is true. Between giving up his dreams of the rodeo and the tumultuous situation with Joey’s mostly nonexistent mama Anna, shit hasn’t exactly been easy on him.
But I know he’s a good man. A smart man. And he’s the only one who can handle stepping into my shoes and fully taking over this ranch.
I just wish he wouldn’t be so damn dumb sometimes and do shit like ride a bronc in the middle of the night and screw up his leg for no other reason than feeding his fucking ego.
I take a deep breath and stand from my chair as Jenny offers, “Come on, food’s almost ready.”
“Actually, Jen, I need to have a word with Rhett first. You and Joey go on and get set at the table.”
Jenny’s suspicious eyes narrow on my face, and Rhett tenses.
I gentle my voice with my wife. “Please, Jen. It’s important.”
She nods finally, but to say she’s unhappy about it would be a major understatement. Her current expression tells a story, and this age-old tale starts with Your ass is sleeping on the couch tonight.
I sigh. I’d already figured as much.
“Come in, son,” I say to Rhett as the girls retreat to the kitchen. “Take a seat.”
He shakes his head, his mouth an unshakable firm line. “I think I’ll stand.”
I nod. I figured as much on that one, too.
“We need to talk about the way you’re handling yourself these days.”
“No, sir. We don’t.”
I shake my head. “Dammit, Rhett. Yes, we do. I should’a tanned your ass for pulling the stunt that got you like this in the first place, but I’ll be damned if I didn’t let my concern as a father get in the way of givin’ you the lashin’ you needed. What in the hell are you thinkin’, gettin’ on horses and runnin’ amok while your leg’s still like this? Dr. Namath fuckin’ told you you’re not ready for any of that shit. Are you tryin’ to ensure you can’t walk permanently?”
“First of all, I’m bigger than you, Pops. So, tannin’ my ass would’ve provided quite the challenge.” He shakes his head before offering an infuriating smirk in my direction. “And secondly, I’m pretty sure I walked in here, didn’t I?”
“Don’t get smart with me, boy. You know damn well what I’m talkin’ about. Don’t act like you’re dumb.”
“No, Dad, you’re actin’ like I’m dumb. I’m a grown man, and I can do whatever the hell I want. I know my limits better than anyone.”
“Bullshit. You know your ego. That’s all.”
“Fuck this,” he says, turning and spinning like a top on his one good leg. I only wish he understood how ridiculous he looks trying to storm away right now.
“Fuck nothin’, Rhett. You start actin’ smart, or I’ll make sure you do, you hear me?”
He turns back around with a snarl. “And just what in the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means if you keep actin’ like you need a damn babysitter, I’ll fuckin’ get you one.”
“Fuckin’ hell, when are you going to realize I’m not a child? I’m thirty-six fucking years old,” he snaps, and it looks as if any second steam might come shooting out of his ears.
I can relate. “I’ll realize it when you start actin’ like it.”
“It’s always the same with you. Same bullshit. Just a different day. I’m out of here,” he huffs, turning back around and hobbling toward the door in a hurry.
I shake my head and sigh again. Pigheaded, prideful idiot.
“Tell Mama I’ll be back for Joey in the mornin’!” he yells right before the screen door slams behind him.
Jenny and Joey peek around the corner from the kitchen with wide eyes, and I lift a hand and shake my head. I’ll do what I have to do to make sure he doesn’t hurt himself, but the truth of it is, the rest of it, he’s going to have to realize all on his own.
It’s the way my daddy made me learn, and the same thing his daddy did for him.
We Jameson men are a little like mules…you’ve gotta kick the stubborn right out of us.
“You and Joey go ahead and eat, darlin’,” I say to Jenny. “I’ve got a phone call to make.”
And a favor to ask.
I pick up the rotary phone on my desk, carry it over to my chair, and spin the old dial to a number I know by heart. I know it’s rare these days to still be using relics like this, but there’s just something about it that feels so much better than a fucking cell phone. Plus, we don’t get any damn service out here anyway, so a landline or a radio is the only form of communication you can count on.
