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My father had the blinds drawn and sat in his recliner, feet up. A rerun of the 2003 Niners-Giants wildcard game played on the flat screen.
Dad smiled as I came in. “Smells great. Let’s eat in here, okay?”
I frowned. “Where’s Amelia?”
“Out. She met some loudmouth in a Camaro and he took her to the Boardwalk.”
I sank down in the chair beside his. “She knew I was coming, right?”
“Who knows what’s going through her head,” he said, his eyes on the screen.
I gritted my teeth. I’d moved out of the house six months ago, to my own apartment not far from the shop. Amelia hadn’t taken it well but had never missed my twice-weekly dinner visits.
“What’s this guy like?” I asked, setting the pizza box on the coffee table and handing my dad a napkin and a Coke.
“You know the type—bad boy, leather jacket, no ambition to speak of.”
My jaw clenched. My sister was on the verge of dropping out of high school and had recently added a parade of lowlife guys with “no ambition to speak of” to her downward spiral.
“Shit,” I muttered.
“What can we do?”
“You could try talking to her, Dad,” I said, trying to keep the bitter accusation out of my mouth.
“I have, but she doesn’t listen. She doesn’t want my advice, son. She needs her mom.”
So do I.
I buried the thought. I had enough shit to deal with without diving into that black pit too.
Dad and I ate pizza and watched the game.
“Look at that,” Dad said as Jeff Garcia evaded a half-dozen tackles and ran for twenty yards. “You had moves like that, River. A sixth-sense about where the defenders were coming from. You could see running lanes before they opened while still keeping an eye on the receivers. All options on the table.”
“Yeah, I did.” I swallowed a lump of pizza that tasted like clay.
“I was talking to Sam Blaylock the other day. He says both Chance and Donte Weatherly are likely to go early in this year’s draft. Isn’t that something?”
“Great,” I said dully.
Three years later and my dad was still holding tight to my imaginary football career the way he held the remote, playing and replaying it in his mind.
I cleared my throat and put on a smile.
“But hey, I have some good news. I secured the loan for another garage extension. Construction can start as soon as next month. Already have two clients lined up and two more hires to help run the rest of the shop.”
“That’s fantastic, son,” Dad said, his eyes on the game. “You’ve really taken the business way beyond anything I’d imagined for it. I’m proud of you.”
“I wish you’d be there more, Dad. Sitting around here isn’t good for you.”
“You have things in hand. You don’t need me.”
“Yeah, I do. It’s still your shop.”
“Nah, it’s yours, River. With all the additions…”
“That’s the restoration. We still need you in the garage. The customers ask for you all the time. Dropping in once or twice a week isn’t enough.”
