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Slate had just arrived in the kitchen when Daddy came through the back door. Everyone froze, including Slate. He couldn’t look away from his father, and he stood there as feelings washed over him, through him, and around him.
He experienced anger, sadness, love, hope, joy, regret, loss, and most of all forgiveness. His father wasn’t perfect; far from it, in fact. They hadn’t been rich growing up, and they weren’t rich right now. But he’d worked hard, and he’d raised three kids, and he currently wore an apron and carried a pair of tongs.
“The meat is done,” he said, and that broke the spell. Everyone seemed to have moved to the edges of the room at some point, which left a clear path for Slate to walk to his dad. He did, each step landing quicker than the last until he reached him and swept the shorter man into his arms.
“Daddy,” he said, his voice half his and half covered with emotion. “I’m so sorry. I’m doing so good now, and I’m working so hard, and I hope you can forgive me someday.”
His dad held him too, the tongs pressing into Slate’s back. He didn’t care, because this was a powerful moment. “I love you. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry anymore,” Daddy said. “You’ve done enough of that.” He pulled back and gripped Slate by the shoulders, the metal tongs digging into his bicep. “Not another minute of it, Slate. You’ve paid your debt.”
Slate pressed his teeth together and nodded.
“Okay,” Momma chirped. “Daddy said the meat is ready, so we’re eating in the back yard. Cindi, will you get that potato salad out of the fridge? Cora, we need the punch.” She continued giving people things to bring outside, including Dallas and Luke.
Slate went back outside with his dad, carrying nothing in his hands. The back yard was cleaner than the front, with less stuff in the lawn or leaning against the house. A huge picnic table spanned the length of almost half the house, and as everyone spilled out of the house behind him, they put bowls and pans and plates of food on the table.
Three shade flies had been set up, and Daddy had an enormous tray full of meat resting on the covered fire pit.
“What in the world is happening here?” Luke asked Daddy, stepping next to him.
“That’s a pig,” Daddy said. “I bought him from one of my hog farm suppliers, wrapped him all up in spices and banana leaves, and buried him with really hot coals this morning. He’s been slow-roasting all day.”
“It smells amazing,” Luke said, leaning forward. “Do you serve this at the restaurant?”
“Every day,” Daddy said, a hint of pride entering his voice.
“Time to say grace,” Momma said, and Slate turned toward her. He slipped his arm around her and smiled at her as he removed his cowboy hat with his other hand.
“I’ll say it,” he said. Her eyes widened, and then a smile bloomed across her face.
“All right, baby,” she said. “Slate’s gonna say it. Everyone hush up now.”
Slate hadn’t wanted to come to Austin, no. But now that he was here, he knew he was in the exact right place. Not to stay, but he could visit for a couple of days and not lose the man he’d become.
“Dear Lord,” he started. “We’re so thankful for this amazing evening Thou has blessed us with.” He continued to pour out his heart and soul to the Lord, finally ending with, “Bless the food. Amen.”
A rousing chorus of, “Amen,” went up, and Cora said, “Wow, Uncle Slate. That was a long prayer.”
Behind him, Dallas stifled a laugh, but Luke didn’t hold back at all. Slate didn’t care. He settled his cowboy hat back on his head and said, “All right, Cora. What’s the best thing on the table?”
