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And I’m not gonna turn my back on Steve if he needs help. All of us are gonna have a better life.
“Well, as long asthat’snot your big surprise,” Steve finally chuckles after hearing my spontaneous but genuine offer. I have to laugh with him this time.
As stubborn and maybe even naive as he is about business, he’s still got a sense of humor about things, and he’s still my friend.
Always will be.
“C’mon, let’s go across the road. They do a mean steak and cheese, just like when we were kids,” he says, tossing down his rag and pulling his office door closed.
“I’ll finish up the old buzzard’s truck once we’ve eaten, and we have a real chance to catch up,” he adds.
As we’re crossing the street, it hits me.
I guess a big part of Steve is still stuck in the past. Hell, he’s still stuck in the same town thirty years later.
While I’ve been off living the city life, mostly forgetting about where it all started, Steve seems content to be stuck in his groove.
It’s a greasy, dusty groove that smells like gas and oil, but it’s where Steve’s always been happiest doing his thing. He doesn’t want the headaches that come with the kind of success I enjoy, but the tradeoff is that he’s stuck living in the past.
Maybe parts of the past were better times for him, who knows.
I moved on and away from town to forget about the past. My future was bright because that’s the one I wanted.
It’s all coming full circle, though. I’m moving back to the same town where I started, not to relive the past, but to stake my claim in the future.
A brighter future than my business, too.
A future with May and a family of our own someday, sooner than later.
But the past for Steve and me isn’t so bad a place to visit over lunch. And over a couple of root beers and the kind of steak and cheese I remember growing up, we talk about anything and everything, like we used to.
Before he was married, then a single dad, back before May was even born.
We talk and talk, and then I notice it’s just Steve doing all the talking.
My mind keeps straying back to May until she’s all I can think about again.
And that little stab of guilt I’ve been carrying is starting to get bigger and heavier in my chest the longer I listen to Steve talk.
I can’t do it. I gotta tell him.I gotta tell himsomething.
May’s the best thing to ever happen in my life, and I won’t have it overshadowed by secrets. Not with May, not with Steve.
“Steve...,” I say, hoping the right words come out like hell. I need to tell him something about how I feel about May.
“Hold that thought, Big B,” Steve says in a dramatic tone, pointing out a courier van that’s pulled up out front of his workshop.
“That’ll be my exhaust. Be right back. Then you can tell me,” he says, and before I can even begin to think of what to tell him, he’s off.
Steve jogs across the street and signs for his delivery. He doesn’t come back over to the diner either.
He gets caught up in his work, doing what he does best – doing what he loves.
I pick up the check once it’s clear lunch is over. I ask the manager how business across the road at Steve’s workshop is.
She only shakes her head.
The kind of face people make when they know first-hand how things are really going for a local business because they have one.
