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He squints. If it’s a fight he wanted, he should have come sooner. I’m fresh out of hubris and indignation. Both checked out when Hollie did. Like I told Dad, I’m tired.
Tears pop into his eyes.Oh, no. But…okay. I’ll concede there might be moments that warrant a grown man crying.
I take my tone down a notch. “Tell me what happened, Tyler.”
He bats at his eye like a little boy. “She says I spend all my time hating you and no time loving her and Brayden.”
The strip of wooden flooring between my loafers has a gash from the day I moved my furniture in. Alone, of course. I tried to be careful, but the giant sofa slipped, its weight too much for one man.
I knead my fingers into the arch of my neck. “I’m sorry, son.” Yes, he bristles, but the word slipped out on its own.
My breath hitches when the resentment melts from his features almost as quickly as it flared. “Dad, I was hoping we could talk.”
Chapter 35
John
Dad pulls back on the throttle, cuts the engine, and lowers the anchor. The air is chilly, despite the bright sun. We’re the only fishermen daring to cast our lines. Our cooler is empty, too. And that’s okay. I’m not fooling myself. This day is and was from the start about fathers and sons.
The original plan didn’t include Tyler, but Dad lit up like Christmas when he discovered him at my house this morning.
And neither one of us was dead—how’s that for progress?
The boat rocks as Dad leaves the driver’s seat and carefully lowers his seventy-something self to the seat behind it. I’m opposite him, and Tyler’s arms are stretched across the bench at the rear.
Dad lifts his cap and tussles some silver strands around before setting it down again. His gaze slides over both Tyler and me. He eases back into the two-tone blue cushion and spreads his hands on his thighs. Water laps the hull.
Something is coming.
“Boys, I didn’t do either of you any favors." He slaps the tops of his thighs. “John, I was not a good father to you.”
“Dad.”
He holds up his hand. “And Tyler, my failure with your father was a disservice to you, as well.”
I shift in my seat. Dad doesn’t need to do this. He and I have had this discussion. I glance at my son—my son, here with me and not combusting from my presence. Taking in his waiting posture and watchful eyes, I hold my tongue. Maybeheneeds to hear this.
“I guess there’s little question that John here passed some of my dysfunction along to you.”
I can’t help the snort. Nomaybeabout it.
Dad almost smiles at my reaction.
“Here’s the thing. We’re all grown men now and mature enough, I hope, to take a realistic look at our situations. Every one of us has made mistakes.”
I can’t help it. “True, Dad, but at least you didn’t drive Mom away.”
“Hold on and let me finish. John, I think the difference between you and me was I had a good woman behind me.” He makes a point of capturing Tyler’s attention. “I’m sorry, Tyler. I know Deann was your mother, but I also know that you were old enough by the time she died to recognize that she wasn’t always the most stable woman. She had problems none of us could help.”
We can’t pile on Deann here. “Dad, I made a mess with Deann long before the end.”
“Yes, you did. I know I was still largely checked out in those days, but I was tuned in enough to see the trouble you were heading for. I know there was blame to go around.”
“I remember things with Mom.”
Dad and I turn in unison. Tyler has sat forward. Hunched over, he stares at his sneakers.
Dad continues. “Tyler, the thing that your father and I did not have in common was that I had Grandma behind me, picking up the slack, coming along behind and cleaning up my messes. She shouldn’t have had to do that—but I’m glad she did. The woman is a rock. For the first four decades of our marriage, I was dead weight. She could have left me, but, praise God, she never did. And I’ll tell you, it sure wasn’t my company holding this workaholic’s hand when I had my heart attack, or cheering me on through weeks of rehabilitation.”
