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“Oh, it’s not that, Tommy. Truly. It just brings up...” She looked into the screen at me, asking me to understand. “He was so proud of Tommy’s basketball.”
To my mind, that translated as Thomas living vicariously through Tom’s success.
Perhaps that silent judgment showed in my face, because she added with the pleading for understanding now in her voice. “It was hard for him when Tommy left college.”
Hard for him? What about Tom?
He’d given up his scholarship when Tamantha’s mother said she was pregnant. They got married. And then she wasn’t pregnant, a situation clouded in doubt for years before he knew for sure that she’d lied about ever being pregnant. By that time, Tamantha had come along.
Their divorce followed. But their daughter tied them together in uncomfortable ways. Until his ex’s death.
Tom grunted. “He should have been happy I left school. Meant he had me to work on the ranch, while he built up the road construction business.” Tom kept both of them going now, though in a reversal from his father’s priorities, the ranch was more important to him. “And what’s this about my basketball being important to him? Never said so when I was playing. Work he wanted done always came first. No basketball game or practice excused the chores. Schoolwork, either.”
“You have to understand. His own father was the same way. So was mine. It’s why Thomas...”
When she didn’t say more, Tom moved over to be onscreen. Gently, he said, “We’re glad you like the invitation, Mom. And we mean it about getting you a ticket.”
“I know, Tommy. But I still hope...”
“I know you do, Mom.”
She swallowed. “Yes, well, I better let you two kids get on with your day. Thank you again.”
Amid the good-byes, I heard her words again.
His own father was the same way. It’s why he...
Never loved the ranch?
Never wanted to visit?
Never showed his son affection?
All those were guesses. Tom rarely talked about his parents or his upbringing. I knew it was a wound, but it seemed to be one he’d found a way to not only live with, but not allow to impinge on his life now.
“Want to put it back in my pocket?” Tom asked, tipping his head to the now blank-screened phone.
“You bet.”
When I’d finished, taking longer than necessary, which had both of us grinning, I stepped back and said, “You deliberately set out to be a different kind of father.”
He turned back to his work, saying lightly, “Who wouldn’t?”
“Your father. Most people. The vast majority replicate what drove them nuts in their own parents because it’s what they know — all they know. It takes a very strong person to strike out in another direction. As you have. You do know you’re an amazing father.”
He half grinned, but his eyes were serious. “Got an amazing kid.”
“No argument there.”
“Are you marrying me for my parenting skills?” Now the grin reached his eyes.
“They don’t hurt your resume any.” Neither did certain other skills he employed. We employed.
Though not at the moment. So I used another of my skills and said, “Something I’ve wondered about... you’re not using junior.”
“I’m not a junior.”
“Thomas Burrell—” I pointed at his chest. Then switched to point toward his phone. “—Thomas Burrell. Doesn’t that get confusing? Documents and stuff, if no other way.”
