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“She did,” Slate said, not trying to hide it. “She doesn’t want to call nine-one-one today.”
“Oh, we’re not going to do that.” Daddy took Slate into a hug. “She’s so happy you’re here. Thanks for coming.”
Slate’s throat narrowed. “I’m glad to be here.” He cleared his throat. “Dad, there hasn’t been anyone coming by, has there?”
“Coming by?”
“The house,” Slate said. “Asking for things. Or at the restaurant, looking for money or anything.” He watched his dad to make sure he didn’t miss any signs of trying to keep a secret.
“There’s a guy who comes every day,” he said. “Right around four. He stays ‘till we start to get busy, and then he leaves.”
“Does he order anything?”
“Same thing every time,” Daddy said. “The brisket platter. Pays in cash—down to the penny. Eats in a few minutes and just watches out the window. No one’s ever with him. He chats up Peggy, and he leaves her a couple of dollars.”
“Is he, uh, intoxicated?” Slate asked.
Daddy turned toward him, his eyes full of curiosity. “Doesn’t seem to be.” He searched Slate’s face. “What’s going on? Do you know him?”
“I think I do,” Slate said. “And I don’t want him hanging around there.” Slate’s mind moved along several dark paths, and he hated that he knew the horrors that existed on those roads. He suspected Jackson was watching a drop spot, and once he saw one of his thugs leave the drugs where they’d arranged, he left his two-dollar tip and left the barbecue joint.
Slate did not want him there. He didn’t want his family anywhere near a drug drop-off point, and he didn’t want cops coming in to talk to his father about the man who ate there every afternoon at four o’clock.
“You’ll be open tomorrow?” he asked.
“We open tonight at five,” Daddy said.
“Can I go in with you?”
His father’s eyes widened, and Slate didn’t blame him. He’d said some hurtful things about the restaurant in the past, and he needed to apologize for those. “Of course.”
Slate put his arm around his father’s shoulders, which had once been so big and so powerful to Slate. Now, he stood a few inches taller than his dad, and his father seemed much frailer than Slate remembered.
“I’m sorry for what I said about you and the restaurant,” he said.
“I don’t remember what you said,” Daddy said, focusing on the turkey happily bubbling away in the hot oil.
“Yes, you do,” Slate said quietly. “And it’s not true. It wasn’t then, and it’s not now. You didn’t love that restaurant more than you loved us.”
Daddy didn’t say anything, and they stood there and watched the turkey cook.
“I wasn’t the nicest,” Daddy said. “I know that. I pray every day that you and your brother and sister will find a way to forgive me—and that you’ll do better than I did.”
Slate nodded. “I think I’ve got a long way to go to even be as good as you.”
His dad shook his head. “You’re wrong, Slate. You’re a good man. You made a few bad decisions, that’s all. We all make back decisions sometimes.”
Slate nodded again, and this time he didn’t stop. He had made some bad decisions in his youth that had snowballed out of control. The real problem was, he’d made some pretty poor choices in the past couple of months too, and he still had miles to go before he could stand next to his father and say he was the man he wanted to be.
Thankfully, he knew where to start. A family Thanksgiving dinner.
A barbecue restaurant confrontation.
And then a three-hour drive to Hope Eternal Ranch.
* * *
Slate looked toward the two-way,plastic door that led to the dining room as Peggy pushed through it. “He’s here,” she said, putting a plate on the counter for the dishwasher. She looked nervous, and she had a reason to be.
