Page 80 of The Burbs and the Bees
His gaze lifts, and he looks at me like I have a pitchfork coming out of my forehead. “I have to be here,” he says.
“Why?” I pick up my spoon, toy with my cereal.
His brow furrows. “I promised my dad I’d take care of things.”
I reach across the table and take his hand. “You said a few days ago that you owed him that. What did you mean?” He goes quiet for a long time; the only audible sound in the room is the ticking of the clock.
“He was a good man,” he finally says and touches the scar on his face. “But I wasn’t a good son.” I go quiet, wait for him to elaborate. “Farming is hard.” He glances at me, and I nod, knowing and respecting the work done here firsthand now. “I was the oldest and was supposed to be here to help. Instead, I got into a lot of shit, a lot of fights, and spent a few nights in lockup.”
“The scar?”
“Yeah, all from that.”
My heart goes out to him. “You were just a kid. Kids mess up. Heck, look at me. I’m twenty-seven, and I’m still messing up.”
“No, Alyson, I’m the one who messed up. Royally,” he says so quietly, his voice so thick with regret. Jeez, is he still talking about his teenage years?
“But you’re doing a great job now.”
“If I was here sooner, Dad might not have died. He worked himself to death. Had a heart attack. If I hadn’t—”
“Jay, your father didn’t die because of you. You can’t own that.” He looks so sad, so gut-wrenchingly lost, my heart pinches tight.
His frown deepens, regret radiating off him in waves. “Maybe if I—”
“No, Jay. No maybes. You were a kid doing what kids do. Look at Tyler. He still goes out, parties, and has fun. You allow him to do those things. You give your brothers freedom, and everyone needs that to grow up. You had to have your wild years for growth, and you just told me I needed to make mistakes and take chances. That’s all you were doing,” I say.
He kicks his legs out, and his feet touch mine under the table. “What did you actually do before you came here?”
I look down, heat on my face. “My parents pay my rent, and I worked odd jobs for incidentals. I volunteered with my mother, but other than that, not a whole lot of anything, even though I tried everything. I get bored with things easily, and maybe you’re right. Maybe I don’t give everything my all because I am afraid of failure. I come from a lifestyle that allows me to do that.” Even as the words leave my mouth, I realize how pampered I sound.
“Meaning?”
“There were no real consequences to quitting. I won’t starve, and I’ll have a roof over my head. I’m a trust-fund baby.” I put my hand on my face and cringe. “That must sound so horrible to a guy like you.”
“A guy like me?”
“You know, a farmer, a guy who works outside with his hands, gets them dirty.”
“Is ‘redneck’ the term you’re looking for?”
“No, Jay. That’s not what I mean.” Before I add to that and tell him how much respect I have for what he does, Capone squawks, “Mr. Honey Buns,” and the mood around the table shifts. Jay relaxes, his shoulders falling.
I steal a glance at Capone, who’s settling himself again. “So you got left with the ring and the bird, huh?”
“What was that you said about Thanksgiving dinner?”
“Capone, cover your ears,” I yell and Jay laughs. I stifle a yawn, my body tired from the long day and a night of dancing. “Bed?”
“Bed,” he says and pushes up from his chair.
“Your dad would be really proud of the man you are, Jay.” He toys with the watch on his wrist, the one he always wears. “Did he give you that?”
“Yeah, it was his. He gave it to me before he died. It means a lot to me.”
“It’s nice that you have something of his with you all the time. Like I said, he’d be so proud of you.”
He tugs me to my feet. “For what it’s worth, your people would be proud of you, too, Alyson. You know, there’s always going to be people who don’t see your worth; just make sure you’re not one of those people.”
