That was the damned truth.
And that’s if she didn’t beat me to death with her prized flyswatter first. With her, it was impossible to know exactly how she’d kill you.
She was the creative sort.
“I trust you, Pop.”
Lungs freezing on the spot, I couldn’t have taken a single breath if my life had depended on it. I could only focus on the words he’d spoken.
I trust you, Pop…
Mind reeling, my world shifted.
Because my oldest kid trusted me.
Words can’t describe the emotion I felt.
He’s forgiven me…
This is my second chance.
“That’s why I’m standing here now,” he continued, ripping me from my whirling thoughts. “If I thought for a single damned minute that you’d…” Shaking his head, he pulled his eyes from mine and looked toward my worktable. “You need some help finishing the changing table?”
Seizing the opportunity to spend more time with him, despite the subject change he’d clearly needed, I quickly nodded. “Hell yes I do.”
My kid smiled at my answer. Big.
The sight went straight to my heart.
“Have you ever used a table saw before?”
My hands began to sweat when he shook his head. Too busy staring into the bottom of a whiskey bottle for far more years than I cared to count, I’d failed to teach my son a lot of shit.
It was a wrong I planned to right.
Starting now.
Throat tight, I pulled in a deep breath. “Guess it’s time for me to show you how then.”
Not waiting for him to reply, I turned and headed back across the garage, heart thumping faster as he followed, his footsteps matching my own.
Reaching the right side of the table opposite where he’d stopped, I slid a pair of clear safety glasses over to him as he slipped on a pair of work gloves he’d found on the shelf to his right.
“Put the glasses on too. Last thing we need is for you to lose an eyeball on account of a splinter. Christ knows your future wife and her crazy ass grandmama would light me on fire if so much as a hair on your head is harmed.”
Chuckling, he did as I said.
“Now,” I said, positioning the wood exactly where we needed it to be. “You see that line?” He nodded. “That’s the cut line. And that”—I pointed at the saw’s guide bar—“is called the rip fence. Its job is to help keep the cut straight.” Lips thinned into a straight line, he soaked up every word I said. “Only thing you have to do is line it all up, then push the wood forward, nice and slow. Got it?”
Again, Hendrix nodded. “I got it.”
“Alright.” My smile grew. “Now let’s hope neither one of us loses a finger. Tuck will never let us live it down if we do.”
“No shit.” He shook his head. “We’ve gotta find him a girlfriend. If we do, maybe he’ll settle his ass down.” A thoughtful look crossed his face. “Then again, I’m not sure we should subject any woman to that bullshit. Knowing Tuck’s ass like I do, if he found someone he actually liked, he’d probably become obsessed and try to get her pregnant the first chance he got.”
I shouldn’t have laughed.
I really shouldn’t have.
But I’d be damned if my kid wasn’t right.
Still chuckling, I reached over and flipped the saw’s power switch, bringing the blade to life. My chest then swelled with pride as I watched my boy double check that everything was lined up correctly before slowly pushing the wood into the blade, making the perfect cut, one inch at a time.
Once he finished, I killed the power.
Grinning from ear to ear, my kid pushed his safety glasses to the top of his head. Pride gleamed in his eyes, mirroring my own. “What else you got, old man?”
Old man my ass.
For the first time in more years than I could count, I didn’t feel every bit of ninety, and it was all because my scarred soul had been partially unburdened thanks to my beautiful son’s continued forgiveness.
It gave me hope that maybe one day I’d be able to forgive myself for some shit too. Don’t get me wrong, the years of abuse I’d doled out would forever stain my conscience—rightfully so—but as for what happened to my mother, I was slowly beginning to see the truth.
And that truth?
My father’s sins weren’t mine to bear.
“Keep calling me old,” I said, chin in the air. “And I’ll show you just how much of a spring chicken I still am by beating you at a game of one-on-one in a few minutes.”
Hendrix’s eyes lit up. “You sure, Pop? Wouldn’t want you to crack a shoulder or something just by shooting the damned ball.”
“I’m sure.”
He shrugged. “Fine, if you say so. Guess I’ll just have to go easy on you. Wouldn’t want you to have a heart attack on account of high blood pressure or something.”
This smartass…
“The only thing around here that will give me a heart attack is you.” Just like I’ve said a million times. Chuckling, I pointed to a piece of wood that leaned against the wall next to him. “But first—grab that, then line it up. It’s already measured and marked.”
Snorting, he did as I asked.
After he’d loaded the wood onto the table, I reached for the power switch, ready to flip it back on, but stopped short when an oversized hot pink sun hat near the open garage door caught my attention. Eyes locking on the Crazy Old Biddy, of all damned people, who was peeking around the corner, all stealth-like, I raised a lone brow.
“Good dadgummed job,” she silently mouthed, bottom lip quivering as what I suspected were tears of happiness welled in her faded green eyes. “Keep it up, Superman.”
Lifting my chin in the air, I tossed a wink her way. “I will,” I mouthed right back.
