She exited the stairs of Royal One, loaded for bear.The hot Tennessee sun met her without mercy.
During the long flight, between tea service, a lovely dinner, and a movie followed by a fitful night of sleep, and a long hot shower in the early morning, Scottie constructed not one, not two, but three robust speeches for Dad.
They’d talked long enough at the Lauchtenland airport for him to say he’d discuss everything with her when he picked her up.He’d sounded defeated.Hit by a Mack truck.
“Scottie, it was not what we wanted.The takeover was hostile.”
Hostile?She mused over that word the entire trip.Boston Brothers didn’t have the power, the money, to buy out O’Shay Shirts, let alone be hostile about it.
Scanning the chain-link perimeter, carry-on slung over one shoulder, she spotted Dad leaning against his restored dark red 1956 Chevy truck with the O’Shay Shirts brand on the door.He drove the truck.The precious relic from Great-grandpa’s post-war years.It was his pride and joy, purchased with cash after the company reached a million dollars in sales, somewhere around 1955.Every O’Shay CEO inherited the truck.Dad taught Scottie to drive stick in the O’Shay “Shinner,” grinding gears all over town.
The moment hit her with a teary-eyed sentiment, trembling fear, and hurt.Anger.Dad, in his jeans, T-shirt, and boots, his silver hair loose, looking more like a rancher than a deposed CEO, stared off to his left at something unseen, his lips drawn, and his countenance pale.
Oh Dad.Now she knew.He carried the weight of recent events, knowing he’d lost the hundred-twenty-four-year history of O’Shay Shirts.He glanced around and seeing her, he waved and stepped around the fence.
“Welcome home,” he said.“Was it a good flight?”
“Y-yes.”He stood three feet from her, but it felt like a thousand miles.“Oh Dad, what happened?”A tear burned in the corner of her eye as she picked up the soothing scent of his cologne.“How could Boston Brothers manage a hostile takeover?”
“Scottie.”He lowered his head.“I never wanted this to happen.”He released a sound she’d never heard from him, something like a gravelly moan, but he rose up, breathing in, capturing whatever wanted to escape.
“Dad, oh Dad.”She grabbed him in a hug and squeezed.“It’s okay.Really.It’s okay.”
Forget O’Shay Shirts.Forget her fears and anger.Anything for her father to not stand before her broken and ashamed, choking back his sobs.
He held her in his big arms, rocking her side to side.“I wanted O’Shay for you, kiddo.Wanted to hand you the reins.”
They remained in mutual grief until Homeland cleared Scottie through security.Her bags were loaded in the back of the truck, and as she walked around to the passenger-side door, Dad tossed her the keys.
“Want to drive?”
She caught the keys along with a rush of tears.“It’s been a while.I might grind a few gears.”
“It’ll be music to my ears.”
When she got behind the big round wheel, it all came back to her.She pressed the gas to prime the carburetor, mashed the clutch, and turned the key.
“Attagirl,” Dad whispered, reaching across the bench seat to squeeze her hand.When she shifted into gear, he added, “Shug’s made all your favorites.Let’s head to the old homestead and we’ll tell you everything.”
Windows down, the warm Tennessee air flowing through the cab, the old truck bouncing down River Road, Scottie eased her grip on the wheel and exhaled.Really exhaled.
Kate, Lauchtenland, Lady Royal, Michael faded into the leafy trees, the mowed fields, and the scattering of brick ranch-style homes set back off the road.
Today was the first day of all her tomorrows.
Shug met her with a motherly, protective hug, and Fritz, dear Grandpa Fritz, who never said much but was always there, held her close, kissing her temple.
“Let’s eat,” Shug said, turning toward the kitchen.“I made—”
“No, please, I can’t until I know what happened.”Scottie pressed her hand to her middle.“I’m full of questions and anxiety, anger and sorrow.”
Fritz suggested sitting out back on the pool deck where the white concrete and blue water remained under the morning shade.Where the morning breeze stirred the leaves.
“I tried to warn you, Scottie.”Dad kicked off the conversation.“I left you voicemails to call me but—”
“I know, I know.The last few days were the busiest of my time in Lauchtenland between the ball and the whole Fickle business—”
“We read about that this morning,” Shug said.“I can’t help but think your purpose in Lauchtenland went well beyond a daughter spending time with her mother.”
