“Thanks for watching out for Blake while you’ve been here,” he says as he sets the bar back on the rack.
I sit up and roll out my shoulders. “Wasn’t much of a chore. She’s great.”
“When are you heading back to Nashville? Still aiming for the end of the summer.?”
“I think so. But maybe not Nashville. That producer, Tobey Dodson, works out of a New York studio, and he’s back in town in September.”
“How are you for money?”
I rise from the bench and walk over to the shelf of towels that Houseman Henry comes every few days to launder and replenish. I swipe one and mop up the sweat on my neck.
“I still have a lot left in the trust,” I assure him. “Plus the money I make gigging and the cash I’ve saved from all those construction jobs. To be honest, I’ve barely touched my trust.”
“That’s good. Getting paid for gigs means you’re a real musician.” Dad winks at me, but I don’t miss the spark of pride in his gray eyes.
“Yeah. And I make a decent amount on streams and the videos I upload using my ad account.”
“Well, if you need any help from me and your mom, just let us know.”
I nod, but I don’t plan on asking for help any time soon. I’mturning twenty-five in two months. I shouldn’t be accepting handouts from my parents anymore. But I appreciate the offer. Not everybody has a safety net like I do, and I would never take that for granted.
We’re done in the gym, but before I can go to the stairs, Dad says, “Hold up. I want to show you something.”
We bypass the screening room and game area toward what used to be a huge storage room. Now it’s a gaping space, all the contents moved out.
“This is where I want to set up your mom’s studio. I was hoping you could help me out with it. Pick out equipment and whatever else she needs.” He looks sheepish. “I could build you a hockey arena with my eyes closed and fill the locker room with everything you’ll ever need, but this isn’t my forte.”
What I love about my dad is that he’s not some blustering macho man who pretends he can do everything. He’s able to be humble. Probably because he grew up with a parent who didn’t know the meaning of the word. I never liked my grandfather. The rare times we saw him, he came off as phony. Manipulative. I’m reminded of what Blake said about Isaac being shiny. That was Phil Graham too. Shiny on the surface, and then you look closer to find he’s all scratched up.
“Sure, I can help.” I wrinkle my forehead. “But wouldn’t it make more sense to just ask Mom what she wants?”
“I would if it wasn’t a birthday surprise,” he says with a grin. “She has no clue what I’m up to. I recruited Houseman Henry to empty out this space. He’s been moving boxes all summer into the boathouse storage room, a bit at a time.”
“All summer? How have we not seen him even once?”
“He’s like the wind,” Dad says solemnly.
“For real.”
We spend the next ten minutes walking through the room, goingover the logistics of installing a music studio. Later, Dad goes off to drink beers with his friends, and I wander into the kitchen, where I find my mom at the stove.
“I’m making grilled cheese,” she says when she spots me. “You want one, honey?”
“Yes, please.” I plop down at the counter, smiling as I watch her flip the sandwich in the pan.
It reminds me of when Gigi and I were little. Whenever Mom was cooking, Gigi would always hurry off to watch hockey with Dad in the den while I’d sit in the kitchen chatting with Mom. Sometimes, she sang when she cooked, and I’d sing along with her, practicing harmonies. Those are some of my best memories.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been nice to you,” I blurt out as a rush of guilt seizes control of my vocal cords.
Mom turns from the stove, eyes wide. “What are you talking about?”
“I know you’re only trying to help when it comes to my music. And I’m always biting your head off about it.” I gulp down the lump obstructing my throat. “I feel bad. And I’m sorry.”
She gives me a gentle smile. “It’s all right. I get it.”
“Do you really?”
Mom slides the spatula under the grilled cheese and flips it again, browning the other side. “Of course. It feels like a hit to your pride. Reminds me of your father. He’s way too proud sometimes. But even your dad knows when to accept help.”
