Grandpa watches from beside the truck. His hand is shielding his eyes from the sun, which seems to be climbing higher by the second. Lifting my cap, I wipe my forehead with the back of my forearm.
“Wouldn’t be July if we weren’t miserable.”
“Didn’t this shit use to start in August?” I grumble.
He chuckles, then casts a sideways glance at me.
“You’re different.”
“I’m hot.”
“Not what I mean.”
“I’ll bite. Different, how?” I keep my eyes on the trough, watching the water rise as the anticipation of this conversation builds.
“Like you’re living.”
Well, shit.
I straighten slowly, resting my forearms on the edge of the trough.
“Is that a bad thing?”
He huffs. “Hell no, it’s not a bad thing.”
A faint smile tugs at his mouth. He’s watching me in a way my dad used to. It’s as if they can read my mind. Only, I’m not the shithead version my dad had to decipher.
“Wren’s good for you. Always has been.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. And maybe it is.
“Yeah,” I agree. “She is.”
He nods, satisfied. “You smile more, laugh freely. Hell, I even heard you singing the other day.”
I grimace, knowing he’s right. “Bullshit.”
“Fleetwood Mac,” he muses.
Busted. I was in the workshop, straightening up some tools and humming “Dreams.” I couldn’t help it. My girl loves Fleetwood Mac, and the songs are catchy.
Memories flicker as my stomach dips—not in dread, but with butterflies. The now and then of my girl riding shotgun with the windows down as her hair flew alongside her. She’d lean against my side—thank God, for bench seats—as she sang off-key. I glance off in the distance to where our two properties meet and the house she’d swear we’d build one day.
It’s time I give my girl her dream.
“She always saw the good in me.”
Grandpa watches me as I turn off the hose, winding it up. “We all saw the good in you, Son. It’s you who never did.”
His words cut like glass, but it’s true. I don’t know when it happened, but doubt crept into my head. It might’ve started in school when teachers would question my intelligence. I wasn’t the smartest kid in school, but I tried, until I didn’t. I didn’t see the point in learning certain topics. Not when I knew I’d be running the farm, which I needed hands-on experience for.
When I became good at football, it’s all people in town saw me as.The golden boy who needed a football scholarship to go to college because he wasn’t very book smart.It started taking a toll on my mentality, to the point I quit caring. I just wanted to have fun and didn’t care what trouble I found myself in. It doesn't make sense, but teenage Jett wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed.
Our eyes meet as we share silent words.
I love you.
I love you, too, Grandson.
Thank you for believing in me.
