Squared Away (Out of Uniform 5)

“And I’m not sure you don’t.” Isaiah channeled Mark’s best “I’m in charge” voice. “I need to show you something. It won’t take long.”

“All right.” His father’s heavy sigh said that it was anything but. Luckily, Isaiah didn’t have far to go once they crossed the bridge, heading to a sleepy little side street with older homes. The Katz house sat far back on its lot, an anomaly, and a nightmare for landscapers as the nonexistent backyard meant all the action had to happen out front.

“This is the Katz family’s house.” Isaiah explained to his father as he pulled up. “I was working here all morning. See how we’re using the raised beds to provide privacy for the little terrace made of pavers? And the raised beds are the most tactile I’ve designed yet. Their middle son is on the autism spectrum—they challenged me to make a garden that he could explore and touch and not destroy. So I’ve packed them full of hardy, low-water, nontoxic plants. The mom cried when she brought him out to see it.”

“That’s...touching.” A muscle worked in his dad’s jaw.

“Next week we’re going to install a fence so the kids and pets stay in. I had to do research, read the city codes, find out the right height and materials. I know it’s not exactly how you’d like me using my degree, but this is what I’m doing, Dad. This is what I’m passionate about. Bringing gardens to families who need them. Fitting the design to the family. Researching plants and building codes and soil types.”

“I don’t doubt you’re working hard.” His father stared out the passenger side window.

See me. See me. Really see me. “This is the thing I’m second most proud of in my life, and I wanted to show you.”

“Why?” His father’s voice was strangely hoarse.

“Because. Because I’m not sure you ever really knew Cal and I want you to know me. Maybe you never knew me when I was kid, but I want you to know me now. I want you to see what’s important to me, so that when I talk about the thing I’m the most proud of, the kids, keeping them together, you get it. You see what I’m trying to build. And maybe you never really understand it, but I want you to see me.”

His father was quiet a very long time. To the point that Isaiah figured they were going to have to drive to Lydia and Jane’s where he could make this same speech over with new scenery. And then to Mark’s house. Because Isaiah wasn’t shutting up. But finally, his dad spoke.

“I knew you. You hated peas. Loved the beach but didn’t want to learn to surf. Preferred being close to home, where you could sleep in your own bed at night. Had a stuffed cat named Ernie. I know I wasn’t the best dad, but I saw you. And for what it’s worth, I saw Cal too. He wasn’t perfect, but he was precious to me. Just like you are. And yes, I’m having a hard time reconciling the financial advisability of this enterprise with your considerable passion, but I see you.”

“I need your help.” They were the four hardest words Isaiah had ever spoken, but Dylan was right. It was going to take a village to keep this family together, and this right here, this was Isaiah’s bedrock. The person he needed most and wanted to let down least.

“Tell me what you need.” It was perhaps the most understanding tone he’d ever heard out of his father and it took Isaiah a second to realize he was saying yes.

“I need you to write a letter to the court, telling them that you think I should raise the kids. That you think I’ll do a good job. Aunt Cecily and Aunt Louise already did. And say that we can live with you while I get the business off the ground.”

“You want to live with me?” His father blinked hard but didn’t sound utterly opposed to the notion. “With the kids?”

“Your house is empty a good half the year now. It’s a good solution.” He couldn’t say perfect. Perfect would be him working things out with Mark, somehow, raising the kids together at the beach house, but that was the stuff of fairy tales. From here on out, Isaiah dealt strictly in reality. And reality said he needed help. From a lot of people, but from his dad especially.

“Yes,” his father said slowly, “I suppose it is.”

“You’re the closest thing to a grandfather these kids are going to have. They—we—need you in our lives. And I know you’re disappointed in me—”

“I’m not disappointed. I’m proud of you, trying to do the right thing here. I might wish you’d take my advice, but I’m not disappointed.”