“Steady as the day is long,” I reply.
“You need to do some serious soul searching, Derrick,” Mr. Jacobson says. “I hope you can find some way to ease what’s going on in your heart because if you don’t it’s going to eat you up inside.”
Mr. Jacobson speaks to him like there are not seventy-five people standing in the room watching with open mouths. He speaks to him the way he speaks to everyone else, honestly and with compassion. He speaks from his heart.
“Let’s go, son,” Mr. Jacobson says. He claps a hand on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze as he walks by me. I turn to follow him.
“He doesn’t deserve your kindness!” Derrick calls.
I run into Mr. Jacobson’s back when he stops short in front of me. He turns around, steps around me, and shoves me behind him like I’m a six-year-old and he doesn’t want me to see the accident that’s happening in front of me.
“He does deserve my kindness. And he deserves your kindness. And he deserves all of your kindness, because he’s a human being.” He stabs a finger in Derrick’s direction. “You need to work all this out for yourself, Derrick. Me yelling at you ain’t going to help you none.” He stabs that finger again and the man flinches, even from across the room. “One thing I know, Derrick, is that God don’t like ugly. And your daughter would be ashamed of you if she saw how you’ve been treating the man she loved. Ashamed, I tell you.” He stabs again. “God don’t like ugly.”
And utter silence settles on the room. Derrick falls into a nearby chair like his legs won’t support him any longer.
“Let’s go,” Mr. Jacobson says.
I get in the back seat of the truck. Jake turns to face me and whispers, “What did he do?”
“He said God don’t like ugly.”
Jake snorts. “Hell, nobody likes ugly, least of all Pop.”
I heave out a sigh, suddenly feeling like my insides are hanging on the outside. All my vital, easily bruised places are open and waiting to be wounded. I feel raw and exposed and so fucking vulnerable.
Mr. Jacobson gets in with a huff, slams his door, and grabs the steering wheel at ten and two. “I’m going to pray for that asshole,” he says. He looks into the rearview mirror so he can look into my eyes. “Give me one of those ribs, would you?”
“What the hell are we supposed to do with all these ribs, Pop?” Jake asks. ?
?You could have just left them. It’s not like we can eat all this.”
Mr. Jacobson shakes his head as I hand him one of the ribs. I wrapped the end of it in a paper towel before I passed it to him so he can keep his hands clean. “I couldn’t leave them there, Jake. I just couldn’t.”
“You didn’t have to do that, Mr. Jacobson,” I say quietly. “It really wasn’t worth it.”
He meets my gaze in the mirror. “You’re worth it, Ethan,” he says. “You are most definitely worth it.” Then he takes a bite of his rib, puts the truck in gear, and eats with one hand while he drives with the other. “These are some of my best work,” Mr. Jacobson says contentedly, waving his rib bone in the air.
“They are mighty fine, Pop,” Jake replies.
“What do you think, Ethan?” he asks. But I can tell he’s asking me about more than ribs.
“I think they’re the best ribs I’ve ever had. Ever.”
And I think Mr. Jacobson is the hero every lost soul should have in their life. Because when you’re lost, he’ll be sure you get found.
And in that moment, I feel found. I feel seen.
Mr. Jacobson reaches back with his bare beef bone, and says, “Give me another.” I replace it with a new one. Around a full mouth he says, “They thought they could kick us out and still eat ribs.” He grunts out a laugh.
“Technically, they didn’t kick you out, Pop,” Jake chides.
“They may as well have,” Pop says quietly.
“My dad, always fighting for the underdog,” Jake mutters. He shakes his head with a laugh.
“I take my responsibilities seriously, Jake,” he replies softly. “One day when you’re as old as I am and you’ve seen as much as I have and done as much as I have, you’ll be just like me.”
I want to be just like him too.