“Are you serious?” I asked looking at him skeptically. “That story sounds a little too neat and clean to me.”
Gus’s smile split his face in half as the laughter bubbled up from within his broad body. “Sweetness, when that man puts you in charge of his team, you are going to make the best GM any team ever had. I did clean up the story a bit, but it’s true in all the right places. It’s about making hard choices and trusting that things will turn out the way they’re supposed to.”
“Gus, are you telling me it’s okay?” I asked. “That it’s okay to agree to trade with Dax for what I need?”
“I’m not trying to tell you anything, Sweetness,” Gus smiled. “I’m just waiting for you to figure it out yourself and then tell me what you’re going to do.”
“You are so frustrating!” I cried as I looked up at the ceiling and realized that there wasn’t anyone who could tell me what to do. I tried a different line of questioning. “What do you think my grandfather would have done?”
“Oh Lord, child, I think he would have strung you up by your thumbs for sleeping with the enemy,” Gus said letting out a low whistle as he shook his head slowly. “Loyalty was everything to that man.”
“But this is my life,” I said softly. “It’s my choice. I have to do what I think is right because, in the end, I’m the only one that has to live with it.”
“Now you’re talking some sense,” Gus said nodding approvingly. He leaned over and pulled open the door to his little fridge and asked, “Drink?”
“No,” I said standing up. “I need to get home and pack up my things. I’m moving into Dax’s penthouse tomorrow.”
“Good on you, Payton Gale,” Gus said smiling as he pulled a bottle of juice from the fridge and cracked the top. “You’re going to be just fine, Sweetness.”
I smiled, nodded and then walked out of the office and back to the side door where my cab driver was waiting. The whole ride home, I thought about how I was going to break the news to my mother.
Chapter Seventeen
Dax
By the time the sun cast its golden-pink light on the lake the next morning, I had convinced myself that Payton moving in would not radically change the way I conducted my life. I hadn’t slept much because I’d spent the night checking and double checking the suite of rooms I’d designated as hers, making sure that everything was perfect, and then castigating myself for giving a shit what she thought about my home.
The teenager in me wanted to impress the popular girl and ensure that she would see me as the hero of this narrative, but the independent freewheeler in me wanted to back off and let her figure it out for herself. The war inside my head kept me awake most of the night, and finally, at dawn, I’d given up on sleep and went to the kitchen to make coffee. I looked around at the empty room and tried to remember the last time I’d had anyone around the kitchen table for a meal. I quickly gave up because the fact that I couldn’t remember made me feel depressed.
The night before, I debated driving over to Gram’s, breaking the news to her and then spending the night in my childhood bedroom, but by the time I’d looked at my watch, I’d realized it was way past Gram’s bedtime, and hadn’t wanted to disturb her.
I thought about all the nights I’d spent sitting on the back porch with Pop, watching him smoke his cigars and drink his beer while we talked about everything under the sun. He’d been my North Star as I’d navigated my way through junior high and high school. Always ready to talk about anything I needed to discuss, but never interfering with my business.
I’d asked him once about why he gave me such a long tether, and he’d said it was the only way he knew how to let me prove I was trustworthy. I’d wanted to ask him about whether he’d done the same with my father, but the subject of my parents had always been a sore spot for Pop.
I remembered sitting on the top step of the porch looking back over my shoulder as Pop pulled the tab on his second can of Pabst and relit the cigar that he’d let burn out in the ash tray. He was wearing his after-work clothes: a clean white t-shirt and a pair of overalls that Gram laundered several times a week. The t-shirts had to be spotless or he’d tell Gram to turn them into rags. When I asked why he did this, he’d told me that while he worked a manual labor job, he didn’t want to live like an animal. Tonight, he was in a good mood, and was talking up a storm, so I decided to test the water.
“Pop? Did you give my dad the same freedom you give me?” I asked without looking at him.
“Humph,” he replied as he took a big swig of the beer and then clamp
ed down on his cigar. “Why are you asking?”
“I’m just curious,” I shrugged, trying not to let on that I desperately wanted to know more about my father and what he’d been like. “Just questions about the family history for school and stuff.”
“I see,” Pop said. I could feel the weight of his silence as I waited for him to decide whether to answer my question or to mind my own business. I knew that this could go either way. It took a few minutes, but when Pop spoke again, his voice was tinged with sadness and regret. “Son, your father was a bum. I rode him hard from the day he was born until the day he left this house. I did what my father did to me, and I turned out fine!”
“Is that why he left?” I asked, venturing out a little further past the shallows.
“It might well be,” he said sighing heavily. “I don’t know. Your gram says it’s because of the drugs, but who really knows. I thought pushing him was the way to get him to achieve his full potential.”
“But you push me,” I said as I turned and leaned back against the wood handrail that ran down the steps and looked up at him. “You tell me to get good grades and you don’t let me ditch school like Rickey’s parents do. And I’m not a bum, am I?”
“Son, you’re definitely not a bum. But different people respond to different tactics,” Pop said looking down at the beer can in his hand. “Your dad didn’t respond well to the way I raised him.”
“It’s not your fault, Pop,” I said.
“Never said it was,” he replied gruffly as he chomped on the end of his cigar and squinted out at the backyard. My grandfather was a big, barrel-chested man who stood well over six feet tall, but right now, sitting in his chair on the back porch, he looked rather fragile.