Reputation (Mason Family 2)

He nods. “I’m sure your parents enjoy having you home. They haven’t seen much of you lately either, huh?”

“No. I’ve been pretty busy. Things really took off after the Honors show a couple of years ago.”

“You took Entertainer of the Year, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.”

His face brightens as he smiles at me. “That’s great, Coy. I’m proud of you, son.”

“Thanks. That means a lot to me.”

“You’ve always been like a kid to me. Always around, asking questions and stealing cookies.”

“The cookie thing was Boone.”

Joseph chuckles.

I watch him take a tissue and dab the corners of his mouth where the candy has pooled. The vision of him like this is staggering. I remember a robust man who split firewood in the summers so they could have a fireplace going in the winter because Bellamy liked it. Joseph was the kind of man who worked on his cars before taking them to the mechanic’s shop.

He fascinated me.

Now it fascinates me to see him like this.

A pang of guilt washes over me. The amount of time that had to have transpired from the Joseph I remember to the Joseph sitting in front of me is embarrassing.

And I missed the transformation. I missed a lot.

“That show changed your life, didn’t it?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I admit. “It changed it overnight. My phone rang solidly for weeks after that. My schedule has had something on it almost every day. I mean, it’s a good problem to have. It’s just hard to get away for long.”

He rocks back and forth in his recliner and watches me thoughtfully. He licks his lips as if they’re dry while the candy rattles around against his teeth.

My heart pulls in my chest. I wish what I said wasn’t true. I wish there were more time to be spent at home—more holidays at Mom’s. More visits to Joseph and the poker guys with Dad. More Vegas trips with Boone and ski trips with Oliver.

More being here with Bells as she deals with all of this.

But I can’t be in two places at once. That’s something I’m just going to have to live with.

Isn’t it?

“Can I give you some advice?” Joseph asks, luring me out of my daze.

“Sure.”

He takes a long minute before he begins to speak.

“You know that I did pretty well in my life, right? I was president of the bank for twenty years—up until I got sick. And, before that, I had various roles that had me out of the house more hours than I was in it.”

“I remember.”

He continues to rock in the chair. “When Shelley and I got married, I worked so much because that’s what I thought men do. That’s what my father always did. He worked sunup until sundown to provide for his family, so I did the same.”

He smiles faintly, staring off into space.

I wonder what he’s feeling and how hard his life must have quietly been for him. He lost Shelley so young and then raised Bellamy on his own.

How did this never occur to me before?

Because you were young and self-centered.

Slowly, he pulls his gaze back to me.

“After Shelley died, I suppose I buried myself in my work to avoid feeling the loss,” he tells me. “That wasn’t fair to Bellamy or me—or my wife’s memory. We all deserved to grieve the life she led.”

“She was so much fun. The best chocolate chip cookie maker ever.”

He grins, appreciative of me sharing that thought with him.

“But even after she died,” he continues, “I kept working those long hours and extended weeks. I was covering my emotions, staying busy so I didn’t have to face a lonely house. But I was also probably trying to compensate in some weird, wrong way. As if …” He sighs. “As if being able to fill Bellamy’s life with things would somehow fill in the hole Shelley left behind. I know that sounds ridiculous.”

He waits for me to respond, but I don’t know what to say. Finally, I just hold my hands out in front of me and shrug.

“I’m not going to sit here and judge you,” I tell him. “I can’t imagine how hard that was, and I’m positive I would’ve done a shittier job. I mean, look at Bells.” I grin as I think of her. “You raised one hell of a woman, Joe. I think that speaks volumes for how well you did handle things, whether you realize it or not.”

He smiles at me. “She’s pretty great, isn’t she?”

I return his smile.

The chair sways back and forth again as he gazes off into the distance. “You know my only regret?”

“No.”

“I regret not experiencing everything that I ran away from. Even the hard stuff—especially the hard stuff. I regret not sitting on the floor with Bellamy and crying for days. I regret being in my office when she was a teenager and quite the little pistol and not being at the dining room table while we discussed whatever trouble she’d gotten herself into.”