Page 60 of Takes Two to Tango

He pushed back his chair, picked up the notebook, and ripped the pages from the wire bindings.

''Two points," he said as the paper hit the rim of the wastebasket and fell in.

He stepped outside into the gloaming of Oak Stand twilight. His mother Donna smiled and waved from her perch beside his father in the RV. She looked happy and well-rested. His father looked grumpy and tired.

"Brent! Help your father before he knocks over the sweet olive hedge," she called from the door of the RV.

"Shut the damn door, Donna" his father shouted, turning the wheel too sharply, almost causing his wife to fall.

Brent dutifully guided his father in his parking efforts. Finally, the RV sat where it was meant to. His father and mother bailed out, squabbling about the tire marks in the side yard.

"Nice to see y'all, too," Brent said, following them toward the porch of their house.

"We're happy to see you, baby," his mother said, turning around giving him a brief squeeze. "It's just your father's prostate has been giving him fits and he needs to use the potty."

"Good Lord, Donna, tell everyone why don't you?" Ross grumbled, climbing the steps and fishing his keys from the pocket of his trousers.

"I'm telling your son. He's noteveryone."His mother stopped and stuck a finger in the planter housing a hibiscus, presumably checking the moisture level. Brent must have watered sufficiently because she didn't say anything. She opened the screen door and gave Apple a belly rub. "Hello, Apple girl. We missed our baby."

Both he and Apple were her babies. Great. He was on a level with a dog that rolled on dead things and pulled stuffing from pillows. He'd never felt he ranked high on his parents' list unless he was winning awards or excelling on the field. It was anirrational feeling he'd carried with him for most of his life. He'd been a shadow for so long that he wondered if they saw him as one, too. He was the go-to guy for lifting furniture and feeding the animals when they were out of town. He was expected to step into the family business, live close enough to call upon, and show up on all holidays to bring the ice. That was his role.

But no longer.

Because his parents would be the first to understand Brent was cutting ties with his past. He was more than they knew.

"I know y'all just got home, but before you settle in for the evening, I'd like to talk with you," Brent said, watching his mother shift through the two stacks of mail on the granite countertop. She sorted the pile quickly.

"Sure it can't wait? Your father is a grumpy old bear. The bursitis in his elbow is acting up from all that driving," she said, not bothering to look up.

"It's important. I'd like to talk to you before tomorrow night."

"Tomorrow night?" she asked absentmindedly.

''The Little League banquet," Brent said, settling on a bar stool in the cozy kitchen and picking up theField and Streammagazine she'd tossed aside. A deer with a target centered on its chest graced the front cover.Been there before, buddy.He tossed the magazine aside.

"Oh, of course," she said.

"Did you call that fellow about the Chargers? What did he say?" His father's voice came from over Brent's shoulder. Ross Hamilton took a room by storm. The air sucked right out of the kitchen. Large, domineering, and the former offensive tackle for Texas Christian University, Brent's father bulldozed his way through life, bemoaning his traitorous knees and his propensity for putting on a few pounds by even glancing at a piece of cake or pie.

''That's what I wanted to talk to both of you about," Brent said, meeting his father's eyes as Ross squeezed by Donna and reached for the teakettle. His father always had a cup of chamomile tea before bed, the only even remotely feminine tendency the man possessed.

"Oh?” His father filled the kettle and lit the burner before rummaging around in the cabinet for the tea. Donna ignored them both, her lips moving as she read a letter. The paper looked to be one of her prison ministry letters. "Do you have some training camp dates? Do we need to talk to that agent again?"

“I never called," Brent said.

"Why the hell not?" His father yelled, causing Donna to jump.

"Please, Ross," she said, dropping the letter to the counter. "The whole neighborhood will hear you shouting."

"Why the hell should I care?" his father said, pulling a mug from the cabinet. He refocused his attention on Brent. "I went to a lot of trouble to get you that look-see."

"I know you did, Dad, but I don't think you realize I'm no longer interested in playing football. I'm not in shape for it and the possibility of actually earning a place on the team is slim to none."

His father held up a finger. "But it's still a possibility. You still have it, son. I can see it in the way you move on the balls of your feet. You're fast and could easily be in peak shape by July. Don't pass up this opportunity. It's your last chance to live your dream."

"You meanyourdream,”Brent said quietly. He held his gaze on his father. No more looking away.

Brent's mother slid the mail away and zeroed in on the situation. She'd been in this same position many times. Between father and son. She loved Brent, but she had to live with her husband. "Now, Ross, if Brent's not interested, you can't forcehim. We've talked about how it's time for you to give the reins of the company over to him."

---