Page 33 of Long Time Coming

That raises suspicion. I scratch the back of my neck. “Not to sound like a parrot, but how did that go?”

“She was cordial. She also asked about you and how you were doing?” I don’t make things negative, but how I’m doing is the last thing she ever cared about. So yeah, that’s odd. Mom continues, “I told her you were doing great and working out at Rollingwood the past two days.”

I chuckle. “I can only imagine what she thought about that.”

With us standing in the kitchen, keeping our voices down so little ears don’t hear, she releases a sigh. “I may be reading too much into it, but she sounded like she missed you.”

“We don’t see each other except when we’re picking up or dropping off Beckett, so I think you misread her tone.” I rest my hand on the top of the chair because it seems my mom has more on her mind.

She moves closer and peeks down the hall before whispering, “Although I don’t know what happened between you two, I know it’s not been easy for you since. I hate to pry, but I still worry about you and Beckett.”

“You’re not prying. Ask what’s on your mind.”

“Is there a chance you and Anna could get back together? Many couples work it out for the kids?—”

“No. There’s no chance.” I direct my attention down the hall where Beck fell asleep not long ago. “We weren’t good before we found out about the baby, but I stuck out to support her during the pregnancy and after to be in my son’s life. Now that the ties that bound us in the early years are severed, I’m not looking to fix them. I’m in his life equally, as much as I can be, but he’s happy, and I’m happier. This trip helped.”

“You found a piece of yourself again. I can see it in your eyes. That’s what coming home does. It reminds you of who you were and the people who will always welcome you back.” She embraces me around my middle.

I hug her, and say, “Thank you.” It’s quick, and the talk was over before it got too heavy. I’m glad we have the type of relationship where she doesn’t mind that I don’t tell her the gory details as long as she knows I’m okay. “I’m doing good.”

“I’m glad to hear it and even happier to see it.” Giving my arm a squeeze, she says, “I’m turning in. Night, son. Love you.”

“Love you, Mom.” The conversation replays in my mind as I walk upstairs, and it stays on a loop as I take a hot shower. I washed my face and hands before dinner, but the water now pummeling my shoulders feels so good as the rest of the tension washes away.

I take my time, but even when I get out, it’s not that late. It’s just gone nine. So I sit on the end of the bed and flip the TV on. After a good twelve seconds of searching the few channels my parents pay for, I click it off, remembering what my dad said about Joey.

Am I up for driving over to Whiskey’s?

It’s been years since I’ve been there. I was barely legal that time, too. Now I’m a grown man with a child. I should be a responsible dad.

Since when does having a good time every now and again make me a bad father? It doesn’t.

I still humor myself by looking around the small bedroom once more to see if anything remotely entertaining catches my eye. Nothing. I could go to sleep, but I’d be up at three in the morning wide awake. Our flight isn’t until noon, so I don’t need to go to bed early.

Pushing up, I grab my phone and text my dad:

You okay watching Beck if I go meet Joey out at Whiskey’s?

They go to bed early, but they’re up watching TV and reading, so he doesn’t take long to reply.

We’ve got him covered. He’s safe here. You have fun and drive safely.

Thanks, Dad.

I could wear what I’d wear in New York or see if any shirts in the closet still fit. I go to the closet and start to flip through hangers until I find a black button-up. I pull on a pair of jeans that magically got washed today and then the shirt. The arms are tighter, so I wave my arms in front of me to stretch the cotton.

I’m missing a belt that will work with this attire, so I leave the shirt untucked, but I make sure to grab my boots and a felted black hat before I walk out the door. The clothes are foreign to my body, but it feels good to be in something different, something made to weather a bar fight, wear to a Texas wedding, and everything in between.

With the keys to the truck in hand and almost a full tank of gas, I take off across county lines and find my way back to the only bar worth visiting in a thirty-mile radius.

I grin when I see the flashing Y in the sign on the verge of going out. The metal exterior is rusted, neon beer signs hang in the windows, and the parking lot is full. I wasn’t the only one with this idea.

Walking in, I quickly scope it out. The place has expanded, more pool tables are behind the bar to the left, and the dance floor is already crowded with couples dancing to a live band. This place has changed. It was nothing more than a dive bar when Baylor and I stopped in for a beer.

“Granger baby, you’re back!” Joey comes up and slaps his hand in mine. “Good to see ya, man.”

I almost don’t recognize him. Tucked under a lighter straw cowboy hat, he used to wear a buzz cut, but his hair is shaggier around the ears now. His face is fuller to match the rest of his build, but his laid-back grin is still the same. “It’s good to be back.”

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