Page 19 of Rules to Love By

“I know this closet isn’t going to close. No one needs that much shampoo.”

“You want to make a list of what’s in there, son, be my guest,” his father told him as he stumped back from unlocking the shop door and turning the sign. “Ain’t nobody got time for that shit.”

Eli tried not to snarl as he chased after him. “It’s called an inventory, Dad, and businesses do it all the time. You have to know what you have on hand so you don’t overstock and end up with supply you can’t sell.”

“It’s hair product. Not like it goes bad.”

“But you tie up your cashflow in boxes ofhair product”—he knew his tone put sarcasta-quotes around the words but had passed caring some time ago—“that will take you forever to liquidate. You could be using that money better.”

“Like I said, you want to do an inventory—”

“Ambrose should be doing that. And frankly, if he’s seen that closet and not brought it up himself, I question if he’s going to be able to run this place.”

“You think he should be doing it, you bring it up with him.”

“I’m not doing that.”

“Suit yourself.” He bent to unlock the safe under the counter to retrieve the float. “If it’s important, it’s important. If it’s not…”

“You know as well as I do what he’ll say.”

“Same as I did. You want it done, you go ahead and do it.”

“The difference is, you actually think Icando it. He knows perfectly well I can’t.”

“Son.” His father straightened and fixed him with a dad-knows-best glare. “You can do anything you set your mind to.”

“It’s nice that you think that.” And he was going to leave it there, because his father just didn’t want to hear the truth.

His father’s voice turned kind. “I do.”

And there it was. The tone that goaded him into trying things that never ended the way his father wanted them to. The challenges rarely led to greater successes. More often, they only sharply defined the boundaries of Eli’s capabilities. He supposed the upside was that by now, he thoroughly knew his limits.

He said so. “And I am not giving Ambrose ammunition.”

“Now, Eli, your cousin is not a monster.”

The bell over the door chiming saved Eli getting into the finer points of Ambrose’s character.

They both turned to see Marcus glance up at the bells, mild surprise on his face.

“Marcus.” Eli’s father strode forward, snapping his fingers. “Just the person to solve all our problems. Come in.” Leading him to a couch, his dad patted the leather. “Have a seat. You want some coffee?”

“That’s okay, I just—” Marcus bounced up the instant his ass hit the cushion, and he followed Eli’s father across the room towards the small table with the coffee maker. “I brought you an estimate for that back wall.” He shoved the sheets out in front of him like a shield when Tyrone—now in shop-proprietor mode—held up a mug of pungent black brew.

“That so?” He took the papers, pulled back the mug and sipped from it himself as he glanced at the top page.

“There’s two there. One for a regular paint job, and one for that…” Marcus twisted fingers into his hair and ducked his head. “That fancier paint job I mentioned.”

“Well, we go with the fancy one, for sure. We want this place updated and hip.”

“Hip?”

“Dad, you’re not made of money,” Eli warned.

“No, it’s all tied up in useless stock. I know. You already told me that.” His dad levelled a look at Eli that made Eli want to punch something.

Unworried, Tyrone looked back to Marcus. “What do you say about extending the scope of this job?”

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