Page 144 of Lord Have Mercy Part Four: Big Son

“What are the rest of the guys going to say?”

“No idea. But I don’t think they’re gonna throw him a parade.”

“Good,” Ghost’s voice said, suddenly, from the pew behind them. “I hate parades.”

Aidan swore and twisted around on the bench.

Ghost was in the act of sitting, wearing the same jeans and soft-colors hoodie he’d stepped off Ian’s plane in. He’d added a baseball cap to the mix, white with an orange Tennessee T, and he pulled it off now and set about fluffing his hair back up in what seemed an unconscious gesture. Aidan guessed if his own hair still looked that thick and dark when he was almost sixty, he’d make sure it was always on point, too.

“Always too many people – too many places for bad actors to hide,” he continued, and sprawled back in the pew, arms spread along its top. “And it’s loud. And who even likes marching bands anyway? Nah. Parades suck.”

Ava sighed dramatically, and sat up, and twisted around with the difficulty of the very tired and very sore. “You really are the fuddiest to ever duddy, aren’t you? The ultimate grumpy dad.”

“Oh, ‘cause you love parades so much. You go to a lot between target practice and getting hauled down to the precinct?”

“Maybe,” Ava shot back, “you’re just mad no one ever threw you a parade.”

Aidan had thought, at the first sound of his voice, that he would stay silent, only speaking when spoken to, keeping his answers cool and curt. He’d been able to tell, yesterday, that Ghost was startled by his expression, his tone. He’d intended to continue that now, but hearing him go back and forth with Ava, the familiarity of it, the ease of it; seeing Ghost slumped back,fiddling with his hair, with his hat…it felt likehome. And he’d never been one to sit back in silence at home.

He raised his hand, and panned it through the air, as if reading off a banner. “‘Asshole of the Year.’ We’ll get you a sash.”

Ghost grinned, quick and relieved.

Aidan felt his own brief smile dim. He was tired. Very, very tired. But not, he found, all that angry anymore. He was just…okay, he wassad. His feelingswerehurt. But not in a little-kid, storming-off, make-an-ass-of-himself way.

“And two marching bands,” Ava said. “Maybe more.” She stood, reaching to knuckle at her lower back. “Ian still outside?”

“Yeah. He waited for you with the car.”

“Cool. I’m gonna head back.”

Aidan expected dread to rise up in her absence. Ghost even turned his head to watch her go.Don’t leave us alone!But the dread didn’t come. In fact, he was glad of her absence. Maybe it was because of, like she’d said, motherhood, or the simple fact of her motherhood, but she had already forgiven Dad. Aidan didn’t want her trying to oil the waters, not for this conversation.

The cathedral doors closed behind her with a quiet crash, and then it was just the two of them. Even the old ladies tottered out down the aisle, fiddling with plastic rain hats and dripping umbrellas. Only the desperate, prayerful man remained, and he’d curled down even deeper on his pew, only the hump of his spine visible.

Ghost turned back to him, and his expression was so foreign that it took Aidan a moment to decipher what it was doing. He lookedcontrite. It did odd things to his brows, and his mouth, diminished him in a way that Aidan had always thought would feel like vindication, but which instead unsettled him. Deeply.

Ghost took a deep breath.

Aidan said, “Can I say something first? Before you get started?”

Ghost’s brows went up. “Yeah. Okay.”

Aidan hadn’t thought he’d get his way so easily, so he had to take another moment, to gather his thoughts. Ava was the writer in the family. Mercy was the storyteller. Maggie had this deceptively wicked way of coming in soft and twisting the knife of her point at the perfect moment. Aidan could talk, sure, but it was in moments like this that he realized how rarely he said something capable of altering a relationship. It was through sheer dumb luck that he’d managed to convey his love to Sam; and she was a writer, too, had been able to fill in all his many gaps. Now, though, he was flying solo, no parachute, here he went.

“You know how at the festival, you had me and Tango sit in the booth with a sign-up sheet?”

Ghost nodded.

“One guy signed up. This kid. He’s eighteen. Farm boy. I wasn’t gonna let him do it, but Ian was there, and…” When he gestured, Ghost nodded again. Yeah, Ian tended to push people into things, and get his own way, even when it didn’t make sense to those around him. “I didn’t call him, obviously. Shit got crazy, and I didn’t think he had what we were looking for anyway. But then he came by the shop one day looking for me, and gave me this whole sob story about his family farm, and how his parents were gonna lose it, and that he didn’t want to go to college. He just wanted to prospect, and make some money to look after his folks. He’d noticed, he said, that the club was making things happen in town.” He met Ghost’s gaze pointedly. “You wanted us to be known around Knoxville, and beyond, for being able to make shit happen. Congrats, because this kid thought we were his salvation.”

Ghost studied him a moment, and Aidan had the sense he wanted to ask at least a dozen questions. What he asked was, “What’d you tell him?”

“To hit the bricks. He was a dumb kid, and in the past, me going soft didn’t help anyone.”

Go, run, he’d told a boy named Greg, once upon a time, and look how that had turned out.

Ghost tipped his head back a fraction. It was the most attentively he’d ever listened – to Aidan, at least.

---