Page 30 of The Wild Card
“Of course, I know that, son. I know you. And I know Liza. She wasn’t hard to figure out. First time I met her, I thought she’d be trouble.”
“You never said.”
Tank’s voice is kind but firm. “We all tried to tell you in different ways. A few of us more obviously than others.”
I think of James’s disapproving scowl and Pat outright telling me Liza wasn’t good enough for me. I wonder now how much digging in of my heels I did just to show my family they were wrong.
Stupid. So stupid.
It’s high time I stop making choices because I’m trying to prove something. Or simply as a way to distinguish myself from my brothers. I need to decide what I want and make choices based solely on that.
Legacy—like my dad said. I don’t know what mine is, but I feel certain the gym is not it.
“Sometimes people need to learn the lesson themselves,” Tank continues.
“Are you all right?” he asks when I can’t muster up a response. “With Liza and the gym?”
“I will be. Thayden is helping with the Liza situation.” I swallow. “And I’ll be able to pay everyone back after I sell the gym,” I add quickly.
“I wasn’t worried about the money. Or Liza. I want to know ifyou’reokay.”
I don’t feel worthy of Tank’s gentleness. But then, our dad never once made any of us feel we needed to earn his love or care. He’s a veritable fountain of it, flowing continuously. Even when he’s offering the tough version of love.
“I’m good,” I tell him, only realizing it’s not quite true as I say the words. “Or … I will be.”
Why Molly’s face comes to mind when I say this, I have no idea. Since, technically speaking, she’s part of one more poor choice I’ve made.
Would either of my brothers have been roped into pretending to be someone’s boyfriend? I almost laugh out loud imagining the face James would make at even hearing the idea.
But Pat? Before Lindy, he absolutely would have been on board with a fake dating situation. Especially for someone who needed help. Pat is definitely a jump first, ask questions later person.
“You’re going to emerge from this mess just fine,” Tank says, slinging an arm around my shoulder. “I know it.”
I swallow around a whole knot of emotion. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Now. Tell me what you think when you look at this field.”
“Why are you so obsessed with this field? Have you been watchingField of Dreams?”
“I haven’t watched any Costner movies lately, althoughThe Bodyguardwill never leave my top ten. Rest in peace, Whitney Houston.”
I humor Dad by giving the late singer a requisite moment of silence.
“I’m asking about the field,” Tank says after the pause, “because I bought it for you. For whatever great thing you want to do next. Your challenge, should you choose to accept it, is to figure out what your legacy will be and how this field might help you get there. Build a house. Build a business.”
“Build a baseball field in hopes the Savannah Bananas will come?”
Tank chuckles. “Or that.”
“How many acres is it?”
“Twenty-three.”
Twenty-three acres. That seems plenty big enough for some kind of legacy. What kind? I have no idea.
We’re quiet for a moment, and wheels that have grown rusty with disuse start turning in my mind. The cow is still staring, and I realize it’s moved a little closer. Is thismycow?
“Does the field come with the cows?” I ask.
