Over the next few weeks, the house slowly became my parents’ house again.
Veronica found a little rental across town. It was modest, but she loved it because the sun came into the kitchen. Derek tried to refuse when Dad offered to help with the deposit.
“This is help,” Dad told him. “Not control. Learn the difference.”
Derek accepted.
The Friday payment came through from Bellweather. Derek paid back every dollar he’d taken.
And then he did something none of us expected.
He brought all the records to Dad himself. Every receipt. Every invoice. Every transfer. He laid them out on the kitchen table.
“I want you to see where every dollar went.”
Dad pushed the papers back. “I trust Inez’s accounting.”
Derek didn’t take them.
“That’s not the point, Dad,” he said. “I need to become somebody who doesn’t need blind trust.”
Dad looked at his oldest son for a long time.
Then he pulled out a chair.
“All right.”
They went through every page together. I watched from the doorway. I didn’t join them.
Some repairs belong to two people.
A few weeks later, we held our first real family meeting about the land. At Mom’s kitchen table.
Dad looked at Derek. “Do you want the workshop?”
“Yes.”
Then he looked at me. “And you?”
I laughed. “Dad, I’m an accountant. My last woodworking project was a birdhouse that leaned.”
“You were nine.”
“It still leaned.”
“Granddad’s letter says Ruiz Brothers Workshop,” Dad said. “That was his idea. What’s yours?”
Nobody had ever asked me that.
I looked around the kitchen. Mom sewing a button onto Dad’s shirt. Veronica setting out pastries from the bakery. Derek waiting.
And I realized I’d been asking the wrong question all along. I didn’t want half a workshop.
I wanted a reason to stop loving my family mainly through phone calls and bank transfers.
“I could run the business side,” I said. “Books. Contracts. Pricing. Taxes.”
Derek blinked. “You hate furniture.”
“I hate sanding.”
“Everybody hates sanding,” Dad said solemnly.
“You’re good at restoration,” I said to Derek. “Dad knows design. I know numbers.”
“And Veronica knows clients,” Mom said.
Veronica nearly dropped her coffee. “What?”
“You sold six restored chairs to those hotel people after they turned down Derek’s first price,” Mom said.
Derek looked at his wife. “That’s also true.”
“So what are we saying?” Veronica asked.
Dad looked around the table.
“I think we’re saying your grandfather was irritatingly patient.”
Ethan Blake is a skilled Creative Content Specialist with a talent for crafting engaging and thought-provoking narratives. With a strong background in storytelling and digital content creation, Ethan brings a unique perspective to his role at TheArchivists, where he curates and produces captivating content for a global audience.
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