On the drive back to the house, Brett didn’t say anything for most of the way.
Then, right as we turned onto our street, he said, “Dad?”
“Yeah.”
“Did Grandpa know? That you were ashamed?”
I thought about my father. A big, quiet Norwegian with hands like shovels. Sitting in the third pew from the front at Our Savior’s every Sunday.
“I think he knew,” I said. “I think that’s why he never brought it up. Not once. Not even when I paid him back.”
Brett nodded slowly.
“I’m not going to do that,” he said. “Not bring it up. I’m going to say it. Thank you, Dad.”
I didn’t trust my voice to answer him. So I just reached over and squeezed the back of his neck. The way I did when he was little.
Ardis made pork chops and scalloped potatoes for five.
Nobody had much appetite. And everybody ate anyway. Because that’s what you do at Ardis’s table.
Halfway through supper, Brett put his fork down.
And he said it all again. Out loud. In front of everybody.
To Austin, especially. He looked right at him.
He said he was sorry for lying to him. That he’d had no right. That every bit of that eighteen hundred dollars had gone to a truck payment and a little girl’s child support, and not one penny to anything else. And that he’d pay back every dime of it to Austin out of his elevator checks.
Austin listened to the whole thing without interrupting. Then he shook his head.
“I had a room for three months,” Austin said. “Warm. Dry. Cheaper than anywhere in the county. I got exactly what I paid for, man. You don’t owe me.”
He looked over at Ardis and me.
“You owe them.”
After supper, Austin went downstairs. A few minutes later, he came back up with a white envelope. He set it down on the table, right in front of Ardis.
“I’ll be out a week from Saturday,” he said. “A guy at the plant has a camper I can rent till I find a place. That’s for this month.”
“You already paid this month,” Ardis said. “To Brett.”
“I paid Brett,” Austin said. “This is to you. For the heat. And the hot water. And the trouble.” He looked at the floor. “My mom would’ve wanted it that way.”
Ardis tried to give it back to him twice. He wouldn’t take it.
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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