Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
Rhett
“If I can get at least one person every day to pay me for yard work, I can be raking in the green.” Rylan interrupts my work on the laptop to go over his vague business plan for world domination.
I’m not sure what’s gotten into him, but wanting to work for spend money is a more welcome path than the one he was on in Atlanta.
“Money follows excellence. Focus on doing excellent work first.”
He stares at me blankly, and I wonder if any of that sunk into his brain. “Okay, but I’m thinking a hundred dollars a week in spending money should do it.”
I screw up my face. “Should do what? That’s a lot of money, son. Quite frankly, your first priority should be your schoolwork. You have the rest of your life to work for a paycheck.”
He splays his hands on the table, a determined set to his young jaw. Hell, he looks a lot like me way back when. “So, you don’t think I should be working?”
I sigh, closing my laptop. The quote for Mary London will have to wait. I’m almost done, but I always like to give it a thorough second and third reading to make sure I have everything correct.
“That’s not what I’m saying. I think working is a great idea, as long as it doesn’t interfere with your schoolwork and as long as you’re doing good work.
Heaven is a small town. You can’t do shoddy work for someone and expect them not to talk to their neighbors about you.
I just think you should focus on doing a good job, not so much the money right now. ”
Rylan tilts his head back and forth. I envision my advice as water sloshing back and forth in his brain. Maybe some of it will soak in. Maybe it’ll drain out his ear.
“For example,” I continue. “I’m sending a quote to Mary London for her new business project, but I’m reducing my labor charges to almost half of what I’d charge back in Atlanta.
Both because this is a small town and they won’t pay as much, but also because I’m new here.
I want to do my best work for her for as little money as possible so she’ll spread the word and I’ll get many more jobs afterward. It’s all about reputation.”
“Damn right. This town won’t ever let you change it neither,” Papaw’s rough voice interjects.
Rylan and I both look toward the back door where Papaw came into the house without a single knock.
“Papaw!” Rylan gets up from the table to hug the old man.
Papaw at least put on clean jeans and a T-shirt that only has one hole in the shoulder.
I don’t smell alcohol on him, but the jeans have pockets and pockets frequently hold flasks.
Funny how no one seemed to care about Papaw drinking in front of me when I was a kid, but now that I’m a father, I won’t stand for it around Rylan.
He shouldn’t have to witness the things I did at his age.
The two sit down at the table across from me, clearly related with the same dark blue eyes staring back at me. Papaw’s are surrounded by the whites of the eyes shot with red, but there’s still a similarity.
“Did I hear you mention a Winthrop?” Papaw nearly spits the name.
I suck in a deep breath. I wasn’t even going to mention this new job to Papaw, hoping he wouldn’t hear about it through the gossip channels either until I was at least halfway through with it.
“Don’t get all excited. It’s just a bid.”
Papaw sits back in his chair, hand sliding for his pants pocket and coming up empty. Good. Maybe he was actually listening when I invited him over for a family dinner but told him on one condition: he couldn’t drink.
“You don’t need their business,” he grouses, while Rylan frowns, looking back and forth between us.
“Mary London’s really nice,” Rylan says helpfully.
Papaw waves his yellowed fingers through the air. “Pshh. She’s just like the rest of them. Nose so high up in the air she’s breathing straight nitrogen.”
“I didn’t realize you paid so much attention in science class, Papaw.”
The severe frown tells me he doesn’t like my attempt at humor to diffuse the situation. “Oh, you tell jokes now. Go ahead. You’ll be sorry when you’re stabbed in the back by one of ’em.”
“That’s what a contract is for.”
Papaw rolls his eyes. “Contract. You think those good ol’ boys can’t find a loophole to leave you out of money and lookin’ a fool? Come on now, Rhett. I didn’t raise you to be a gullible idiot.”
“Mary London wouldn’t do that.” Rylan is still championing his favorite person. “She even found me a paying job.”
Papaw nods along. “Yep, thas’ how they do it. Big smiles and you’re our friend and then bam!” He slaps his hands together, making Rylan jump. “They screw you over.”
I shove my chair back from the table. “Okay, that’s enough. I’m sorry your experience with the Winthrops wasn’t good, but that’s water under the bridge. Now, who wants to help me make a salad?”
I get no takers, which I expected. Papaw points at me.
“This ain’t my experience. You remember how that asshat Clayton told his boy not to play with you?
Remember coming home crying because he told you you lived on the wrong side of the tracks?
You begged me for months to move to the other side of the railroad tracks!
” Papaw snorts. “As if that would have made a damn bit of difference.”
I do remember that. I remember the realization that there were the haves and the have-nots. I was firmly in the latter camp and there was no way in heaven a person could move into the former camp. Just wasn’t the way of the world.
Back then.
Now I’m an adult. I realize that old farts with old money don’t define who I am.
Maybe it took moving away to a new city where no one knew me, but I came to realize you make your own fate.
Being back here in this small town has me colliding with that same old bullshit, but I won’t have Rylan taking on that mindset.
“That was a long time ago, Papaw. I prefer to live in the present. And at present, our lasagna is burning.” I turn on my heel, head for the kitchen right across the hallway and grab some potholders off the counter.
The lasagna is not burning, but a lie is the small price I’ll pay to shut the old man up.
We all dive into the food like starving men.
That must be a Price trait too. Rylan prefers the French bread, Papaw can’t get enough store-bought lasagna, and I’m trying to get in more salad.
Turning forty last year was an eye-opener.
I actually have to avoid fast food and eat in moderation to keep the same waistline I had all through my twenties and thirties.
“Well, I like it here,” Rylan finally says around a mouthful of food. “I got a girl I’m going to ask to homecoming. Got my first paying job. And I actually understand algebra this time around.”
“Well, that’s good to hear,” I say dryly. The kid failed Algebra II last year, which was part of my decision to move.
Rylan smiles sheepishly. Papaw drops his fork to his plate with a clatter.
“I hear y’all went to church on Sundee.” He shakes his head, a splatter of tomato sauce on the side of his mouth. “I don’t know who you think you are, but all the churching in the world won’t get you in the good graces of the Richie Rich people in Heaven. Don’t waste your time tryin’.”
Rylan darts a look at me, like he wants to understand why Papaw is so negative. He and I will have to have a chat after Papaw leaves tonight. Maybe family dinners aren’t such a good idea after all.
I use my napkin to wipe my mouth. “Papaw, don’t discourage Rylan. Let us enjoy this town the way we want to, huh?”
Papaw shoves his chair back, plopping his napkin on top of his scraped-clean plate. “You jus’ never learn, do ya? Distracted by pretty smiles and even prettier words.” He points his finger in my face from across the table. “You will always be a service worker to them! Don’t forget it.”
Then he turns around, unsteady on his feet, and walks out the back door without a proper goodbye. Rylan stares down at his plate, appetite gone. I sigh, tired from a long day of putting together this quote, but knowing I need to do damage control.
“Son, you gotta understand where Papaw is coming from. He lived in a different era, where maybe some of that was true. But he’s also an alcoholic.
I’ve been honest with you about that. Sometimes people create a situation because of their own behavior and then like to point the finger when you react to their bad behavior.
The reaction isn’t the problem. It’s the bad behavior. Don’t get it twisted.”
Rylan lifts his head, eyes seeing everything, the good, the bad, and the ugly right here in our own family. He’s sixteen though, and if he doesn’t learn the way of people now, I fear for his success out there in the real world. The time for shielding him is over.
“Do you think Mary London will screw you over?”
God, I hope not.
It’s my first thought. Mostly because I like her. I don’t want to like her and yet I already do. I’d hate for her to ruin that perfect facade by being a morally bankrupt human.
“I don’t think so. And even if she tries, this isn’t my first rodeo. I have ironclad contracts to prevent that sort of thing.”
Rylan nods. “But you’re going to give her a really good deal still?”
“I am. It’s more of a business strategy than any kind of goodwill because of what I think of her.”
At least I hope so.
Have I let her beauty or stature in the community affect my decisions?
“Okay, cool.” Rylan stands, taking our plates to the sink before running up to his room to blast music.
I finish cleaning up in the kitchen, all the while mulling in my head if what I’m doing is what I’d do if Mary London was a man.
By the time the last dish is in the dishwasher, I’ve convinced myself that the discount is exactly what I’d do, no matter who this first client was.
So I march over to the table, open my laptop, and hit send on the quote before I can overthink it some more.
As I stare at my inbox, stupidly wanting an immediate response, I think about what Mary London told me yesterday.
All those people in this town don’t want her to open a bar.
All because of some backwards beliefs about women and their ability to handle certain things.
I’m actually pissed off on her behalf. How can anyone in this day and age think a woman can’t open a bar?
But despite what I think about it, reputation matters here in Heaven.
Maybe more than it should. Our family’s reputation as a have-not is one of the reasons I left all those years ago.
I just never considered reputation was something that also affected the haves.
From my position, I assumed those in the haves just sat around eating fancy food and looked down their noses at the have-nots.
I had no idea that they also had to jump through hoops and stay within behavior guardrails to maintain their status as a have.
Quite frankly, that’s a lot of self-realization for one night, so I put a good show on television and zone out for a bit.
It’s not until I’m about to head to bed that my computer dings with an incoming email.
I hate to admit how quickly I rush over to see if it’s Mary London.
It is, but the message is short, especially for a woman who loves to talk so much.
I accept. When can you start?
“Dammit, Papaw,” I whisper into the dark as I stare at those six words. He got in my head.
Maybe that moment with the coffee, or the tension that flows between us every time we lock eyes, maybe that’s all just a calculated move on her part. Maybe she acted interested in me to get me to do exactly what I just did: lowball my offer.
Fuck me, but it worked.