2. Landon #3
I set my tea down. “That almost sounded like a request.”
“Don’t push it.”
Laughing, I went back outside for my toolbox.
It sat behind the passenger seat beneath a stack of practice plans I needed to review before Monday, and habit had me looking at those papers like they might accuse me of neglect if I left them there another few hours.
I grabbed the toolbox instead. The practice plans had nowhere to be.
When I got back inside, Pops was already under the sink again.
“Took you long enough.”
“It was thirty seconds.”
“Felt longer.”
“You age differently when impatient.”
“Keep talking.”
I set the toolbox between us and flipped the latches. Everything was where it belonged, sockets, screwdrivers, pliers, wrenches. Pops looked over the arrangement and nodded.
“Still organized.”
“You raised me right.”
“Damn right.”
We got to work. He asked for the channel locks, and I had them in his hand before he finished the sentence.
After enough years replacing brakes, fixing fences, hanging ceiling fans, and responding whenever Mama announced that something in the house had finally gotten on her nerves, Pops and I didn’t need many instructions.
He knew where every tool sat in my box, and I knew which one he wanted by the way he shifted under the cabinet.
I loosened the retaining nut beneath the faucet. “You know most people call plumbers.”
“Most people waste money.”
“Most people also got enough sense not to crawl under a kitchen sink on Sunday.”
“Builds character.”
“That’s what Ramirez says about football.”
“He’s right.”
“I disagree with both of y’all.”
Pops laughed, and we kept working. The faucet fought harder than necessary, which he took personally. I was working the basin wrench around a stubborn fitting when his voice came through the metal clinking beneath the sink.
“You still staying late?”
“Sometimes.”
“Most nights.”
I glanced toward him. “You keeping attendance now?”
“You leave before sunrise.”
“Practice.”
“Come home after dark.”
“Football.”
“Every day?”
I turned the wrench again. “Season gets busy.”
“For a season.”
My hand stopped.
I looked over. “What that mean?”
Pops rolled backward and sat up, wiping his hands on the old, red shop towel hanging from his back pocket. He wasn’t looking at me when he answered.
“A job’ll take whatever you keep handing it. Mornings. Nights. Weekends. Then have you thinking you doing something wrong if you keep one for yourself.”
That sounded suspiciously specific.
“You speaking from experience?”
“Mistakes.”
Now he had my full attention.
Pops could admit an error when circumstances forced him into it. Calling one a mistake without legal representation present was practically a press conference.
“When I was your age, I thought being a good husband and daddy meant saying yes every time somebody needed me. Overtime. Side jobs. Church. Family. Neighbors. If I could do it, I figured I was supposed to.” He looked toward the kitchen doorway before continuing.
“One day, your mama asked why I worked so hard building a life I was never home long enough to enjoy.”
“What’d you tell her?”
“Nothing worth repeating.”
I smiled slightly.
He didn’t.
“She remembers the Saturdays I stayed home more than she remembers them checks.”
That one stayed with me longer than I wanted it to.
Pops picked up the flashlight again. “You doing good, Son. Don’t twist what I’m saying. Langston’s lucky to have you, and them boys lucky too. But you ain’t the only competent man on that staff.”
“Malcolm would love hearing you say that.”
“Don’t tell him. He already thinks highly enough of himself.”
I laughed.
Pops nudged my shoe with his. “Being dependable don’t mean you gotta make yourself permanently available.”
I looked at him.
He pointed the flashlight back toward the faucet. “Now, fix your mama sink before she think I got you down here discussing feelings.”
Mama’s voice floated in from the dining room. “I can hear both of y’all.”
Pops closed his eyes.
I grinned. “Caught.”
“Forty years, and that woman still eavesdropping.”
“I am standing ten feet away!”
“That ain’t technically a denial,” Pops muttered.
I laughed hard enough that the wrench slipped against the fitting.
We secured the faucet a few minutes later. I turned on the water and let it run while Pops crouched in front of the cabinet, running his fingertips along the underside like the plumbing might betray us if he stopped watching too early.
I folded my arms. “You checking behind me?”
“I’m checking the plumbing.”
“You don’t trust my work?”
“Trust you fine. Pipes got character issues.”
“Fair.”
Satisfied, he shut the cabinet. “Put them tools away.”
“That my compliment?”
“You fixed it.”
“Proud of me?”
“Don’t push it.”
I grinned.
That was yes.
Mama appeared, carrying a basket of cornbread wrapped in one of her flowered dish towels. “Y’all finished?”
Pops stood. “Sink fixed.”
She walked over, turned the faucet on, and let it run.
Pops frowned. “You checking behind me now?”
“I trust Landon.”
I covered my laugh with a cough.
Pops looked at me. “Don’t.”
Lennox appeared just long enough to start toward the dining room.
Pops called after him. “You ain’t fix nothing.”
“I supervised.”
“From the refrigerator.”
“Leadership comes in different forms.”
“Boy.”
I washed my hands and followed everybody to the table.
Mama had called dinner simple, which in her house apparently meant roasted chicken, smoked-turkey green beans, buttery mashed potatoes, candied yams, baked macaroni and cheese, cornbread, sweet tea, and peach cobbler cooling on the counter.
She’d never learned how to cook for the number of people expected to eat.
Every meal looked like cousins might start pulling into the driveway at any moment.
Lennox reached toward the cornbread before we prayed.
Mama didn’t even look at him. “Don’t let your hand beat your prayer.”
“I was moving it.”
“Move it back.”
He did.
Pops pulled Mama’s chair out before sitting beside her, and we bowed our heads.
“Father, thank You for bringing us together again. Thank You for keeping this family through another week, for every mercy we noticed and every one we didn’t. Bless this food, bless this home, and keep us mindful of one another. In Jesus’ name.”
“Amen.”
Lennox immediately grabbed the cornbread.
Mama stared at him.
“What? We prayed.”
Pops shook his head while serving bowls started moving around the table. Lennox spooned macaroni onto his plate, stared at it longer than common sense recommended, then looked toward Mama.
“This look different.”
Her expression changed.
I leaned back in my chair.
He was about to learn something.
“What look different?”
“The macaroni.”
“It look seasoned.”
“I know. I’m saying—”
“You want something else?”
“I never said it looked bad.”
“You implied.”
“I observed.”
I looked at Lennox. “You might want to abandon this argument.”
He nodded toward me. “Thank you. See, Landon understands nuance.”
“I’m helping you survive.”
Mama pointed her serving spoon at both of us.
Pops drank his tea.
Smart man.
Once everybody had food, conversation settled into its normal rhythm. Football. Family updates. Lennox lying about how much time he spent studying. Mama reminding Pops about something he swore she’d never told him. I was halfway through my green beans when Mama looked across the table at me.
“You hungry, baby?”
I glanced down at the food already disappearing from my plate. “That question feel delayed.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I’m eating.”
“You look tired.”
I looked at Pops.
He suddenly found his plate fascinating.
“So y’all coordinated this?”
Mama frowned. “Coordinated what?”
“Apparently my face has become a family project.”
Lennox pointed his fork at me. “You do look tired.”
“Traitor.”
“I’m just saying.”
Mama rested her hand beside her plate. “Your daddy told you something under that sink?”
“Plumbing-related.”
Pops smiled into his tea.
Mama looked at him. “Jeremiah.”
He shrugged. “I told him work’ll take whatever he keeps giving it.”
“That’s because it will.”
I raised one hand. “I hear both of y’all.”
“I’m not fussing. You’re grown.”
“Appreciate the acknowledgment.”
“You’re still my baby.”
“And there it went.”
Lennox laughed.
Mama smiled, but her eyes stayed on me. “I’m serious, Landon. I’m proud of you. We all are. But you’ve been working like somebody told you rest was irresponsible.”
I looked down at my plate. Pops had already made the point, and I wasn’t interested in another twenty-minute presentation on the same subject. Apparently, Mama wasn’t either, because she took a sip of tea and changed tactics.
“So go to Willow Run next weekend.”
My head came up. “What?”
Pops coughed into his fist.
I looked at him. “You knew?”
“I heard discussion.”
“That sounds like yes.”
Mama ignored us. “Your aunt Denise told me about a cabin near the water. It’s available.”
“You already checked?”
“No.” Pops looked at her. Mama sighed. “Fine. I checked.”
I laughed. “Of course you did.”