I also think about that. She’s right, and I feel a little pang in my heart thinking about how David feels like my dad has kept him from doing more of that.
“So why were you frustrated that David showed up today?” I ask my dad.
Hey, we’re just having a conversation here, and the topic of the conversation right now is David. It’s not weird or giving anything away that I ask further questions about him.
I hope.
Dad sighs again. “The new pavilion is going to be much larger than the picnic space we’re pulling out. It’s going to impact the area around it. Some cats, some bees, stuff like that.”
Dad doesn’t have to say anything more. I already know that David’s annoyed. He doesn’t like disruption like that.
Or really any disruption to his normal life and the way he thinks things should be.
“And David doesn’t think you should do it?” I ask anyway.
Dad is quiet for a moment, then says, “It’s not that. He just wants us to approach it differently. Take our time. Get everything moved before we start pounding and digging. And I should’ve called him about a month ago and asked for his help doing that. But I didn’t. I mean, I didn’t even call him today. He just showed up. I am assuming he found out about the project from Delaney and Tucker.”
“So now he can’t help? There’s not enough time?” I ask.
“He can help. He can move the animals safely and effectively. Or he can just help with the building. He said he’d do it either way and it was my call.”
My brows arch. “So, that’s good. He’s letting you be in charge.”
“Right,” my dad says wryly. “I’m in charge.” He shakes his head. “If we do things David’s way, it will lengthen the timeline, which makes it more difficult to get it all done in time for a couple of events people have scheduled. One is a big family reunion, the other is a wedding anniversary party. The families are excited to use the new facility and have paid up front which has helped us fund some of this.”
“What happens if you don’t do it David’s way?” Mom asks.
“He’ll still be there and help, but remind me constantly that we should have done it his way and annoy the shit out of me every single day,” Dad says.
But I swear I see the corner of my dad’s mouth twitch, as if he’s fighting a smile.
“He said that?” I ask, knowing full well that he did.
Dad nods. “Yep. And…” He blows out a breath. “He’s right. His way is the right way to handle it. I should have called him before this, and he’s annoyed that I didn’t.”
My mom frowns at him. “You felt like you couldn’t call him?”
“No. I just didn’t want to,” Dad admits. “I kept thinking I’d do it tomorrow. And now it’s been a month.” Dad shrugs. “He’s just kind of a sarcastic little shit. But it’s my own fault I put it off too long.”
“A sarcastic little shit?” I ask. “He’s thirty-eight.” Then I realize it may seem strange that I know David’s exact age. “Or something like that. He’s a grown man.”
“Your dad has a hard time seeing you kids as old as you are, too,” Mom says. “And he and David had a few…encounters…when David was growing up. I think your dad has a hard time seeing him as a responsible adult.”
“I don’t,” my dad protests. “I know he’s responsible. He does a great job. It’s the way he does it. He’s almost too responsible. He’s so rigid about the rules, and his protectiveness is over the top sometimes.”
My mom coughs, and it sounds like pot-kettle.
My dad frowns at her. “And I always have this feeling he’s trying to prove something to me.”
Mom nods. “And you’re dying to mentor him, and you know that he would tell you to fuck off.”
I turned wide eyes on my dad. “Is that true?” I probably sound way too interested for the casual I-barely-know-him I’m supposed to be projecting. But I can’t help it.
My dad glares at my mom, but then lifts a shoulder. “Maybe. The kid went through some hard times, but I always knew that he, all of his brothers, were going to be okay. David’s great at his job. He’s a real asset to the community. But are there some things that I think I could teach him or advise him about? Yeah, I think so. But we have some history, and I don’t think David wants to hear that from me.”
“What kind of history?” I ask, curious about my dad's side of things.
“I was just always really honest with him. I figured he could handle it. And he usually did. But he was a hardheaded kid with a big rebellious streak. I didn’t really mind that. I knew he was going to be okay. He had a lot of people who cared about him. But then he came and asked if I thought he should be a cop, and I said no.”
