Sam stopped on the sidewalk. “I’d rather ride in the truck right now. Darrell can swing by the jobs and I can say hello to the guys. Let them see that I’m still alive.”
His wife didn’t look convinced. “Are you sure? You’ve had a big morning. The jobs will all be there tomorrow.”
Before he could reply, his son spoke up for him. “Come on, Mom. He’s dying to get out there. You know he’ll drive you crazy today, crashing around the house.”
“Good point,” Jessica said. “Can you get in the truck, Sam? The seat is high.”
Sam smiled, relieved he’d won. “Darrell can give me boost. I’ll get in there one way or the other.”
“All right. But bring him home if he gets tired, Darrell,” she said. “And try to stop by your grandmother’s today. She has a few repairs she needs you to take care of. Nobody wants Ezra climbing any ladders.”
“Okay, Mom. I’ll stop there later, on my way home.”
“You can drop me off first,” Sam said quietly, sharing a secret smile with his son. It was no secret that he was not his mother-in-law’s favorite.
With some effort on Darrell’s part, Sam managed to get into the truck. He felt giddy with happiness as they drove away from the doctor’s office and headed to the village.
They stopped at the Marino house first, the site of his accident. Darrell parked in front and turned to him. “Hard to come back here?”
“Nah . . . it’s just a house,” Sam said, though the sight of it did bring back sharp memories of his fall. “I won’t get in and out of the truck. That’s too much bother. Go inside and tell the guys I’m here. I’d like to talk to Bart if he’s around.”
“Sure thing.” Darrell hopped out and headed into the house. The project had come a long way. Sam could see that just from the outside. Darrell had done a good job keeping the projects on track. If he minded his father coming back on the scene and checking up on him, he didn’t let it show. Not so far anyway, Sam thought.
Sam’s crew poured out the front door all at once, all eager to see him. He spoke to them from the cab of the truck and had a one-on-one with Bart Begossian. Bart had only good things to say about Darrell, which made Sam feel proud.
It was the same story at the other jobs. The clients were happy to see him, but clearly felt secure with Darrell managing their renovations.
“I don’t know, Darrell,” Sam said as his son drove away from the Turners’ house. “You’ve got such great reviews, I’m not sure I’m even needed anymore.”
Darrell laughed. “You know that’s not true.”
“True or not, they’re going to be stuck with me again once you go to back to school.”
The words had just slipped out. He glanced at his son, who had no reaction. They had not talked about the question since their argument, though Sam had apologized for raising his voice.
“I guess so,” Darrell said, finally.
Sam felt relieved. Maybe Darrell had accepted the situation. But a few moments later, Sam realized that was not the case. Darrell pulled up in front of the cannery and parked the truck on the road’s shoulder.
“Why are we here, Darrell? I’ve seen the cannery.”
“I know. But I thought this was a good place to share some news. I’ve been waiting for the right moment to tell you. The town council reviewed my proposal, and it looks like they will be willing to donate the building and be paid back later, once the project is up and running.”
Sam knew his son expected to be congratulated and expected him to be happy about this surprising turn of events. But Sam felt terrified. This was exactly what he didn’t want to happen.
“Donate the building? Are you sure?”
“I’m sure, Dad. I’m positive. They put it all in writing.”
“And what proposal was this? Those renderings you showed me on the computer?”
“Those sketches were part of it. I put it all in writing, too. I e-mailed it to you, but I guess you’ve been too busy these days.” Sam could tell Darrell was hurt that he hadn’t read the proposal, but his son’s sarcastic tone got under his skin. He remembered now. He opened the e-mail and the attachment but hadn’t read it through.
This was getting too real, too fast. Still, he didn’t want to lose his temper again.
“I looked at the proposal. Most of it,” Sam finally replied. “You did a great job. I can see why the town council was persuaded.” The plan was wonderful, with open spaces and common areas and beautifully designed living space. No one could say it was not. “But now it’s time to hand the ball over to someone else, like Charlie or even Jim Hepburn,” he continued. “You should feel proud that you took it this far. But look at it logically—you don’t have the qualifications or experience or time right now to see this through. You have to go back to school and finish your degree. Not to mention, your main focus right now should be on my business. That’s what puts food on our table and a roof over our heads, and pays your school tuition.”
His son sat facing forward, staring out at the cannery. The day had started off sunny, but now a low, nickel-colored sky hovered. Well-matched to the mood in the truck, Sam thought.
“I have time to work on this project and take care of the business, too,” Darrell said finally. “You just told me that everyone is very pleased and all your projects are right on track.”
“I know what I said. That’s all true. But you still need to find someone else to take on this warehouse renovation. You’ll be back at school in a few weeks. You certainly can’t manage it from there. Not with the full course load you need to graduate.”
“I already told you. I don’t want to go back to school. This is too important to me, and you’ll still need my help in mid-January.”
Sam felt his temper boil up but was determined this time not to blow. “Look at me. I’m on the mend. If I need some help, I’ll figure it out once you’re at school. Business is always slow after the holidays. It’ll give me time to catch up. By March, I’ll be up to speed again.”
“That’s when I’ll be able to work on the warehouse full-time, and construction can begin,” Darrell countered.
“That’s when you’ll be finishing your senior year, and in May, we’ll watch you march in graduation,” Sam shot back.
“You don’t understand, Dad. If I abandon the project now, it will just fizzle out. Or worse, some private investor will jump in and turn the place into high-priced condos. Do you want to see that happen?”
“Of course I don’t. But I want to see you finishing college. That’s the most important thing to me now. If you leave a semester short of graduation, you may never go back. I know how it is. I left school, thinking I could go back anytime and finish my BA. But time passes quickly. You look back one day and see that you’ve lost the thread.”
“That won’t happen to me.” Darrell’s tone was so typical of a know-it-all young adult, Sam almost had to laugh. “Besides, a lot of famous people didn’t finish college. Bill Gates and Steve Jobs. Even Frank Lloyd Wright quit school after one year. I wonder what his father had to say about that.”
“Frank Lloyd Wright didn’t finish college?” Sam couldn’t hide his surprise. But he quickly recovered. “Okay, some geniuses squeak by without college. Good for them. Most people have to finish to get anywhere, to get hired for good jobs, and to be taken seriously. You know that’s true. It’s not worth arguing about.”
“I agree,” Darrell said, giving Sam some hope. “I don’t want to argue with you either. I’ll finish school. But not on your schedule, Dad. I can’t go back for spring semester and give up this project. I’m old enough now to decide this stuff for myself.”
Sam took a deep breath and stared out the passenger-side window a moment. That cannery . . . if he had a stick of dynamite, he’d blow it up. Maybe even that wouldn’t solve things, he thought glumly.
He turned back to his
son, who sat waiting for his response.
“I’m sorry to put it this way, Darrell, but if you don’t go back to school, we will not support you. If you’re old enough to make this decision, you’re old enough to earn your own way. And that includes your car and your cell phone and everything else we supply that you seem to take for granted.”
Darrell turned to face him, his dark eyes angry. “I thought you would be proud of me, having such a great idea and following through on it. Isn’t that what you taught me? Isn’t helping ten families, or maybe even more than that, more important than sitting in boring classes for the next four months?”
“There will be another abandoned warehouse somewhere, I promise you.”
“Really? Thanks a bunch for the advice, Dad. That’s pretty condescending.”
Sam didn’t reply. He hadn’t meant it that way, but could see that was the way it sounded. “I’m sorry, Darrell. You know what I meant.”
“Yeah. I think I do.” He son started up the truck and backed out of the parking space, the sandy dirt spinning from under the rear wheels. “If you don’t want to support me, let’s start right now.”
“Hey, slow down. Where are we going in such a rush?”
“I’m dropping you off at home. Then I’m getting some stuff and moving out.”
“No, you’re not. Calm down. I never said you had to move out of the house.”
“Didn’t you? It’s just as well. Don’t worry, I’ll keep working for you. That’s all you’re really worried about.”
“Darrell . . . don’t say that. I’m worried about you. About your future. I’m sorry you can’t see that.”
Darrell didn’t reply, just stared straight ahead at the road. They were soon home, and even though Darrell stood by Sam’s door with a stoic expression, Sam didn’t want his help getting out of the truck cab. It hurt a little to land, but he stifled a groan and waddled into the house on his own.
Darrell stomped up to his room, emerged a few minutes later with a duffel bag, got back in the truck, and drove off again. Sam felt his heart drop like a stone. Was the boy coming back tonight? Was he coming back . . . ever? How would he explain this to Jessica?
Jessica came out of the kitchen to greet him. “I bet it felt good to get out and visit the jobs. But you must be tired by now.”
Sam stared up at the stairs and then back at his wife. “It started off fine. But Darrell and I had a fight. He still refuses go back to school, Jess. And now the town council is saying it will donate the cannery for the housing project, and he’s all fired up about quitting school and building this thing.”
“Oh my goodness . . . of course he’d be encouraged by that decision.”
“I understand,” Sam said, shrugging out of his jacket. “But he can hand it off to someone with the proper experience and qualifications. He has to graduate. I told him if he didn’t go back, we wouldn’t support him.”
Jessica looked shocked. “You didn’t actually say that, did you?”
“Well, I was hoping it would change his mind.” Sam’s voice dropped as he said, “He’s taken off. Says he’s moving out.”
Jessica looked as if she might cry. “It’s almost Christmas, Sam. Was that really necessary? What if he disappears and doesn’t tell us where he’s staying?”
“He said he would still go to work. Don’t worry, we’ll be in touch with him. Maybe he just needs some time to cool off. He might even be home tonight, Jess.”
“I hope so,” she said, shaking her head as she headed back to the kitchen.
Sam hoped so, too. Darrell could be so stubborn. Sam never thought it would come to this. He felt guilty, thinking he went too far with his ultimatum, and now Jessica was upset, too.
• • •
Darrell thought he could couch surf at his friend Tom’s house. But Tom didn’t reply to his text messages, and Darrell didn’t want to just show up. That wasn’t cool. He decided to try again later. He found himself in the village, near his grandmother Lillian’s house, and remembered he had promised his mother he would visit and do some repairs. It seemed as good a place as any to kill time until Tom got back to him.
“Darrell, my boy. How good to see you!” Grandpa Ezra swung open the door as if he were welcoming royalty. “To what do we owe the honor of your visit?”
“To the dead lightbulbs in that chandelier, I suspect.” His grandmother Lillian came into the big center hall from the living room. “We’ve been living in the dark for weeks. Someone could have broken a hip.”
Ezra closed the door and ushered him in. “I was more than willing to replace those lights, but some people will not let me near a ladder these days.”
Darrell knew very well who he meant. “I can fix the light fixture in a flash, Grandpa. No problem. And I’ll take care of whatever else you need.”
“You know where the ladder is,” his grandmother said. “Ezra, where did you put those special bulbs Jessica bought for us? In the pantry?”
“I believe so, dear. I’ll come help you look.” Grandpa Ezra trotted off, following his wife. Darrell found the ladder he needed in the basement and carried it up the stairs.
They were both waiting for him in the foyer. Ezra held the lightbulb package, and his grandmother stationed herself next to the ladder to hand them over. How many grandparents does it take to change a lightbulb? Darrell mused. He knew there was a joke in there somewhere; he just couldn’t pull it together.
“I’ll hand them up to you when you’re ready,” his grandmother said. “And you can hand me down those duds.”
“Do they need to be recycled?” Ezra scratched his head. “Everything needs to be recycled these days. And all in separate containers, no less. It’s become a full-time job.”
“Very true, Grandpa,” Darrell said. He climbed to the top of the ladder and could hear the old people sigh, feeling nervous though there was nothing to fear.
“You’re so high. Be careful. Watch your step,” his grandmother commanded.
He looked down at her, recalling the first time he had ever been in this house. Sam and Jessica had brought him to a family dinner before they adopted him. At the time, his grandmother disapproved of the adoption and wasn’t very nice. He didn’t help win her favor by misbehaving all during the meal, nearly pulling down the tablecloth while crawling under the table, then using a small area rug as a sled.
He recalled flying down the long staircase. When he landed, he smashed his grandmother’s antique Oriental bean jar.
Darrell looked down from his perch and tried to find the replacement.
“Are you all right up there?” Lillian called to him. “You aren’t dizzy, are you?”
“These young people don’t eat right. They skip meals and get low blood sugar,” his grandfather murmured.
“I’m fine. I was just . . . looking over this fixture. It’s remarkable, Grandma. A real antique,” he shouted down, though that had not been what he’d been thinking about at all. But he knew the compliment would please his grandmother.
“It’s from Lilac Hall. It’s been in the family for years. You can have it when I’m gone if you like it that much,” she added.
“Thanks, Grandma. But I hope you’re not going anyplace soon. I don’t need it that badly.”
His grandfather laughed. “Good one, Lillian. The boy’s got a sharp wit.”
“Yes, he does,” Darrell heard her murmur.
High praise from Grandma Lillian. She would never be the cuddliest grandmother in the world. He had known that for a long time. She would never bake a cookie or even carry pictures of her grandchildren in her wallet. But Darrell knew she sometimes had a surprisingly generous side. He also knew he had earned her respect through his intelligence and achievements.
Ezra had always been a fan and was a wonderful grandfather to all the children in the family, even though he was actually a step-gr
andfather. He’d never had children of his own and truly loved his wife’s family.
After the antique chandelier was firing on all cylinders, there were several other small tasks to take care of—a drafty door, a sticky window, and a clogged drain. His friend Tom had never answered the texts, and Darrell was giving up on him, though he didn’t know who else to call. Most of his local friends were still away at college, finishing up their semesters.
“Would you like to have dinner with us?” Ezra asked. “We’re having Chinese food. Your grandmother permits me the indulgence once a month.”
“Chinese food?” Darrell was surprised at the menu. “Sure, I’d love to stay.”
Ezra looked so pleased, Darrell thought he might clap his hands. “Lillian, set the table for three. Darrell is staying for the Chinese food.”
A short time later, he was sitting with his grandparents in their dining room, just the three of them at the long table. His grandparents often employed housekeepers who would cook and serve dinner, but Darrell saw no such person in sight. His grandmother was notorious for losing help. Everyone quit on her.
She was also fiercely independent and had to have things a certain way. She had set the table herself, with silver flatware, linen napkins, and good china. She had emptied the plastic takeout containers into china bowls and arranged egg rolls on a silver platter. He wasn’t surprised. That was just who she was, he’d come to realize.
“Moo shu pork, my favorite,” he said, placing a pancake and a few spoonfuls on his plate.
“Mine, too,” Ezra agreed.
“If you need any other repairs, I can take of them after dinner,” Darrell told them.
“I don’t think there’s anything more, Darrell. Though you certainly took your sweet time getting here.” His grandmother was eating wonton soup—very slowly, he noticed, examining each spoonful before she put it in her mouth.
“Don’t you know Darrell is very busy these days?” his grandfather countered. “He’s running his father’s business. A great deal of responsibility.”
Christmas Blessings Page 24