In Your Honor

by Heidi Hutchinson

  Triny was waiting for him on the porch. Blake lowered the kickstand and dismounted the bike slowly. He wondered if Triny and his mama had talked, compared notes. Plotted his untimely demise. Probably.

  “Mama said you need help moving somethin'?” He looked into the weathered face of the man who had acted as a surrogate father to him during his most explosive and angst-filled years. How could he ever make up for abandoning him and his daughter?

  “Yeah, some young bulls got out and they're mixed up with my heifers.”

  Blake's eyes widened. He hadn't ridden a horse in a very long time. This was a bad idea.

  “I don't know, Triny,” he said, already shaking his head. “Isn't there someone who usually helps you out with this?”

  “C'mon, Blake.” Triny was already striding towards the barn. “I'll give you my best cutting horse. It shouldn't take you too much time at all.”

  Blake's internal guilt told him he at least owed Triny this favor, but he was afraid his abilities might not be up to the task.

  “I could really screw this up, Triny,” Blake tried again, but the older man was leading two horses from the barn, already saddled.

  “This is Shirley,” he said, handing the reins over along with a pair of old gloves. “She's my best girl, you'll hardly have to do any work at all.”

  Shirley was a gorgeous blue roan quarter horse. Blake couldn't stop himself from reaching out and touching her soft muzzle. She pushed into his hand, taking deep breaths of his scent. He reached up and rubbed the white star that stood out on her dark coat. Her large eyes found his, and he couldn't help but wonder if the animal could read his thoughts. Did she see the facade he was putting on? Could she sense his inner turmoil and self-doubt?

  She pushed into his shoulder with her muzzle and then stomped a foot impatiently. He walked around to her side to mount up, barely thinking about it. “All right, all right, I hear ya,” he murmured to the mare, and she humphed in agreement.

  Triny's ride was a beautiful red dun he called Laverne. The man easily settled into the saddle, and Blake suspected that this had all been prearranged. Mama and her tricks.

  When Blake's rear end connected with the saddle, a tidal wave of memories washed over him. Some things you never forget, and how to ride a horse is one of them. He was a rocker through and through, but he had been raised a country boy. Triny had never seemed to mind that his attire didn't quite match the cowboy get-up. Even now, Blake felt fairly comfortable in his ripped-up jeans, a seriously faded Germs t-shirt and his black motorcycle boots—though they probably weren't the best for riding horses.

  Triny kicked his mount into a trot and Blake followed. He looked down at the reins in his hands, and marveled at how everything seeming so natural. “Like riding a bike,” he muttered, pulling his ball cap lower over his eyes. Shirley's ears swiveled back, listening to him, and he smiled.

  Triny hadn't lied about Shirley. As soon as they came upon the herd and identified the two young bulls, Shirley did all the work. Blake simply held on. It was exhilarating being on top of such a powerful animal again. The adrenaline pounded through his veins and he couldn't wipe the smile off his face.

  It was a different kind of a day for Blake. Having Triny tell him, guide him, and remind him, Blake thought of his own father. The things they had done when he was small, before the accident. The things he did with Triny right up until he'd hit self-destruct on his life here.

  When they got back to the barn, Blake helped take care of their mounts without being asked. He felt the ragged edges of his soul smooth out slightly the longer he stroked Shirley's slate-colored coat. She nuzzled his shoulder and he scratched under her forelock.

  “You are gorgeous, you know that?” Blake murmured, and Shirley agreed with him.

  “She likes you,” Triny observed from the doorway.

  “She's a sweetheart.” Blake smiled at the horse, touching the white star on her face.

  “Your daddy had a horse like that one,” Triny remarked casually.

  “We didn't have horses,” Blake corrected over his shoulder.

  “No, you didn't. But your daddy did. He had a breathtaking beauty of a cutting horse when he met your mama. Blue roan, like Shirley. But your mama had some complications when she was pregnant with you. The medical bills were too much and your daddy had to sell his horse. Got a good price too, from what I heard.”

  Blake stared into Shirley's expressive eyes, thanking her silently for the wonderful day. She lipped at his shirt sleeve gently in playful response. What a flirt.

  “How do you know all this?” Blake patted Shirley one last time before walking toward Triny.

  “I know all kinds of things.” Triny chuckled and turned to head back to the house. Blake frowned at the man's retreating back. If there were stories about his dad that he hadn't heard, he wanted to change that.

  “What else do you know?” he asked, catching up and trying to get Triny to look him in the eye.

  “The most important thing to your daddy was taking care of his family.” Triny spoke slowly, focusing on his steps. “He took that job as a lineman because no one else was hiring and he needed to pay the bills.”

  Blake swallowed hard. He had struggled with the reason for his father’s death for years. He saw it as him being irresponsible and dangerous. And wasn't he? Couldn't he have done something different?

  “What do you mean, no one was hiring?”

  “I mean, there weren't any jobs.” Triny rubbed his chin, as if the details made him uncomfortable. How was it that Triny knew more about this than Blake? How come his mama had never said anything about this?

  “Your mama was already waitressing and working weekends at the library. Your daddy got offered the job as a lineman and he jumped on it. The pay was good, the work was dangerous. He got a generous life insurance policy, and that's how your mama was able to pay for the house and the funeral when it all went to shit.”

  Blake didn't have a response. He had never questioned how it was possible for his mama to take care of everything. All he had noticed was that she was alone and she cried a lot. And that had left him angry at his father. But if he stood back and looked at things logically, everything Triny said made sense.

  “When was the last time you went to see him?” Triny suddenly asked.

  “I haven't,” Blake said flatly. “Not since the funeral.”

  Triny pursed his lips, having expected that answer. He clapped him on the shoulder roughly. “Then I think you know where you need to go next.”

  Blake watched his back as he entered the house and the screen door slammed behind him. He felt his jaw working and he growled as he swung his leg over the seat of the Harley and brought it to life.

  He let out the throttle when he hit the paved road and sped across the countryside. He didn't want to go to the cemetery. It wouldn't help him at all. The man was long dead. He wouldn't know and he wouldn't care if Blake went or not.

  But isn't this the real reason why he had come home? The Lucy stuff was obvious, he needed to deal with his failures with regard to her and the life they had almost had. But wasn't his underlying fear of ending up like his father the driving force behind everything?

  He had been so afraid of Lucy winding up like his mama, sad and alone, that he left before giving it a chance. He had run away. Avoided the future.

  And now he had more information. Things he hadn't been told, or maybe he hadn't wanted to hear it. Maybe it had been in front of him the whole time and he was hell-bent on being irrationally pissed off.

  His dad hadn't run away. He'd stuck around and made sure his wife and child were taken care of even in the aftermath of his death. His dad had sacrificed all the things he loved in his life to make sure he and his mama were going to be okay. And all Blake had done was curse him for making her cry. But his dad had stood his ground, doing the right thing, even when that stand eventually killed him.

  Blake wasn't any kind of a man at all.

  But his dad was. H
is dad was the best kind of man there could be.

  He circled the cemetery three times before turning into the gate. Each time, he drove slower and slower. He finally parked the bike and started the long trudge to the headstone he hadn't visited since it had been placed.

  The walk did nothing to calm his nerves. He couldn't figure out why he was feeling anxious. It's not like anyone would be waiting for him.

  But then the headstone came into view. With his daddy's name on it.

  Henry Blake Diedrich.

  Husband, Father, Friend.

  Time seemed to slow down as Blake approached the simple piece of granite that lay embedded in the ground. He stared at it, unmoving, focused on his breathing. In and out.

  Of all the places he'd been in town this week, this spot was the heaviest. The darkest. The most raw.

  In and out.

  He sank to his knees and reached out with shaky fingers, tracing the letters of the name he shared with the man who had given everything so he could be here.

  In. And out.

  “Hey, daddy,” he spoke out loud. He didn't know why, he always thought it was stupid when people talked to grave markers. The person was obviously not there.

  “I'm sorry I haven't been around.” He rolled his eyes at his own absurdity. He swallowed and thought back to the last time they had spoken.

  “Remember, you told me that we were going fishing that weekend. You had me pack the tackle box for the first time... I was excited to show you... I did it right. I followed all the instructions you left... it was gonna be so fun... just us guys.”

  He frowned at the tears that splattered on the headstone. He tried to wipe the tracks off his face, but fresh ones took their place.

  “I haven't done a very good job, daddy,” he confessed abruptly, his voice a mixture of harsh reality and aching regret. “I haven't been like you. I haven't done anything to be proud of. I just keep running away.” He closed his eyes in shame. “Always running.”

  He rubbed at his eye sockets angrily, trying to stop the flood that poured forth. It seemed his breakdown at Lucy's grandparent's house had caused irreparable damage to the dam he'd erected to hold back his deep sorrow.

  “Remember when Lucy's mama died and you told me that I had to watch out for her from now on?” He swallowed hard and grimaced. “I tried, I really did. But I gave up. It got too hard.” He grit his teeth together and lashed out bitterly, “You weren't here to set me straight. I needed you, daddy...” He choked, trying to suck air into his aching lungs. “I still need you...”

  The years that he'd wasted caught up to him and he shouted, “I don't know how to fix it!”

  He bent his head and covered it with both of his hands, trying to control the sobs that racked his frame to no avail. “I can't seem to get it right... I'm so sorry I let you down...”

  This was so much more than what he had done confronting his failures at the house the other night. This was the culmination of what he had become as a human being. And he was a shattered mess of a person.

  “I'M SORRY!” he screamed so loudly that his body shook and his vocal chords felt ripped open. He sucked more air in, hard and fast, wanting this feeling to end, to come to a conclusion of some kind.

  “I don't know what to do! What am I supposed to do? How do I fix it?!” He was gutted, his insides felt completely exposed, raw. He slapped his palms down on the stone and stared at the name as if it would give him some kind of answer.

  “What do I do, daddy?” he whispered desperately. “Where do I go from here?”

  The weight of everything pressing down on him became unbearable and his arms gave out. He collapsed in a heap, fighting, struggling to breathe. His sobs were a cross between anguish and desperation. What he wouldn't give to have another shot. To redo the whole thing. But that wasn't possible. And the reality of that fact caused something inside to break and shatter, the shards piercing his very soul and wringing out the last of his misery in violent silence with no voice left to cry out.

  ***

  He wasn't sure how long he lay there across his father's grave. Could have been hours. As the sun began to set, he pushed his back against a nearby tree and stared at the spot where his father's final resting place was. No one had answered his questions. No voice had come from beyond to give instruction. But something had changed.

  An unusual peace settled over him. A clarity that he never remembered having. Crystal and serene. Brand new, like spring rain.

  Forgiveness was a sticky thing. Hard to ask for and hard to accept. But that was nothing compared to the freedom it brought.

  “Thank you,” he whispered into the dusk, his bruised and torn vocal chords causing him to wince at their use. His chest finally released of the too-heavy burden that he had carried for far too long.

  He had fallen apart in a way he never thought he was capable of. In a way he thought that it would destroy him, and maybe it had. But somewhere, in the middle of it, he started to be reassembled. He wasn't 'fixed' per se, but he was new.

  Oh yes, he was definitely new.

  He stood, hoping to make it home before dinner, when another headstone caught his eye a few paces over.

  Abigail Lucille Newton.

  Beloved Wife and Mother.

  He stooped at the grave, a sad smile on his lips.

  He remembered the day of the funeral. Triny had played guitar and Lucy had sung “Sunshine On My Shoulders.” She had only been seven when she lost her mama. She'd been sick for awhile. The time had come too soon, but it was prepared for. Lucy's mama had made sure there weren't any loose ends.

  “Hey, Miss Abigail,” he whispered softly. The setting sun peeking through the trees alighted on the grave marker and he laid a hand on it, touching the name gently. “I know I haven't been around a lot... I'm sorry. You should see your girl... she looks just like you... and sings like an angel.” He recalled that she had given him specific instructions the week before she passed.

  “I know it's taken me a long time, but I'm gonna keep my promise. I'll make sure she's safe.”

  Blake stood again, a little straighter this time. More determination in his steps. A brightness in his thoughts, a lucidity that was fresh and welcome.

  Overall, today had been a good day.

  ***

  Blake loaded his suitcase in the rental and turned to hug his mama goodbye. “I'll be back for Thanksgiving,” he promised.

  “You don't have to do that,” she said, her emerald eyes already watery as he hugged her tight.

  “I know, Mama. I want to do that.” He looked around the neighborhood. “I'll be back a lot more often. This is home, after all.”

  “What are you goin' to do 'bout Lucy?” she asked softly.

  Blake smiled. That question didn't hurt like it had so many times before. “I'm gonna make sure she's happy.”

  “You're the spittin' image of your daddy, you know that?” She looked proud, and he couldn't hold back his grin.

  “Thank you, Mama.” He hugged her one more time and then got in the car.

  He had come clean with Mama the night he got home from the cemetery. He told her everything: the drinking, the anger, the avoidance. He showed her the tattoo he'd gotten with Lucky's name in it. He told her about the night he left town and all the things he'd done to wreck the best thing in his life. She was disappointed, as he expected, but she handled it like a pro.

  He told her about the house and the diner, and they made a plan to handle it. He would transfer ownership to Triny, and when Triny passed, it would go to Lucy. But there really wasn't a need to tell Lucy about it now. She'd find out when the time was right.

  Blake finally felt finished. Accomplished. More than that though, he felt like he had something to offer.

  He was looking forward to rejoining the band in San Diego. He really loved his job. The music had been his therapy and his escape, but now it could be his passion.

  He was also looking forward to seeing Lucy again.

  He h
ad come to some hard realizations this week, but he didn't get the conclusions he had expected. He had thought he'd find out that he didn't love her at all and he'd be able to finally let her go. But that wasn't the case. He loved her more than his life. And he was going to do anything and everything in his power to make sure she had the best life possible. Even though it wasn't going to be with him. He wasn't going to take a passive approach to it anymore. She was his best friend and he wasn't going to leave her life ever again.

  ***

  “How was everything?” Sway asked as Blake stretched out on the couch in the lounge. It felt good to be back on the bus. Like adventures were afoot.

  “It was good.” Blake kicked his shoes off and laced his fingers behind his head. “How come we can't stay in a hotel tonight? Why are we on the bus?”

  “Geez, your accent gets thick when you go home for a visit,” Sway observed. “Um, we're staying on the bus because someone forgot to make reservations and the city's booked solid.”

  “It's not my fault. I did make reservations...” Harrison argued. “I just made them for the wrong weekend.”

  “Yeah, 'cause you're avoiding your fangirls,” Mike chuckled loosely from the kitchenette.

  “I refuse to acknowledge that insinuation,” Harrison hedged, causing Mike and Sway to bark with laughter.

  “Doesn't matter,” Blake reassured them. “I've missed the bus.”

  “Are you high?” Sway looked at him critically. “I mean... are you?”

  Blake let out a burst of laughter. “No! Why do you think that?”

  “You're usually not so... agreeable,” Sway said, watching him closely.

  “People can change, Sway.” Blake closed his eyes, a small smile on his lips. People could definitely change. And it felt good, too.

  “What the hell happened in Oklahoma?” Sway demanded earnestly.

  Blake looked around the room at the wondering eyes and he sighed. “I figured some things out. Promises are just words, anyone can make them. The action of that promise is what matters.”

  “Shit. You went philosophical on us, didn't you? Please tell me you didn't join a cult.”

  Blake threw a nearby pillow at Sway, who caught it, laughing.