justifiable outrage.
“Geez, it’s not the seventh game of the World Series. I’ll DVR it for you.” Nick punched buttons, but Gramps grabbed the remote back and kept watching the game.
“That guy was out, I tell you. What a bad call. Let’s see the instant replay. Told you that ump’s an idiot.”
Nick would just have to talk over the racket. He got up and paced. “Why won’t you let me get you a better place to stay?”
Nick’s grandfather kept one eye on the game. “I like this one just fine, thank you very much.”
“I can buy you ten of these houses, you know that, don’t you?” After the feud, Gramps had worked in the next town over but had stayed here to be close to Gran’s aging parents. He’d never left Buckleberry Bend.
“Of course I do. But I like this house and besides, the new TV you bought me suits just fine. What’s really bunching up your shorts?”
Nick breathed deeply. The old man could not show affection if he was threatened at gunpoint. He knew Gramps loved him. Yes, he knew. But just once he wanted to hear, I’m proud of you, boy . You’ve done very well for yourself . Instead, Gramps offered a stream of curt little phrases that could be taken a million different ways.
Nick had learned long ago not to expect any gushing. Gramps didn’t do much ball-playing or PTA-attending, but he did encourage him to study and work hard. Even if they’d lived like two single guys in a bachelor pad, eating TV dinners and doing all the chores on an as-needed basis. But today he’d come for answers.
“I need to talk to you about the Kingston Shoe Company.”
“Okay.” Gramps’s voice was flat but he looked like he’d rather have his brand new TV taken away forever than talk about the past.
“It’s in big trouble. The family is doing drastic things to save it.” Like selling their stocks to me.
“Why are you telling me this? I washed my hands of all that business a long time ago.”
“I want to know what happened.”
“Things happened the way they did, and there’s no undoing any of it.” He pointed at the TV. “Oh, will you look at that? He walked another one!”
“Is it so horrible you can’t even talk about it?”
“Sometimes people disappoint you, Nicky. Even the ones you trust the most. That’s all I can say.”
Nick looked at the man who raised him. He was tired of cryptic lines about never trusting anyone. He wanted answers, but Gramps was not a talker. Plus, the past was painful. For all of them.
“I’ll get us another beer.”
Nick wandered through the tiny linoleum-covered kitchen and into the garage to grab some beers from the extra fridge. A long pop-up table covered with charcoal and pastel drawings sat in the middle of the immaculately swept cement floor. Another table held strips of leather, ribbons, a variety of shoemaking tools, and wooden shoe lasts, some covered with material that made them look just like real shoes and that matched more drawings scattered nearby.
Nick sat down at a surprisingly expensive chair, one of those ergonomic models that probably cost several hundred dollars. The jerry-rigged lighting on top of the workspace was complex too. There was even a fancy electric heater, the kind he’d seen car mechanics use, suspended from the ceiling.
Drawing after drawing, shoe after shoe. Stilettos, flats, loafers. Complex engineering-quality drawings of soles and samples of funky materials to impact shock and affect balance. It was clear his granddad still hadn’t given up on his dream. A dream he’d almost realized once. Just when he would have finally made it to New York…he’d gotten a five-year-old boy to raise. Gramps had made a good life for them. He’d provided everything a boy could need, and he never did make it back to New York. Now Nick wanted to give back.
“What’s taking you so long?”
Nick looked up to see his grandfather standing in the doorway. He didn’t want to make him uncomfortable, but he longed to be
“Geez, it’s not the seventh game of the World Series. I’ll DVR it for you.” Nick punched buttons, but Gramps grabbed the remote back and kept watching the game.
“That guy was out, I tell you. What a bad call. Let’s see the instant replay. Told you that ump’s an idiot.”
Nick would just have to talk over the racket. He got up and paced. “Why won’t you let me get you a better place to stay?”
Nick’s grandfather kept one eye on the game. “I like this one just fine, thank you very much.”
“I can buy you ten of these houses, you know that, don’t you?” After the feud, Gramps had worked in the next town over but had stayed here to be close to Gran’s aging parents. He’d never left Buckleberry Bend.
“Of course I do. But I like this house and besides, the new TV you bought me suits just fine. What’s really bunching up your shorts?”
Nick breathed deeply. The old man could not show affection if he was threatened at gunpoint. He knew Gramps loved him. Yes, he knew. But just once he wanted to hear, I’m proud of you, boy . You’ve done very well for yourself . Instead, Gramps offered a stream of curt little phrases that could be taken a million different ways.
Nick had learned long ago not to expect any gushing. Gramps didn’t do much ball-playing or PTA-attending, but he did encourage him to study and work hard. Even if they’d lived like two single guys in a bachelor pad, eating TV dinners and doing all the chores on an as-needed basis. But today he’d come for answers.
“I need to talk to you about the Kingston Shoe Company.”
“Okay.” Gramps’s voice was flat but he looked like he’d rather have his brand new TV taken away forever than talk about the past.
“It’s in big trouble. The family is doing drastic things to save it.” Like selling their stocks to me.
“Why are you telling me this? I washed my hands of all that business a long time ago.”
“I want to know what happened.”
“Things happened the way they did, and there’s no undoing any of it.” He pointed at the TV. “Oh, will you look at that? He walked another one!”
“Is it so horrible you can’t even talk about it?”
“Sometimes people disappoint you, Nicky. Even the ones you trust the most. That’s all I can say.”
Nick looked at the man who raised him. He was tired of cryptic lines about never trusting anyone. He wanted answers, but Gramps was not a talker. Plus, the past was painful. For all of them.
“I’ll get us another beer.”
Nick wandered through the tiny linoleum-covered kitchen and into the garage to grab some beers from the extra fridge. A long pop-up table covered with charcoal and pastel drawings sat in the middle of the immaculately swept cement floor. Another table held strips of leather, ribbons, a variety of shoemaking tools, and wooden shoe lasts, some covered with material that made them look just like real shoes and that matched more drawings scattered nearby.
Nick sat down at a surprisingly expensive chair, one of those ergonomic models that probably cost several hundred dollars. The jerry-rigged lighting on top of the workspace was complex too. There was even a fancy electric heater, the kind he’d seen car mechanics use, suspended from the ceiling.
Drawing after drawing, shoe after shoe. Stilettos, flats, loafers. Complex engineering-quality drawings of soles and samples of funky materials to impact shock and affect balance. It was clear his granddad still hadn’t given up on his dream. A dream he’d almost realized once. Just when he would have finally made it to New York…he’d gotten a five-year-old boy to raise. Gramps had made a good life for them. He’d provided everything a boy could need, and he never did make it back to New York. Now Nick wanted to give back.
“What’s taking you so long?”
Nick looked up to see his grandfather standing in the doorway. He didn’t want to make him uncomfortable, but he longed to be
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