Right as I reach the door, he says, “We’re proud of you, Son. You’ve done well for yourself.”
“Thanks.” I get in the SUV and set the beer in the back. Handing the bag to Holliday, I say, “For you.”
She looks inside and smiles, her eyes showing her happiness. “You got me Big Red. I just might have fallen even more in love with you if that’s possible.”
With a wink and smile that I know drives her wild, I say, “I know how to woo the ladies alright.”
When I pull off the single lane road onto the dirt road that leads to my house, I spot the old barn up ahead. His domain and escape. My fingers flex around the steering wheel as the demons get louder in my head—failure, disappointment, weak, sissy, and the worst he ever said to me—ashamed you’re my son.
“Dalton?”
Just as the chorus to an Ozzy song kicks in, I jump, startled by Holliday’s hand on my arm. “What?” I reach over and turn off the music.
“What’s going on?”
“What?” I’m short with her, but I don’t mean to be.
“Suddenly you turned the music up so loud that the windows were vibrating.”
I put the car in park and look down at the stereo. “I didn’t realize. Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she says. “I was just worried. Guess we’re here.”
Looking over my left shoulder, I see the garage nearby and the house beyond. There’s the field where I played baseball and helped with the crops, and the barn where I wasn’t allowed to go once I got injured. I turn to Holliday. “Let me lead okay?”
“Okay.”
I get out and go around, helping her down. Hearing a screen door slam shut, we both turn to find my mom squinting her eyes in our direction.
“Is that your mom?” she asks.
Not able to stop the smile, I say, “That’s her. C’mon.”
My mom hurries down the front porch steps with her own big grin. “Jack Dalton, give your mama a hug.”
It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been gone, how much money you’ve made, or even how famous you are, when you come back to the place you grew up, you feel like the kid you once were. My mom doesn’t treat me like a rock star or millionaire. When I reach her, she hugs me so tight that the air constricts in my lungs. I hug her back just as tight, realizing how much I’ve missed her. “You’re too skinny,” she says. “You can’t survive off sprouts and sunshine out in California. A boy needs hearty food to grow.”
“I don’t think I’m growing anymore, but I won’t turn down your home cooking.”
She eyes Holliday and with a gracious smile, says, “You must be my son’s wife.”
Taking her hand, I pull her close and introduce her properly. “Mom, this is Holli.”
My mom’s arms go wide as she welcomes her into the family. “The wedding was all over the news for months and I’ve seen stuff online about you, but it’s nice to finally meet you in person.”
Holliday hugs her, and says, “Thank you. It’s so nice to meet you too, Mrs. Dalton.”
“Call me Judy. All my friends do.” She smiles, wrapping her arm around Holliday’s shoulders. “Let’s go inside and get some iced tea. JD, your dad is out back working in the barn.”
I glance at Holliday and she smiles at the nickname. “I’ll introduce Holliday to him and then we’ll come inside. Give us a few minutes.”
She walks ahead with a nod. “I’ll get the tea ready and then you can fill me in on the wedding I wasn’t invited to and what brought on this surprise visit.”
We hold hands and walk in silence to the barn out back. A country song is coming from inside. I assume it’s Hank or George, his favorites. Country music wasn’t my thing. I can feel my palms sweating, my anxiety getting the best of me. I just hope Holliday doesn’t notice. When we stop in front of the open doors, a man—an older version of the dad I once knew, an older version of me, sits on a barstool at his workbench.
He briefly glances up, then back in thought before he sets down his pliers, and asks, “What brings you here?”
I can’t help being disappointed, though this is the reunion I expected.
“Thought it was time for a visit.”
Tinkering with the pliers again, he says, “Your mom’s inside.”
“I came to visit both of you. I got beer out in the truck.”
Dad looks at us out of the corner of his eyes. “You shouldn’t let good beer go to waste in the heat. I take it this is the wife, Junior?”
Fucking Junior. I haven’t heard that in years. “Yes, this is Holli.”