Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 90642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Mom doesn’t come in here much. At least not if she can avoid it. I watch her glance around, her eyes lingering on all the changes I’ve made, and I feel like shit all over again. I can see the weight of time pressing down on her and the hole in her chest where Dad used to be. Seeing me here behind this desk where her husband and partner of thirty years used to spend all his time must be really hard.
“You’re doing it again,” she says, her tone very soft, and I have to lean forward to hear her right.
“I’m doing what?”
She sighs and smooths her jeans. “Seamus wouldn’t tell me what’s going on, but I got the gist. You’re taking it all on.”
“Mom—”
But she cuts me off. When she looks up, it’s the mother I remember from growing up: fierce and strong, the woman who took no bullshit, but also picked us up, wiped off the dirt, and soothed all the hurt away. I fucking miss those days sometimes.
“Ever since you started working with your father, all you’ve ever done is try to hold it all inside. And in some ways, it’s been good. I remember one day we were at the pool and you kept screaming and yelling because the goggles you wanted to wear hurt your ears and pulled your hair, but you also refused to go into the pool without them.” She smiles slightly at the memory. “I wanted to kill you. There was nothing I could do and you refused to calm down. Eventually your dad showed up and he started asking you questions and making jokes and it distracted you enough to make you forget all about the goggles, but that’s how you were. Every feeling was a big feeling. And I know that boy’s still in there, only you keep him hidden away, and it’s not healthy, Brody. It’s not healthy at all.”
I pull in a deep breath and lean back in my chair. I stare up at the ceiling, trying to remember that day, but there’s a hole in my memory where that afternoon used to be. I have other snippets of being a kid, other summer days covered in sunscreen and running barefoot through grass. Flashes of painful memories, like that time I stepped on a bee, or that time I fell off the swings and broke my arm, but also flashes of good memories, like when I did my first flip off the diving board.
Mom’s right, I was an emotional kid, but I’m not a child anymore. I experience everything, and sometimes I struggle to suppress those big, overwhelming feelings, but it’s part of the job now.
“I’m only trying to be like Dad,” I tell her, leaning forward. The feeling of the steam from the tea lifts up against my chin. “He kept it all together, didn’t he?”
Mom gives me a strange look. “Do you think your father ran this family alone?”
“No, of course not, but—”
“Honestly, Brody. Your father had help all the time.”
I sit back and raise my eyebrows. “What are you talking about? I remember he was always alone in here.”
She laughs at me and shakes her head. “That’s because you were a little kid most of the time, but when you were growing up, your father had a rotating cast of idiot friends that always had his back. Some of them died, others moved away, but he always had advisors.” She grins and looks over at the bookshelf toward a picture of the whole family, Dad looming over us like a proud giant. “Your father would rant and rave after you all went to sleep about whatever was on his mind. He was overflowing all the time.”
That hits me like a hammer. I sit back, almost too stunned to process. “But he always seemed so calm.”
“That’s because he dealt with his problems. Maybe not in the healthiest way, since I think the stress got to him, but he still dealt with it. But, Brody, if you keep on smothering yourself, I’m worried you’re going to have a harder time than he did. Dad wasn’t alone, and you aren’t either.”
Mom gets up, squeezes my shoulder, and leaves the office. I stare at the wall, trying to match up what she just told me with the memories of my old man, and maybe it’s starting to make some sense. He had his captains and his lieutenants, and they were constantly having little meetings in here. It’s totally possible that I made a whole lot of assumptions about my old man, but I never really knew him, not like an adult would.
That doesn’t change my situation. I’m not keeping things from Seamus because I’m trying to shoulder the whole burden alone—I’m doing it because the fewer people that know my plan, the safer it’ll be.