“Did you get along with your daddy?” Shel asked.
Remy looked ahead at the interstate. His face was as expressionless as his tinted sunglasses. “I never knew the man. My grandmere raised me and my brother.” The French Creole influence from New Orleans sometimes crept into Remy’s words.
“Didn’t know you had a brother.”
“I don’t. Not anymore.”
Shel knew there was a story there. He could feel the jagged pieces of it in Remy’s words. But he let it go.
“My daddy’s a hard man to get to know,” Shel said. “All my life he’s been distant. Not really a part of my life. Like he was just somebody curious and looking in through a window at me.”
Remy didn’t say anything.
“When Mama was still alive,” Shel went on, “it wasn’t so bad. She buffered everybody. Kept us all on an even keel. But Daddy was distant with her, too.”
“You ain’t the most talkative man I’ve ever met,” Remy commented.
Shel had to grin at that. It was true. “Neither are you, kemosabe. And that’s why you and me having this conversation is… odd.”
“We don’t have to have it.”
“Unless we play another basketball game.”
“Never again on Father’s Day.”
Shel knew Remy was giving him an out and gently letting him know he didn’t have to continue talking. Or maybe the topic was a little uncomfortable for him too. Shel wasn’t sure.
But Shel discovered that once he’d opened the can, the worms insisted on crawling out. Most of the reason for that, he was sure, was because he was confident Remy would never tell another soul. And because Remy wouldn’t waste time trying to correct Shel’s thinking or tell him how he should feel.
›› 1723 Hours
“Mama always said Daddy got messed up in the war,” Shel said. “She knew him before he went to Vietnam. His daddy raised him to be a rancher, but when he got old enough, he signed on with the Army.”
“Not the Marines?”
“I was never one to follow in my daddy’s footsteps.” Shel admitted that honestly. “It started long before the choice of service in the military.”
“Your father was in Vietnam?”
Shel nodded. That was a source of pride for him despite the confusion that generally roiled up when he thought of his father. “Pulled four two-year tours. Got released in ’72 when his mama took sick. He had to go back and help work the ranch-the Rafter M. Mama said that taking care of Grandma was the only thing that brought him home.”
“But somewhere in there he met your mother.”
“Somewhere.” Shel reached back and patted Max on the head. Having the dog with him 24-7 was a blessing. “Mama said they knew each other in grade school, all the way through high school. She said they talked like they were going to get married, but Daddy wouldn’t do it because he thought he might get killed.”
“A lot of boys did. Today isn’t much better.”
Shel nodded. “She said Daddy was surprised when he came home and found out she hadn’t married.”
“Eight years was a long time to wait.”
“That’s what Daddy said. But Mama said that eight years wasn’t any time at all when you were waiting for the right man.”
Remy grinned, and the ease that the expression created on his face had Shel grinning before he knew it too.
“So they had a love story going on,” Remy said.
“The way Mama told it.”
“How’d your father tell it?”
“He didn’t. Never said one word about it. And my brother and I never asked him. Not even after Mama passed. Daddy came back to the ranch, and he worked it hard. He still does.”
“Sounds like Kurt Russell should be a ranch hand there.”
Shel grinned at that despite the bad mood the day had left him in. “It’s a working cattle ranch. The living’s hard and the profits are lean, but Daddy’s a simple man and keeps at it. Mama’s buried there with Grandpa and Grandma McHenry. Two of Daddy’s brothers are buried there too.”
“Sounds like a big commitment.”
“He’ll never leave that piece of ground. I reckon when the time comes, we’ll plant him there too. My brother, Don, isn’t happy about that, but that’s how it goes. Daddy’s leaving me control of the land. According to the will, I have to buy Don out if he wants me to.”
“I didn’t know you had a brother.”
“One. Don.”
“Is he military too?”
“Nope. He found a way to irritate Daddy even worse than I did. Of course, Don doesn’t see it that way. He became a Bible-thumper.” As he talked, Shel heard his accent thickening. His words-his thoughts even-turned more toward how he’d been raised when he was talking about his daddy.
“A preacher?” Remy asked.
Shel nodded.
“I still don’t see why Father’s Day bothers you so much. A lot of people have father issues.”
Shel took a moment to think about that. It was hard, he was discovering, to get everything he felt into words that someone else would understand.
“I joined the Marines because I wanted my life simple,” Shel said.
“That was your first mistake.”
Shel ignored the comment. “I liked the idea of organization and structure, of knowing how I was supposed to treat other people.”
“You don’t think you got that at home?”
“From Mama, sure. And from Daddy, too, I guess. He taught me how I was supposed to treat other people, but-” Shel stopped, suddenly embarrassed. He had already revealed far more than he’d intended to.
“But not how to act around him,” Remy said.
Shel wanted to tell Remy to just forget they were having the conversation, but he couldn’t. It was on his mind. And today was Father’s Day. Tomorrow it wouldn’t be, and he might not feel inclined to talk about any of this. Then it would lie waiting to ambush him, as patient as a circling buzzard, for another year.
“I knew how to act around him,” Shel said. “I just didn’t know how we were supposed to act together.”
“You were into sports. You don’t have any father-son moments in there?”
“Daddy came to some of the games. Don and Mama shamed him into it on occasion.”
“He didn’t like coming?”
“Daddy doesn’t like being around other people. He didn’t make friends. He was what we always called standoffish.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do other people make him uncomfortable?” Remy asked.
Shel shook his head. “I’ve seen Daddy walk into a bar filled with people, most of them wanting to form a lynch mob, and take command of the whole situation. We had a vaquero in from Mexico one summer. His name was Miguel. He was eighteen. I was twelve at the time. The way he could stick on a green mount and break him was amazing. I wanted to be just like him.”
The road noise filled the pauses between Shel’s words.
“Anyway, Miguel got into a fight with one of the local guys,” Shel went on. “Words were said. Pride was hurt. And it was all over a girl.”
“Now there’s a bad mix,” Remy said.
“Yeah. Miguel was outnumbered, and those boys pulled out baseball bats. Miguel pulled a knife. Jimmy Dean Harris got cut pretty bad and ended up in the hospital. It was his daddy that gathered up the lynch mob that night.”
“Exciting little town you grew up in.”
“I’ve heard New Orleans isn’t exactly filled with saints,” Shel countered.
Remy displayed a flat, mirthless grin. “My grandmere would agree with you. She wanted to move out of that place, but she never could. Even after Katrina, she’s back where she grew up.”
“A lot of people get stuck in their ways.”
“I know that’s true. But anyway, your father walked into this bar.”
›› 1729 Hours
“He did walk into that bar that night,” Shel continued. “I followed him, but he didn’t know it. Daddy got a call from one of the men inside the bar, and I followed him into town on my dirt bike.”
“Where were the police?”
“We didn’t have police. We had a sheriff’s deputy. And he didn’t want any part of what was going on.”