Page 26 of Big Britches
“No. I love it. They’re adorable. And Roz?”
“She’s Shelly’s mom and Tucker’s nanny—a close friend.”
Pedro raised his eyebrows.
“Strictly platonic,” Titus said, as if reading Pedro’s mind. “Shelly and Tucker were born days apart. Roz was here helping me with Violet during the pregnancies. Once she saw me trying to handle a newborn on my own, she never left. I started paying her after Violet died. At first, she wouldn’t take it. But I insisted. She’s the most selfless woman I’ve ever known. I told her it would be no different from working anywhere else, only better because we knew and trusted each other. I could also ensure her a means of income with no need for daycare. It’s been a mutually beneficial partnership for five years now and I’m about to lose her, which breaks my heart.”
“Oh, no. Why?”
Titus shrugged. “The kids are getting older, and Roz’s husband, James, has never much liked the arrangement.”
“Oh. I think I see where this is going.”
“Yeah. It’s unfortunate, but I get it. James has never cared much for me. He’s a teacher and track coach at HOCO. That’s Hoke County?—”
“—High School,” Pedro finished. “I’m familiar. Mr. Compton talks HOCO football a lot.”
Again, Pedro picked up on the tiniest shift in Titus’s demeanor at the mention of Silas. They were quiet for a while. The silence grew thick, almost tangible. Abruptly, Titus swiveled his chair toward Pedro. “Look, I don’t know how to say this, but there’s something we need to address before you keep working here.”
Here it comes, Pedro thought. What’s with that little striptease show you gave in the middle of my yard? Are you some kind of pervert? There’re kids here, you know?
“I—I want to… Oh, hell.” Titus raised his hands to his face, sighing audibly into cupped palms.
No. This was something else. The handsome man before Pedro was clearly struggling to get words out. He took a moment, along with another deep breath, lowered his hands, and said, “I need to tell you something. I don’t see folks often, so I’m kinda out of the loop when it comes to societal norms–for a lack of better words. I don’t want to offend you.”
Pedro eyed Titus, mildly concerned, bracing himself for some of the common and ridiculous bigotries he, a Mexican, had experienced since coming to small-town Georgia. He turned his chair, too, to where they were facing each other. “Well, for me, when I have something difficult to say, I find it best to just say it. If I’m going to be working here, Titus, I’d rather know now than be surprised later.”
“Fair enough. But please promise me that if I ever say anything remotely–” He struggled for a word, “–sensitive, that you’ll let me know. I assure you my heart is true, but even the noblest of southern lips sometimes say stupid things.”
“That trait is not limited to the south, my friend. I know what you mean, though, and I promise.”
Titus took another deep breath and began. “My wife died two years ago.”
“Yes. Silas told me. I’m very sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you. As I mentioned, her name was Violet. We were young, our marriage so short-lived my memory of her fades daily. Occasionally, Tucker will remind me of her, though… a look, expressions.”
Pedro gave a small smile, acknowledging. He was curious but uncertain of where this was leading.
“May I see your hands?”
Pedro raised his hands, slowly offering. Titus took them in his own, turning them so that they were face up. They were rough with callouses, and Titus circled the pads with his thumbs.
“You work hard. Your hands say so. I—I’ve never had to. My parents always had money. Everything’s been given to me. I’m very fortunate. I was the star football player in high school, played golf at the country club. Guys envied me. Girls liked me. Folks like to be connected with money, you know?”
Pedro listened, still unsure of where Titus was going. One thing he knew was that he loved the feel of the man’s enormous hands holding his own, massaging his palms with steadily determined thumbs.
“People think I’m reclusive because of her death, but it’s not the only reason. When Violet became ill, I discovered who my real friends were, the ones who weren’t a part of my life because of the money.”
“And there weren’t many.”
“Three–Alden Abernathy, Barb Hawthorne, and Roz Underwood.”
“I know Barb. She’s my landlord. I like her very much. We’re kindred souls when it comes to literature.”
“I bet. I’ve known her the longest. We were raised together. She’s practically my sister. But they’re all like family, really. Alden was my friend and teammate in school. Now, he’s my business partner. And you just met Roz. They come no better. She’s an angel here on earth.”
“She worries about you.”