Page 61 of Big Britches
“Goodness gracious,” said Truman. “I haven’t been in my old office in a while. It’s weird me sitting on this side. I feel like I’m at a job interview.”
If so, Titus thought, then it’s me that’s being questioned.
His father hadn’t interviewed for a job in a very long time, probably never. Similar to Titus, Truman also owned businesses and let other folks run them. You make money with money, he often said. Titus suspected that being mayor of Spoon didn’t amount to much work, either. He had a feeling most of the business his dad did these days was over cocktails or lunch.
“I just got off the phone with Alden.”
“How’s my favorite quarterback?” Truman asked.
“He’s good. He’s looking to sell the business.”
“Oh, yeah? Has he got an offer?”
“Kinko’s. They’re national.”
“I know the name. That’s pretty good, son. You two built it up in, what, five years? Now, a chain is looking to gobble you up. Of course, the same will happen to them, eventually. It’s the way of the world these days.”
Perceptive too. No denying it.
“Yeah, you’re probably right. I wasn’t convinced, but he’s worried about money. A sale would help him out. Might also help us start up something else.”
“Sheila is pregnant, you know.”
Titus had omitted this part because he wasn’t sure the news was out yet. But, as in most cases regarding town business, his father was in the know… even the gossip.
“Yes, he told me. Twins.”
Truman nodded. “I think it’s a wise decision. How much are they offering?”
“Five hundred thousand with clientele and a non-compete. I’m going to have Tuttle look over everything.”
“Half a million? Yes, sir, I think it’s a wise decision. Perhaps you should do something else with Alden. He’s a smart fella.”
Was that a dig?
“Yes, he is.”
“It’s good to make money when you can. The world is moving so fast these days.”
“Says the mayor, seeking new enterprise for his town.”
Truman grinned. “You’re pretty smart too, son.”
Ever the politician.
“So, what brings you out this way, Daddy?” Titus said, growing weary of the small talk.
Truman eyed Titus. “I think you know.”
“How did you find out? Kay, over at the Dairy Dream?”
Truman raised his brow. “No. Mildred Perkins over at the Squire Shop. She spoke with your mother. Is it true, son?”
Titus held his father’s gaze. He had never feared the man; he respected him. Years of Sunday School had taught him to honor thy father and mother as a child. It may seem old-fashioned, but the notion was inherent in Titus, instilled in his very being. His kinship with his parents was molded on a solid foundation of the truth, and Titus didn’t see any reason for that to change now.
Still, it was powerfully difficult to utter the words because of deep-rooted, conditioned shame—fearing a stigma that not only he would bear, but his family as well.
“You don’t have to say, son. I can see it in your eyes. So, you’re seeing this man—this Mexican man.”