Page 71 of Big Britches
Pedro felt like he was in a well. Titus’s words echoed hollowly as his own memories surfaced with dizzying déjà vu.
“No, son. You don’t get better with ALS. You get worse. Most folks have two to five years, but, as I said, we caught it late. We’re really not sure how long I have. Not yet, anyway.”
“Oh,” was all Titus could say.
Patricia stood, gathering their dessert plates.
“Here, I can help,” Pedro offered.
“No,” she said. “Please stay. I just need to get some air.”
With that, she left the room.
“I was going to tell you Tuesday when I came by,” Truman continued. “But, by then, the news of you and Pedro had reached us and, clearly, you had a lot on your mind already.”
“I’m sorry, Daddy. Had I known–”
“Nonsense. My priority is you and your mother. Now that I’ve met Pedro, I feel I can safely say you’re on the mend from your five-year sabbatical. This is important to me because I need to know that you’re gonna be there for your mother when I’m gone.”
“Of course,” Pedro said impulsively. Both men looked at him. “Sorry. I spoke out of turn.”
Truman smiled. “No. No, you didn’t. I’m counting on you too, son, to take care of him.” He pointed at Titus. “Like Pat said, you’re good for him. It shows.”
Pedro stood, moving closer to Titus, who was still processing everything. He sat in Patricia’s chair and placed his hand on Titus’s.
“I have Tuttle already working on things. He should have the farmhouse paperwork for you soon. Your mother will get most everything until she, in turn, leaves it to you and Barb. Was there something in particular you wanted? Something maybe I should know about now?”
Titus shook his head. “No. Sorry. I’m just having a hard time wrapping my head around all of this.”
“That’s my fault. You know me, always business-minded. We’ll have time to discuss these things later. Money is no worry, but I do hope you continue to work with Alden. Y’all make a great team.”
Titus nodded absently, but Pedro could see there was more on Truman’s mind.
“What can we do now?” he asked Truman. “For you?”
Titus’s gaze lifted to his father’s as well. “Yes, Daddy. What can we do?”
Truman sighed with a smile. “You’ve given me everything already. You gave me a grandchild, the most precious gift ever. The state championships were a bonus, and I would have been proud of you even if you hadn’t excelled at football. You’re my boy. What more could a father ask for?”
But there was something else, Pedro sensed. Titus had jested that his father was a politician pretty much twenty-four-seven. And here, right now, even in the middle of discussing his mortality, Pedro felt certain there was lobbying taking place.
“Well, there is one other thing,” Truman said.
Sixteen
“I’m considering a run for mayor.”
“Praise Sappho,” Barb said. “Finally, some good news.”
They were having lunch at the pool–Titus, Barb, and Roz–while also officiating a cannonball contest between Tucker and Shelly.
“Look Daddy!” Tucker hollered, running, more than leaping, off of the diving board. He wrapped his arms around legs and plopped into the water like a stone with very little splash. When he came back up, he dog-paddled, head bobbing, to the neighboring ladder.
“That was great, son,” Titus said. “You need more angle, though. Try a can opener next time. Get some spring. Only one leg, and lean back into it.”
“I’ll show him how, Mr. Titus,” Shelly said, waiting for Tucker by the ladder. She helped him out, and both kids giggled excitedly as they made their way, dripping, back to the diving board.
“Wish I had that energy still,” Roz said.