Page 21 of Clashing Moon
Rafferty nudged my foot with his. “I still remember your valedictorian speech.”
“You do? I thought you were too bitter about coming in second to listen to a word?”
“I was bitter, but I couldn’t help but be impressed.”
“Which part?” I asked, surprised. My recollection of the speech consisted mostly of how nervous I’d been. “I was focusing on not vomiting all over the lectern.”
“You talked about what it’s like to be an outsider and having the courage to be yourself even if it means you don’t fit in. What were your closing words? Be loud. Be bold. Don’t shrink yourself just to fit in.”
“You remember that?”
“It touched me, honestly. Made me mad, too, because your speech was way better than mine.”
I shook my head, smiling. “No, yours was good too.” In fact, I could still see eighteen-year-old Rafferty standing behind the lectern, the spring breeze ruffling his thick brown hair as he spoke into the microphone. “For one thing, you sounded like a professional speaker. You had the class in the palm of your hand.”
“I was on the debate team. That helped.”
I drank a bit more of my wine, reflecting on the message he’d shared that day and how it had nearly driven me insane with envy. His words had been all about his family and their support, particularly his mother and stepfather. He’d spoken so movingly about the sacrifices of his stepfather, a single man marrying a woman with five young sons, that I’d felt the sting of tears at the backs of my eyes. Not that I would have allowed myself to cry. Not for Rafferty Moon. But now, all these years later, my pettiness embarrassed me. Yes, I’d been young, but I should have been better than that. “I was jealous of your family. All the support they gave you. The story about your stepfather nearly brought me to tears. I can guarantee you that people remembered your speech for a lot longer than they would have mine.”
“No way,” Rafferty said, completely unconvincingly.
I laughed and poked my foot into his ankle. “Don’t look so pleased.”
“Sorry. But really, tell me more about my wonderful speech.”
We both laughed. I liked this side of Rafferty. Fun-loving and full of self-deprecating humor. Was this the real man? The one he’d kept hidden from the likes of me?
“You told the story about Jasper when he asked your mom to marry him.”
“Right. Yeah. Slurfpig.”
“That’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever heard a man doing.”
“Not to sound totally cheesy, but he’s the best man I’ve ever known. And he doesn’t even realize how special he is. He’d just describe himself as a normal guy. A boring banker who likes to remodel houses and make pies. But he’s so much more than that. He was a hero to us boys. Still is.”
“Did he do all the things he promised?” I asked.
“That and more. To love another person’s children as your own—that’s a hero. It couldn’t have always been easy, but he sure made it look that way.”
“That’s another part I remember from your speech. You said life was certain to throw us curveballs and hardships, and the measure of character was in our reaction to whatever came our way.”
“I still believe that,” Rafferty said. “My mama taught me that by the way she’s lived every day of her life. No self-pity or wallowing. Just put your boots on and get back to it.”
“What other choice do we have, really?”
“Giving up,” Rafferty said.
“Not an option.”
He held out his mason jar to clink with mine. “Amen,” he said. “Like I said earlier, Jasper Moon picked up the broken pieces and put us back together. Without him, we’d still be broken, flailing around, looking for where we belonged.”
“Like me.”
He peered at me, his eyes full of curiosity and sympathy. “Is that how you feel?”
I changed positions, taking my feet off the floor and sitting cross-legged and facing him. “I’m not sure exactly how to describe it. I’ll just say that when a father does nothing but criticize his child, no matter how well they do, it leaves a person feeling like a failure. Insecure. Chip on my shoulder. You know, all of that.”
“It also made you tough and determined to prove him wrong.”