Chapter 6
The next morning, Patrick found his father at the cemetery before eight o’clock.
Malcolm stood alone beside Shawn’s grave in an old navy coat, both hands buried in his pockets. There was no driver waiting nearby. No employee following at a respectful distance. Just Malcolm. Just the cold. Just the name of his oldest son carved into stone.
Patrick almost turned around. Then Malcolm spoke without looking at him.
“You always walk louder when you’re angry.”
Patrick stopped. “I’m not angry.”
Malcolm finally glanced over. “You came to a cemetery before breakfast. You’re angry.”
Patrick moved beside him. For a while, neither man said anything. Shawn’s grave was still surrounded by flowers beginning to brown at the edges.
Malcolm stared at them. “When your brother was twenty-two, he left.”
Patrick looked at him. “What?”
“Arizona. I told Cody that. I didn’t tell him all of it.”
Patrick waited. Malcolm rubbed his thumb across the top of his cane. “There was a girl. Lisa something. Worked at a tire shop. Shawn decided he wanted motorcycles. Desert. No winters. No family business.”
Patrick almost smiled. “That sounds like him.”
“He packed his truck in one night.”
“And you let him?”
Malcolm looked offended. “I told him to go.”
Patrick frowned. “That doesn’t sound like you.”
“It wasn’t easy.” Malcolm looked back at Shawn’s headstone. “But I told him if that was what he wanted, he should find out.”
Patrick had spent his entire life believing Shawn had always been the loyal son. The natural successor. The one who never questioned anything.
“How long was he gone?”
“Four months.”
“What happened?”
“A contractor disappeared with payroll money. Two customers stopped paying. We nearly lost the yard.”
Patrick understood before Malcolm said it. “Shawn came back.”
“Yes.”
“Did you ask him to?”
Malcolm’s answer came quickly. “No. I never called him.”
Patrick stared at his father. Malcolm seemed almost proud of that fact.
“He heard what happened. He came home because he understood what family meant.”
Patrick looked down. “Or because he knew if he didn’t, I’d have to step in.”
Malcolm’s jaw tightened. “You were nineteen.”
“Exactly. Shawn made his choice.” Patrick looked directly at him. “Did he?”
Malcolm turned. “He came home.”
“That doesn’t answer me.”
“It answers everything.”
Patrick heard the certainty in his father’s voice. That was Malcolm’s truth. If someone stayed, Malcolm believed they had chosen to stay. If someone sacrificed, Malcolm believed the sacrifice proved love. He never asked what fear, guilt, or duty had done before the choice was made.
Malcolm’s voice softened. “You think I don’t know what I’m asking of Cody?”
“I’m starting to think you don’t.”
“I’m asking him to understand his family.”
“You’re asking him to become useful to it.”
Malcolm looked wounded. Not angry. Wounded. “I kept this family alive.”
“I know.”
“When your mother died, who made sure you boys still had breakfast before school?”
“You did.”
“When you got arrested at nineteen, who did you call?”
“You.”
“When Laura died and you couldn’t get out of bed—”
Patrick’s throat tightened.
Malcolm continued. “I slept on your couch for three weeks. I took Cody to preschool. I ran the company so you could fall apart.”
Patrick looked away. Every word was true. That was why arguing with Malcolm hurt. He had not invented the debts. He had paid them. With money. Time. Sleep. Years.
“I am not asking Cody to become me.”
“Then what are you asking?”
“To remember who kept a roof over his head when his father couldn’t.”
Patrick flinched. Malcolm saw it. Regret crossed his face. But he did not take the words back.
Later that afternoon, Jillian took Cody shopping for supplies for Brooklyn. Cody chose the cheapest sketchbooks, the cheapest pencils, the cheapest storage drive.
“You can get the better one,” Jillian said.
“This one works.”
“You’ll use it every day.”
“Grandpa says people who know what things cost don’t become spoiled.”
Jillian nodded. “He’s right.”
Cody looked surprised.
She placed the better sketchbook in the cart. “He can be right about a hundred things and still be wrong about one important thing.”
Cody considered that quietly.
That evening, Jillian found him sick in the upstairs bathroom. He was sitting on the floor beside the toilet, pale and sweating.
“Stomach bug?”
“Probably.”
Jillian sat outside the open door. “Are you sick?”
Cody did not answer.
She waited. “Or are you scared?”
His eyes filled.
“I got an email from Dad.”
Patrick had forwarded the Bannon Materials summer internship paperwork. Cody handed her the phone. At the bottom of the form was Patrick’s electronic signature. Approved. Emergency contact confirmed. Start date selected.
Jillian felt her stomach drop. “Did he ask you before signing this?”
Cody shook his head. His voice barely carried. “I don’t know how to be what everybody wants.”
Jillian moved beside him. “You don’t have to.”
Cody laughed once through his tears. “Then why did Dad sign it?”
Jillian had no answer.
She found Patrick in the garage. He was sitting in his car, staring at the same form on his phone.
“You signed it.”
He didn’t look at her. “It’s just paperwork.”
“It’s his life, Patrick.”
“It’s a summer job. I worked summers for my father. Shawn worked summers. It didn’t kill us.”
“It killed Shawn.”
Patrick’s head snapped up. “That’s not fair.”
“None of this is fair.” Jillian’s voice was shaking. “But you just told your son that his dreams are optional. You told him that his grandfather’s wishes matter more than his own.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You signed it.”
Patrick slammed his hand against the steering wheel. “I don’t know what else to do! He’s my father. He’s grieving. He’s—”
“He’s manipulating you.”
“He’s family.”
“Then act like it.” Jillian’s eyes filled with tears. “Protect your son. Not your father’s legacy.”
Patrick stared at her. The silence stretched between them.
“I can’t lose him,” he finally said.
“You’re not losing him. You’re choosing him.”
Patrick looked at his hands. “I signed the form.”
May you like
“Then unsign it.”
She turned and walked back into the house. Behind her, the garage door stayed open. Patrick didn’t follow.
