Keeping a secret in this family, where everyone knew everyone else’s business? The fact it had held for this long was a miracle. No chance the truth wasn’t going to come out eventually.
6
Blake pushed back from the table, stomach protesting with how stuffed he was. Even though the holidays were over and they’d headed into the new year, there was no such thing as a small meal ever offered at his mother’s. “Ma, you and Jaxi outdid yourself tonight.”
“Still haven’t figured out how to cook for just two,” his mom said with a laugh as she eyed the mostly full bowls lining the table. “Your kids need to hurry up and get bigger so they eat more.”
“Dear Lord, there’s a reason why the garden keeps getting bigger every year,” Jaxi said with a wink. She leaned over and pressed a kiss to Marion’s cheek. “My thanks as well. It was delicious.”
“It was really yummy, Gramma,” Lana agreed.
“We like your meatloaf better than Mommy’s…”
“… because she sneaks carrots into hers.”
A snort escaped before Blake could stop it. He schooled himself and turned a stern expression on the twins. “You seem to eat an awful lot of that meatloaf, even with the carrots.”
“Mommy’s is good,” Becca agreed.
“…only, Gramma’s is even better. No carrots,” Rae said slowly, as if explaining something to a small child.
“I think you’re just digging yourself a deeper hole, Blake.” Jaxi clapped her hands. “Okay, dishes time. We’ll have conversations about the why of meatloaf ingredients when you get a little older.”
Blake helped clear, but then his mom and Jaxi both shooed him from the kitchen area. “I can take the boys—”
“We got it this time,” his mom insisted, gesturing to the mass of kids milling around in organized chaos. They even had little Justin perched on a tall stool at the counter, smacking his hands into the soapy dishwater as bubbles flew upward. “Go play crib or relax or whatever.”
“And show your Dad that picture I found,” Jaxi reminded him before vanishing behind the kitchen door.
Right. Blake reached into the breast pocket of his shirt before rejoining his dad at the now-empty table. “Jaxi and the girls were going through some boxes and found this. I’ve never seen it before.”
He handed it to Mike, who clicked his tongue in amazement. A gentle shake of his head followed as he gazed at the slightly yellowed four-by-five photo.
It was a collection of four Coleman men, all at different stages of their lives. They were seated on hay bales, a small baby settled in the lap of one. Canadian flags and red and white streamers hung in the background.
“Well, I’ll be. That was taken on Canada Day the year you were born.” Mike pointed. “Grandpa Stan, I mean, your Great-Grandpa. My dad, Royce. Me and you. You would’ve been not even two months old.”
“Four generations of Colemans.” Blake stared over his dad’s shoulder. “That’s pretty neat.”
Mike nodded slowly. “Great-Grandpa Stan passed away later that summer, so this is probably one of the only pictures with all of us together.”
Blake racked his memory, but he was coming up blank. “I’ve been thinking ever since Jaxi showed it to me, and I figured it was you and me, but I don’t have any memories of when Grandpa Royce was around, either.”
“Makes sense. You were still young when he died.”
Mike stared at the photo for a little while as womanly laughter and the sound of childish shrieking echoed from the kitchen.
His dad tilted his head then gestured for Blake to join him outside. “Let’s go for a walk.”
It was brisk outside, the January air cool against their skin. Their breath formed fog clouds around their heads as they strolled the path between the trailer his parents had moved into and a small barn/workshop. They’d built it last summer so Mike had somewhere to work on projects without going to the main barn across the road at the Six Pack land.
Something was obviously on his father’s mind, but Blake paced silently beside him and let the older man take the time he needed.
They were inside the barn, the golden lights overhead reflecting off the wooden walls. Mike stoked the coals in the airtight stove and placed another log on them before stepping back and brushing his hands clean.
He sat at the small table along the sidewall and gestured to the seat opposite him. “Was thinking now that it’s a new year, we should head to the bank and finish up some paperwork.”
Blake eyed his father. “You need extra money for something?”
Which, if he did, wasn’t a problem. Nothing his Ma and Dad needed would go unanswered if Blake had anything to say about it.
Mike shook his head. “We’ve been moving this way for a while. I want you to keep taking on more responsibility, and I want it official.”
“Retirement.” Blake grinned. “You deserve it. No need to do anything on paper, though. None of us mind if you take extra time to go fishing or don’t do early chores anymore.”
He’d expected his father to chuckle, but instead, the man took a deep breath then proceeded to very earnestly mess with Blake’s mind. “The picture reminded me. You don’t remember, as both your grandpa and great-grandpa passed on before you were anywhere near old enough to understand, but there’s a bunch of stuff I want in place before it’s too late.”
His dad was being far too serious, and it shook the amusement right out of Blake. He leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. “There something wrong that you haven’t been telling me about?”
Mike shook his head. “Healthy as a horse, last time I went to the doctor. Only, the truth is, I don’t expect that to stay the truth.”
“Everybody gets old, Dad.”
“Unless they go young, like my father. He was only sixty-four when he died. He’d been broken up bad in the logging accident he had when he was in his twenties. That man lived with pain every day of his life, yet you never would’ve known it.” Mike was staring off into the distance now, rocking his chair slowly. “Didn’t complain, but I knew it hurt something inside that his strength wouldn’t be enough to get him through to old age.”
“From what you and my uncles have said about him, he was an incredibly hard worker and a good man.”
Mike nodded decisively. “The best. He taught me a lot.” He looked firmly at Blake. “And he taught me to do what’s right, even if it means planning ahead. Great-Grandpa Stan lived a lot longer—all the way to ninety—but the last twenty years of his life, he wasn’t really there. He lost himself. I suppose it was Alzheimer’s or some kind of dementia.”
That was a surprise. “I didn’t know that.”
“Wasn’t a thing we usually talked about. It came on fast, and then he took a lot of caring for.” Mike met Blake’s eyes. “None of us begrudged the effort it took, and I’ll straight-up say it. I know if I go the same way, none of you will be sitting there cussing me out for forgetting what day it is.”
Holy shit. “You think this is going to happen to you?”