It was around that same time that Max’s Aunt Sandy had moved to San Antonio and the opportunity to buy her house had presented itself. Honestly? Between himself and God, Max had wanted to go. He’d been so tired of the sadness and the never-ending attention Jamie required.
So it happened that the universe lined things up when Max and his family needed it most. Aunt Sandy moved. Max moved around the corner. His father quite ably handled Jamie’s supervision. He also seemed happy to be retired. He liked to putter around his workbench in the garage and build things he thought were useful. He liked to drive Jamie to work at the ACC and back again, stopping off to have coffee with his friends. That he had no life for himself didn’t seem to bother him much. Or if it did, he never mentioned it.
Once, Max had asked him if he had any regrets. His father had looked confused. “Regrets? Now why would I have any regrets?” he’d said in a curt tone that suggested he thought his son was an idiot. “I was married to the best woman who ever lived. I have two wonderful sons. I’m healthy and I’m fortunate enough that I can put a roof over their heads and food on the table. What the hell would I have to regret?”
Max didn’t ask again.
He looked at his dad now as he finished up sealing his muffins. “How long is Aunty Sandy in town?”
“Hmm? A couple of days. I’ve got a few plans. Got tickets to that new Broadway musical that’s come through town.”
That was surprising—Max had never known his dad to be a Broadway kind of guy. “What . . . Hamilton?”
“That’s the one.”
“I didn’t know you were into musical theater.”
His father laughed. “Well, I’m not, really. But”—he looked up, and there was a twinkle in his eye—“let’s just say I’ve got a new friend who is.”
Max’s first thought was that the friend was a fishing buddy, which he quickly discarded due to the gleam in his father’s eye. It reminded him of the ray of sunshine he’d been feeling in himself today. “Oh. This is news.”
His father leaned backward so he could see down the hall, and when he was sure they were alone, he said low, “I’ve got a new friend, Maxey, and I’m sort of feeling my way through it right now. Not sure what it’s all about or where it’s going. But I’d like to explore it a little.” He grinned.
Max gaped. “You’re dating?”
“I’m doing something.” The old man laughed. He was beaming.
“That’s . . . that’s great, Dad,” Max said, and he meant it. And yet, he was so caught off guard he didn’t know what to think.
“Well, I hope so. Like I said, we’re just friends and I like her a lot. Now Jamie, he’s not quite on board with it, so, you know . . .”
“Yeah,” Max said.
Hazel’s bark interrupted the many questions he wanted to ask—like how and where did he meet her, and how long had this been going on. He slid off his stool and walked into the hall just as Jamie came out of his room, wearing his PUGS, NOT DRUGS T-shirt. “Dad,” Jamie said.
“He’s in the kitchen. Where’s Hazel?”
“Max! Is that you?” Aunt Sandy appeared from one of the bedrooms. She had short gray hair in perfect looped curls all over her head, and wore a red and white striped sweater that stretched over her ample frame. She smiled and tousled his hair like he was a kid. “Your dog came to announce herself with a lick to my face.”
The guilty party trotted out of Max’s old room. “I’m so sorry. She has some very bad habits.”
“Loyal Dad,” Jamie said.
“He is, buddy,” Max agreed.
“Do you smell that chili?” Aunt Sandy asked. “I’m starving. Are you hungry, Jamie? Toby! Do you need some help?” she called, and continued on down the hall toward the kitchen, yawning.
Hazel barked again. Jamie looked at the dog and clucked his tongue. Hazel sat.
“Let’s go check out the chili,” Max said to his brother, and turned in the direction of the kitchen.
But Jamie caught his arm and squeezed it. “Loyal Dad,” he said. “Loyal.”
“He is, Jamie,” Max said. “Of course he is.” He put his arm around his brother’s shoulders. “Loyal Dad,” he said, and led his brother down the hall.
Dad was putting bowls around the kitchen table. He’d also made cornbread and salad, apparently, as