Dylan Stafford

CHAPTER TWO

They got home around 4:00AM, laughing and leaning on each other drunk.

For old times’ sake they were playing the Oh No Ossifer, Not TOO Much game. One would mimic a policeman, sternly asking, “Have you been drinking and driving?” The other would feign sobriety, and sincerity, and mock-answer, Oh No Ossifer, not too much. They cracked each other up with this and fortunately didn’t meet any real policemen, a good thing since Brady’s probation would have been violated.

Brady’s family home sat on acreage that began on a bluff and then descended for almost a mile down to the Red River. Brady’s dad kept a cow-calf operation as a side-business, a gentleman rancher. The herd of thirty mama cows and their bull ranged unimpeded from the country-road entrance at the top all the way down to the river.

The home was two stories with a three-car garage, lots of windows and a Texas-sized porch. Three sturdy Burr oak trees, that had lived on the land much longer than the people, stood out front. Brady parked beneath the trees and he and Jeff had come in the side entrance and crashed in Brady’s temporary room.

A very few hours later it was time for breakfast; late night or not, Sunday morning breakfast was not optional under the Johnson’s roof.

Brady’s mom and dad were already up, at the island in the large open kitchen. With a picture window behind them, the sun streaked across the Red River valley while the river itself was still hidden under the early morning fog.

Jarrod Johnson, Brady’s father, was a life-long Texan. He’d built a successful insurance business in Denison and he had taken a lot of time teaching the trade to Brady. He came from the walk-don’t-run school of manhood and reputation mattered to him, one reason Brady’s drinking bothered him. Another reason was that a man should be able to handle his drinking.

Brady’s mother Joyce held the family together with church, humor and crazy-cooking. She grew up in Denison and met Jarrod in junior high school when his family moved to town.

They dated through high school and then she’s gone to Trinity in San Antonio and studied English Literature. Jarrod went to North Texas State and studied business. They kept dating during college and got married right after.

As successful as her husband was, Joyce brought family money into the marriage too, money which had bought the land they lived on.

It took Joyce and Jarrod a long time to get pregnant. Toward the end of trying they were told they couldn’t get pregnant, that they should start exploring adoption. Miraculously, Brady was conceived. He was born healthy and Joyce and Jarrod were grateful. They would later try for another pregnancy but it never happened.

Joyce hummed as she prepared huevos rancheros a la Joyce. She was bold in the kitchen and in life. Today she started with the Mexican recipe but was liberally branching out, adding American pancakes loaded with blueberries, bananas and walnuts. She had everything ready, for when the boys got up.

Jeff came in first, the advance scouting party. He’d run fingers through his hair and his face was shiny from splashing water on it. Being back at the Johnson’s home brought out the boy in Jeff.

“Oh Jeff, it’s so nice to see you. We haven’t had you out here in so long,” said Joyce, chopping walnuts at one site while she kept an eye on tortillas frying on the stove.

“You too Mrs. Johnson,” he said as he kissed her on the cheek. “Mornin’ Mr. Johnson,” Jeff said to Brady’s dad who sat reading his newspaper at the end of the island.

Mr. Johnson nodded a silent hello back, looking over his reading glasses and his Sunday Denison Herald.

Joyce smelled last night on Jeff’s clothes but didn’t mention it. “You practically used to live here, but now you are so busy with your big life. We never see you. How’s Dallas? I saw your mom at the supermarket a week back.”

“Dallas is fine,” Jeff said. “Yeah, Mom told me that you all caught up.”

Brady came in the kitchen next, yawning and looking for orange juice and coffee both, OJ to hydrate and coffee to wake up.

“Looks like somebody had a long night. I heard the gate swing open pretty late, or should I say pretty early,” said Brady’s dad.

“Morning Dad. Morning Mom,” said Brady, also kissing his mom on the cheek and arm-hugging her shoulders. He made his way to the fridge for orange juice, and then poured coffee too. The swirling smells of Mexican food and pancakes made his stomach turn. He probably drank too much he realized.

“Yeah, it was pretty late. We shut down Speedie Jax and then went to Denny’s out on the highway and kept talking,” said Brady, getting tense that his dad would grill him about his probation.

“Why you two can’t talk when the sun is shining baffles me. Did you meet with that new account, Mr. Scherer, yesterday after your community service time?” his Dad asked instead.

“Yeah. Mr. Scherer freed up space on his busy schedule to meet me Saturday afternoon late, after his golf round. We actually talked for about an hour. He’s thinking it over and we’re talking again Monday. I think I’m getting the contract,” said Brady.

“Well that’s good. He needs to work with us. His old policy is a dog. I hope you showed him that we can save him money and provide better protection,” his dad replied.

Save money and provide better protection was his dad’s mantra and Brady knew it well. “I gave him the whole pitch Dad. I think he’s gonna sign. I’m going back out there tomorrow to close the deal.”

“Did Brady show you his letter Jeff?” Joyce asked, changing the subject.

“Yes, Mrs. Johnson, he did. He made me drive all the way up from Dallas to read his miraculous news that the University of Chicago admission committee made an egregious error,” Jeff joked.

Brady looked down at his coffee. His dad made an unpleasant face, but covered it up quickly. Jeff had been around this family forever and he noticed the face. So did Joyce, filling a bowl with tomatillo salsa to put on top of the eggs.

“Oh Jeff, silly as ever,” said Joyce.

“Chicago. Fancy PHDs. who’ve never built anything with their own hands,” Brady’s dad closed the newspaper. “Brady, I need you here. I’ve got a business that makes money now. No student loans and you can run the whole thing when I’m done.”

Brady’s head throbbed. He had drunk too much. One problem of a family business was facing your boss on a Sunday morning, especially when you had a hangover. No privacy. No space.

“I know Dad. I know how hard you’ve worked to build your business,” said Brady.

“We’ve worked,” his father interrupted. “Me. You. Mom. The whole family has worked to build this.”

“Ok, how hard we have worked. But it’s still your deal Dad. What if they actually taught me something at Chicago? What if I could come back and actually add something to the business?”

“Brady, you do add to it, every single day. You’ve learned more than you realize, working for me, working for Deloitte. Why do you think I built a business anyway? Why take on the risk and the hassle? I did it to take care of our family.”

Jeff drank coffee and listened. This conversation had been going on for years, but Brady’s recent events, and being back home, had re-kindled the whole debate.

Brady wanted to make his dad happy. In high school Brady was like an apprentice to his dad, running errands, filing, helping out. During the Texas A&M years, Brady worked summers for him too. He’d even gotten a Business Administration degree, just like Dad, a useful education to eventually take over the family business. After college, Brady’s grades had been good enough to land the job at Deloitte Consulting, but he still helped his dad part-time.

Dad continued, “And besides, you already have a business degree. What you learned at A&M is just as valuable as anything they’ll teach you at Chicago. Those Aggies may serve it on paper plates, but it’s the same meal.”

Brady didn’t say anything. His dad was probably right. He usually was and that was the toughest part about this conversation. Brady loved his dad and his dad loved him. But they were father and son, and this was Texas, and it was hard to talk sometimes.

Chicago probably was a bad idea. But if Brady let his guard down, if his dad knew he had any doubts, then his dad could be relentless. Brady needed time to think.

“I also told Jeff about Michelle calling me, that I’m seeing her today,” Brady said, seeing a chance to change the subject.

Now it was Jarrod Johnson’s turn to fidget, if only a tiny bit. He thought Michelle was the perfect woman for Brady, that it was only a matter of time before they uncrossed the stars and figured out they were right for each other. Then Brady would finally see what a perfect life he could have staying right here in Denison.

Brady suspected his dad’s view about Michelle, and that only made his love life more confusing, sorting out his own feelings about getting dumped while watching his father’s silent disappointment.

“When you see Michelle and her family today, send them our best,” said Jarrod.

“And let’s eat!” said Mom. “Juevos rancheros a la Joyce. In honor of having Jeff with us, all my men together. Brady I want you fortified for your big visit with Michelle this afternoon, and I need to leave for church soon. You’re all welcome to come with me, by the way.”

None of the men accepted the invitation. Instead, they all moved over to the table that was set for a feast: eggs, beans, fried tortillas, tomatillo salsa and a large platter of blueberry and banana pancakes loaded with walnuts.

They held hands and bowed their heads. Jarrod said grace.