“So, we’ve had a look at your car,” Jackson said, walking back into the small room.

Iam jumped to his feet and stepped toward the ambulating mound of muscle. The smile on Jackson’s face broadened, and his back straightened as he set himself to take Iam’s charge.

“You had no right to do that,” Iam bellowed, his steps taking him right up to Jackson, placing them nose to nose. “I told you I’d sort it out.”

“And I told you I was going to help. Whether you like it or not. Now, please back away so we can talk like adults. Alternatively, I can back you up.”

Iam stared hard into Jackson’s eyes, looking for any hint of indecision. Instead, he saw what one would expect from a man with half a percent body fat—anticipation. He deflated. What was done was done, and if Jackson was so determined to fix his car, then the hell with it. His anger subsided, replaced with shame. It wasn’t bad enough that Jackson had rescued him from withdrawal, but now he’d seen the inside of his car, too. No one, not even Jess, had seen so much of his weakness as Jackson had in the last few hours.

“I guess you think I’m a drunk and a slob now, huh?” he said.

“I think that’s what a lot of people would think,” Jackson said. “I, having the benefit of having met you, think otherwise.”

“Yeah, right,” Iam said. “Practically the first thing you had to do was give me a drink so I could fill out a few forms. I don’t know why you’re doing this, but I ain’t worth it.”

“First,” Jackson said, “there’s no doubt you’re a drunk, and that car is most undoubtedly slovenly. But, there’s more to the story of that car, and you, if one looks close enough. What I see is a man who’s resourceful, determined, and not ready to give up on life. I see a man trying to work with what he has.

But, you’ve convinced yourself you’re no good, thrown in the towel on everything that makes life worth living, yet still insists on living. Weak people don’t do that, Mr. D’Mann. Inconsolable drunks don’t run jumper cables into their car so they can get where they’re going. They lie down and wait for death. What I see when I look at that car is a facade. You’re a man hiding from his own strength because strength comes with responsibility, and you’re not prepared for that. Secondly, you are worth it.”

“Whatever you say,” Iam snapped. “Don’t suppose you got any more to drink?”

“Drink on your own time,” Jackson said, tossing a key ring to Iam. “You can take truck seven home tonight. I want you here at seven tomorrow instead of eight. We have some things to go over before I take you to the job site.”

Iam caught the keys and nodded, then turned around and walked to the door. When his hand touched the knob, Jackson spoke.

“Mr. D’Mann...be sober when you get here. I may have to help you, but I don’t have to make it pleasant.”

Iam nearly laughed. Just how did Jackson think he could make his life any more unpleasant? Not responding, he left the building before realizing he had no idea where the truck he was supposed to be driving was. Instead of going back in to ask, he searched the parking lot for a truck the keys fit. He had to walk to the back of the building where the construction vehicles were parked before he found it. It was a massive Ford F350 with a yellow light bar on the roof. The diesel engine roared to life when he turned the key. Whoever had driven it last left the AC on full blast, and Iam leaned back, soaking in the cold as ice air.

“Oh, damn,” he said, pulling out his cell phone.

It was a newer model, sleek and thin with a black backing. It was probably the nicest thing he owned, and he didn’t really own it. Jess had gotten it for him and put it on her cell phone plan the last time his prepaid junker had run out of minutes, and she couldn’t reach him. Iam dialed Jess and put the phone to his ear. It rang a few times before Jess answered, sounding like a hurricane was blowing on the other end of the line—damn, she’d already left.

“Hey sis,” Iam said. “I’m sorry, but I don’t need that ride after all. You mind rolling your window up? All I can hear is wind.”

“Oh, sorry, bro,” Jess yelled, “I wanted to let in some of that wonderful salt air.” The wind died down, and Jess lowered her voice. “You get your car going then?”

“Nope,” Iam said.

“Then how come you don’t need a ride?”

“Because,” Iam said, trying hard to restrain the smile that was forming, “I got a job.”

“Really,” Jess squealed, “that’s amazing. When do you start? What about pay? Did they say what you’d be making? Oh my god, bro, I’m so proud of you.” There was a pause before Jess continued. “Wait, that still doesn’t tell me why you don’t need a ride.”

“Because I’m sitting in the biggest damn truck I’ve ever been in right now. They’re letting me take it home for the night.”

“Wow, already?” Jess asked. “Isn’t that kind of weird?”

“Weird ain’t the word for it,” Iam said. “Wait’ll I tell you about my new boss.”

“That’s it,” Jess said, her voice full of delight. “We’re having dinner tonight to celebrate, and no arguments. I have to make some calls. Talk to you later, bro.”

Iam didn’t get in another word before Jess had hung up the phone. Knowing her, he was about to be whisked away to some fancy-schmancy out of the way place that only allowed you in with a credit check and tie. With a sigh, he put the truck in gear and headed for home. He only made it a few miles before Jess called him back with the address for the restaurant. As he guessed, I sounded expensive, but he wasn’t allowed to go straight there for some reason. Iam wasn’t sure how Jackson would react to him driving all over town in the company truck, so he called him to ask about it.

“It’s fine,” Jackson said. “It’s good your sister is so supportive. Heck, some of our guys get these trucks as a perk, so no one will gripe about a few gallons of gas. Go out, have a good time. Just...be responsible.”

“Sure thing, dad,” Iam said.

“I’m serious, Mr. D’Mann,” Jackson said, his tone brooking no argument. “Celebrate however you want when you get home; just be sober when you’re driving that truck and when you get here in the morning.”

“Hey, not that I’m complaining,” Iam said, “but why aren’t you using my first name?”

“Because you haven’t earned it,” Jackson replied. “See you tomorrow.”

The line went dead, and Iam shook his head. Something was going on with Jackson but damned if he could figure it out. The way he stared that guy down, the nonsense about helping him having been decided, and the implication that neither of them had a choice in the matter—it was crazy. Probably the craziest thing about the man was the way he made you want to talk to him...to trust him. Iam had never met anyone like him and didn’t know what to make of it. With his thoughts on the enigmatic Jackson, Iam almost missed his turn to the restaurant. The tires squealed as he cut the wheel hard to the right, and the truck bounced as it ran over the curb, prompting a nearby cop to hit the lights and pull in behind him.

Iam had been through many sobriety tests in his life, but this one galled. For once, he was actually sober. The officer was kind enough to let him off with a warning for the reckless turn and went on about his day, leaving Iam to deal with the stares of passersby. There was nothing but judgment in their eyes as they’d gawked at him walking to the directions of the cop. Now that the cop was gone, they appeared even more judgmental, as though he’d gotten away with something. Iam ignored them as best he could and walked toward the building. The siding was wood slats that alternated between light and dark brown. The window and door trim were painted black, and the restaurant’s name was just some symbol that Iam supposed was intended to resemble a brand. If the place had a name, which Iam assumed it must have, he didn’t know what it was. Jess might have mentioned it, but all Iam had done was punch the address into Google for the directions.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

The interior of the restaurant took some adjustment after the full brightness of the day. The dim interior felt oppressively dark. The place only had a few overhead lights, with the illumination coming from tabletop lamps. He supposed it was meant to be a cozy and intimate atmosphere, but to his eyes, it was depressing. Iam checked in at the hostess station and greeted an attractive woman in a tight-fitted thigh-high black dress. The inconsistent lighting highlighted her dark hair, and her brown eyes sparkled. He followed her to his table but stopped dead a few feet away.

An old couple sat at the table across from Jess, who had her back to him. She turned around when the old woman gave a tentative wave. Jess’ smile was bright and cheery, and she motioned for him to join them. The old man didn’t smile or wave, instead opting for a sternly disapproving, thin-lipped glare. Iam turned on his heels and walked the other way. The scrape of Jess’ chair as she stood arrested his retreat, and he waited, the hostess looking supremely uncomfortable.

“It’s okay,” Iam said. “You don’t have to wait.”

The hostess walked away at a brisk pace. She was pretty striking, and Iam, even upset as he was, couldn’t resist watching her go, her hips swaying tantalizingly. A finger tapped lightly on his shoulder, and he turned his head.

“I don’t think she’s on the menu,” Jess said, her smile still firmly in place. “What’s wrong, bro?”

“What’s wrong?” Iam demanded. “What are they doing here?”

“I invited them,” Jess challenged. “What of it?”

“You didn’t think to ask me? I thought I’d made it pretty clear when I left I was done with them.”

Jess tugged at Iam’s waist, forcing him to either follow or resist her movement. He followed, making her keep pulling at him out of pure petulance. They made it to the table, and the woman stood up. Her tentativeness left as she wrapped her arms around Iam.

“It’s so good to see you, son.”

“Hello, Henrietta,” Iam said, his voice muffled by the petite woman’s embrace. He turned as much as he could toward the man. “Jacob, how are you?”

Jacob Miller’s lips parted, but no sound came out. Finally, Henrietta stomped her foot, prompting Jacob to speak.

“Old, Iam. Too old for your childish games. Now sit down; you’re making a spectacle of yourself.”

On reflex, Iam pried himself away from Henrietta and sat down. It chaffed something awful that the old ingrained obedience surfaced so readily. Jacob had always been something of an authoritarian, though not mean-spirited or abusive. He was just one of those people who had no doubt when they spoke, people listened. Iam raised up, but Jacob held up a hand to forestall him.

“Please,” he said, “don’t leave. Henrietta and I wanted to see you. When Jess called, we decided it was time.”

Iam looked at Jess. “How long?”

“How long, what?” Jess asked.

“How long have you been talking to them?”

“Bro, I never stopped. Whatever your problems with them are, they aren’t mine. They never were.”

“Jess has been keeping us up to date about you two,” Henrietta said. “We’re so glad you got a job. I know life hasn’t been what you expected, but maybe this can be the start of something great.”

The waiter arrived, and Iam didn’t even look up. “Bourbon and soda.”

“Still drinking?” Jacob said.

“I’ll just have water,” Jess said before Iam could erupt.

“Still judging?” Iam said. “Twenty years, and you haven’t changed.”

The waiter danced on his tiptoes, clearly waiting to get the rest of the drink orders and run away. Henrietta and Jacob ordered, letting the poor man off the hook.

“Now, boys,” Henrietta said into the silence that followed. “We didn’t come here for this old argument. This is supposed to be a celebration.”

“Exactly,” Jess said. “Now, let’s all put on a happy face. If we can’t be happy to see each other, then let’s at least pretend we are.”

“That’s not exactly why we came,” Jacob said.

“Later,” Jess hissed. “After dinner.”

The byplay got Iam’s attention, and he turned his brooding gaze onto Jess. She pretended not to notice and dove into the menu. For some reason, Henrietta did the same. Jacob, however, glared at Iam like he’d stolen money from him.

“Well, isn’t this just cozy,” Iam muttered.

He jumped a little in his seat as Jess stomped on his foot. The ambient noise of dozens of conversations around them masked their own voices, but Iam still looked around to see if anyone was paying attention. No one was. The drinks came, and Iam gulped his down before the waiter finished serving the rest of the table. He held out the empty glass, and the waiter took it.

“Another?” he asked.

Iam stared into Jacob’s eyes. “No, I’ll have a water.” When the waiter left again, Iam continued. “Well, how about that, self-control.”

Henrietta patted Iam’s hand. “That’s very good, Iam. I’m proud of you.”

Jess tried to engage the group in small talk as they ordered and ate, but no one was biting. Iam didn’t even speak to order his food, opting to point at the things he wanted. The restaurant wasn’t a black-tie affair, but it was expensive. He went as far as to order a side of crab legs even though he didn’t like seafood just to drive up the bill. If Jess wanted to ambush him with the Millers, he would make her pay for the gambit. His three companions shot him varying degrees of disgusted looks as his childishness culminated in pretending not to hear Jacob ask for the salt. Finally, Jess reached over Iam’s plate, snatched the shaker that was sitting a scant inch away from his hand, and gave it to Jacob. They declined dessert when the meal was over, and the waiter cleared the table. When that was done, Jacob reached under the table and brought out a large manila folder.

“Iam,” he said, “if you never want to talk to us again, we won’t force it. But, you’re going to let us say our peace first, and let us do what we came here for.”

“And what’s that,” Iam asked.

“No talking,” Jacob said, steel in his voice. “For now, you listen.”

Okay, that was enough. Iam had had people telling him what to do all damn day—and he’d done it! Well, not this time. This farce was over. He threw his napkin down and stood up.

“Sit down!” Jacob bellowed. The restaurant went quiet, and every eye turned to face them. “I’m sorry, everyone, that was very rude of me. Please go on with your meals.”

Slowly, the restaurant went back to normal, but the conversations were more animated, and Iam didn’t have to guess what they were talking about. It wasn’t like Jacob to cause a scene, no matter how often Iam had tried to bait him into one when he lived with the man. So, with a heavy sigh, Iam sat down. He did it slowly, but he did it.

“Thank you,” Jacob said. He opened the manila folder and slid two thin stacks of paper to Jess and Iam. “These are for you, and please, no questions. I’ll explain everything.”

Iam snatched up the documents. The heading on the first page read: Last Will and Testament of Jacob and Henrietta Miller. It started with the usual of sound mind garbage before moving on to how the Miller’s estate was to be divided. Iam and Jess were listed throughout the document as each asset was listed. There were no other names listed. It amounted to a few stocks, the Miller’s house and cars, and a small retirement account. Not exactly a windfall, but despite his feelings toward them, Iam was touched. After the will was a single document. It was titled: Personal Loan. Iam didn’t read any further. Instead, he looked up at Jess, whose eyes were watering.

“No,” Jacob said when both Jess and Iam had finished perusing the papers. “We’re not dying. But, we are old and wanted to set our affairs in order. We never had kids of our own, and after you and Iam, it didn’t feel right to continue fostering. Watching you for the short time we had you was our greatest joy. Watching you leave,” he looked pointedly at Iam, “was our greatest heartache. This makes sure you are as taken care of as we can manage.”

“You’re taking care of us by giving us a loan?” Iam said. “Good looking out, Jacob.”

Jacob closed his eyes for a few seconds before answering Iam with a soft expression. “It’s not really a loan, but if we just gave you that money, it counts as income. As a loan, there won’t be any taxes. You pay us back or not, Iam, but the money’s yours.”

Iam looked back at the paper. The will might not have been a windfall, but the loan sure was. It took a few seconds before Iam could truly comprehend the number. It was over two hundred thousand dollars. The things he could do with that money...shoot, inpatient rehab was suddenly on the table. It was something he’d secretly wanted for a long time now. Would Jackson hold the job while he was on the inside? Hold up, he thought. With this kind of money, Jackson could go suck a lemon. He didn’t need the job anymore. Not right away, at least.

“I don’t know what to say,” Iam said.

“I do,” Jacob replied. “Iam, I’m sorry.” Tears shone in his eyes, and his lips trembled. “I know you don’t believe me when I say I think of you as a son. After all, you only lived with us for a little over three years, but that was enough. At least, it was for me and Retta. When you came to us, I tried to provide structure, hoping that would keep you focused. I didn’t realize until it was too late that what you needed was love and space to figure things out and come to grips with your terrible loss.

I gave up on you because I was frustrated over my own failure to make your life as wonderful as it should have been with your parents. When you left, I swore it’d be you who caved first and came back. Because of that, I’ve wasted twenty years that I could have used to get to know my son. Now that my life is nearly over, I know how tragic a waste that really is. So please...son, forgive me, and take this gift.”

Iam looked at Jacob as though seeing him for the first time. When their parents died, Iam swore to Jess that he’d take care of them, but he hadn’t. Instead, it had been the Millers who’d usurped his role as caregiver. He was only a year older than Jess, but the example he’d set for her wasn’t uplifting and positive—it was a cautionary tale. His entire adult life, he’d laid his failures at Jacob’s and Henrietta’s feet, blaming them for stealing his moment. Looking back now, though, he realized, maybe for the first time, he hadn’t been ready for that kind of responsibility. He was a kid, and his only job should have been to grieve, something he’d never actually done. Instead, he hid behind teenage angst and anger. A lump formed in his throat, and he coughed. Henrietta looked between Jacob and Iam as the silence stretched. She seemed to be on the verge of saying something, but Jess put a hand over hers and shook her head.

Iam tried to speak, having to clear his throat several times before words came out. “I do, and I will, but I’m sorry, Jacob. There’s too much history, too many mistakes. Definitely more than can be patched up over dinner. I have to go.”

Noone stopped him when he stood to leave, so without waiting for further comment, he walked away. Before he got out of earshot, he heard Henrietta speak.

“Well, sweetheart, it’s a start.”