I nodded.
He looked at me.
“Not to replace Mr. Bamboo.”
A small pause.
“Maybe just his cousin.”
That was the first time he smiled since the barbecue.
That evening, we pulled into my driveway and saw my father’s truck outside.
Frank was sitting on the porch.
Pressed khakis.
Polo shirt.
Hands in his pockets.
For one second, I thought he had come to apologize.
I sent Lucas inside.
Then I walked toward him.
“You should’ve called first.”
Frank looked at me.
“Would you have answered?”
“Probably not.”
He accepted that.
Then he said the words that told me why he was really there.
“Derek’s in trouble at work.”
I waited.
“He works at Peterson Tech.”
My company.
“The sales department.”
