Ray finally spoke.
“Jake, that’s enough.”
“No.”
I turned toward him.
“And you called this nothing this morning.”
“It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal.”
“You needed work boots.”
“My boots were fine.”
“One of them has duct tape on it.”
“They’re comfortable.”
Even Mom laughed at that, although she was crying.
I looked back at my father.
The new car shone behind him.
It probably cost more than everything Ray had deposited.
That was the point my father had expected me to understand.
Instead, I finally understood the opposite.
“You bought that car with money you had.”
I raised Ray’s statements.
“Ray built my future with money he needed.”
My father’s expression hardened.
“You think this guy loves you more than your own father?”
I stared at him.
“You don’t know what position I play.”
“Because I wasn’t allowed to.”
“You knew where we lived.”
He opened his mouth.
“You knew where we lived. You knew my birthday. You found me today. So don’t tell me you couldn’t reach me.”
Nothing.
“You could’ve sent a card.”
His eyes moved toward Mom.
“You don’t know what happened between your mother and me.”
“Then tell me.”
“This isn’t the place.”
“You had 14 years to find one.”
He looked around at the neighbors.
For the first time since he arrived, he seemed embarrassed.
Good.
Then he tried the keys again.
“Take the car, Jake.”
I looked at them.
I had wanted a car. Of course I had.
I’d pictured driving to school instead of standing at the bus stop in the rain.
I’d pictured picking up my friends.
I’d pictured freedom.
And the car looked incredible. Black paint shining in the sunlight. Brand-new interior. Not someone else’s old hand-me-down, but the kind of car I’d never even allowed myself to imagine having.
For a moment, I wanted those keys badly.
But then all I could see was Ray in old work boots.
Ray eating packed lunches.
Ray putting off repairs on the truck he needed to get to work.
Five dollars.
Fifteen.
Forty.
Whatever he had.
Again and again.
My father pushed the keys toward me.
“You deserve something nice.”
I took them.
Relief passed over his face.
Then I folded his fingers around them.
“I’ve wanted a car for two years.”
I looked at Ray.
“I wanted a dad for 14.”
Nobody moved.
I turned back to my father.
“I’m not waiting anymore.”
His face went blank. “You’re choosing him?”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“He chose me.”
My father looked at Ray.
Ray didn’t look proud.
He looked miserable.
Because that was Ray.
