“Dad offered forty thousand dollars more.”
I nodded.
“I know.”
She turned toward Dot.
“Why would you accept less?”
Dot placed her hands on the bar.
“Because it was my property, and I chose my buyer.”
Kaylee opened her mouth.
Dot continued.
“Your grandfather wanted this place to return to someone who understood what made it special.”
She looked toward me.
“Hollis did.”
For a moment, the room remained quiet.
Then Dad reached into his shirt pocket.
He removed the cashier’s check.
One hundred sixty-five thousand dollars.
He held it toward me.
“Then sell it to me.”
I stared.
For a moment, I couldn’t believe he was serious.
He continued.
“You bought it for one twenty-five. I’ll give you one sixty-five. That’s forty thousand dollars in a few weeks.”
He tried to smile.
“That’s smart money, son.”
I looked toward the check.
Then toward the jukebox.
For years, I’d imagined what it would feel like to have Dad offer me something valuable.
Now he was offering forty thousand dollars to take away the very thing I’d spent three years working to own.
I took a slow breath.
“It’s not for sale.”
His smile disappeared.
“Hollis.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
He looked toward Dot.
Then back at me.
“Be reasonable.”
For a moment, I felt the old pressure.
The expectation that I would accommodate him.
That I would make room for Kaylee’s plans.
That I would accept his definition of what mattered.
Then I remembered Grandpa.
The little coffee can full of quarters.
The wooden bar.
The sound of records changing inside the Seeburg.
I looked directly at Dad.
“I am being reasonable.”
My voice was calm.
“I bought the building because I want to run it.”
He stared.
“I’ve made a business plan. I’ve arranged financing. I’ve completed inspections and repairs. I’ve applied for the approvals needed to reopen.”
I paused.
“And I want to keep Grandpa’s place alive.”
Dad looked toward the old photographs on the wall.
For a moment, he seemed smaller than I remembered.
Then Kaylee spoke.
“You did all of this to embarrass Dad.”
I turned toward her.
“No.”
She shook her head.
“You knew we were planning to buy it.”
I nodded.
“I knew you wanted it.”
Then I said quietly.
“But I’ve been doing the work while you’ve been making plans.”
For several seconds, she didn’t answer.
I continued.
“You came here once while I was repairing the back room. You talked about removing the old reception space. You said nobody cared about jukeboxes anymore.”
Her face changed.
I looked toward the machine.
“It was eight feet away from you.”
Kaylee stared.
For a moment, I could see her searching her memory.
Then she looked toward Dot.
Dot nodded.
“He’s telling the truth.”
Kaylee lowered her eyes.
I turned back toward Dad.
“I don’t want to make you feel foolish.”
He looked up.
“But you don’t get to decide what happens to Grandpa’s jukebox again.”
My voice remained steady.
“And you don’t get to decide what happens to this bar.”
For a long moment, nobody spoke.
Then the green door opened.
Mom stepped inside carrying a rolled banner.
Aunt Bev followed.
Behind them came two of Dad’s old friends from the transmission plant, Gordie and Lance.
They had apparently arrived expecting a celebration.
Gordie carried a grocery-store cake.
He looked around the room.
Then toward me.
“Hollis?”
I nodded.
“Morning, Gordie.”
He smiled.
Then noticed the framed cardboard sign.
He read it aloud.
“Free?”
For a moment, nobody answered.
Then Mom saw the jukebox.
She stopped walking.
The banner slipped slightly in her hands.
She approached the machine slowly.
For several seconds, she simply stared.
Then she touched the chrome.
“The Seeburg.”
I smiled gently.
“Hi, Mom.”
She looked at me.
Then at Dad.
Then toward the sign.
For thirty-seven years, she’d watched him write notes in thick capital letters.
She recognized his handwriting immediately.
Her expression changed.
“Dale?”
Dad looked uncomfortable.
Mom turned toward him.
“You told me Hollis took the jukebox back because he was upset.”
He cleared his throat.
“He did.”
She looked toward the cardboard.
“From the curb?”
Dad didn’t answer.
Mom stared at him.
Then looked toward me.
“You found it?”
I nodded.
“Three years ago.”
Her eyes filled.
“You restored it?”
“Yes.”
She touched the wooden cabinet.
Then looked toward the buttons.
“Does it have our wedding songs?”
My throat tightened.
“All seventeen.”
For a moment, she couldn’t speak.
Then she whispered.
“Nobody played them?”
I shook my head.
“Not yet.”
Mom looked down.
Then folded the banner carefully.
She placed it on the pool table.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then she looked toward Dad.
“You never even listened?”
He stared at the floor.
For a moment, I thought he’d argue.
Instead, he said quietly.
“No.”
Mom closed her eyes.
Then turned toward me.
“I’m sorry, Hollis.”
My throat tightened.
I had waited three years to hear someone say that.
For a moment, I couldn’t answer.
Then I nodded.
“Thank you.”
Kaylee picked up her portfolio.
She looked toward Dad.
“We should go.”
He remained still.
For a moment, he seemed to be looking at the jukebox rather than hearing her.
Then he folded the cashier’s check and placed it back in his pocket.
He looked toward me.
“You’re really not selling?”
I shook my head.
“No, Dad.”
He nodded once.
Then walked toward the door.
Kaylee followed.
Before leaving, she looked back.
For a moment, I expected another accusation.
Instead, she whispered.
“I didn’t know you cared this much.”
I looked toward her.
Then answered.