“Neither do I.”
Sully smiled.
“Good.”
Then he handed me the store keys.
There was no speech.
No audience.
Just an older man trusting someone to do the work.
I began with the repair counter.
I brought my own tools.
Cleared a space near the back.
Built a sturdy workbench.
And put a handwritten sign in the front window.
SMALL ENGINE REPAIR.
MOWERS. CHAINSAWS. TILLERS.
By the end of the first week, seven machines were waiting.
Sully looked at them.
Then at me.
“Well.”
I smiled.
“Yeah.”
He nodded.
“Looks like folks missed having somebody fix things.”
For the first time in weeks, I felt useful again.
Mom called the following Sunday.
She asked how I was doing.
Then said Dad wanted me to come to dinner.
I hesitated.
She continued.
“I think it would help if you apologized for how things ended.”
I stared toward the kitchen window.
“Apologized for what?”
There was silence.
Then Mom sighed.
“You know how your father gets.”
I took a breath.
“Yes.”
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then she said something strange.
“Well, he says you landed on your feet. He knew you would.”
I frowned.
“He knew?”
Mom hesitated.
Then changed the subject.
I didn’t think much about it at the time.
I was busy learning a new store.
Then Aubrey texted.
She wanted me to train three new part-time employees on the ordering system.
She asked whether I could come in Saturday.
Said Dad might pay for my time if there was room in the budget.
I looked at the message.
For several seconds, I felt the old instinct to help.
Then I thought about the keys.
The staff meeting.
The way Dad had spoken to me.
I replied.
“No.”
Aubrey sent a disappointed expression.
I put the phone away.
And went back to work.
Over the following month, things at Rex’s Hardware began changing.
I didn’t call employees and encourage them to leave.
I didn’t contact customers and ask them to bring their business elsewhere.
I had spent six years building relationships with those people.
I wasn’t going to use those relationships to punish my father.
But I also couldn’t prevent people from making their own decisions.
Aubrey ordered two self-checkout stations.
She signed a five-year agreement for a new register system with expensive monthly fees.
She closed the repair counter.
Eleven mowers were waiting for service.
She called their owners and told them to collect the machines without repairs.
Then she cut Chad’s hours.
Forty to twelve.
I heard about it when he called me.
His voice was tired.
“Brock, I don’t know what to do.”
I sat on a stool at Sully’s repair bench.
He explained what had happened.
The reduced schedule.
The new procedures.
The plan to minimize the lumber yard.
Then he asked.
“Do you think Sully could use somebody down there?”
For a moment, I wanted to say yes immediately.
I knew Chad.
I trusted him.
And Sully’s lumber shed badly needed an experienced person.
But I also knew how it would look if I persuaded my father’s best employees to leave.
So I answered carefully.
“Chad, I’m not going to ask you to quit.”
He was quiet.
I continued.
“That’s your decision. Whatever you choose, make it because it’s right for you.”
He took a breath.
“All right.”
Then he ended the call.
The following morning, Chad resigned from Rex’s.
That afternoon, he called again.
“Brock, I’ve left.”
I remained quiet.
Then he said.
“Now I’m asking. Do you need someone to run the lumber yard?”
I looked toward the shed.
Then toward Sully sitting behind his old rolltop desk.
I explained the situation.
Sully nodded.
“Hire him.”
So I did.
We completed the employment paperwork properly.
Set his hours.
Agreed on compensation.
Then began cleaning the lumber shed.
Chad arrived before seven on his first day.
By noon, he’d reorganized half the inventory.
By Friday, he had the delivery area working more efficiently than it had in years.
Two weeks later, Joan called.
Aubrey had switched paint suppliers.
The new system used unfamiliar tint formulas.
Joan had spent years developing an instinct for matching colors with the old line.
Now customers were bringing back cans because the results weren’t right.
She told me she’d resigned.
Then asked whether Sully might have room for her.
We did.
We built a small paint counter using an old wooden church pew as the base.
Sully found a used mixer.
Joan arranged the supplies.
Within a week, customers were bringing paint samples to Hale.
Then Ricky called.
His delivery hours had been reduced because Rex’s had lost several contractor accounts.
He had three children.
He couldn’t afford to work one day a week.
He resigned.
Then asked whether I needed a driver.
Sully had an old flatbed that hadn’t run properly for months.
Ricky inspected it.
Replaced a few worn components.
Had it checked for roadworthiness.
Then put it back to work.
By the beginning of July, three of Dad’s most experienced employees were working at Astram Hardware.
And customers began finding us.
The first was Cal Lindley.
He built pole barns and machine sheds.
He walked into Sully’s one morning wearing dusty boots and carrying a folded materials list.
He looked toward Chad.
Then toward me.
“Heard you boys were down here.”
I smiled.
“Morning, Cal.”
He placed the list on the counter.
“I need lumber for a machine shed.”
I reviewed the quantities.
Then explained our pricing and delivery options.
Cal asked whether he could open a monthly contractor account.
I told him we’d need the usual credit application and approval.
He nodded.
“That’s fine.”
Then he glanced toward me.
“Your dad’s store stopped doing accounts.”
I remained quiet.
Cal shook his head.
“Hard to build a barn when you’ve got to stop and swipe a card every time you need another box of hangers.”
We completed the application.
Reviewed the terms.
Then approved his account after the standard checks.
More builders came.
Then a plumber.
Then an electrician.