He shook Chad’s hand.
Complimented Joan on the paint counter.
Then approached me.
“How’s that John Deere?”
I smiled.
“Waiting on a carburetor kit.”
Otis nodded.
“No rush.”
For a moment, he looked toward the floor.
Then asked.
“Brock, your dad says you walked out on him.”
My chest tightened.
I looked up.
“Does he?”
Otis nodded.
“Says you left him short-handed just when Aubrey was getting started.”
For several seconds, I remained quiet.
Then asked.
“Is that the story he’s telling?”
Otis shrugged.
“Every afternoon at the coffee pot.”
I stared toward the front windows.
For six years, I’d worked to keep that store running.
Dad had chosen to remove me.
Now he was telling people I’d abandoned him.
I took a slow breath.
“That’s not exactly how it happened.”
Otis studied me.
Then nodded.
“Well, if you ever want to explain, I’ll listen.”
He didn’t push.
That’s one thing I’ve always liked about Otis.
He knows the difference between asking a question and demanding an answer.
After he left, I sat at the repair bench for several minutes.
Then returned to work.
The county called shortly afterward.
Bert Kenny managed equipment maintenance for the Livingston County road department.
He was about sixty and spoke so efficiently that sometimes his phone calls sounded like messages read from a checklist.
“Brock.”
“Morning, Bert.”
“Heard you’re down in Hale.”
“Yes, sir.”
He got straight to the point.
Two county ditch mowers had been waiting on replacement blades for days.
The order placed through Rex’s had become confused.
Equipment was sitting idle.
The county needed a more dependable supply arrangement.
Then Bert mentioned the upcoming annual procurement.
The mower parts and service contract would be competitively reviewed.
Bids were due later that month.
He wanted to know whether Astram Hardware intended to submit one.
For a moment, I couldn’t speak.
That account had belonged to Rex’s Hardware for years.
I knew the equipment.
The parts.
The schedules.
The county’s requirements.
But it was still my father’s largest recurring commercial account.
I thanked Bert for the information.
Then walked toward Sully’s desk.
He was writing on his calendar.
I explained everything.
He listened.
Then said.
“Do you know how to service those mowers?”
I nodded.
“Yes.”
“Can we supply the parts?”
“With the right inventory and vendor agreements.”
He nodded.
“Can we deliver on time?”
I looked toward Ricky loading the flatbed.
“Yes.”
Sully put down his pencil.
“Then submit a bid.”
I hesitated.
“Sully, that’s Dad’s account.”
He looked at me.
“No, Brock.”
For a moment, he seemed almost disappointed.
“It’s the county’s account. Your dad has been supplying it.”
I remained quiet.
Then he added.
“If the county wants bids, you’re allowed to submit one.”
I nodded slowly.
He pointed toward the office.
“Do the numbers properly. Don’t give anything away just to prove a point.”
That made me smile.
“All right.”
For four evenings, I prepared the bid.
I reviewed parts costs.
Freight.
Labor.
Delivery mileage.
Equipment servicing requirements.
And the county’s procurement rules.
I wasn’t going to promise services we couldn’t afford to provide.
Instead, I calculated a sustainable price that reflected our actual purchasing arrangements.
We had access to a regional parts cooperative with competitive wholesale rates.
Ricky could handle deliveries efficiently.
And I could schedule preventive maintenance around existing work without neglecting our other customers.
The final proposal included defined response times, stocked critical components, and a regular maintenance schedule priced into the contract.
I reviewed everything with Sully.
Then delivered the sealed bid before the deadline.
We waited.
Meanwhile, Otis’s mower was still waiting for the unusual carburetor kit.
I remembered that Sully had sold me the same part back in March.
He’d written the supplier information somewhere.
Probably on his calendar.
One Saturday afternoon, Sully was away visiting a doctor with Annie.
I needed the part number.
He’d given me permission to use the desk records when necessary, so I sat at the rolltop desk and opened the large calendar.
I flipped back to March.
His handwriting filled the page.
Rain.
Deliveries.
Customer payments.
A church order.
A birthday reminder.
Then I found the carburetor kit.
Part number.
Supplier.
Price.
Exactly what I needed.
I copied it down.
Then noticed another line written beneath the entry.
“Asked Rex’s boy. Said no because his father needs him.”
I stared.
For a moment, I remembered the conversation.
Sully offering me the job.
Me refusing.
His pencil moving across the page.
I smiled sadly.
Then turned to April.
More weather notes.
Customer reminders.
Supplier deliveries.
Then May.
On the twelfth, a line caught my eye.
“Rex came by. Keep opening for Brock. Don’t tell him I was here.”
I froze.
Read it again.
Then again.
Rex.
My father.
He had come to Hale in May.
A month before the staff meeting.
Before Aubrey received the keys.
Before Dad told me I’d only ever taken from him.
I turned to June.
Found the Monday I’d been dismissed.
Near the bottom of the square, Sully had written:
“Brock called. Door still open, as Rex requested.”
For a long time, I sat completely still.
Then the memory returned.
Dad standing in the paint aisle.
“Go on. You’ve got somewhere to go, don’t you?”
At the time, I’d thought he was dismissing me.
Telling me to find another place willing to employ me.
But now I understood.
He knew about Sully’s offer.
He knew the door was open.
He’d made sure.
And he’d kept it from me.
For several seconds, I couldn’t breathe normally.