Brushing through the blond strands.
“You gotta go to school because you have to learn all the important things. Then you get to decide what you want to do with your life. What job you wanna have. Sound good?”
Rhys almost pouted. “Fine.”
Another chuckle, and his daddy gestured to the things they had spread out on the ground. “Now let’s get this cleaned up and get home. Your mama is gonna be wonderin’ where we got off to.”
Rhys scrunched up his nose. “I bet you’re missin’ those kisses. Gross.”
All his mama and daddy did was kiss all the time.
His daddy rumbled a laugh. “You just wait.”
They went to picking up their things. When they finished, Rhys climbed into his daddy’s big old truck and buckled in the passenger seat.
The engine rumbled to life, and his daddy put it in drive and headed back down the dirt lane that wound through the fields. The truck bounced as the wheels ground over the bumpy road that went up a hill and then down another before they hit the paved road.
The engine roared as they went faster, the windows down and the wind whipping on Rhys’ face. He grinned over at his daddy who was grinning at him. His daddy slowed as they came to a four-way stop where there was a little store with gas out front.
“Shit,” his daddy muttered under his breath.
Rhys didn’t like the tone of it.
Way he felt all his daddy’s big, puffed muscles get rigid and tight.
His daddy pulled to the side of the road real quick, tossed the truck in park, and flew out the door without turning off the engine. “Stay right there,” he ordered, pointing at Rhys.
Fear tumbled in Rhys’ belly, and he unbuckled and climbed to his knees so he could see out the opened window.
There was the old man who talked and walked funny but who was real nice over on the side of the store. He seemed upset because his backpack he carried everywhere had been dumped out on the ground.
There were three more guys there, younger than his daddy, hooting and laughing.
Words were gettin’ shouted.
“I’d think twice about what you’re up to, Brady. Don’t make me call your father,” Rhys’ daddy warned.
“Fuck off, old man.”
“I’d suggest you get back in your truck, drive away, and mind your own fuckin’ business,” one of the other boys said.
That fear got bigger.
So big in his stomach that Rhys thought he was gonna throw up because the words got meaner and louder.
He gripped the windowsill.
Fighting tears that stung his eyes. But they started falling, anyway, because there were all kinds of shouts.
Yells and bad words.
Then one of the guys picked up a board and swung it at his daddy.
And then his daddy got real, real mad.
Everything was a blur.
Hits and groans and people fallin’ on the ground.
Then the three guys went runnin’.
And then his daddy was helping the old man pick up his stuff, saying something that Rhys couldn’t hear, his daddy giving him some dollars, and Rhys started cryin’ harder because he didn’t know if he should be scared or happy and everything felt so wrong.
Finally, his daddy made his way back to the truck. He was quiet when he slipped inside, his knuckles all bloody and torn, and he had a streak of it running down the corner of his mouth.
His daddy watched through the windshield as the old man walked slow down the side of the road.
Rhys was still crying.
Tears hot on his cheeks.
His daddy finally shifted to look at him. “There are lots of different types of people in this world, Rhys.”
Rhys nodded through his tears, even though he didn’t understand what he was tryin’ to say.
His daddy swiped at the blood that was comin’ from the split in his lip.
“All different colors and sizes and shapes. All of them are important. All of them deserve respect. And then every once in a while, God makes someone extra special. Someone who is more vulnerable than others, and it’s our job to protect them. To take care of them. Even when it ain’t pretty. You understand what I’m tellin’ you?”
Rhys nodded frantically because his mama had told him the old man was extra special before, too, and she’d always bring him food and clothes and stuff.
“Yes, Sir.”
His daddy reached over and squeezed his shoulder. “You gotta have a tough outside and a soft inside.”
“Like Mama’s apple pies?” Rhys asked.
His daddy chuckled. “Well, kinda like that, but maybe not so sweet.”
Pointing out the window, his daddy sighed. “Them boys that just went runnin’? They think they’re tough. That they’re men. But they ain’t nothin’ but mean. You understand the difference?”
“Yes, Sir,” he answered again. “You gotta be strong and kind.”
“That’s right.” He squeezed Rhys’ shoulder tighter. “And my boy’s strong as a horse and real good inside. Want you to remember to always be that way.”