“Sure is, but by the look of you, you need one.”
“I’m thinking something stronger is in order.”
“Done.”
His dad motioned for him to follow him into the house.
“Maybe I should go get the car before we open any bottles.”
“Good thinking,” said his father.
“What’s up with you?” Mantis asked. As much as he didn’t want to talk about Alegria or Dutch or even K19, his father’s behavior warranted a conversation.
“I’ve decided to retire.”
“Oh. Uh, do you still work?”
His father had run a successful manufacturing consultancy for many years, and for the most part, worked from home.
“Maybe not as much as I used to, but enough that I think about it, and I don’t want to think about work anymore.”
“You’d rather start drinking first thing in the morning?”
His father smiled. “I don’t intend to drink any more often than I do now. However, today, you look like you need to tie one on tight.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Who said anything about talking?”
An hour later, they hadn’t gone to get a rental car; Mantis hadn’t even reserved one. What he had done, though, was tell his father every detail about what had gone down between him and Alegria, and Alegria and Dutch. He couldn’t talk about the latter in detail, but he could convey his anger at what his supposed best friend had done.
His father hadn’t said much, nor had he had much to drink. When Mantis stopped after the first round of whiskey, his dad had too.
“She did cut you loose,” his father said when Mantis finally shut up enough that the man could get a word in.
He shrugged. “I like to think of it as a mutually-agreed-upon decision.”
His father laughed out loud. “What a load of bullshit. You refused to do as she asked, and she dumped you.”
“You’re right.”
Mantis was six feet three inches tall and weighed two hundred and
thirty pounds, yet his father still bested him in both. When Kip Cassman rested his hand on a man’s shoulder and squeezed, like he’d just done to Mantis, whoever it was would feel it down to their toes.
“How’s Jonas?” Mantis asked, pushing the memory of how he and his oldest brother had always worked out with their father, but their younger brother never joined them.
“He’s good. Theresa just had that sweet baby girl, Alana. I always wanted a girl, but I guess I was just meant to be a grandpa to a couple. No offense to you or your brothers.”
Mantis cringed at his father’s use of the plural word. He no longer had brothers; now he only had one. “None taken.”
“What in the world?” said his mother, coming in from the garage to find them both with their feet up on her coffee table.
“Just a little father-son bonding, Minnie.”
She walked over and picked up his father’s glass. “Whiskey? At ten in the morning?”
“I think we started closer to nine.”