Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 78227 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78227 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Today I’d much rather be out with the livestock, doing hard labor with my hands.
I know everything about our beef business, and sometimes… Sometimes I wish I could just do nothing but the kind of work that keeps me outdoors interacting with the animals, with the land.
But that isn’t my life today.
I head up to my father’s office, pass his assistant and his secretary, and knock on his door.
“Busy,” he says.
I open the door anyway. “It’s me, Dad.”
“I said I’m busy, Brock.”
Bryce sits in the office with Dad, the two of them poring over some kind of ledger.
“Sorry. This can’t wait.” I close the door and lock it.
“Brock…” He’s using his I’m your father voice.
“Nope. I’m not going anywhere, Dad. Uncle Bryce, I’m glad you’re here as well.”
“We’re busy here,” Uncle Bryce says.
“Save it. I’m sure my father’s told you what we found yesterday.”
“Son…”
“No.” I walk closer to them, and I don’t sit. I like standing while the two of them are sitting.
I’m no longer afraid of my father. I was never afraid of him, really, but I did respect his authority over my life.
I still do, to a certain extent.
But it’s time for him to explain himself.
“I couldn’t talk to you on the ride home yesterday,” I say. “I was still too…freaked. But now I need some answers.”
“Joe—” From Uncle Bryce.
Dad lifts a hand to stop him. “It’s all right, Bryce. The boy is entitled to some answers.”
I roll my eyes. “Boy? I’m a grown man, Dad, and I’m entitled to more than answers. But if answers are all I’m going to get today, I’ll settle for them.” I still don’t take a seat.
“What do you want to know?” Uncle Bryce asks.
“This is a conversation between me and my father.”
“Bryce can stay. He and I don’t have any secrets.”
“Fine. Have it your way.”
“Sit down,” Dad says.
“I’ll stand, thanks.” I meet my father’s gaze.
I see so much of myself in him. He’s basically an older version of me, except there are parts of him that I don’t ever want to be.
“You frightened me yesterday, Dad. You weren’t yourself.”
“No,” he admits. “I was my fucking old man. I’m not proud of it.”
“It’s not just that,” I continue. “I’ve always known what to expect with you, Dad. You’re a good man, an honest man, but you have your limitations. Your inability to control your anger is one. I’ve learned to deal with that. We all have, Mom included. We know you won’t hurt any of us. But we know you will hurt inanimate objects. Walls, for example.”
“And?” Dad raises his eyebrows.
Does he really not know where I’m going with this?
“You weren’t like that yesterday. You should have been as angry as anything, but you were so…in control. In control of everything you did, and that included holding a gun to a person’s head for nearly twelve hours straight. I’d bet you could’ve passed a lie detector test during that time. I’ve never seen you like that. You were pure ice, Dad.”
Uncle Bryce takes note. Looks at my father. “Joe?”
Dad sighs. “I’m not an iceman, Brock. I’ve only known one iceman in my life.”
“Really? Because didn’t you always teach me that I shouldn’t be judged by my thoughts but my actions?”
“I did.”
“Your actions during the past thirty-six hours showed you to be an iceman. As icy a man I’ve ever seen in my lifetime.”
“You’re only twenty-four,” Dad says. “And I hope you never have to see what you witnessed in Wyoming again.”
“Yeah, that makes two of us,” I say. “You need to explain yourself.”
“I’m not an iceman.”
“You’re defined by your actions, Dad. Didn’t I just say that?”
“Your father’s not an iceman,” Uncle Bryce says. “A true iceman is icy all the time. A true iceman can make you believe anything. He can make you believe that he’s the most devoted and kind father in the world, all the while doing unthinkable things that you know nothing about.”
Uncle Bryce’s blue eyes are stern, yet sad. He’s speaking from experience.
“What Bryce isn’t saying,” Dad says, “is that he knew a true iceman. So did I. He was a father figure to both of us.”
“Tom Simpson,” I murmur.
“That’s right. Uncle Bryce’s father. Tom Simpson. That man led a double life.”
“Still,” I say, “I didn’t like what I saw, Dad. It was frightening.”
“I was on edge the entire time,” Dad says. “I surprised even myself.”
“Why? Why did you resort to such tactics?”
“What else would you have had me do?” Dad stands, coming face-to-face with me. “We had to find the information. We had to find out what Doc knew. And we did.”
I don’t respond, because in truth, I’m not sure how to. Silence reigns for a few unending moments, until I finally speak.
“I don’t think Doc is a bad man at heart.”
“Neither do I,” Dad says, “or at least I didn’t. But tell me, Brock. Would a good man at heart be doing what he’s doing?”