Chapter 14: The Barn Conversation
Roland's truck appeared in the barn's driveway around 4 PM on a Saturday.
I'd been reorganizing the tool storage—a project that had somehow consumed three hours and revealed mysteries about Mutt's past that I preferred not to examine closely. When I heard the engine, my first thought was that something had gone wrong.
Roland didn't visit the barn. That was an unwritten rule I'd inherited along with everything else.
But there he was, climbing out with a six-pack of beer and an expression that suggested he'd rehearsed this visit in the car.
"Mutt."
"Dad."
"Thought you might want some company."
I set down the socket wrench I'd been pretending to sort. "Sure. Come in."
The barn looked different through visitor eyes—sparser than I'd realized, more bachelor pad than home. The bed I'd made that morning. The kitchenette with its terrible instant coffee. The band posters that had been here before I arrived, representing someone else's taste in music.
Roland surveyed it all with the particular discomfort of a man who didn't know how to do this.
"You've kept it clean," he said finally.
"Trying to."
"That's good. That's—" He stopped. Handed me a beer. Took one for himself.
We sat on the mismatched chairs near the window, looking out at the property that had become my world. The silence stretched, not quite comfortable but not hostile either.
"You know," Roland said, "I was about your age when I bought this place. The barn, the land around it. Everyone thought I was crazy. 'Roland, what are you going to do with a barn?' But I had plans."
"What happened to the plans?"
He laughed—short, self-deprecating. "Life. You know how it goes. You start something, then there's another thing, and before you know it, twenty years have passed and the plans are still plans."
I thought about the council meeting, about Ronnie's rejection, about all the things I wanted to do that required trust I hadn't earned yet.
"Yeah. I know how it goes."
Roland took a long drink, staring at something outside the window I couldn't see.
"I've got another barn, you know. On the edge of town. Used to be my grandfather's workshop." He gestured vaguely, as if the direction didn't matter. "Full of cars I keep meaning to fix. Old ones. Your grandfather's DeSoto, couple of trucks, a Pontiac that probably still runs if you give it some love."
"I didn't know that."
"Why would you? It's not like I ever—" He stopped. Started again. "It just sits there. All of it. Waiting for someone to care enough to do something about it."
The information filed itself away—location, contents, implications. Roland's cars. A garage full of potential, gathering dust like everything else in this town.
Another seed, I thought. Another thing that could matter later.
"About the council meeting," Roland said, changing subjects with visible relief. "The signage thing. Don't take Ronnie personally."
"I'm not."
"She's like that with everyone. Tests people. Doesn't trust easy." He took another drink. "But once you're in with her, you're in. She's solid."
"That's what I figured."
"Good. Good." Roland nodded to himself, like he'd completed some internal checklist. "It's just... you've been different lately. More present. More—" He waved his hand. "I don't know. More like someone who cares about things."
"Is that bad?"
"No. No, it's good. It's just..." He trailed off, and for a moment I saw him clearly—not the oblivious mayor, not the inappropriate joke machine, but a man who had a son he didn't understand and no idea how to bridge the gap.
"I'm trying to figure some things out," I said. "What I want. Who I want to be."
"That's—" Roland's voice caught. He cleared his throat. "That's good. That's what you should be doing."
The silence returned, but different now. Warmer.
"I should let you get back to—" He gestured at the tools I'd abandoned. "Whatever you were doing."
"Thanks for the beer, Dad."
He stood up, hesitated, then put a hand on my shoulder. The gesture was awkward, clearly unfamiliar to both of us.
"You know where I am," he said. "If you ever want to... I don't know. Work on those cars or something."
"I'll keep that in mind."
He left too quickly, the way people leave when emotions get too close to the surface. I watched his truck disappear down the driveway and stayed in my chair for a long time after.
The beer was cheap, but I drank it slowly, thinking about fathers and sons and the things they couldn't say to each other. Thinking about a barn full of old cars, waiting for someone to restore them.
He's trying, I realized. In his own broken way, he's trying.
Maybe that was enough for now.
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