Bet on It (81)

The cobbler was obviously room temperature, but Walker still felt his excitement build once she opened the lid. There it was, almost spilling over the edges of the hefty tin pan. Golden brown and juicy and the second most gorgeous thing he had ever laid eyes on.

He and Benny were so enraptured by the dessert that they didn’t notice Gram gathering plates and utensils until they clinked down on the table in front of them.

“I’m goin’ to set this here.” She smiled at them. “Then I’m goin’ to go on up to my room and give y’all some time to talk.”

“Gram.” He reached for her hand as she tried to turn away, flashing pleading eyes at her, all but begging her to stay.

She smiled softly and petted his head. “You need to do this, Wally. Talk with your daddy. He ain’t gonna bite.”

He watched as she walked away, the tightness in his chest returning once he was finally alone with Benny. When he looked at his father, Benny’s eyes were on him, dark and soft, his brow furrowed. When neither said anything, Benny picked up the serving spoon and dug into the cobbler, cutting out a piece and putting a scoop of ice cream on the plate along with it before handing it to Walker, who didn’t touch it until his father took his first bite.

“You know, this was my favorite thing to eat as a kid,” Benny said softly around a mouthful.

“Really?”

“Yep. It’s why Mama gets such a tickle out of you lovin’ it so much.

“I didn’t know that.” Walker pushed the back of his spoon into his ice cream, watching it cave under the pressure. Suddenly he wasn’t so hungry for cobbler.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” his father said. “Which is a damned shame … and my fuckin’ fault.”

Walker shook his head. “Dad…”

“No, you don’t need to try to tell me otherwise. I know it is. It’s my fault. It sure as hell ain’t yours.”

Something welled up in Walker, a feeling that he recognized from deep, deep in his past. The need to comfort his father, to make him feel better when it was clear that he wasn’t doing well.

“You were strugglin’, Dad. You were sick. I…” He was torn between his need to follow his emotion and his need to not let his father off the hook.

“You’re right.” Benny nodded. “I was. I was sick and strugglin’ and dealin’ with all kinds of my own shit, but that didn’t make it right that I drug you along with me through it all. I should have given you to Mama earlier. Way earlier. Shit, probably shoulda handed you over the second you were born. Maybe then you wouldn’t hate me so much.”

“I don’t hate you, Dad.” His heart felt heavy at the thought of his father believing that. “I swear I don’t. I … I’m scared is all. All that time I spent with you, and the aftermath of everybody in Greenbelt knowin’ every damned detail … it messed me up. The PTSD changed the way my brain works and the way I feel and perceive things. It’s hard for me to be around you and talk to you sometimes because I immediately get transported back to bein’ that scared little boy ridin’ in the passenger seat of your car way too young. No seatbelt on, no safety or security, no daddy conscious enough to make sure I was doin’ all right.”

Benny hung his head, sniffling, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. Walker’s eyes welled up, and he begged his lips not to tremble.

“But that doesn’t mean I hate you, or that I don’t want you around.” He kept going, even as his voice shook. “It just means I need you to be patient with me. I need you to understand that you can’t just move to Greenbelt and start carryin’ on like we’re any old family who doesn’t have the baggage we do.”

Benny’s jaw clenched. Walker could see that he was trying to hold himself back from crying. He didn’t know what he’d do if his father started sobbing outright.

“I can do that,” Benny told him. “Whatever I need to do, I will. I’ll take your lead on all of it. I just want to gain your trust. I want to be somebody you turn to. I want to be your father.”

“I’d like that too.…”

And that was it. Harder than he’d thought by a mile and somehow easier too. No big plans, no sweeping declarations—only the promise that they would both try to be better.

Neither man said anything else. They ate their cobbler in silence. Trying, for the first time, to enjoy each other’s company. Now that his taste buds weren’t bitter with the acrid taste of anxiety, Walker could finally enjoy his summer peaches and melted ice cream.

Flaky and buttery and sweet. It was the perfect harmony of flavors that never seemed to get old. Walker had been searching for the words to describe what eating this cobbler felt like for over a decade. He’d never managed to nail anything down. Not until he was able to sit in one of Gram’s old kitchen chairs across from his sober father at least. Now he realized he knew exactly how eating that cobbler made him feel. Like he was home. It gave him the feeling he imagined other people had when they were locked up tight in their cozy houses with their loving families and an unending sense of contentment.

Before, the cobbler had been the only thing that made him feel that way. But things were different. Something settled in him while in the quiet company of his family. Just like something had settled in him when he’d realized that he loved Aja.