Faith in the Family, Draft 2, CH 12 (Patreon)

I94, ND, January 14^th

Thomas fought against looking at the kangaroo. Grant hadn’t even glanced his way once since getting back on the I94, and that proved to be more unnerving than if he kept looking Thomas’s way. Sure, he said he didn’t need details, but how did someone hear “I got in trouble with some people” and not follow that with ‘who, how, why?’. He hadn’t even asked about how Thomas had ended up walking at night in an abandoned industrial park.

Thomas would demand to know the details if the positions were reversed. Even if he was happy not to have to figure out what he could and couldn’t say so, he wouldn’t end up convincing Grant the only place he needed to be driven to was the loony bin. And would a demonstration land him in Area 51? Or whatever the real-life equivalent was.

He wished he was in a movie right now. With that would come the knowledge that in the end, everything would be fine. This was just an adventure of discovery. He’d be a man able to save the world by the time he was done.

At least the music out of the car’s system would be something recent and with some pop to it, instead of this boring old instrumental stuff.

“So,” Thomas said, needing to hear something that wasn’t putting him to sleep, “just how does someone go about becoming a wandering good Samaritan?”

Grant glanced at him and focused back on the road. “I don’t know that I can explain it in a way that would make sense to you. Say it’s a calling.”

“Really? Like you’re some sort of priest?” Thomas asked in disbelief, and Grant seemed to find that amusing.

“Your family, back in Minneapolis, you get along with them?” Grant asked.

“They aren’t who I’m in trouble with,” Thomas replied defensively. Of course, since Thomas had asked a question, he was now fair game in return.

“Didn’t think they were. You said it was your dad’s idea to go to your grandfather. I don’t think you’d be going along with it if they were.”

“Okay,” Thomas said tentatively.

“So?”

Thomas sighed. Well, so long as he didn’t go into details about what his parents got up to, this should be as safe a topic as any.

“I get along as well with them as anyone gets along with their family. My dad’s a little overbearing, especially since he’s a teacher at UMn, where I’m going. My younger brother hates my guts, my older sister can’t stop poking in my business. My mom has a cooking channel online. She started it around the time I came along. Three was too many to only be home part-time.”

“What did she do before?”

“She was a journalist.”

Grant tilted an ear. “Seem to me that’s something she could have kept with even while being him.”

“The way she says it, she couldn’t just sit at a computer looking for the story. She had to be out there, wrestling it to the ground and shaking it until it gave up the good.” He chuckled as he remembered her on her knees, acting out what she’d told him. Then he sighed. “Dad tried to be more involved in raising me, but… nothing bad,” he said at the look Grant threw his way. “He wasn’t neglecting me or anything. But dad can’t not focus intently on what he does, and he only has so much focus to go around. With teaching, and planning Victor and Judith’s entire life, there wasn’t much left for me. But to be honest. I think the real fear was that he would find the energy to add me to his portfolio and then mom wouldn’t be around often enough to distract him and one of us would end up suffocating under the expectations. He had the entirety of the Encyclopedia Britannia lined up for Judith to learn. Or so the story goes.”

“Your father sounds like a man who doesn’t let others distract him.” The pickup slowed enough Thomas glanced at the dash, and from his position, the needles said they were going seventy-five now. It had to be stuck because an old clunker like this couldn’t go that fast, let alone how fast they’d have to have been going before Grant slowed.

“Mom knows how to press his buttons if you know what I mean.” Thomas realized what he’d implied and prayed Grant didn’t press. They crested the hill and grant drifted into the fast lane to pass the state cruiser parked on the side of the road.

“That sound less like press his button,” Grant said, smiling, “and more pull his stick.”

Thomas sank into the seat. “Well, because of mom, me and Roland were hover-free until I graduated and started getting ready for university. All of a sudden, it was like he’d discovered we existed, and we were about to ruin our lives if he didn’t immediately take control of it. Roland blames me for it since as soon as dad was done establishing how he was going to guide me through my classes, he was taking over his training, telling his coach how things should be done, and adding a few hours every day to his weight and game training. At this point, dad knows more about how to play football than Roland does, I’m sure of it.” He chuckled. “I finally got out of the house and moved into a frat, only to forget he works at the university I study at. I’m amazed he hadn’t shown up at the frat and demanded to take charge of my study time there.”

He chuckled again at the image of his father talking with Henry, then stopped as his father said he’d looked into the frat and that he would find out what was going on. Was that how the frat had gotten their hands on him?

The pickup picked up speed and Thomas looked behind them. The trooper was no longer visible.

“You sure your brother hates you?”

“Oh yeah.” Thomas had to think of all the times his brother had walked out of a room the instant Thomas entered it or turned around if he saw him there. And Christmas at Grandpa and having to room together.

What a disaster that had been.

“How old is he?”

“Two years younger than me. He’s on his high school’s football team and he’s made MVP a few times.”

“Good for him,” Grant said, sounding impressed. “You think he’ll go for a football career?”

“Dad definitely thinks—thought so.” He sighed as Grant looked at him.

* * * * *

Bozeman, December 24th

“Will you stop being my adviser for five minutes?” Thomas demanded, his breath fogging.

 His father looked at him. The light from the grotto’s entrance highlighted the surprise on his face. “Thomas, all I did was say that you don’t have to worry about your grades. That’s me as your father, saying that, not as your—”

“And you don’t get how worse that makes it!” All he’d wanted was some quiet away from the men in his family, and Ettore, who his grandfather was evaluating by getting him to instruct Roland on how to properly handle a rifle. But his father had tracked him down to the grotto of his childhood like the homing helicarrier that he was. It had been nice, at first. Reminiscing about how he’d found Thomas in here after he’d gotten separated.

But Eric Hertz, being who he was, had had to follow that with a comment about Thomas’s school work.

Thomas rubbed his face as his father’s confusion increased. Screaming didn’t help, he knew that. “I spent all of grade school and high school managing fine, Dad. That’s twelve years of getting good grades without once needing you to tell me how to do things. Then you were in my face, constantly reminding me I had no ideas what I was going with my life.”

“Thomas,” his father said, immediately switching into instructor mode. Thomas wasn’t sure Eric even realized he did that anytime he was about to ‘lay his wisdom’ on his son. “College is more demanding than high school. Yes, the classes seem easy since you’re just starting, but—”

“They get exponentially harder as you are expected to manage your time as well as retain and apply when your previous classes taught you.” Thomas even kept the monotone delivery, which he considered a feat considering his mood right now. “I’m fine with the lessons, Dad. It’s the constant hovering over my shoulder and expecting me to be valedictorian.”

“Son,” his father replied. “Just because Judith and Victor were both valedictorians doesn’t mean I—”

“You know what?” Thomas cut him off. “Since you’re bringing them into this, there’s something I need to know.” His father was confused again. He didn’t always know how to respond to his ‘script’ being interrupted. Thomas should give him time to register and refocus, but he wasn’t giving him the chance to take hold of the conversation again.

“I know you’re treating me and Roland just like you treated Victor and Judith while they grew up.”

Eric closed his mouth, and the confusion resolved itself. “Thomas,” he said conciliatory. “If you ever felt that I neglected you who you were growing up I—”

“I was grateful!” Thomas yelled in exasperation. He ground his teeth. He took a deep breath. “Maybe I’m just remembering the good times, but I grew up around you, Dad. I saw how you are. How having to focus on Victor and Judith seemed to be everything to you. Fuck, I think it’s a miracle you managed it, considering how much of a handful they both were. I didn’t expect to be one of them, one of your great kids, Dad. Mom was there for me and Roland.”

Eric was silent, and instead of silently goading him, Thomas turned and focused on breathing. On being ready for whatever his father was about to lay on him.

Only when his father spoke, he didn’t sound like the instructor or the college adviser. He didn’t even sound like the Father, layer on of wisdom. He just sounded like a man.

“It sneaked up on me. Tomorrow was always the day I’d have time to apply myself to you and Roland. Then, as I was helping Judith plan her thesis and Victory with raising the twins, you appeared with a high school diploma in one hand and a college acceptance letter in the other. Tomorrow had just arrived, and it was about to become yesterday.”

Thomas swallowed, unsure he’d wanted that level of honesty from his father. Unsure what he’d wanted from his outburst. He sighed. “I’m not against you pushing me, Dad. Even Paul’s realized I need the occasional nudge to go anywhere. But you’re pushing me when I don’t even know what direction I want to go into. And I’m not saying I want you to pick it for me. But fuck, it would be nice if you gave me the space to at least figure that out, instead of showing me how all the possible directions can be great. I’d like… I’d like the luxury of being allowed to not pick one, if that’s what I decide.”

His father’s sigh was melancholic. “I guess I should be more attentive in supporting whatever decision you make. And until then, you still need the right classes to build toward a Liberal Arts degree should you decide on that.”

Thomas hung his head. Even when he was doing what Thomas was asking, his father found a way to remain far too involved.

“Have you considered Madoc’s offer to build you into the next Mister Universe?”

Thomas rounded on his father. “No. We are not going there. And you know what, if you’re going to grab at the lowest hanging fruit, let me return one to you. Does Roland want to play for the NFL?”

Eric stared at him, shocked. “He loves football.”

“But does that mean he wants that as a career? And you even asked him? Like you said, he loves it, and if it comes down to him going along with your ambitions for him or quitting, it’s going to be easy for him to just go along.”

His father flinched but didn’t look away. “It’s not just me. His coach thinks he has what it takes to make it there.”

Thomas shrugged. “He’s a Hertz. He’s going to excel at whatever he puts his mind to. But that doesn’t mean it’s going to be football.”

His father was thoughtful before nodding. “Just remember that you’re a Hertz, too.”

* * * * *

I94, ND, January 14^th

“Your father sounds like a ‘do things my way’, kind of guy.” There was something in Grant’s tone that made Thomas uneasy.

“No,” he protested. He didn’t think that was what his story had portrayed. In fact, it was about the only time he remembered his father stopping and thinking about what he’d done. He still didn’t know if he’s talked with Roland. He hadn’t wanted to pry after he’d nudged in what he hoped was the right direction. “Well, a bit.” That was the first time, after all. Grant must have picked up something from his tone. “He gets hyper-focused. So he does everything he can think of to make sure you succeed, but it means he forgets he’s making decisions for you.” He almost added that his father always meant well, and while true, it came across as something lame to say. “What about you?” he asked quickly before he lost his nerve.

“What about me?”

“I told you about my family. Only fair you tell me something about yours.”

“I don’t have one,” Grant answered in a flat tone and without looking away from the road.

Oh yeah. There was a story there.