Chapter Twelve
Going Home, Part 2
One day of marathon eating apparently had not been deemed sufficient, because Friday morning in Linnie Mae's kitchen featured platters piled up with scrambled eggs, hotcakes, sausages, and biscuits and gravy.
"Don't think we eat like this year-round, darlins'. This is a special time for us, havin' y'all here," Linnie cooed, after both Rayna and Deacon protested that they couldn't possibly eat so much, and then each proceeded to make a good try anyway. As they had breakfast, Linnie and Sallie buzzed about the special Thanksgiving church service taking place later that morning. Having had some experience with the tradition of Southern Baptist meetings as a child, Deacon suspected late morning would become late afternoon by the time the singing, preaching and praying had concluded.
He and Rayna begged off politely when asked if they wanted to attend. "I'm kind of tired today. I didn't sleep all that well last night," Rayna admitted, giving Deacon an odd look. "The bed was wonderful," she reassured Linnie hastily. "It's just because I'm pregnant and uncomfortable. It happens at home, too. The baby decides to wake up just about the time I'm going to sleep most nights, so there's all sorts of rumbling in there that keeps me up."
Linnie nodded, knowingly. "Well, I'm sorry to hear it. But you'd better get used to it, honey. Babies are not known for sleepin' well, and if they're up, their mamas are up, too."
Deacon nodded as well, but for a different reason. He had lain awake half the night himself, thinking about how warm Rayna had felt in his arms when she kissed him - and contemplating the fact that she was just a short staircase away. He even knew exactly how to get down those stairs noiselessly, having navigated them several times when the two of them had last been assigned to separate bedrooms in this house. But of course, everything had been different back then. He heaved a small sigh.
"You all right, Deacon honey? You know, goin' to this service might be just the thing for you," Linnie said, timidly. "Whole lotta good people at our church have been prayin' for you."
Deacon could only imagine how many times his name had been invoked by the good Christians of Natchez First Baptist when they were on bended knee in recent months, though that realization made him rather less inclined to attend the service than more. But the sweetly hopeful look in his mother's eyes suggested that perhaps there was another reason she'd like him there: Her boyfriend – and that term seemed especially odd in connection with his mother – would undoubtedly be playing a major role as the choir director. If their relationship was as serious as Deacon suspected, she probably wanted the two of them to get reacquainted. He might even have a stepfather by next Thanksgiving.
"Tell you what, Mama. There's some chores need doin' around this place, I noticed them yesterday. Your gutters oughta be cleaned out, for instance, and you've got some loose plywood under the eaves," Deacon said, sipping his coffee. "I think I can re-caulk a couple of those windows in the dinin' room, too. That'll save you some on your heatin' bill this winter. If I get that work wrapped up before y'all come back, I'll swing by the church for a while. How's that sound?"
"That'd be lovely, dear," Linnie Mae said, beaming.
When the time came for Sallie, Linnie and Scarlett to leave, Deacon noticed that Uncle Jake made himself scarce, no doubt hoping to escape the service and get a few hours away from the women. Before they left, Sallie and Linnie broke down the carcass from the Thanksgiving turkey and put it in a pot of water on the stove, turning the flame down low. Turkey-and-rice soup and grilled cheese sandwiches would make a satisfying supper when they returned.
With the house full of people for the past 24 hours, it hadn't been at all difficult for Deacon and Rayna to be under the same roof, despite their nocturnal restlessness. But as soon as everyone cleared out, and they found themselves looking at each other across the kitchen table, things got awkward quickly.
Rayna just looked so damned beautiful, sitting there with her hair loose, falling down over her shoulders. She had brought along a pale yellow silk robe with red roses on it and a matching nightie that Deacon had never seen before. She had obviously purchased the robe in an extra-large size to accommodate her middle. But despite her burgeoning tummy, she hadn't gotten big all over. In fact, from the back it would be hard to tell she was even pregnant, despite all her carrying on about how fat she was getting.
This morning, the sun slanted through the kitchen windows at just the right angle to illuminate her throat, making her skin nearly translucent as she sipped her coffee and looked at him. The over-sized robe kept slipping off her shoulders and exposing her collarbone and the top part of her chest. Deacon stared at her throat and her bare shoulders and then he had to look away for a while. He shifted in his seat. When he looked back at her, she was smiling at him.
"I really like your family, Deacon," she said. "I guess I'm kind of surprised you never told me what wonderful people they are."
"Even Aunt Sallie?"
"Well, she's got opinions she's not afraid to share, that's for sure. But anybody that makes gravy that good gets a pass from me," Rayna said, dazzling him with another smile.
"Well, I'm glad you're enjoyin' yourself, darlin'. Sallie's not a bad person, deep down. She and Jake were real good to us, when I was a kid. I don't think they knew what all we were goin' through with my dad, but after he died they took us in and helped Mama get back on her feet."
Rayna nodded. "And Scarlett's just gotten so grown up since the last time I saw her. She's adorable, Deacon. And she sure is crazy about you."
Deacon smiled, nodding. He was glad to see how comfortable Rayna had gotten here. For years, anger and resentment had kept him away from this place except for brief, uncomfortable visits. But finally dealing with the terrible memories of his childhood, and starting to accept them as a part of his life that he couldn't change, made him feel that he'd like to spend more time here. That might be possible, he realized, especially with the way Rayna was growing close to his mother, not to mention how sweet she was with Scarlett. She'd been reading books to the girl and singing with her before breakfast, the two of them cuddled up on the couch together. Maybe all of them, including the baby, would be back here next year as a family.
"What're you smiling about?" Rayna asked, curious about the dreamy expression that had come over his face.
"Oh, nothin'," he said, trying not to stare as she got up for more coffee and that damned sleeve dipped off her shoulder again.
"So, you got a chance to talk to your mother yesterday. That went well, huh?" she asked, once she was settled back at the table across from him, the robe pulled back up and tightened around her tummy.
"Yeah, I think so. I mean, there's no point in rehashin' everything. We both remember what happened and how ugly it was. Besides, I've been dredging it all up for Gus lately, and I think that's the place it belongs. But we did get a few things out in the open. And she apologized."
"Really? What'd she say?"
"Oh, just that she was sorry she hadn't done things different. And that she hadn't taken us away from him when the worst of it started."
"Hmmm… did she say why she didn't?"
"Yeah, kind of. I mean, I still wish I understood it all better, but it was just a different time, back then. Nobody in the family had any money. She never finished high school so she didn't feel like she could get a job that would make enough to keep the three of us goin'. It's hard for us to really get that today, you know? But divorce was a huge scandal back then, especially down here. And I couldn't push her, Ray. You can see how fragile she is."
Rayna nodded slowly. "There isn't always a good explanation for everything, is there? What's pretty obvious is how much she loves you, babe. She really went out on a limb yesterday for us, didn't she?"
"Yeah," he said. "That was real surprisin'. I don't ever remember her tellin' Sallie – or anybody - off like that. I think part of it is, she's got … a boyfriend."
Rayna looked at him, her eyes wide. "Really? I thought you said she never dated anybody after your dad died."
"She hasn't, not that I've heard about. But she told me yesterday that she's seein' this guy who directs the choir at the church. Rick Jones is his name."
"Wow. What do you think of that?"
"Me? Oh, I'm real happy for her. He's a nice guy, I've known him all my life."
Rayna smiled. "Well, I'm happy for Linnie Mae too."
Deacon smiled back. "Yeah. It's nice to know that she has somebody here, you know?"
"Mmmm…"
Their voices drifted off and an instant later, their eyes met. Her shoulder was bare again, in the morning sun, and looking at it was driving Deacon crazy. He couldn't take much more without walking around to her side of the table and kissing her. But he had promised her before they left that he wouldn't touch her while they were here, and he wanted more than anything to follow through and prove that she could trust his word. He pushed his chair back abruptly. "Guess I better get started on those chores if I'm gonna get 'em done in time to go over to the church. I think maybe Mama wants me to say hello to Rick," he said, taking his plate to the sink and heading for the back door.
"Probably so. Hey, I'm gonna get cleaned up and read for a while. Maybe I'll go with you later, if that's okay?"
"Sure, darlin'. That'd be great," he said, trying not to look at her as he crossed the kitchen and went out the back door and down the old wooden steps. He took some deep breaths, then walked down the driveway and opened a side door into the detached garage. This was the place where his father had spent most of his time, when he wasn't at a bar.
He flipped on the light, marveling at how little had changed since he'd last been there. His father's work bench was covered in a thick layer of dust, and the trash can held none of the bottles of Old Crow whiskey that used to accumulate there by the dozens. But other than that, everything looked the same. Deacon located the tool kit his father had kept in a cabinet underneath the bench, lifted the old, rusty ladder from where it was hanging on a nail, and started to work repairing the loose boards under the eaves.
It was warm out, much warmer than it had been on Thanksgiving, and after nearly an hour and a half, Deacon was sweaty and thirsty. He finished caulking the last, leaky dining room window and set the tool box on the back porch, heading inside for some water. He was also curious about what Rayna was doing. He had half-expected her to come outside and keep him company while he worked.
As soon as he shut the back door, he heard her voice, calling his name from the back of the house.
"Deacon! Is that you!?"
He picked up a dish towel and mopped his face, pouring himself a glass of water from the pitcher on the counter. "Yeah," he called back. "Whatcha doin', Ray?"
"Can you come here, please? I need you."
There was a worrying note in her voice, something akin to panic. Deacon put his glass down and hurried in the direction of the guest room, sticking his head inside and finding her suitcase open on the bed. The room was empty.
"Rayna? Where are you?"
"I'm in the bathroom," she called out, her voice muffled. His brow furrowed and he walked down the hallway, finding the bathroom door closed.
He stood outside and knocked. "What's the matter, Ray - you okay?"
"Yeah. I mean – just come in here and help me a minute, will you? The door's not locked."
Deacon opened the door slowly and peeked around it. The room was steamed up and at first he couldn't see her.
"Shut the door, babe," Rayna said. "And please don't laugh."
"What?" Deacon asked, baffled. He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. When he turned around, he saw immediately that she was lying in the claw-footed bathtub, looking mortified. Deacon stood stock still and stared, overwhelmed by the sight of her body, naked in the water.
He'd seen her without any clothes on countless times over the years, starting when she was just a teenager, and he knew every inch of her body like he knew his own. But now, she looked very different. Her breasts were larger and riper, somehow, than he'd ever seen them, and the curve of her rounded belly seemed to be floating just above the water line, like an island in a lake.
"Ray. You … you look-" Deacon's voice was so strangled he couldn't get any words out.
"... like a beached whale. I know. Please don't rub it in."
Deacon shook his head. "That's definitely not what I was gonna say, Rayna. You look beautiful, baby. Beautiful and damn sexy."
She sighed, obviously disbelieving but willing to indulge him. "Thanks, babe. Listen, I need your help. I stupidly got in here to take a bath and now I can't get myself out. There's nothing to grab onto, I can't turn over and I'm afraid if I try to just push myself up, I'm going to slip."
"You mean, you're ... stuck ... in a bath tub?" he asked slowly, a grin starting to creep over his face as the situation became clear. "How'd you get in there in the first place, Ray?"
"I don't know, I just kind of – sat down," she said, looking distressed. "I was going to take a shower and then I thought about how this old tub looked so big and comfortable, and how nice it would feel to have a good, long soak. But when I got ready to get out, I couldn't reach the faucet to pull myself up." She demonstrated, trying to lean forward but unable to get more than a few inches. "My stupid stomach's in the way!"
Deacon brought his fist up to his mouth, trying hard to stifle laughter.
"Stop it!" she protested, recognizing his struggle and trying not to laugh, herself. "It's not funny."
"Yeah, it is kind of funny, darlin'," he said, chuckling a little.
Rayna laughed too, in spite of herself. "I know. But you'd better not tell anybody about this, Deacon Claybourne. I'll never, ever hear the end of it from the guys if you do."
"I won't tell 'em, Ray, I promise," he said, still laughing.
"Good. Now, can you just come over here and get me out, please?"
"Okay," he said, walking over and crouching down by the side of the tub. He circled his arms around her back and braced his legs. "Put your arms around my neck," he instructed, and she did. He pushed himself to a standing position, hauling her along with him. He had picked her up many times and never found it difficult before. But this time he struggled a little, mainly because she was dead weight until she was able to find her footing. Deacon tried hard not to show how tough it was, however, knowing how sensitive she was about getting heavier.
They stood a moment, arms around each other, and then he helped her step out of the tub. Her hair was slicked back, wet, and she looked up at him, trembling slightly. "You're shiverin', Ray. That water musta gone cold on you," he said, reaching for a towel.
"No," she whispered, still clinging to him. "That's not why …"
Something in her voice caught his attention and his eyes went to the mirror, which was cleared up by now. The sight of the two of them, him fully clothed and her completely naked with her arms around him, was incredibly erotic. He swallowed hard and averted his eyes.
She took the towel he handed over to her, removing her arms from his neck, and clutched it to her chest, her hair dripping all over the floor. He looked back into her eyes, feeling his breath coming quickly and his heart beating faster. After a moment, he could no longer help himself: He reached out and traced the tops of her breasts with a finger. "These are … a lot bigger than before," he murmured.
"Mmm-hmm," she nodded, still looking at him intently. Then she leaned in and he closed his eyes as she first kissed his forehead, then his left cheek, and then his right. She finally let her forehead rest against his, her breath hot against his face. He drew in a shaky breath, feeling her drop the towel and reach her arms around his neck again, moaning softly. Then she kissed him on the mouth.
"Ohhhhh," he sighed, and she moaned along with him, renewing the kiss and pressing the length of her body against his. He reached up, not even conscious of what he was doing, and took her breasts into his hands, brushing his thumbs across her nipples. She whimpered and raked her fingers through his hair in a way that signaled powerfully to him that she wanted him to touch her again, but lower down this time.
One more minute and he would have pulled her to the floor with him. But a nagging feeling in the back of his head gave him pause; a warning voice that told him to stop things before they got to the point of no return.
"Ray," he whispered, pulling away slightly, "we said we weren't gonna do this."
"I know," she said, looking up at him, her eyes alight with desire. "But I want you, babe. I don't want to wait any more. I can't wait any more." She started to kiss him again and every part of his body wanted to respond. Except that damned voice in his head, which was getting louder every second.
Deacon steeled himself, reached up and took hold of Rayna's arms, stopping her mid-kiss. It was one of the most difficult things he'd ever done. If months of sobriety hadn't strengthened his willpower, he never could have managed it, he was sure. He looked into Rayna's eyes, which were searching his, questioning him. "I don't want to wait either, Ray, believe me I don't. But I made you a promise, darlin'. And I aim to keep it."
"I don't care about the promise, Deacon. Not now."
"Well I do, Rayna. I made a whole lot of promises to you, these last few years, and I broke every damn one of 'em. I'm not gonna do that again."
"But Deacon –
"Darlin', please don't make this any tougher on me than it already is. I'm tryin' to turn my life around. I want to keep my word to you."
"Babe-" she started again, but he took a deep breath and stepped back.
"Rayna, when I asked you to come down here with me, you said we weren't ready for this. Are we now? Are you positive about that?"
Rayna continued to look up at him, the unabashed lust in her eyes nearly slaying him. But he also saw just a shadow of a doubt there. It was enough to tell him everything he needed to know. "I can't do this with you right now," he said, crouching down to retrieve the towel and handing it to her. She took the towel slowly, looking shocked and maybe – he thought – a little bit hurt.
"I'm sorry, Ray. I want this – I want you – more than you can ever know. But this time, baby, I'm all in. For the three of us," he said, resting his hand lightly on top of her belly. "I want us to get this right. And this … I don't know. Somehow it just doesn't feel right."
He turned away abruptly and put his hand on the doorknob, heaving another sigh. "I'm gonna go clean those gutters, Ray. If you want to come to church with me later, let me know." He glanced back at her again and turned away swiftly. "Just - for gods' sakes - put some clothes on!"
Deacon walked swiftly through the house and out the back door, shutting it behind him and then leaning his back up against it, breathing hard. A few months ago – hell, a few weeks ago - if anyone had told him he would walk away from a luscious, naked woman who so clearly wanted to fuck him – let alone that it would be Rayna – he would never have believed it. He still could barely believe it, and he'd just done it.
If it had been incredibly difficult to stay away from booze, it was almost more difficult for him to stay away from Rayna. Everything inside of him wanted to turn around and go back to her, to pull that towel off of her and …
Deacon picked up the tool box and walked resolutely down the back stairs, not looking back. He had walked away from her once but he knew without a doubt that if he went back inside, he wouldn't be able to do it again. He went into the garage, intending to put the tools away and then go find the ladder and start on the gutters. But as he threw the door open, he ran smack dab into his uncle.
"Jake! I'm sorry, man. I didn't see you there," Deacon said, taking a step back. The older man stepped backwards too.
"Sorry, Deke. I was just comin' in to see if Sallie, and your mama and Scarlett, were back from church yet."
"Nope, they're not. I was just inside, uh … helpin' Rayna out. There's some turkey in the fridge if you want a sandwich."
"Naw," Jake said, watching Deacon step over to his father's work bench, open the cabinet underneath it and stow the tool box inside. "I took a walk downtown and had me some pulled pork at the barbeque shack, if you wanta know."
Deacon smiled over at the soft-spoken, white-haired man whose bushy eyebrows gave him a somewhat fierce look. In reality, Jake was a sweetheart, through and through. He had to be: He'd been married to Sallie for nearly 40 years. Deacon had always considered him something like a substitute father, especially in the months after his own father had died. Now Jake waggled the stump of a cigar in his fingers and gave Deacon a sly smile. "Don't let on to the womenfolk, Deke. They don't approve, but I gotta have me a cigar ever' once in a while. It's just about the only vice I got left."
Deacon laughed and nodded. "Don't worry, Uncle Jake. It's our secret."
Jake smiled, grateful, then a look of concern came over his face. "You okay, son? You looked kinda shook up when you come in here just now. Everythin' all right?"
"Oh. Yeah, I'm fine. Just … got some things on my mind, I guess."
Jake leaned up against the work bench and stuck the cigar between his teeth, apparently in no hurry to leave. Deacon looked at him and then leaned up alongside him. He'd learned years ago that when Jake had something on his mind, there was no hurrying him.
"Well, son," Jake started. "Your mama tells us you've had some trouble with the drink over the years."
Deacon laughed a little, admiring Jake's gift for understatement. "Um, yeah, you could say I've had some trouble all right."
Jake sighed and nodded his head, than he turned and laid his hand on the work bench, patting it softly. "This right here is where Sam Claybourne used to do a lot of his drinkin', if I remember right. Caught him out here passed out once or twice, back in the day."
Deacon nodded. "Yup, I found him out here passed out once, too. Took my first swig out of a bottle that day. I guess I was about eight."
"Mmmm-hmmm, that sounds about right."
Deacon looked at his uncle, curious now. "You remember that day?"
"No, not exactly. But that was about how old you were when your mama started pullin' away from all of us, like she was scared of us findin' out somethin' she didn't want us to know. Sallie worried herself sick over it. We all did, I guess."
This idea – that his mother's family had been concerned about them – was a new one for Deacon. He'd never really thought about it. "You've heard," he asked slowly, "about what he was like? What he did to her, back then? The way he treated all of us?"
"Well, your mama hasn't said a lot. But it don't take much to figure most of it out. We knew somethin' bad was goin' on, but he kept y'all away from us for a lotta years, Deke. I don't know if you remember that, but we hardly ever saw y'all for a while there. He didn't want the Dillon family interferin' in his marriage, he said. And your mama – well, I think she musta been ashamed to admit that we were right and she was wrong about Sam."
"What do you mean?"
Jake looked at him, keenly, his lips pursed. "Your daddy was a bad apple, Deke. A real mean old cuss."
Deacon nodded, silently.
"I guess that's not news to you. But I knew it from the first time I met him. I always say you can tell a lot about a man by the way he treats his animals. I remember Sallie and I went by his place one time with your mama, when the two of 'em were courtin'. I could see right away that that man's dog was downright scared of him. He had a young hound that just about cowered when he called it. That pup come crawlin' up on its belly, like it was afraid of gettin' kicked. Dogs don't act like that unless they been treated cruel, Deke, I can tell you that. No animal does. It just about killed Sallie and me, thinkin' about him treatin' Linnie like that. We begged her not to marry him. Her mama and daddy did too, but she had her mind made up. And you know the Dillons, son - once their minds are made up about somethin', they're stubborn as mules. I guess Linnie thought we'd all say we told her so if she up and left him."
Deacon pondered this for a few moments, the memory of his sister's kitten coming sharply to his mind. He could hear her crying and screaming inconsolably after his father had wrested it from her grasp, yelling about how he was going to get rid of it. Deacon realized that he was trembling. His uncle gripped his arm, hard. "I want you to know that I'm real sorry, Deke, for what happened to y'all. We didn't know all of what was goin' on, but if I'd known what that bastard was up to - believe me, I would'a killed him myself. I would'a killed him with pleasure."
Deacon had never seen his gentle, soft-spoken uncle so angry. He felt his eyes well up and he swallowed hard, touched to find out that someone had wanted to protect him. "We went through a lot of bad years, Uncle Jake. I been thinkin' about 'em lately, goin' through my program at AA. The worst of it is, I'm just exactly like him. He always said I was gonna turn out like him, and I guess he was right about somethin'."
Jake stared at him a moment, then laughed heartily. Deacon looked at him, his brow furrowed. "What's so funny?"
"That's a real joke, you thinkin' you're anythin' like old Sam Claybourne."
Deacon smiled a little, feeling thoroughly confused. "Why do you say that? I'm a mean drunk, just like he was."
"You, like him?! That's a rare one, Deke. You can't be serious, thinkin' anythin' like that."
When Deacon still looked confused, Jake went on. "You ain't a damn thing like Sam Claybourne, Deke. I remember he used to talk all the time 'bout how you were nothin' like him. Used to accuse your mama of runnin' out on him – said maybe you weren't even his boy."
"He did?" Deacon was incredulous. He didn't remember any of this.
"Sure. Sometimes I even wondered if maybe he was right," Jake said, sagely. He looked at the flabbergasted expression on Deacon's face and quickly shifted gears. "No. Your mama ain't the type, son. She's a church-goin' woman. And you got the old man's chin, so I don't doubt y'are his. But where he was rough and loud and crude, you were always a quiet, polite kid, real kind to your mama and your sister and ever'body you ever met. You never hurt a fly, son. I don't think you ever could."
"You haven't seen me when I'm drinkin', Uncle Jake. I just ... I get so angry. I hurt everybody around me. Hell, Rayna's afraid to even have me around the kid, for fear I'm gonna be like that."
Jake seemed to think about this a moment. "Well then, I guess you just better stay away from the bottle for good, that's all. And hell if I can blame ya for bein' angry, Deke, after what you saw growin' up. But your daddy, he was a nasty son of a bitch, drinkin' or not. And you ain't anythin' like that."
Deacon thought about this for a moment and he realized something: He might have the same weakness as his father, but that didn't mean he was like him, deep down. He remembered again the incident with his sister and the kitten, and the way he had instinctively tried to stop his father from hurting them. He'd gotten in between them, trying to protect them, and been thrown across the room for his trouble.
"You know, all these years, I didn't think I had a choice, Uncle Jake. Bein' his son and all, I just figured I was gonna act like him, if I ever had a kid."
"Well, we always got a choice, Deke, far as I can tell. All of us. I mean, I ain't a preacher and I don't take to church the way your mama and Sallie do, I'll admit that. But the way I figure it, we all come into this world with some kind of blood line, and some kind of family history. But from there on out, it's up to us how we run our lives. You can go down the same road your old man did. You got his weakness for the bottle, that sure enough seems to be true. But there's nothin' says you have to go that way. You don't have to wind up where he did, hurtin' your girl or that baby you got comin'.
Deacon looked at him, wonderingly. Could it be true? Was it possible that he'd been so completely wrong about himself, all these years?
"You mean …" he started, but stopped, feeling at a loss for words.
"Follow your own path, Deke, and I tell you, you're gonna be just fine. Why, you got that beautiful woman in there, everybody can see plain as day how much she loves you. It's all over her face, every time she looks at you. An' you two got your music, you got a way to make a livin' just by makin' other people happy. That's a wonderful thing. And now you've got this little one comin' along. That's a blessin' from above, right there."
"Yeah," Deacon said, a smile spreading over his face. "It's … kinda scary though too, y'know?"
"Sure. Sallie and I never got the chance to be parents, but we've seen enough babies born to know ever'body's always scared, 'specially when the first one comes. But you're gonna be a wonderful father, Deke. I known you all your life. You don't have anythin' to worry about, not with Rayna right alongside you. Just stay in your own lane and be the man you was born to be, son. You'll do fine."
The back porch door slammed and Aunt Sallie's voice rang out, high and loud. "Jake!? Where've you got yourself off to now?"
Jake raised his eyebrows and hoisted himself upright, giving Deacon a warning look as he snubbed out his cigar on Sam Claybourne's workbench and tossed it in the trash. He winked at Deacon. "Now you remember what I said about that cigar, Deke. That's just between us, right?"
Deacon smiled and nodded. "Yup."
Jake walked to the garage door, hollering: "Hang on, woman! I'm comin' in right now!"
Deacon stood there for a while, in the very spot where his father's selfishness had sent him down a path that had nearly ended his life. He smiled to himself and pondered his uncle's words - about choices and being the man he was supposed to be. He thought long and hard and then he walked outside, picked up the ladder and tucked it under his arm, ready to get to work. After all, there were gutters that needed cleaning.