“HEY, DAD!” BRAD HOPPED UP FROM THE DESK IN his bedroom and carried his laptop with him out into the hallway. “Where are you?”
“In the kitchen.”
He hurried down the stairs. “Listen to this. I finally got a reply from Trevor Reynolds.” He looked at the screen. “ ‘Hey, kid. Sorry it took so long for me to answer your last e-mail. I needed to wait until we nailed down a few more dates. Afraid the news is Lincoln, Nebraska, is as far west as we’ll make it this summer.’ ”
He glanced up at his dad, then continued reading. “ ‘Congrats on graduating from high school with honors, and thanks for the video you sent from that party you played with your friends. You’re good. When you get to college, don’t let your practice slide. Take care and stay in touch. Trevor.’ ”
He looked up again. “Did you hear what he said? He liked the video. He thought I played good.”
“I heard.”
“Man, I wish I could go see him perform again. Maybe you and I could take a trip to Nebraska. You know—a father-son thing. Last hurrah before college.” He tried to copy the pleading look his sister could do with ease.
His dad laughed. “Nice try, son.”
Sure. He’d known it was a long shot, with or without the pleading look. Money was tight. His dad had used what little there was to spare to see Penny get her master’s degree in Denver. Brad was at home to help tend the livestock. That aspect of ranch life had kept his dad on a short leash for years. But the ranch was his dad’s passion just like the drums were Brad’s. His dad didn’t mind the sacrifices he made to live the life he loved. Brad planned to follow his example in pursuit of the life he wanted.
“I was about to make some popcorn,” his dad said. “Want some?”
“Sure.” Brad closed the laptop and set it on the counter.
“I’ll get the air popper. You melt the butter.”
“Okay.”
His dad opened a cupboard and reached for the popper. “We won’t have many more chances to do this before you leave for college.”
“Dad, I’m only going to BSU. I’ll probably be home so often you’ll want to kick me out. And besides, we’ve got all summer before I leave.”
“All summer,” his dad echoed softly. “It seems a long time at your age. Not so much at mine.”
Brad got butter out of the refrigerator and put some into a coffee mug to melt in the microwave. By the time it was done, the corn was starting to pop into a large mixing bowl on the opposite counter. The sounds and smells brought an onslaught of good memories with them, and Brad suddenly understood that he really would miss home once he was out on his own.
Thanks, God, for making him my dad. He’s the best.