Chapter 6 - Frank Dawson’s Definition of Loyalty
Dad returned to my porch.
This time I did not invite him up the steps.
“You told Derek I’d help him.”
“No.”
“You told him I needed to remember who family is.”
His face changed.
“Your mother talks too much.”
That answer confirmed enough.
“What exactly did you know about his job problem before the barbecue?”
“Not details.”
“Did you know HR wanted to speak with me?”
He stared.
“How do you know that?”
There it was.
“Yes or no?”
“Yes.”
My stomach dropped.
“You knew.”
“He said they were coming after him over some sales nonsense.”
“And my name?”
“He said you might get pulled in because you work there.”
“So Saturday you help him burn Lucas’s toys.”
“Don’t connect things that aren’t connected.”
“Then explain the phone.”
His eyes moved.
A tiny movement.
Enough.
“What phone?”
“Derek positioned his phone to record the patio.”
Dad’s jaw hardened.
“People record family events.”
“Pointed at the place where you expected me to stand?”
Nothing.
I stepped closer.
“What were you trying to get on video?”
He finally exploded.
“You always think you’re smarter than everybody!”
That was not an answer.
But it was movement.
“You get one respectable job and suddenly every decision the rest of us make is backwards.”
“Dad.”
“You think Derek should lose his livelihood because some twenty-something salesman got his feelings hurt?”
“You don’t know what the complaints are.”
“He told me enough.”
“Then you know more than I do.”
That stopped him.
I continued.
“I haven’t been given details because I’m not part of the investigation.”
His face tightened.
“Then stay out of it.”
“You came here asking me to interfere.”
“That was before.”
“Before what?”
Dad realized the sentence and looked away.
“Before you refused?”
He said nothing.
“Or before whatever you and Derek tried Saturday failed?”
His expression changed.
For one second, I saw fear.
Not guilt.
Fear of discovery.
Then he returned to command mode.
“You’re tearing apart this family.”
“No.”
I thought about Aaron.
About Lucas.
About my mother apologizing.
“People keep saying no to Derek.”
I paused.
“He’s the one tearing things apart because nobody taught him what no means.”
Dad left without another word.
That evening, Peterson’s legal department sent me a preservation notice.
Not because I had done anything wrong.
Because my personal communications with Derek and Frank after learning of the investigation might become relevant to possible retaliation.
I saved everything.
Texts.
Voicemails.
Doorbell footage of Dad’s visits.
Mom’s barbecue photograph.
Then I went upstairs.
Lucas was drawing Mr. Bamboo.
In the picture, the panda had wings.
“What’s that?”
“He’s not dead.”
I sat beside him.
“No?”
“He’s just somewhere stuffed animals go.”
I nodded.
“That sounds nice.”
Lucas added another cloud.
Then:
“Do I have to see Uncle Derek again?”
“No.”
“Grandpa?”
I hesitated.
“Not until you want to.”
He looked relieved.
Another no.
Another boundary.
Another thing my father had taught me to treat like disobedience.
May you like
I was learning late.
Lucas, thankfully, was learning on time.
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