Chapter 4 - Caleb Reed Had Raised Mason After Gordon Died
Gordon Reed died when Mason was seventeen.
Heart attack.
Sudden.
No mystery.
No conspiracy.
A father who left for work on a Tuesday and never came home.
Caleb was Gordon's younger brother.
My father.
After Gordon died, Caleb stepped into the empty spaces.
College applications.
Car problems.
Mason's first apartment.
The range.
“Was he more father than uncle?”
I asked.
Mason stared at the parking lot.
“Sometimes.”
There it was.
The resentment finally had a shape.
I sat again.
He stayed standing.
“When did Caleb leave me?”
“Which time?”
That hurt.
“Try not being clever.”
“I’m not.”
Mason shoved his hands into his pockets.
“Caleb and your mom broke up when you were four.”
“I know.”
“He still saw you.”
“Sometimes.”
“Then less.”
“Yes.”
“He'd come here after.”
“After seeing me?”
“Yes.”
“What would he say?”
Mason looked uncomfortable.
“That Claire was making it impossible.”
My jaw tightened.
“Was she?”
“I was a teenager. I believed him.”
Fair.
“Later?”
“Later I realized he was good at saying something was impossible when he meant painful.”
That sounded important.
“What happened when Gordon died?”
“Caleb moved closer.”
“To you.”
“Yes.”
“And not me.”
Mason’s mouth tightened.
“You lived three states away.”
“He had a car.”
“Yes.”
Good.
No excuse.
Mason continued:
“I thought he picked us.”
“Us?”
“My mother. Me. The range.”
I looked through the windows.
The facility was bigger than I expected for a family legacy.
“You owned this?”
“No. Gordon and Caleb used to manage the old place that stood here.”
“Then?”
“Sold.”
“When?”
“Years ago.”
“Caleb stayed?”
“Consulting. Training. Whatever he felt like calling it.”
“And you?”
“I got hired after college.”
“So he brought you in.”
“Yes.”
I heard it then.
Mason hadn't only grown up with the uncle I thought was dead.
He had inherited the place where that man still appeared.
“What did Caleb say about me?”
Mason laughed softly.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“He talked about you constantly.”
My throat tightened.
“What?”
“School pictures.”
“He had pictures?”
Mason looked at me.
“Apparently.”
I didn't like apparently.
“What kind?”
“Your mom sent some when you were little. Later he found public stuff.”
“Social media.”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“That you hated tomatoes.”
I stared.
“I do.”
“That you played baseball badly.”
“I played one year.”
“He knew.”
“That I wanted to study environmental engineering?”
Mason frowned.
“Didn't know that.”
Good.
He wasn't secretly omniscient.
Mason continued:
“He asked me once what I'd do if you came here.”
“When?”
“Five years ago.”
I would have been seventeen.
“What did you say?”
“That I'd send you away.”
“And he said?”
“Good.”
I sat with that.
“Why?”
Mason looked down.
“He said Reed men had already confused teaching someone with owning their choices.”
I almost laughed.
“Then you falsified my evaluation.”
“Yes.”
“You don't hear the problem.”
“I hear it now.”
I stared.
He did not get points for timing.
Then I asked:
“Why did you punch me?”
Mason took a long time.
“When I saw you get off the bus from the partner campus…”
He stopped.
“What?”
“I knew Caleb was upstairs.”
“So?”
“I knew the second you walked in, he'd watch you.”
“That made you angry?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Mason looked directly at me.
“Because he had been ignoring my calls for six months.”
That landed.
“He came back for me.”
“Yes.”
Mason’s voice hardened.
“You didn't even know he was alive.”
There it was.
Not range policy.
Not family protection.
Jealousy sharp enough to become cruelty.
I said:
“You had him for twenty years.”
Mason laughed once.
“No.”
May you like
Then looked away.
“I had pieces too.”
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