My dad and I walked out along the edge of the property, following the fence line in the opposite direction from June's house. The meadow rolled out for acres, the grass fallen in haphazard piles where we'd cut it earlier this morning, before dawn. I tried to take it all in as we walked, imprint it on my brain so I could revisit it later, the way I'd always done with this place. This place had always been my solace.
The hills swelled up on the edges of the property all around us, the same hills I'd ride out on as a kid, for days at a time, where I'd just disappear to live off the land. Back then, I'd felt free. But that was before what happened with June's sister. Before June's parents died. Before June moved away and everything changed.
Joining the Marines was some kind of misguided attempt at penance. That hadn't worked out so well.
I walked slowly, my leisurely pace not consistent at all with the nervousness I felt about this time alone with my dad. We hadn't had a conversation about the details of what I was doing here yet, and I knew it was coming.
My dad was silent for a while as we walked, leaning over to inspect the fence posts, first one, then another. He grunted, but said nothing. It threw me right back into feeling like a kid again, watching him, waiting to see if what I'd done passed muster.
I don't know why I still cared what my dad thought, especially about something like this. It was fixing a fence, for chrissakes. Why I wanted his approval was beyond me. Especially since I didn't have it anywhere else in my life. At this point, what the hell difference did a fence make?
He bent over, turning toward me after examining the fourth post. "You boys did a nice job with this fence," he said.
"I still remember something you taught me."
He was silent, considering what I said. "Not everything."
Fuck. Here we go, I thought. "What, dad?" I turned to face him. "I can see you're itching to say something. Why don't you go ahead and say it?"
"Alright," he said. "You, this motorcycle club? What are you protecting that family from? What are you involved in?"
I sighed. "It's complicated, dad."
"Not from where I stand. From where I stand it's pretty simple."
"For you it is."
"It should be just as clear to you," he said. "Right is right, and wrong is wrong, Cade. And you, this motorcycle gang, it's not right."
"What do you know about it, dad?" I asked. But I knew he was right, didn't I? This shit with Mad Dog had just confirmed it. "Have you ever tried to understand it?"
"I don't need to understand it," he said. "You've joined a gang, a bunch of criminals."
"That's not what it's about." I could feel my heart rate increasing, the blood pumping in my ears. I was just being argumentative.
"Why don't you tell me what it's about, then? You tell me how you justify doing the things you've been doing."
"It's about having a family, dad. It's a brotherhood." It sounded lame, even to my ears. That's what it had been about, at first. Until it wasn't anymore. Until it was about greed, betrayal. Darkness.
"Because your family here, that wasn't good enough?"
"You're upset because I left West Bend? Because I left you and mom and went out on my own?"
"Of course not. Don't be an idiot."
"Then what is it?" I asked. "Because I didn't come back here and run the ranch? Or is it that I just didn't live up to your expectations?"
"No, you didn't live up to my expectations," he said. "We were proud of you, your mother and I. You had a purpose, an honorable job in the Marines. Now, you come home, dragging a family with you, running from God knows what, nothing good - and nothing legal, I'm sure - looking like hell, covered in tattoos, reeking of booze." He paused, drawing a long breath. "Hell, Cade, I'd say, you haven't lived up to your own expectations."
There it was. The disappointment I'd been waiting for. "Honorable?" I laughed bitterly. "What exactly do you think I did in the Marines, Pop? That's what I don't fucking get. How do you think what I do now is all that different from what I did before?"
"You know there's a difference, Cade. I may not know what you're doing now, but I know it's not legal."
"Legal," I said, practically spitting out the word. "Legal? That's all that matters?"
"No, it's not, son," he said. "You used to have more honor than this, Cade."