Boone & Sons Contracting is doing well. I’m thinking about what the “& Sons” part means now that the sons have their own lives to build. Maybe nothing. Maybe someday one of them picks up a hammer alongside me, maybe neither does, and either way is fine. The name was always a promise, not a plan.
And me — for the first time in seventeen years, I’ve got a little room in my life that isn’t filled with raising someone. It’s a strange feeling. I’ve started fixing up an old truck in the garage just for me, which the boys find hilarious. A woman named Carol, who runs the diner where I get my morning coffee, has been patient with me for about two years now, and I’m finally thinking I might deserve to stop being so slow about it. Slowly. There’s no rush. I learned a long time ago that the good things are worth being patient with.
