“Have you heard from your old man?”
His question startled her.
“He called. Twice. Mainly he’s mad that the story referred to Amber as his mistress.”
Tug chuckled and sipped his coffee. “Did you call him back?”
“No. I think he just wanted to vent. He doesn’t exactly have a lot of friends.”
“What a terrible thing that woman did, dredging up something from your past that you had no control over.”
“Yeah, well, it’s out in the world now. Again.”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about this morning. I don’t want this crap to derail you or make you ashamed. You’ve done nothing wrong. In fact, you’ve done everything right.”
“No,” Hattie said, shaking her head vehemently. “The house, the stupid show, Trae Bartholomew? It was all a mistake. You tried to warn me, but I wouldn’t listen.”
“You were right not to listen to me. I’ve been too hard on you. Listen, the Chatham Avenue house, what you and Cass and our subs have accomplished over there, it’s nothing short of a miracle. I was dead set against taking it on, but I was wrong. You don’t grow and learn by doing what you’ve always done in the past. Sometimes, you’ve gotta take a leap of faith, like you did signing on to this Homewreckers outfit.”
Hattie nibbled at the edge of her biscuit. “That’s sweet, Tug.”
“Dammit, don’t you call me sweet,” he insisted. “The only shame in making mistakes is if you don’t acknowledge them and learn from ’em. You taught me that, Hattie. I’m proud of you.”
“Me?”
He reached for a biscuit and took a bite, chewing slowly while crumbs cascaded down the front of his worn bib overalls. “I’m just a hardheaded old man, and I know that. Maybe it’s time for me to retire and hand the business over to you and Cass.”
“You can’t retire, Dad. I won’t let you. You are Kavanaugh and Son. You’ve forgotten more about building and restoring old houses than I’ll ever know. All our subs, our clients? You’re the one they trust. The one they respect.”
“Nah. You’ve earned their respect, Hattie. Besides, I can’t keep up working like this forever. Nancy says she wants us to travel, before she has to push me around in a wheelchair. She says I need to fix all the things that are wrong with our house, instead of somebody else’s.”
He dunked the edge of his biscuit in the coffee and looked up. “Maybe we need to work out some kind of a timetable, what’s that called?”
“You mean a succession plan?”
“That’s it. You know, I’m eligible for social security now, but I thought I’d wait ’til I’m sixty-five. In the meantime, there’s no reason you can’t take over bidding out the jobs. Cass can keep up with the scheduling. And of course, Zenobia runs the office. She’s really the brains of the operation, but don’t you dare tell her I said that.”
“Dad, I’m not sure I’ll have the resources, even three years from now, to buy you out. The trucks, the equipment, the office? Property in Midtown, on Bull Street, is hot right now. I can’t even imagine what it would sell for today.”
He allowed himself a smug smile. “I’ll tell you a little secret. It’s not just our office. I own the whole strip of storefronts, bought it for peanuts back in the seventies. Anyway, the price is immaterial because I’m not selling it.”
“You shouldn’t. That’s your retirement fund right there.”
“I’m giving it to you,” Tug said.
Her coffee mug made a loud clatter as it hit the tabletop. “Me?”
“Who else am I going to give it to? Nancy’s good-for-nothing nephews? My niece? Who never even bothered to send a mass card when Hank was killed?”
“I don’t know what to say,” Hattie started.
Tug finished his biscuit and lumbered to his feet. “You don’t have to say anything. You’re our family. Have been since the day Hank laid his eyes on you. Family takes care of family.”
“Thank you,” Hattie said, blinking back tears. “I’ll never forget the way you and Nancy have taken care of me all these years.”
“Go on then,” Tug said, pointing toward the door. “Get yourself out to Tybee. Finish the job the way I know you can. Hold your head high, and don’t take no shit off of nobody. Especially that fancy-ass designer.”