“I think you get me,” I answer honestly. “I think you are one of the few people who gets me, and do you know how I know that?”
“How?” he asks, staring down at the fire again.
“Because when I came to you for a job, all you had to hear was my story. You didn’t need to hear about my qualifications, or lack thereof; you heard my story and you understood. You knew I needed to feel close to my dad after his death, and working for the store would do that. You gave me a shot, and ever since then, not only have you given me the chance to stay connected to my dad, but you continue to challenge me, to grow my skills, and motivate me to grow professionally. You know exactly what I need and when I need it. You can anticipate my needs, and no one else does that like you do.”
Still not looking at me, he slowly nods.
In all the years I’ve worked for Ford Chance, not once have I ever seen him like this, so . . . dejected. There isn’t an ounce of his usual charismatic confidence, and it’s incredibly concerning. He’s a rock, someone I can lean on, and right now, he seems to be missing the strength that makes him the amazing man he is.
“Where is this coming from?”
His jaw tics with tension as he studies the fire in front of us. I’m afraid he’s not going to answer and I’m going to have to pressure him, but finally, “My siblings hate me.”
“What? No, why would you—”
“They practically told me they hate me.” He sets the poker down. “They told me I’m a shitty brother, that I don’t understand them, I don’t listen. That I’m a workaholic, that I only scratch the surface when it comes to them, that I really don’t care about them . . .”
“They said all of that?” I ask, completely shocked.
“Yes.” He leans back in his chair. “I’ve only wanted to protect them.” He smooths his hand over his eyes, and my heart lurches in my chest. I could not imagine what that kind of confessional blame would feel like. If Beau said those things to me, the hurt would bring me to my knees.
“Ford, you do protect them.”
He shakes his head. “I isolate them. I suppress them.”
“You don’t suppress them. Their accomplishments and successes aren’t on you; that is not your responsibility.”
“And they’re right, I don’t think I even know them, but even worse . . .” He looks at me. “I don’t think I know myself or this company.”
Oh man, they really did a number on him. Sure, he might have issues with his siblings, and yes, he seems quite lost at the moment, not just with his brother and sister but with the company, with himself. For the past month I’ve felt that he’s been withdrawn, confused at times, second-guessing himself, and I’m not sure if it’s from the impending reunion with his family or if he’s been stressed with the party, but I can’t stand by and listen to him talk about himself in such a negative way, not when he’s one of the best men I’ve ever known.
He’s thoughtful, intense, driven, but so caring, especially with me. He watches out for me, helps me, guides me, makes me feel like I’m important.
I need to do the same for him.
“Ford, if anyone knows this company, it’s you. You live and breathe it.”
He shakes his head. “I know the business side of it. I know the accounting, the numbers, the logistics. But when it comes to the heart of the company, the heart of myself, the heart of my family, I’m disconnected. Hell, I can’t even come up with a new logo for a company I’ve known my entire life.”
I sit back and try to understand where he’s coming from.
He’s clearly had a rough day. Having the truth, even if it’s a semitruth, thrown at you, is tough to swallow. And I have a feeling this is going to haunt him. It’s going to throw him off, and he’s not going to accomplish everything he wants to accomplish while we’re here, especially the store branding.
But the fact that he doesn’t think he knows himself or the store—or his siblings, for that matter—makes me feel sad for him. That sense of disconnect can’t possibly settle well, especially not with Ford.
That needs to change. Right now, Ford needs to be reminded of the kind of person he is, and I very well might be the one to do that.
“Then let’s find out who you are,” I say.
He glances up from the fire. “What?”
I put on a smile. “Let’s find out who you are. If you think you don’t know yourself, you don’t know the company, what better place to look for yourself than the very place you grew up, where Watchful Wanderers originated? And while we do that, we can connect on another level with the company. Who knows, maybe it will spark an idea for the rebrand.”