The Wedding Suit I Wore to the Hospital

Ben

Ben came around the bed then and stood in front of me. He is six foot two, taller than I ever was, and he teaches ag at the high school in town and runs the livestock judging team. The boys on that team would follow him through a burning barn.

“Dad,” he said. “That was on me.”

“No, it wasn’t,” I said.

“Yes, it was.” He did not look at the floor this time. He looked right at me. “I stood there. I watched you thank her, and I watched you walk out, and I didn’t say a single word. I should have said, Ash, he can wash up. I should have gone after you.”

“You’d been up two days, son.”

“That’s not a reason.” His jaw was tight the way his mother’s got when she was not going to be argued with. “I’ve been thinking about it all night. Mom would have had my hide.”

That was true. She would have. I did not say so, but I did not have to.

“I was scared too,” Ben said. “That’s the truth. I’ve never been this scared of anything. And I let you take the weight of it because you’re the one who never complains.” He wiped his eyes with the heel of his hand. “I’m sorry, Dad.”

I stood up and put my hand on the back of his neck, the way I used to when he was a boy after a bad ball game.

“You’re a good man,” I said. “You’re going to be a good father. Fathers make mistakes on the first day. I made about nine of them the day you were born.”

“Like what?”

“I’ll tell you sometime. Your mother would want me to leave some of them out.”

He laughed, wet. It was a good sound.