The Boat His Daddy Left Him

It was not home, but it was something I could pay for without lying awake all night.

When I told Clyde I was listing the house, he did not say a word.

He just looked at me across the feed store counter like I had slapped him, paid for his salt blocks, and walked out. I knew he was hurt. I did not know how hurt.

The boat was the last big thing to figure out.

Jimmy bought it used in 2015, an 18-foot fiberglass bass boat with a 150 outboard, sparkly blue metal flake that caught the sun like a fishing lure.

He paid nine thousand for it, boat and trailer, and he was proud of every dollar.

The bank would only write him the loan if somebody co-signed, and Clyde did. So the title, when it came from the state, had both their names on it, Jimmy or Clyde.

Jimmy paid it off in four years and never once thought about whose name was on the paper.

The duplex had no garage, so in November I asked Clyde if I could leave the boat in his pole barn through the winter, until I got settled.

He said fine. That was all he said. I backed the trailer in myself, which took four tries, and put the cover on and drove away.

I meant to keep that boat for Owen. That was the whole plan, if you could call it a plan.

He was too young to run it yet, but in five years he would not be, and I wanted him to have something of his daddy’s that would float.

That night I made goulash because it was Owen’s favorite and I needed him to have something good on his plate when I told him.

He ate two helpings. Then I put my fork down and told him straight out, because Owen always knew when I was dressing a thing up.

“Uncle Clyde sold Dad’s boat,” I said. “To a man over by the lake. I didn’t know he was going to do it, buddy. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Owen did not cry. That was the worst part. He had cried so much the year before that I think he had gotten tired of it, the way a body gets tired of anything.

He just sat very still and looked at the salt shaker.

“Who’s got it now?” he asked, still looking at the salt shaker. “Who’d he sell it to?”

I did not have an answer for that, and he knew I didn’t, and he excused himself and went to his room.

I heard him moving around in there for a while, and then it got quiet, and I sat at the table with the dirty plates and prayed the only prayer I had, which was help.

You would think the first thing I would do was call the sheriff, and I will tell you why I didn’t. It was not stolen, not on paper.

Clyde’s name was on that title as plain as Jimmy’s, and the man who bought it had paid cash in good faith and done nothing wrong.

And even if there had been a way to make trouble, Clyde was Jimmy’s brother. He was the only uncle Owen had left on his daddy’s side.

I was not going to stand that man in front of a deputy over a boat, no matter how angry I was. Jimmy would never have forgiven me.