Gun Play at Cross Creek by Bill Dugan Page A

unfinished business. With me, or with Mom, maybe. But there’s nothing you can do here. We learned to get along without you, because you left us no choice. Now that we learned, don’t think we can ever go back, because we can’t.”
    â€œThat’s not what I want, son.”
    â€œDon’t call me that. I’m not your son. You’re not my father. You were never a father to me. Hell, I look at you and I don’t remember you at all. I don’t have any memories, good or bad. If I could hate you for something I remembered, that would be different. But you never even gave me that. You’re some stranger who rides in here like he has a right to be here. But you don’t. I don’t know what the hell you want, but it isn’t here. You left me nothing, damn you. And there’s nothing here for you, either. Nothing!”
    â€œWhat I want is to tell you I’m sorry. To try to make it up to you and your mother somehow.”
    â€œMake it up to us?” Tom was incredulous. “Do you really think you can just snap your fingers and wipe away fifteen years? Well you can’t. Now, if you have nothing else to say, it would be best if you left us alone. Again.”
    Morgan shook his head. “It’s not that easy, Tom.”
    â€œIt was before.”
    â€œThat’s not fair.”
    â€œFair, is it? I don’t have to be fair to you. I don’t want to be fair to you. I don’t give a damn about fair when it comes to you, and I don’t think you even know the meaning of the word.”
    â€œBut I do, you know. You think you know everything. That’s only normal for a boy your age. But there’s a lot more to being a man than knowing the answers. Sometimes, you got to stop and figure out the right questions. I don’t think you’ve done that yet. Hell, I don’t know if I’ve done it yet, either. But I got to try. And so do you.”
    â€œThe hell I do.”
    â€œDamn it, Tom. Listen to me!”
    â€œWhy should I?”
    Morgan took a deep breath, trying to calm his own anger and to get a grip on things. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. He hadn’t expected it to be so hard.
    â€œI could tell you what my father always used to say.”
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    â€œ ‘Because I said so.’ But that doesn’t cut any ice with you. I know that. It never did with me, either. But I pretended it made a difference. I figured he’d earned the right to that much, at least. But I didn’t earn the right. That’s why I’m asking you, not telling you. If you’re half the man you think you are, you’ll at least give me that much.”
    Tom nodded. He was breathing hard, the anger still boiling in his gut, but he nodded again and lowered himself to the bridge. He let his feet dangle over the edge, and the water broke into little sprays where the surface grazed his heels. Morgan saw two little rainbows for a moment, where the fine spray scattered the sunlight.
    â€œAlright.”

Chapter 8
    THE RIDE BACK to Cross Creek was the longest of Morgan Atwater’s life. He kept turning the situation over and over in his head. Each time, it started the same way. It had looked so promising. Kate had seemed, if not glad to see him, at least pleased that he was alive. Even that was more than he had allowed himself to hope for.
    But it went sour so quickly. He wasn’t surprised at that, not really. But he thought there must have been a way to handle it, some way that would have let him control the conversation, something he might have said that would have bought him some time. So he replayed the conversation over and over. He was like an obsessed playwright endlessly reworking a scene that had gone wrong. It wrecked the play, brought down the curtain at the end of the first act, leaving the remaining four stillborn. Dead promises, flowers never allowed to bloom.
    It was his fault. He knew