Uncivilized
Page 52

My eyebrows rise in surprise. “He said the same exact words to you after all those years?”
“Yes, which made me realize that your father meant those words with conviction. It was the first time in my life… ever… that I realized someone believed in me absolutely. I didn’t think it was possible for me to admire and love your father more, but from that moment, your father had my absolute allegiance. I would have died for him.”
Randall’s words hit me hard because I realize that this man isn’t just someone that’s out on a curious lark to get a gander at his friend’s long-lost son. I think he feels true depth of emotion and obligation to my father, and he is using this opportunity to bring me back to my roots as a way to finally pay my father back after all these years, for not only saving his life, but for believing in his own humanity that Randall doubted he actually had.
After breakfast, Randall loads me up in a silver car that he calls an Aston Martin, which doesn’t mean much to me, and we head out to my parents’ house.
Well, my house now.
The summer sun here in Georgia is hot, and the air is moist, renewing my longing for back home. As we drive along, I find my curiosity about this man increasing.
“Where do you get all of your wealth from?” I ask him pointedly.
Randall gives a boisterous laugh. “My great-grandfather started a department store called Cannon’s back in the twenties. It’s quite the legacy now. Started out as just a little store in downtown Atlanta, and now it’s in practically every mall across America.”
“What’s a department store?”
“A place where you can buy things such as clothing, shoes, and some other home goods. I’ll take you to one and show you while you’re here.”
“And you own this entirely?”
“I share ownership with my brother, Stanley. I’m the chief executive officer, which means I pretty much run the company. Stanley, unfortunately, prefers to spend the money we make rather than work for it. His ownership is nominal.”
“And do Clint and Cara work for the company?”
Randall snorts loudly. “Hardly. They follow in their father’s footsteps and pretty much live off their trust funds.”
I’m silent for a while as I digest this. My first impressions of Clint and Cara were not favorable. They seemed like frivolous people to me, both wanting to discuss nothing more than parties and expensive toys. Neither one of them would survive five minutes in the rainforest.
Not Moira, I realize. She’s a very resourceful woman and, despite her lack of caution while tromping through the jungle on the day we left Caraica, almost earning her a snakebite, I expect if she was left to her own devices to survive in that environment, she would ultimately have no problem. This thought actually makes me proud of Moira. Makes me respect her even more.
Before long, Randall turns off into a neighborhood that actually looks similar to the one that Moira lives in. The trees are a bit different looking, but the houses are small and well maintained. After navigating through a few streets, Randall finally pulls in front of a little, yellow house with black shutters and a black front door. The porch is white, and two rocking chairs sit to one side.
Immediately, I recognize this as the house I lived in until I was seven. Emotion floods through me as memories abound. I remember playing with little, plastic toy soldiers, right there in the front yard. I know in the backyard there’s a peach tree I used to climb, and my mom would admonish me not to eat the fruit before it was ripe.
I swallow hard as Randall turns off the car and opens his door. I go ahead and exit, my eyes soaking in everything, right down to the little red and yellow flowers that border the sidewalk that leads up to the porch.
Randall walks over to me and holds his hand out. I absently reach outward, and he drops a key in my hand. I look down at it, and then back up to Randall.
“Let’s go take a look, shall we?” he asks.
I nod and head up the porch, my feet feeling heavy. The key slides smoothly in the lock, and I give it a turn. As soon as I step in, I recognize everything. The tiny living room still has the same couch and loveseat from when I lived here. It’s quite ugly now that I think about it, in shades of brown and orange-patterned prints of birds. The floorboards creak slightly as I walk further in, and I swear I can actually envision my father sitting on the couch, silently reading a Bible passage.
Turning to look into the small kitchen, I see it’s still painted the same butter yellow with white lace curtains over the window that sits above the sink. I imagine my mom leaning down to pull chocolate chip cookies from the oven while she hums softly to herself.
I can even see myself running down the narrow hallway, calling out to my mom, “Look what I made, Mommy.”
I handed her a drawing done in crayons of a little stick figure boy with a small, brown dog at his feet. “Can we have a dog?”
My mom laughed at me as she looked at the drawing. “That’s beautiful, Zach, but you know we can’t have a dog. We’re leaving next month for Brazil, and there would be no one to take care of it.”
“Uncle Randall can watch it for us. I’m sure he’d do it.”
My mom ruffled my hair and leaned down to kiss me. “I’m sure he would, baby. But if you’re going to have a dog, you need to be the one to care for it. Maybe we can get one when we get back, okay?”
Disappointment filled me because I didn’t want to go on this mission trip with my parents. I loved Jesus, and all of his teachings, but I didn’t want to leave my home… my friends… Uncle Randall. I loved it here.