Chapter 34 - Derek’s Second Chance
Derek had been working municipal restoration for nearly eighteen months when his supervisor offered him a permanent position.
He almost refused.
“I’m not qualified.”
His supervisor laughed.
“You’ve been doing the job for a year.”
“I mean for responsibility.”
That sentence told me how much he had changed.
The old Derek believed authority belonged to him automatically.
The new Derek feared misusing it.
I met him for breakfast at a diner near the forest preserve.
He wore work boots and a faded flannel shirt.
“I need advice,” he said.
“That sounds dangerous.”
He smirked.
“The county wants me to supervise a crew.”
“That’s good.”
“Some of the guys know my history.”
“Also good.”
“How?”
“They know what failure looks like. That means you don’t get to pretend.”
He stirred his coffee.
“I don’t want to become Dad again.”
The honesty broke my heart a little.
“You won’t become Dad just because you lead people.”
“What if I like power too much?”
“Then remember what it felt like when you had none.”
He smiled weakly.
“I remember that pretty well.”
Derek accepted the position.
Six months later, he proposed something unexpected.
The county maintained neglected public land beside several low-income schools.
He wanted to create student gardens, native habitat classrooms, and small outdoor reading spaces.
“Kids who live in apartments should still be able to dig in dirt,” he explained.
I leaned back.
“You’re asking Sinclair Foundation for money.”
“No.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I’m asking if your preschool students want to help design the first garden.”
I smiled.
“That’s much better.”
The project became known as Roots & Wings.
Children selected flowers.
Landscape crews built accessible paths.
Charlotte designed cheerful signs.
Grandpa Richard donated old farm tools for a small agricultural display.
Even Gerald volunteered.
The first Saturday he appeared, Derek stared at him.
“What are you doing here?”
Gerald held up work gloves.
“Maya said you needed people.”
“You hate yard work.”
“I used to hate work in general.”
Derek laughed.
Then handed him a shovel.
For three hours, father and son planted native prairie grass beside a public elementary school.
Nobody shouted.
Nobody competed.
Nobody cared who earned more.
At lunch, I found them sitting on a curb eating turkey sandwiches.
Gerald’s trousers were stained with mud.
Derek’s face was sunburned.
They were laughing about something.
I stood at a distance for several seconds, afraid that if I moved too quickly, the moment might disappear.
Charlotte came beside me.
“Strange, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“Seeing them look like human beings.”
I laughed.
“Very.”
She slipped her arm through mine.
“We survived them.”
“No.”
I watched our father and brother.
“We survived who they used to be.”
Across the playground, Derek noticed us.
“Hey! Preschool billionaire!”
I rolled my eyes.
“Don’t start.”
He grinned.
“Your kids put worms in my toolbox.”
Leo shouted proudly, “THEY NEED HOMES!”
Derek burst out laughing.
For the first time, our family’s laughter contained no cruelty.
May you like
And I realized happiness was not always dramatic.
Sometimes it looked like mud on expensive bloodlines.
