“Thirty days, all paid for out of my own account,” Garrett said, pouring dark gravy into a gravy boat.

He came around behind my chair and laid his right arm across my shoulders, squeezing gently.

“You spent thirty-five years building Callahan Construction from a two-room trailer into a twelve-million-dollar company, Dad,” he said.

I looked down at the dark mahogany grain of the table, feeling the solid weight of his hand on my shoulder blade.

“Everything I’m doing, Dad, I’m doing to protect what you built,” Garrett said, his voice sinking low and quiet.

“That’s a generous trip,” I said, keeping my hands flat on the table.