“What about Saturday?” I said, thinking I’d have plenty of time to think up an excuse by then.
My dad sighed. “Saturday, huh?”
“I could help you today, Dad,” Randy said. “Then we could all finish it on Saturday.”
I knew my father’s answer as soon as he looked at Randy. “Ahh, fuck it,” he said. “I don’t know what I was thinking. You boys go on, do what you gotta do. I’ll just . . .” he looked around. “And grab yourself some donuts, huh? I don’t want ‘em going to waste.”
Randy said, “But what’ll you do?”
My father finished his beer, walked over to the six-pack and pulled off number four. “I’ll be fine, son,” he answered.
Then, under his breath, “Beats the shit out of me.”