The tense silence returned, but only for a moment. “You know, that saying is misused in modern times,” Katrina said, her calm, reasonable voice a much-needed break.
Andrés shook his head. “What?”
“The whole phrase goes, the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb. People shorten it to mean that kin is stronger than all else, but the original meaning is that the bond between nonfamily members can actually be stronger than family.”
“What on earth does that have to do with anything?”
Katrina grimaced. “Sorry. It seemed relevant.”
Andres exhaled in a great rush. “I think it’s time I go. This is useless.” His shoulders drooped. “Jasvinder, you can do whatever you want. Of course, I’ll never disown you. Come to the parade, don’t come to the parade. I’ll love you, even though you don’t want me.”
Jas clutched his glass. “I can’t.”
“Yeah, yeah. Like I said, if you don’t want to, fine.”
Jas couldn’t take this anymore. “I didn’t say I don’t want to come. I said, I can’t.”
Everyone turned to him.
“What does that mean? Why can’t you?” Andres asked.
“I can’t . . .” The rest of the words stuck there, as they always did.
I can’t because I am physically incapable of doing this thing you ask.
I can’t because I’m not the man you used to know.
I can’t because even though I look mostly the same, my brain is different now, and this thing you’re asking of me, this simple, tiny thing that anyone else could do, will hurt me.
He swallowed, and tasted his self-disgust.
“Jas, it’s okay,” Katrina finally said, her voice soft.
It wasn’t okay. Jas placed his napkin over his empty plate. He considered leaving, which was the safest option, but his mom, his brother, his grandfather. Katrina. All of them were looking at him with concern, even his grandpa. Jas touched the scarred wooden table. His great-grandfather had built it.
Jas had run away from this place, but deep down, he’d always been secure in the knowledge he could return someday. Except, if he didn’t talk now, he might not get to come back, never feel this place that was heart-wrenchingly his. The place where his roots ran deep, even though he had no desire to farm.
Tell them. He forced the words out past the constriction in his throat. They came in a rush. “I can’t come to the parade because big crowds and loud places are difficult for me since I was in Iraq. If there are fireworks or a car backfires, I think they’re gunshots. If I get too hot, I feel like I’m in the desert. I . . . I can’t.”
Tara inhaled, and Katrina shifted closer to him. She placed her hand over his.
His heart pounded, so loud it hurt his ears. “You have no idea—” His voice cracked. Don’t think about it. Put it back. Bury it deep. Only it was out now, and he couldn’t. “You only know what happened in the trial. You think that was the only terrible thing I saw there? You think I walked away fine?”
Andres dashed the back of his hand over his eyes. “You didn’t tell us. How could we know what you don’t tell us?”
Jas’s inherent sense of fairness strangled his resentment back. He hadn’t told his family anything. He hadn’t wanted to tell anyone anything. No civilian could truly understand.
“You could have come back here, after. We would have taken care of you.”
“I couldn’t come back here, to this place that had stayed the same, when I wasn’t the same person anymore. It hurts, to see all the stuff that was familiar. It hurts to see the things that have changed, the things I wasn’t around for.” The words were falling faster out of his mouth, like a wound had been lanced. This was a high, to have this drained out of him. He’d come down off this high later, but for now, he’d take this. The euphoria of unburdening himself numbed the pain of recalling it.
Jas raked his hand through his hair. “Hardeep heard what happened through the grapevine. He offered me a job out of pity, so I could escape. It’s not that I hate this farm or what you built. I love it. It’s just not for me to claim. It wasn’t then, but it especially isn’t now.”
Tara didn’t bother to hide her tears. “Hardeep was always very good at helping people in need,” she said.
Katrina visibly swallowed. “Yes.”
Andrés’s shoulders drooped. “You rejected the business. It felt like you were rejecting me, like I had built all this for nothing.”
Jas shot a glance at his silent stepbrother, who gave him a warning look, which he ignored. “You didn’t build it for nothing, though. It’s not like you don’t have an heir who’s eager and willing to take over the whole thing.”
“Jas,” Bikram hissed.
Andrés scowled and turned to his other grandson. “Well, of course I do. But what man doesn’t want two heirs? Hell, it’s only because I have Bikram that I’m still able to run this place. It’s not a one-man job.”
Wait, what?
“Two heirs?” Bikram sat back in his chair.
“Yes.” Andrés’s fearsome scowl grew. “You think Bikram won’t inherit half this farm? What kind of a monster do you all think I am? Bikram is as much my grandson as Jas is. Tara adopted him, he was raised here, he works his ass off for this place. Of course my will is drawn up so you both get equal shares.”
Bikram appeared dazed. “I had no idea. I thought . . . I thought I was just your employee.”
“The hell you are. You should have asked me. You and Jas, together.”
Jas shook his head. “I don’t want any part of the operation. I have this house, and it’s enough. Give the entire farm to Bikram.”
Andrés made a sound like a wounded bear.
“Why does that upset you so?” Katrina asked Andrés.
“I am the farm.”
“No, you’re not,” Jas said, with some exasperation. “You’re a person. The farm is a place. I know your whole identity is tied up in here, but my rejecting the farm is not a rejection of you. I don’t want to be a farmer. I will always want to be your grandson.”
Andrés huffed. “I can’t help how I feel.”
“You can if it means not seeing Jas again. Don’t you think he’d come here more often, stay longer, if he wasn’t terrified you hated him because of his life choices?” Tara snapped.
Andrés’s shoulders lowered. “I . . . is that true, Jas? We’d see you more if I stopped pressuring you?”
The hope in his grandfather’s eyes made Jas feel like a monster. “Yes.” This trip had taught him that the familiarity and happiness of the little house had outweighed the pangs of hurt.
He brushed his leg against Katrina’s under the table and let it rest there. He wouldn’t have come if it hadn’t been for her. This would never have happened without her.
“If I can make accommodations for you, will you consider coming to the ceremony?” his grandfather asked, more humble than Jas had ever seen him.
Jas blew out a breath. He wanted to decline immediately, but he hated to kill the hope on his grandfather’s weathered face. “I’ll think about it,” he managed. It was the best he could do.