Daddy Parker's Arc

Chapter 3 of 10

The next morning, Daddy Parker walked his showcase grounds with the finished list folded in his pocket. The picnic area was quiet. That was when he spotted Mr. Raccoon near the trees, kneeling beside his small son, Racum, tying a loose bootlace. The boy watched his father's hands like they held the world. Daddy Parker stopped walking. Something about it pulled at him. He stepped closer and cleared his throat. He held out a small whittled keychain he kept for moments like this. "For you," he said. "I'd like you and your boy to be the first to ride one of my Fords today." Mr. Raccoon turned the wooden charm in his palm. He didn't speak right away. Daddy Parker led them to a flat circle of weathered stone set into the grass, where a shiny red car waited. A small log cabin playhouse stood beside it, built for children to climb. Racum's eyes went wide. He gripped his father's pant leg. Mr. Raccoon lifted him gently into the passenger seat. Before climbing in, Mr. Raccoon paused. He looked at Daddy Parker. "I work a lot," he said quietly. "He stopped asking me to play. I noticed last week." He pressed the keychain into his pocket. "This means something. More than you know." Daddy Parker nodded, but his throat tightened. The engine rumbled. Father and son rolled forward, laughing, Racum's small hand on the wheel. Daddy Parker watched them go. He thought of his own youngest at home, the words that wouldn't come, the bill he kept folding away. A blue shirt with a Ford emblem hung over his arm — a gift he'd planned to give after the ride. When the car returned, Mr. Raccoon lifted Racum down and accepted the shirt with both hands. He thanked Daddy Parker plainly. Then he walked off with his son on his shoulders. Daddy Parker stood alone on the stone circle. The ride was a success. But the joy on that small face had cracked something open. He could not keep telling himself next month. Not anymore.