“Oak Haven?”
He noticed.
“What?”
She turned toward the window.
“Your father used to talk about that county.”
The Black man leaned against the counter.
His father had died six years earlier.
He had been an electrician and maintenance supervisor, a quiet man who believed that a person's word meant little unless it matched what the person actually did.
When his son was young, the father took him to work on weekends.
He showed him how to identify faulty wiring, read equipment diagrams, and recognize when someone had repaired a machine properly instead of hiding the problem.
Those early lessons eventually shaped the son's entire career.
But his father had also carried a bitterness about certain local officials.
The Black man remembered hearing arguments about county purchasing contracts and equipment that had supposedly been installed but never appeared.
He had never understood the details.
“What did Dad say about Oak Haven?” he asked.
His mother sighed.
“Years ago, he worked on an emergency communications project there.”
He frowned.
“I remember something about radios.”
“Radios, warning systems, backup power. Things counties use when storms knock the electricity out.”
She sat at the table.
“Your father said they were paying for equipment that wasn't there.”
The Black man became still.
“When was this?”
“Long before you came home from your last assignment. Maybe twelve or thirteen years ago.”
He considered the timing.
“Did he report it?”
“He tried.”
“What happened?”
His mother looked at him.
“They told him to mind his business.”
He waited.
She continued.
“One supervisor accused him of inventing problems because he wanted more money. Another said he was making the county look bad.”
The Black man frowned.
“I never knew that.”
“Your father didn't like bringing his troubles home.”
She folded her hands.
“He lost the contract. Then people stopped calling him for work in that county.”
The son looked toward the coffee mug.
His father had never been wealthy.
He had worked hard, paid his bills, and believed a good reputation was worth more than a new truck.
Losing a contract would have hurt.
Losing a reputation would have hurt even more.
“Why didn't he tell me?”
His mother smiled sadly.
“Because you had enough on your mind.”
The Black man was quiet.
Then she reached across the table.
“Don't go looking for old trouble.”
He squeezed her hand.
“I'm not.”
“Promise?”
He hesitated.
Then he answered carefully.
“I promise I'm going to do my job.”