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“Are you going to stay there or look for something else?” Jameson asked.
“I’ll go back and look while I work. That’s the smartest thing to do.”
“Do you always do the smartest thing?” Jameson asked with a tone that said he already suspected the answer.
I stiffened. “I try to do the logical thing.”
Jameson snorted. “It’s more fun to do what you enjoy.”
“And you enjoy firefighting, substitute teaching, and driving buses?” I asked.
Jameson grinned. “Those kids are the best. A school approached me and asked if I’d coach the football team.”
“Are you serious?” I asked him.
Jameson was good at football, probably good enough to play in college, but he hadn’t wanted to. He hadn’t taken the college scouts seriously. Dad thought he should have listened to what they had to offer, but Jameson wouldn’t. He said he was going to college for an education which none of us believed because he was more of a float-through-life kind of guy.
“You’re going to do it?” Dad asked.
Jameson nodded. “Absolutely.”
“You should probably be a teacher,” I said thoughtfully.
“I like what I do,” Jameson insisted.
I wondered if he’d felt pressured by his brothers to do something for the community like they did. I would think teachers are like that, but my brothers might not. Was he embarrassed that he wanted to help kids in this way?
Did Jameson have difficulty deciding because he was worried what we would think of his choices? If so, that changed how I looked at him. And I wished he’d follow his dreams and not worry about what his brothers would say. Surely, they’d be happy for him if they knew?
“You can’t go back to school and change your career now,” Dad said.
“Why not?” I asked.
“You have to pick a career at some point and stop switching around,” Dad said.
It was Dad’s typical criticism of Jameson. He couldn’t decide what he wanted to do. Somehow, staying in the same career for life would prove something. “He should make the change if it’s right for him.”
Jameson held up his hands. “Stop it, you two. I said I was going to be coaching a kids’ football team. I’m not changing the course of my life here.”
Dad frowned. “Are you going to have time for something like this with your hours at the firehouse?”
“I’ll make it work. The athletic director said something about an assistant.” Then he glanced at his phone. “The school seemed to think it was impressive that I was a firefighter.”
Even if Dad didn’t realize it, his comment was a dig at this family who’d made it seem like his job wasn’t as important as theirs. “It is impressive, Jameson. You do good work.”
Wes walked into the kitchen. “Who does good work?”
His best friend, Sutton, followed him, wearing a dress and carrying a bakery box.
“Jameson.”
“You mean with his job as a firefighter or a bus driver?” Wes asked.
“Firefighter,” Jameson grumbled.
When Sutton set a box on the counter, Jameson dove for them, grabbing two before anyone else could react. “I love you, Sutton.”
“Stay away from my friends,” Wes said, but Sutton merely laughed.
