You polish it. He went back to measuring. Claire stared at the dark knot in the oak. The grain twists around the injury to heal itself. The metaphor was painfully obvious.
Yet, it struck her square in the chest. She thought about her own injuries. The father who abandoned her when she was eight. The mother who drank herself to death when Claire was in college. The ruthless climb to the top of Vanguard Logistics, stepping on anyone who got in her way, encasing herself in a shell of untouchable wealth, so no one could ever leave her or hurt her again.
She hadn't twisted around her injuries to heal. She had just paved over them with concrete. She looked at Leo. The boy had finished his cereal and was now trying to open a small plastic thermos, likely filled with juice. His small hand struggled with the tight lid.
He twisted, his face scrunching up in frustration. Claire watched, expecting the boy to whine, expecting Dean to swoop in, take the thermos, open it, and hand it back, the way efficiency dictated. Dean didn't move. He kept his eyes on his saw, measuring a 45° angle. He was fully aware of his son's struggle.
Claire could see the subtle shift in Dean's shoulders, the way he tilted his head to listen to the boy's breathing. But he let him struggle. For 2 full minutes, Leo wrestled with the lid. His face turned red. He dropped it, picked it up, adjusted his grip.
Finally, with a sharp crack, the seal broke. The boy let out a heavy breath, unscrewed the lid, and took a drink. Dean finally turned his head, caught his son's eye, and gave a single, firm nod. Leo didn't smile, but he sat up a little straighter, putting the thermos down. Claire felt a strange tightening in her throat.
It was the purest display of parenting she had ever witnessed. It wasn't about saving the child from the struggle. It was about trusting the child to overcome it. "He's very independent," Claire found herself saying. Dean paused the saw.
He pulled off his safety glasses and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. "He has to be. I'm not going to be around forever. If I fix everything for him now, he'll expect the world to do the same when I'm gone. The world doesn't care about your problems, Ms.
Montgomery. It just demands that you fix them. " "I know that better than anyone," Claire said, a defensive edge creeping back into her voice. "I built a company from nothing. I know," Dean said simply. Claire blinked.
"You know who I am? " "I know you own Vanguard," Dean replied, picking up a piece of sandpaper. "I looked you up before I took the contract from Richard. You bought out three family-owned freight lines in the Midwest last year, liquidated two of them, Fired about 400 people. Claire's spine stiffened. It was a necessary market correction.
Their operating costs were unsustainable. I saved the core infrastructure. I'm not judging your ledgers, Ms. Montgomery. Dean said, his voice remaining terrifyingly level.