you’re qualified for that?” Uncle Browne followed.
“I took courses in landscape design at Duke. My minor, I guess you could say.”
“So you like it,” Uncle Browne said, turning to Jack to catch his expression.
“Love it!” Jack lit up.
“So why finance?” Uncle Browne’s voice rose with the question.
“Realistic, I guess. I could make a lot more money in finance than landscape design,” Jack said, sounding as if he were reading a script.
“That doesn’t sound entirely like you, Jacket,” Uncle Browne said, peering at his nephew.
“I guess I’ve grown up, know my responsibilities.” Jack’s voice lacked the conviction it had when he’d spoken about the Durham Nursery.
“Being grown up is overrated if you ask me. Besides, Jacket, you were born grown up,” Uncle Browne said. “Will you take the Durham offer?”
“I’m not sure,” Jack said.”
“Why not?” Uncle Browne prodded.
“It’s not Wall Street!” Jack said soberly.
“No, it’s not. Sounds more like Main Street. What’s wrong with that?”
“It doesn’t present the opportunity Wall Street does,” Jack recited.
“Jack, excuse me, but you sound like your father. In a minute you’re going to tell me it takes a lot of money to float the boat,” Uncle Browne said, his voice sounding in gentle reproach.
“It’s true, Uncle.” Jack spoke as if with allegiance to a cause.
“But is it true for you, Jacket? Is Wall Street true for you?” There was a provocative tone to Uncle Browne’s question. Jack thought it might be the same tone his uncle used when challenging his students to think.
“I am my father’s son,” Jack said, still going by the script that had directed his life until now.
“Indeed. And from the time you were young, you’ve been made into his image. And through it all, you’ve excelled. You are a testament to your father. You have his drive and pluck. Now you speak with his sense of responsibility. You’re admirable in every way a young man can be. But Jacket, this idea that only by going to Wall Street, as your father did, will you be fulfilling your responsibility to yourself and the country is, perhaps, specious as it applies to you.” Uncle Browne faced Jack with an earnest expression.
“What do you mean, Uncle Browne?” Jack said.
“I mean there is no rush. I mean you are not exactly your father,” Uncle Browne returned.
“I’m enough like him that going to Wall Street would not be a mistake.” Again, Jack’s answer sounded in self-debate.
“Perhaps, Jacket, but what’s the rush? You should take time to explore your options. Wall Street is not going anywhere. Ever since you were a young boy, you loved being outdoors. You thrive in the open air. Now I hear about your talent in landscape, a talent that’s worth considering before you plunge into your father’s dream.”
“It’s not just his dream,” Jack said. “It’s what I’ve talked about forever.”
“Then it can wait a little longer, it will be there if it’s real,” Uncle Browne said. Uncle Browne walked over to the shoreline and bent down and dipped his hands into the water. With both hands he wet his face then returned to Jack. He gazed at Jack with as accepting a look as any man could give another.
“Jack,” he said warmly, “it’s okay to be confused.” In Uncle Browne’s tone was a kind of permission, conveyed to his nephew like a release. Then, as though something had just occurred to him, Uncle Browne added, “But I’m putting the cart before the horse. You don’t have an interview anyway.”
Jack wanted to open up. He was acutely aware of being dishonest. He blurted out, “But I know I’ll get one.” The force of his remark caused Uncle Browne to raise an eyebrow. Uncle Browne addressed Jack with an expression of serious consideration, “When it comes down to it, Jacket, do what makes you happy.”
Jack’s eyes filled with gratitude. But then he paused, reflecting about Sanders Brown, Wall Street, and the Durham Nursery. He became subdued. He needed to air his dilemma but couldn’t, so he put into words the heavy question he’d lugged around too long without help.
“Uncle, what if I don’t really know what I should do?”
“Give yourself some time, you’ll figure it out.”
“Uncle Browne,” Jack inquired, “do you think it’d be wrong if l didn’t go to Wall Street?”
Uncle Browne’s answer rang with the clarity of a bell at midnight. “No! You must be true to yourself, Jacket. That’s what the Greeks said: Know thyself and nothing in excess.” Jack needed to hear that but had more to get off his chest. He was thinking about Duke and Phil Dayton, and about his parents.
“You don’t think I’d be shirking my responsibility by not going?” he asked timidly.
“Absolutely not,” Uncle Browne insisted.
“You see, Uncle, I’ve always been responsible.” Jack said, questioning himself out loud.
“I know your qualities, Jacket,” Uncle Browne said, “they won’t change.”
“But shouldn’t I do what I have to first. I can do the rest later?”
“Jacket, you’d be no less a man for adding local color to a region’s growing possibilities, than you’d be by launching a business in the markets and seeing to it that the yearly yield beats the averages.”
Jack looked at his Uncle, his eyes nearly closed in a squint from the bright sun.
“It’s important.”
“What?”
“Beating the average.”
“Whatever you decide to do, Jacket, you’ll beat the average.
All I’m saying is take your time-don’t let it take you.”
They were at the summit of their walk now, at the top of Smith Point. They walked up to a railing positioned on the cliff side and looked out and down. Below the cliff on the eastern side was a long stretch of smooth white sand. The beach there faced the Atlantic and at that moment the water was exceptionally calm.
“That’s inviting,” Jack said.
“Liberating too,” Uncle Brown said wryly. “Is it, really?” Jack grinned in understanding.
“Oh, certainly, that’s probably the most liberating beach on the island.”
“Do you and Aunt Millicent ever go there?”
“We’re
