An excerpt from Thicker than Water by D.C. Jennings:

The window made no sound at all as it slid open between them. Neither did father and son as they stared, measuring each other for the first time as adult men.
      With a polite nod for A. J., Clay spoke first after clearing his throat.
“Cody.”
      “Dad.”
      The curt, single syllable response had Clay clearing his throat again. He shifted his weight to stand more heavily on one leg, the brim of his hat becoming further mutilated as he fought against nervous fidgeting. Of every welcome back scenario he'd envisioned during the long, torturous drive from Des Moines to home, those that featured his son and his ex-wife were the ones he'd hoped to avoid the longest. He'd been in town only a couple of days, renewing old acquaintances and making new friends. But in a town the size of Poplar Bluff, twenty minutes would easily have done the trick.
      Cody knew he was back, and so did Cecily. His return to town after a fifteen year absence was abrupt, but purposely well-publicized if one or both of them decided to look him up while he was here. Whether it would be to welcome him or wallop him a good one didn't much matter; after being away for so long, Clay figured he deserved both.
      Last night's phone call from his longtime friend and foreman took the
decision to meet out of all their hands. He still had a business to run, a pair of homes to provide for, and it was damned inconvenient for him to do it from clear out of state.
      “Lucius asked me to come,” Clay explained, turning his hat end over end in sweaty hands. Looked as though he would fidget after all. “Farm business. I won't be here long.”
      Cody seemed to stare straight through him. “It's your place. Take whatever time you need.”
      “It's our place, Cody,” Clayton corrected. And the steel beneath his
words caused Cody to focus more fully on his father’s face. Not a hint of
humor or lightness could be found. “The Triple C was meant for all of us.”
      “And yet you made a home for yourself in Iowa.”
      “Yes, I've had to.” Clay's tone was defensive.
      Slowly, Cody shook his head from side to side as he worked out what he wanted to say. What he needed to say. “I don't see that. You could have settled anywhere, Dad. Sikeston, Cape Girardeau, St. Louis...hell, Kansas City if you really wanted to distance yourself from the memories of this place. You didn't have to move somewhere so far away you knew I'd never see you.”
      Clay's fingers tightened around his hat. “I thought it'd be easier that
way.”
      “Easier for whom?” Cody shot back, all pretense of civility gone as he
gave in to the pressure of his emotions. From her seat beside him, A. J.
reached out in an automatic offer of comfort. And found her hand flung aside for her efforts. “For you maybe,” Cody accused his father. “And no doubt for Mom. But it sure as hell wasn't any easier for me.”
      “You’ve been though a lot,” the older man tried.
      The entire steering column shuddered beneath the force of Cody’s fist.
      “Don’t patronize me,” he roared as the last of his control flew from the lowered window. “I needed you, damn you. I was ten, and I needed a father to be there for me. To be here for me,” he specified in a snarl. “Not in some backwater town hundreds of miles from home!”
      Clay spread his arms wide at his sides, his hat forgotten now as it dangled from his fingertips. The gesture was one of surrender, or of welcome, whichever his son preferred. “I'm here now, Cody. I'm right here, standing no further’n two feet from you. Tell me what it is you want from me,” he pleaded hoarsely. “What do you want me to do?”
      Cody gripped the steering wheel until his hands hurt. A single tear dripped from his chin as he turned to stare blindly out the windshield. As a boy, he'd wanted so many things from this man who was his father: a teacher, a coach, a confidante, a guidance counselor, a mentor, a friend. Beyond his tenth year, he'd gotten none of those things. Only disappointment.
      Now, all Cody really wanted in his life was peace. And that, he vowed as second teardrop landed with a plop onto his lap, was something he’d have again no matter the cost.
      He glanced back at his father, his gaze hard and unforgiving despite the glimmer of tears. “I want you to go back to Iowa where you belong.”

Thicker than Water by D.C. Jennings, 2008