The Caretaker of Lorne Field

Durkin fished through Lydia’s junk drawer where she kept coupons and recipes and other odds and ends. In the back of it he found a torn piece of paper that had been sitting in there for years. The ink was mostly faded, but Durkin could still make out the phone number written on it.

He picked up the phone and called the last number he had for his brother. It had been almost ten years since Joe called and left the number with Lydia, and almost twenty-five years since Durkin last spoke to his brother. He had no idea whether the number was still good, but he prayed that it was.

Joe answered after the fifth ring.

“What do you know,” he said, “my big brother, Jack, calling. Never thought I’d hear from you again.”

“How’d you know it was me?”

Joe laughed. “Caller ID. You should get it and join the twenty-first century.”

“Joe, I need your help.”

“What, no pleasantries? After what, twenty, twenty-five years-that’s all I get from you, that you need help? You can’t even pretend to ask how me or my family’s doing? But then again you’re a busy man saving the world each day.”

“What are you trying to say? That you don’t believe I save the world each day?”

“I don’t know.” There was a long pause, then, “Look, Jack, you drank the Kool-Aid, I only sniffed it. I just don’t know.”

“You think I’m crazy then,” Durkin said angrily. “And pa and grandpa and every other Durkin before them. And you’re the only sane one of us ’cause you got to go off to college.”

“Jack, I’m not saying any of you are crazy, but this is something I’ve thought a lot about since leaving home. Maybe there’s some other explanation. For example, maybe the weeds secrete a mild hallucinogenic that can be absorbed through the skin when you touch them-”

“I don’t touch them. I wear gloves.”

“Do you wear latex gloves underneath?”

“What? No.”

“Then it could still be aborbed through the gloves and then into the skin. Or through the air. Or maybe the Aukowies are exactly what pa and grandpa always said they were. Anyway, don’t get mad, I’m not saying any of this to upset you. It’s been on my mind, that’s all. So how much do you need?”

“I don’t need money from you.”

“Then what?”

“I might need you to take over for me.”

“Jack-”

“I might not be able to do this much longer.”

“Jack, I can’t do that. I’ve got a wife and family. Three daughters and a son, not that you ever bothered to ask. I can’t just pack up and move halfway across the country.”

“They might throw me in jail tomorrow. Somebody’s got to weed the Aukowies if I can’t. It’s only two months or so ’til first frost. That’s all I’m asking.”

“Why are you going to be thrown in jail?”

Durkin rubbed some wetness from his eyes. “It’s not important,” he said. “It ain’t definite either. So you going to come if I need you to?”

“Jack, I can’t.”

“All I’m asking for is two months. Joe, I’ve been doing this over thirty years, and you know everything I gave up to do this. You can give me two months… Joe? Hello, Joe, are you still there?”

“Yeah, I’m still here. I’m sorry, Jack, I can’t. Listen, if they’re nothing but weeds then there’s no point in me taking over for you, but if they’re what pa and grandpa said they were, then it wouldn’t make any difference whether I tried weeding them or not because they’d rip me to shreds the first day I was out there. Remember, Jack, pa spent a whole summer teaching you how to weed them. Besides, I’d be violating the contract.”

Red flashed brightly in Durkin’s brain and burned deeply. He stood trembling as he held the phone, only half-aware of telling his brother to go fuck himself and putting the receiver down. It was a long time before the red faded and he could breathe normally again. He moved back to the kitchen table and sat down. He buried his face in his hands and wept until there was nothing left inside. Until he felt completely empty. Then he wiped his face off with the dish towel and went upstairs to join Lydia in bed.

Chapter 7

The next morning Jack Durkin was out of bed two hours earlier than usual. Keeping as quiet as he could, he snuck down to the kitchen, poured himself a bowl of cereal, made a cup of instant coffee and was out the door before Lydia woke up, or at least before she had a chance to come downstairs and nag at him. He was two-thirds done with his second pass of weeding when Wolcott and two town police officers, Bob Smith and Mark Griestein, approached the field. The three men walked up to him, and Wolcott told him he was under arrest for cutting off his son’s thumb.

“It’s a long hike back to the cruiser, Jack. I’m hoping I don’t have to put handcuffs on you. You’ll come along peacefully, won’t you?”