The Caretaker of Lorne Field

Durkin turned a questioning eye towards his son, but muttered that that was good. “You know how she’s able to afford it?” he asked.

“Her friend, Mrs. Vernon, helped her. Mom’s going to be writing a book.”

Durkin backed away from a patch of Aukowies and stared hard at Bert. “That ain’t possible,” he said. “She talks even worse than I do. That woman can barely read, let alone write. What in the world could she be writing a book about?”

“Someone’s going to be helping her. They’re paying her a lot of money to write about her life.”

Durkin could see the real answer in his son’s embarrassment. “You mean about how she’s married to a crazy loon who thinks he pulls out monsters from a field all day long and cuts off his son’s thumb?”

Bert shrugged, his grin weakening. “I don’t know, dad.”

“It don’t matter,” Durkin muttered. He went back to his weeding. “Good for her. Let her take them for every penny they got.”

Durkin let his son help him for another half hour, then with a grunt pulled himself to his feet and smiled sadly at him.

“You better be headin’ off,” he said. “You got a long bike ride ahead of you.”

“I can help you some more.”

“No, I don’t want you riding your bike in the dark.” He winked at his son. “Or gettin’ in trouble at that foster home. Just tell Lester he needs to come clean. And tell your ma I’ll be talking to her soon.”

“I will.” Bert looked away and kicked at the ground. He stuck his hands deep in his pockets. “Dad, when I rode by the house I saw a padlock and eviction notice on the door.”

“It’s just temporary, son. Nothin’ to worry about.”

“Where are you living?”

“I’m camping out here until the season’s done.” He winked again at his son. “It’s fun. Playing Daniel Boone, livin’ out here in the wilderness.”

“Why don’t I stay with you and help?”

“Can’t do that, son. It would just get you in trouble. And me, too, when they come lookin’ for you. But I’ll be seeing you soon. Three weeks at the most, I promise.”

He held out his hand, and Bert looked at it, his bottom lip quivering. He stepped forward and grabbed his father in a hard embrace. Durkin stood helplessly for a moment, then embraced his son and smoothed the hair on his head while whispering hoarsely to him that everything was going to be okay. He let go after a minute, telling his son he had to get back to his weeding. Bert nodded glumly and took a step away.

“I started school already, so I can’t come during the week, but I’ll be back next Saturday,” he said.

“You better not. It’s too long a ride. Besides, you’ll just get yourself in trouble.”

“Nope, I’m coming back.” Bert walked reluctantly towards his bike. He stopped to wave to his father. “I’ll see you next week!”

Durkin waved back and watched as his son got on his bike and rode away. After that, he went back to his weeding.

Bert didn’t come back the next Saturday.

Durkin thought about it and decided the bike ride must’ve been too much for the boy, or maybe someone at the foster home had found out about his first trip to Lorne Field and took his bike away. Twenty miles back and forth was a lot of riding, and he couldn’t blame Bert for not doing it again. In a way he was glad he didn’t. He didn’t want his boy seeing him the way he was; besides, he’d have plenty of opportunities to see Bert after the weeding season was over. He had too much on his mind as it was. His ankle wasn’t getting any better, his back was stiffer and more bent each day, and he kept thinking about his last phone call with Jeanette Thompson. As she had asked, he waited a week before calling her again. This time her voice was shriller than before, sounding like nails on a chalkboard. She told him that she couldn’t find the items he had asked about and must’ve thrown them out. Before hanging up, she warned him not to call again, and that if he did, she’d take out a restraining order against him.

When he got off the phone he almost rode out to the town dump, but he was just too tired. As exhausted and near panicked as he was, he knew he’d have no chance of finding his contract and book buried in a mountain of garbage-that all he would accomplish would be getting bit up by rats. He decided that was probably what Jeanette Thompson wanted. It made no sense for her throw those items away, and she was probably just trying to work him up and send him on a wild goose chase as punishment for Hank’s death.

Later, after first frost came, he would call her again and explain the importance of getting his contract and the Book of Aukowies back. Given a chance to calm down, she’d return them.