George Lumley didn’t feel old. Why did they insist on treating him like an old codger? Whenever they talked, they talked as if he weren’t in the room. He might be a little hard of hearing, but he sure wasn’t deaf yet.
George had been a resident of Shady Oaks Retirement Village – a fancified way of saying old folks home – for six months now and in a word he was thoroughly pissed off with the place. His son Michael had been the bright one to suggest moving here and since George long ago ran out of ideas to stave off the inevitable, he’d finally given in and allowed himself to be buried alive here.
Nurse Hadley was smiling at him again from across the room and he knew too well what that meant. Even though he’d been fit as a fiddle when he got here, he’d somehow been put on the list to receive daily medication. He had no idea what it was supposed to be for – good old Michael had okayed it he supposed, but he really believed it was a tranquilizer to stifle any thoughts of busting out of here.
Trying desperately to tune her out, George watched Nurse Hadley advance on him with the determination of Sherman’s march to the sea. Giving up any hope of resisting the medication, he closed his eyes and obediently opened his mouth to receive what he laughingly called his horse medicine because the pill he had to swallow was about the same size as ones he’d given to his own horses when they were sick.
Thinking now of the family farm that was in all probability being run into the ground by the ineptitude of his only son, George Brusquely wiped away an errant tear. It wouldn’t do to show them he was capable of breaking down. Not at all.
Looking out the window, he could see Michael driving his car up the
Driveway toward the spot he usually parked his car in.
Funny, mused George, since his arrival, Michael seemed to have acquired a bit more prestige – horsepower-wise anyway. When George had first moved in, Michael was barely getting by with his decrepit Volkswagen Beetle and now here he was parking his new Cutlass Sierra.
It didn’t take much to figure out where Michael’s newfound wealth must be coming from, particularly since Michael had steadfastly refused to take his father on a sentimental drive to visit his old homestead. No, George was pretty sure that good old Michael had unloaded the farm as quickly as the ink had dried on the power of attorney.
Waiting for Michael to make his way to the common room, George mused on what had prompted this visit. Surely Michael didn’t need him to sign anything else? What else was there left that he had control over?
“Hello, Dad,” said Michael in his most ingratiating way as he sat down beside him.”
“Hello, Michael,” replied George warily, “what brings you to this neck of the woods so soon? Got another hot idea for your old man already?”
Whatever makes you say that, Dad?,” cooed Michael, his face fairly cracking from his broad smile.
“Because that’s the only time you call me Dad,” George replied without missing a beat.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you meant that,” continued Michael, still smiling. “Care to go outside for some fresh air, Dad? It really is a beautiful day.”
“I think I’ll pass, thank you. Nurse Hadley’s horse pills do wonders for your enthusiasm.”
“What do you mean?,” asked Michael, feigning innocence. “Surely they don’t dope you up around here? I don’t believe it.”
“Come off it, Michael, I wasn’t born yesterday you know,” his father wanted to say, but knew it wouldn’t make a hill of beans difference anyway. So he said nothing.
“Changing the subject, how would you like to see the old homestead again?”
The look on his father’s face made Michael continue without waiting for a reply.
“That’s right, I’m finally going to take you there. How about this afternoon?”
Much as George wanted to see the old place again, he had a gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach that Michael had something else entirely up his sleeve. It’s a little late in the season for this tiger to change his stripes, thought George, looking through the son he thought he knew better than anyone.
“Why now?,” asked George finally.
“Why not?,” replied Michael, turning on his ingratiating smile even more.
Perhaps it was the horse pill, perhaps it was just the resignation in knowing it would come to this sooner or later, but George finally nodded in agreement. For some reason, his voice had failed him when he needed it the most.
“Come on, Dad, let me help you up,” continued Michael, getting up and reaching over to grasp his father’s arm. George shrugged him off as if his very touch was like a hot poker.
“I’m not that far gone yet that I can’t get myself out of a chair,” George caustically retorted.
Slowly but defiantly, George stood up stalk-straight despite the searing pain in his stiffened joints that threatened to give him away.
“Lead the way,” said George when he’d finally caught his breath.
“I’d rather walk with you, if you don’t mind, Dad.”
“I do, but I don’t suppose there’s much I can do about it at this stage,” replied George, staring his son down. Michael’s feigned sincerity was beginning to get to him and it was all he could do to keep what little temper he still had in check.
Nurse Hadley watched from a safe distance, marveling at the sudden chumminess of Mr. Lumley’s son. Better late than never in turning over a new leaf, she decided, handing out another horse pill.
Michael’s walk back to his car, of necessity, took longer than his coming in, but not just because of his father’s slower pace. George insisted on stopping and saying goodbye to everyone he passed on the way out. Michael constantly reminded him that he was coming back, but his father ignored him and continued to say goodbye to everyone anyway.
Leaving the building finally, Michael watched as his father looked back briefly before walking with him to the car. Could the old man possibly know where he’s really going, thought Michael, stifling a frown?
Resisting Michael’s offer to help him get in the car, George watched his son watch him getting in, keeping his own face expressionless. For all Michael knew, his father had become as addle-brained and pliable as the rest of the old-timers he’d just said goodbye to. And he wasn’t going to let him think anything different.
The ride, from George’s point of view, was stimulating despite Michael’s pathological need to interrupt his reverie with idle chitchat. George ignored him, but Michael didn’t get the message.
While he quickly realized that his son really was taking them to the old homestead, he still had no idea yet what exactly Michael had in mind. Reluctantly tuning in to what Michael was saying, he was surprised to find that Michael was telling him about his plans for the future – their future. And he actually expected his father to believe him.
As they drove onto to the property finally, Michael pointed out the changes he had made as if his father couldn’t tell for himself. George resisted a smile as he followed to where Michael was pointing with his eyes.
“You wouldn’t believe how much it set me back doing all this, Dad, you really wouldn’t. Everything costs a fortune compared to when you were starting out. Trust me.”
Why is Michael telling me this, wondered George, he knows I don’t have anything more to give over to him?
Pulling up to the old barn, supposedly the next thing on Michael’s list of improvements, George slowly got out after they’d stopped and stretched his stiffened legs one at a time before following his son inside.
The interior of the barn was the same as he had remembered it, the same musty earthy smell with the sunlight streaking through the holes in the roof. Of course there weren’t any animals living in it now, Michael had seen to that. What he planned to do with the place George still couldn’t figure out.
“Being in here brings back memories doesn’t it, Dad?,” said Michael sighing audibly.
“I don’t know what memories you have, Michael,” replied George, looking around him, “you were hardly ever in here. I couldn’t make you do barn chores, that’s what I recall. You wouldn’t know half these implements if you fell over them.”
“That’s not true , Dad. I’ve learned a lot over the past few months. Believe me, I know a lot more than you think.”
Somehow George doubted that anything his son had learned recently had anything to do with farming, but said nothing.
“I’ve got plans for this place, Dad, big plans and nothing’s going to stop me from making them come true . I didn’t tell you about the insurance policy I had you sign last month, the one with the double indemnity clause in case of accident. Knowing you now live at Shady Oaks, they had no qualms about insuring you, Dad. What kind of accident could you have there? Everyone knows more accidents happen around the home, particularly if you’re a farmer – right, Dad?”
George wished he could wipe that stupid smile off his son’s face, but at the moment he couldn’t think of a way to do it.
“I knew how much you wanted to come back home, Dad, so here we are just like you wanted. Are you happy now?”
Still smiling, Michael reached over and unhooked a bale of hay that was secured to the ceiling by a long rope and pulley. Letting go of it, he fleetingly thought of his father as the head pin in a bowling alley that stood between him and a strike.
The bale swished through the air as it arced towards George, barely missing him as he moved out of its path with a speed even he didn’t know he still possessed. The bale gained momentum on its return swing with a little help from George as it passed.
Too stunned to realize what had happened, Michael wasn’t so lucky, and the bale caught him square under the chin, sending him flying before he too could move out of the way.
The rotten boards of the barn wall gave way under the assault and Michael went crashing through them and on through the vine-covered boards that hid the old well nearby. George waited to catch his breath before moving slowly toward the barn door, the exertion of the last few minutes beginning to take their toll on him. He’d heard the splash and thumping as Michael’s body hit bottom, and knew what to expect when he got there.
“I told you you had no memories of this place,” said George as he stood staring down at Michael’s crumpled body lying at an odd angle at the bottom of the well.
“If you had, you wouldn’t have tried that stunt. It didn’t work for your mother and that traveling salesman, so it certainly couldn’t work for you.”
Smiling at the memory, George slowly made his way to the house to phone the police and wait for the inevitable questions he would have to answer. He was good at that. After all, he’d had years of practice.
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