Damion
I shrugged. “I work in an office. When I’m not working, I’m taking care of Oliver.”
He smiled at the mention of my son’s name. “How old is he now?”
“Five, Grandpa. You know that.”
“Does he look like the old man?” he asked proudly. “I let him have my name. He better look like me.”
I chuckled. “He takes after me.”
“And you take after me,” he said.
I shrugged. “I suppose. How’s the farm?”
He turned his blue eyes on me. “The farm is fine. It could be better. I’m hoping to change that soon.”
“What happened?” I asked with concern. “You didn’t tell me you were having a hard time.”
“I’m not. Just needed to change a few things. It’s handled.”
He had always been a man of few words. Maybe it was why I had become an avid reader throughout my childhood. My mother had died of ovarian cancer when I was five and my father had been killed in a car accident shortly after. That left my widowed granddad to raise a little boy who was shy, lonely, and suffering from insurmountable grief.
“Is there anything I can help you with?” I asked him.
He scoffed. “No. I don’t know if you could anyway.”
“What does that mean?” I asked defensively.
“It means I just witnessed you getting disrespected by a man that isn’t worthy of licking your boots. Then again, I suppose you don’t wear boots anymore. You’re uptown. You’re too clean. You’re uppity, wearing your fancy suits and sitting in this big office. You don’t have that look of fire in your eyes. You’re not happy here. I can see that.”
I squirmed under his scrutiny. “Grandpa, it’s a good job. I like my job.”
“Since when did you like sitting in a goddamn office all the time?” he asked with a scowl.
“It isn’t that I don’t like it, but I need to pay the bills.”
“You could work the farm,” he offered.
“I’m not a farmer,” I reminded him.
“Yes, you are. It’s in your blood. You were raised on a farm. I let you go off to college, thinking you’d come back. It’s been eleven years.”
“I fell in love with the city,” I told him. “Oliver likes it here.”
He scrunched up his face. “Bullshit. You live in an apartment. That poor boy doesn’t even have a backyard. What does he do all day?”
“He’s in school, then an after-school program, and then we play games or read books.”
He shook his head. “That’s too bad.”
I rolled my eyes. I had been taught to respect my elders. “Grandpa, he’s a good kid. He’s healthy and is doing fine. Let me clear my schedule and we can pick up Oliver and go out to dinner.”
He gave me a soft smile. “I’ve got to be getting back soon.”
“How long have you been in town?”
He shrugged. “Not long, but you know I don’t like being in the city.”
“You won’t let me treat you to a steak? We’ve got some of the best steakhouses in the country here.”
He scoffed. “Bullshit. You’ll never get a better steak than what I have on the farm. Fresh and fed right. You’d remember that if you ever came home.”
“Can I fly you out for a longer visit in the near future?”
His smile was sad. “We’ll see,” he said, nodding his head. “We’ll see.”
I studied the man I had thought was invincible for the majority of my life. He was big and strong and tough as nails. I had idolized him before my parents died, and then after he took over the role of being dad, mom, and grandpa, my idolization had faded. I respected him, but he was less of an idol and more of a parental figure.
“Maybe I’ll see about coming out to visit this summer. I’ve got some vacation pay and Oliver will be out of school.”
“Sure, sounds good,” he said in a noncommittal tone. He got to his feet.
I followed suit. “I really wish I could convince you to stay longer,” I said, walking him to the door.
“Me too, son, me too. Take care of yourself and that little boy.”
I stopped him and gave him a quick hug. He wasn’t the hugging type, but I did it anyway. I had become more of a hugger since having Oliver. Hugs were important. I walked him to the elevator and we said our goodbyes again.
I walked back to my office and sat down. Something felt off. I hated that he was disappointed in me. He had some high standards to live up to. It all seemed to come so easy to him. He was strong and capable and such a powerhouse. I always felt like I would be in his shadow. Nothing I ever did could ever compare to him.
“Shit,” I mumbled, feeling like a loser.
By most standards, I was a successful man. I was an editor of a popular magazine. I had a great job, made decent money, and had a perfect little boy. My life was good. Slightly lonely, but good. I had thought when I graduated from NYU, he would have been proud of me. Instead, he’d seemed disappointed that I had chosen to stay in New York. He didn’t seem to care that I had found a woman I loved. We’d gotten married and had been looking forward to starting a family. Grandpa had said all the right things, but I knew he wasn’t truly happy for us.
He had expected me to take over the farm. I had thought I would too, but then I came to New York and my world changed. My eyes were opened to something new and different and exciting. Going back to the small town and the farm hadn’t been appealing. Ann, my wife, was a city girl through and through. She never would have been happy on the farm.
Ann was gone, I reminded myself. That excuse was no longer valid.
AlexI stared over the green hood of the newer John Deere tractor. I glared at the man with the cowboy hat pulled low over his eyes. It was a prop. He wore it like it was part of a uniform. I wanted to pull the damn thing down over his ears and then choke him with it.“I’m going to say this one more time,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. “You cannot just drive the tractor around the field. You need to make circles or do rows if that’s what floats your boat. This meandering about isn’t going to cut it.”“Alexandria—”“Stop. I’ve told you about twenty-eight times to call me Alex.”“But you’re a girl,” he insisted.I grabbed my ample breasts and fluffed them. “Yes, yes I am. I suppose that’s why I’ve got tits. My name is Alex.”He sighed, pushing the hat up. “Alex, I made straight lines.”I rolled my eyes. “No, you didn’t.”The guy was nice enough, but in the words of my granddaddy, I didn’t think his elevator went all the way to the top floor. Oliver had hired the man to act as hi
AlexI laughed. “Your farm is huge, and it has got to be one of the hardest I’ve worked. You have a lot going on.”“It used to be a lot more than what it is. I sold off the north hundred acres or so about ten years ago. I realized I didn’t need so much. A buddy’s grandson was looking to start in the farming business. I figured I’d give him a hand and let him buy that land from me for a real steal. I hear he’s built himself a small house on the land.”“That was nice of you,” I told him. “Most farmers I’ve met hold on to their land until their last dying breath.”He smirked. “I suppose we do, but the two-hundred acres I have is plenty. I’m an old man. I don’t need to make a killing in the wheat business.”“I wish others could be as easygoing as you are. Hell, I wish I could be that easygoing.”He chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “It’s taken me seventy-two years to get to this point. A man realizes somewhere along the way that life is too short to be uptight. We’re all here f
DamionI walked into the school, smiled at the receptionist, and joined the other parents there to pick up kids. I waited until Oliver’s teacher had a free moment and approached her. I liked to check in with her at least once a week if time allowed.“Hello,” I greeted.“Ah, Mr. Whittle,” she said with a smile.“Damion, please,” I insisted. “How’s he doing?” It was the same question I asked every time I saw her.The start to my five-year-old’s school career had been rocky. I was assured kindergarten was hard on a lot of kids. It was a big change, and some struggled a bit more than others. My son wasn’t struggling with the learning but with being in a new environment with kids he didn’t know.“He is a bright young man and a pleasure to have in class,” she answered.“But?” I asked, knowing there was something she wasn’t saying.She smiled. “He’s had a difficult week. The class has been doing group projects, and Oliver is so far advanced, he either does all the work or doesn’t do any of i
DamionI had grown up on a farm. I had a tan that started in spring and carried over until late fall from all my time outside. I had worked hard on the farm, helping feed the horses and chickens. When I had gotten older, I used to ride alongside my grandpa in the front seat of his old beat-up truck to fix fences. The fences always needed fixing, it seemed.“I want to go to the museum,” he answered after carefully thinking it over.“Sounds like a plan. We’ll do the museum, have lunch, and then go to the park for some playtime.”“Okay,” he said, turning to look back out the window.I drove to our apartment, tucked the car into the cramped parking area, and headed inside. We lived in a nice building with a doorman. I felt relatively safe on the eighth floor. Our two-bedroom was modest, but a lot bigger than most.“I’m going to get dinner started. You can watch TV for a bit if you’d like.”“I’m going to play on my iPad,” he answered.I put his backpack next to the door and went into the s
AlexI stared out the window of the hospital room. It was a dreary spring day, which was common, but I suspected the rain was God weeping. Not really. The weather suited the mood. I was trying to keep my emotions in check. I refused to show weakness. I hated showing weakness.“You’re still here?” Oliver’s weak voice came from behind me.I slowly turned and looked at the man lying in bed. He looked tired. I didn’t think he looked like a man on death’s door, but the doctors and nurses assured me that was the case. I was in awe of his strength. I had no idea he was sick. Yesterday when I had shown up to the house, he was still in bed. He politely asked me to drive him the twenty miles to the hospital.Initially, I thought maybe he had the flu. He had just been on an airplane. Airplanes were nasty, germ-laden boxes. When he’d quickly been admitted with almost no questions asked, I realized something was wrong. It was all prearranged. It was like he was checking in at a hotel.“I’m here, O
AlexI walked out of the room. “I’m leaving,” I said to the nurse, not stopping to hear what she was about to say. I couldn’t stay there another minute. I was on the verge of tears. I didn’t want to turn into a blubbery mess with an audience.I got back in my truck and drove. I felt numb. When I got within five minutes of town, I called Sadie, hoping she was off work.“Hey,” I said when she answered. “You free? I could really use a drink.”“Alex, it’s one o’clock in the afternoon. Since when do you day-drink?”“I need a drink. You don’t have to drink.”“I’ll meet you at Bob’s,” she said, naming the one bar in town. Bob’s also served as a diner and all-around hangout for the over twenty-one crowd, but it wasn’t all that surprising to see a toddler in the bar with a mom or dad on occasion.I drove to the bar, parking in the paved lot that had more potholes than solid blacktop. When I walked inside, I immediately spotted sleek black hair. It was easy to find her anywhere. She liked flash
DamionI sat at my desk, reviewing a new piece from one of my seasoned journalists when my assistant buzzed the intercom. “Mr. Whittle?”“Yes?”“There’s someone here to see you. He says he’s a lawyer.”I didn’t think I was being sued, but one never knew in the current climate. We weren’t in the business of celebrity news, which protected us from some suits but not all. I adjusted my tie, wanting to present a professional appearance.“I’ll be right out.”I got to my feet and opened the office door. The lawyer was nothing like the other lawyers I dealt with. The guy was wearing jeans, cowboy boots, a cowboy hat, and a bolo tie. He looked to be in his late sixties. I didn’t have to ask where he was from.“I’m Damion Whittle,” I said, extending my hand.“Good to meet you, Damion. I’m Harvey Larson. I’m your grandfather’s attorney.”I nodded, gesturing for him to go inside. “Hold my calls,” I said, not looking forward to the conversation I knew to be coming.Harvey had taken a seat already
DamionHe slowly nodded. “You heard me. Like I said, your grandpa, he was one smart son of a bitch. I tried to do what he did and lost money. He just had a knack for knowing what was a good bet and what wasn’t.”“Wow,” I breathed. “I never knew. He never mentioned investing. You knew him. There was nothing about him that said he knew the first thing about investing.”“He liked to keep his cards close to the vest.”“Shit,” I said, my mind still trying to process everything. “He left it to me?” Harvey waved the stack of papers. “It’s all right here.”I shook my head. “I don’t know what to say. Do I thank you? I feel like a shithead. I didn’t go to the man’s funeral. I don’t feel worthy.”“Honestly, I don’t think he expected you to go to the funeral. He planned it all to keep you from having to relive that experience.”I gulped down the lump in my throat. When Ann had died, I had been a wreck. My grandfather had flown out to be with me. I didn’t even remember the first few days after he