Damion
I 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 small kitchen to start dinner. I had never imagined myself living the life I had. When I was young and on the farm, I’d always pictured myself coming in from a hard day’s work to a hot dinner and a hotter wife. I had known I wanted children from an early age. I loved kids. It just turned out the woman I had fallen in love with wasn’t meant to bear children.
There was still a little pang of guilt that assaulted my thoughts time and again when I thought about Ann’s death. She had died in childbirth. Technically, she’d been gone when Oliver was delivered. One day, she’d been fine, a little swollen but nothing to worry about. So we had been told. A week later, she had a stroke.
If she hadn’t gotten pregnant, she would still be with me. I loved Oliver with all my heart and soul and knew Ann would have willingly given her life for our son, but some days, I just felt guilty. I felt guilty Oliver didn’t have a mom. I felt guilty Ann was dead and I was alive and well.
Was I doing enough for our son? After my grandfather’s visit, I had been questioning my parenting technique. I’d been questioning everything. Was the city the right place to raise him?
I worked too much. That, I knew for sure, but it wasn’t like I was independently wealthy. I had to work for my money. My job required long hours sometimes. It was part of life. I wasn’t the only single parent working long hours.
I dumped spaghetti noodles in the pot of boiling water and opened the jar of sauce. It was a quick and easy dinner. I opened the freezer to grab the frozen bread when I heard my phone ringing. It was likely someone from work. I was able to leave early enough to pick up Oliver from school, but I still had to be on standby for my staff that remained at the office.
I didn’t recognize the number right away but recognized the area code. It was from Montana. “Hello?” I answered, expecting to hear my grandfather’s voice.
“Hello, is this Damion Whittle?” a woman asked.
“It is. Who’s calling?”
“Mr. Whittle, my name is Denise. I work at Missouri River Medical Center. I’m calling about your grandfather, Oliver Whittle. He’s listed you as his next of kin.”
I nodded. She couldn’t see me, but I was struggling to think straight. Was it a heart attack? I had seen him a few days ago and knew he didn’t look well. “What happened? Is he okay?”
There was a brief pause. “I’m sorry to tell you this, especially over the phone, but he’s passed away.”
My mouth fell open about the same time my knees gave out. I was fortunate to be standing next to the couch when I answered the phone. I sank into the old, worn leather cushions and processed the words. “Passed away?” I repeated. “He died?”
“I’m afraid so,” she answered. “I understand you are in New York. He’s made arrangements already and we will follow through with his wishes.”
“He made arrangements?” I asked, my mind befuddled by the information.
“Yes, sir. He’ll be picked up by a funeral home.”
“He made arrangements?” I repeated. “He knew he was going to die? How does that work?”
She cleared her throat. “He had end-stage pancreatic cancer. Yes, he knew he was going to die.”
My heart felt like a knife had been stabbed through it. My throat felt raw. “Cancer?”
“I’m very sorry for your loss,” she said again.
That was it. That was the extent of her phone call. “That’s it?” I whispered. “He’s just gone?”
“I’m sorry. Is there someone you can talk to? You shouldn’t be alone right now.”
I scoffed, suddenly furious. “Yeah, there’s someone I can talk to. Unfortunately, you just told me he was dead!”
I ended the call, throwing my phone across the room. I squeezed my eyes closed, refusing to cry. He wouldn’t want me to cry. I couldn’t believe he was gone. My mind simply refused to accept it. It just wasn’t possible. He was my last remaining relative. Could I really be alone in the world? I had Oliver, I reminded myself. I wasn’t completely alone.
My heart hurt. It physically hurt in my chest. Images of my grandfather on the farm flashed through my brain. His smile and those eyes that had a way of seeing through any lie. I couldn’t believe I would never see those eyes again.
It hurt. The pain was almost unbearable until Oliver came into the room. He picked up my phone and brought it to me. “You dropped your phone, Daddy,” he said.
I smiled, refusing to let him see my pain. “Oops,” I choked out the only word I could get out.
He sat beside me on the couch, completely silent. I wrapped my arm around him and hugged him close. I was sick of losing people.
I refused to lose another person in my life.
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
AlexI took a bite of my crispy bacon before sipping the black coffee. I had been starving when I walked into the only restaurant in town. People in town were used to me eating a lot. I burned a lot of calories doing what I did, and for now, I didn’t have to worry too much about putting on a ton of weight. I wasn’t exactly a bodybuilder, but I was stronger than most women.Correction, stronger than most normal women. Women that ranched and farmed were tough. I was proud to be what I considered one of the elite class of females across the country that could rein in a scared horse, load a bale of hay, and then cook up a hot meal for the menfolk. What I really loved was working my ass off on a farm and then sitting down to enjoy a meal someone else prepared. Like my breakfast. Any meal prepared by someone else always tasted a little better in my opinion.“Did you get those new boots you were looking at?” Sadie asked casually.I stuffed a buttery piece of pancake in my mouth, shaking my h
Alex“I’ll give it until the end of the week. If no one shows up, I’ll call the lawyer and let him know I need a body there or he needs to give me the power to hire a body.”“Good plan. I need to scoot. I’ve got an eleven o’clock.”“See ya later,” I said, not getting up. I had already been to the farm, taken care of morning chores, and was going to enjoy a lazy, late breakfast.With the initial shock of Oliver’s death easing, I was able to focus on what came next. I had a couple of calls from potential clients. The easy thing to do would be to walk away, take a new job, and put Oliver and his farm behind me. It was how I lived my life. I didn’t get attached to people or places. I kept everyone at arm’s length.I checked the time. I wanted to be rebellious and ignore the farm. I couldn’t. I didn’t know what I believed about the afterlife, but I wasn’t interested in pissing off any ghosts. I had made a promise and I intended to keep that promise.I left the diner and drove out to the fa
DamionI knew my grandfather had someone minding the farm, but no one had said anything about that someone being a beautiful young woman. I had seen the truck pull up and watched through the dining room window where I had just sat down to enjoy a sandwich with Oliver. When I saw the truck, I assumed it was the hand Harvey told me about. Then she got out of the truck and I was less sure about my assumption. He had told me someone named Alex was running things. That didn’t look like an Alex to me.I waited and watched as she disappeared into the barn. I wondered if she worked for Alex. Before I ventured out to introduce myself, I got Oliver situated in the bedroom that used to be mine growing up. I walked outside, inhaling the fresh air with the scent of freshly tilled dirt lingering. It was strange how a scent could stir up memories. I took a few more deep breaths, closing my eyes and letting myself be transported to another time.When I opened my eyes again, I found her staring at me.
DamionI winced, hating to piss the woman off any more than she already was. “I can’t.”“You can’t?” she asked, one light brow raising and a hand going to her hip. “What do you mean you can’t? You can’t, or you won’t?”“I need to get back inside.”She looked up at the sky, the sun shining bright, and then back at me. “The sun won’t hurt you. Slap on some sunscreen and you’ll be fine.”“Later,” I said, not appreciating her condescending tone. I had tried to be nice, but she was being rude. “I’ve got a lot to take care of inside the house so I have somewhere to sleep tonight.”She rolled her eyes. “Why are you even here? You and I both know this isn’t the life for you. You aren’t the kind of guy that likes to get his hands dirty. An editor that sits in an office and probably has an assistant that waits on him hand and foot isn’t going to make it out here. Maybe you were raised on the farm, but that doesn’t mean you can keep up with the lifestyle now. You’ve gotten soft.”I leaned forwar