Beneath the Flames

by Gregory Lee Renz

  The plan was for Mitch and Chris to take shifts staying with Sid while the other took care of chores. The days would be long, but they had no one else to stay with him. Jennie volunteered to drive Sid to the stroke clinic on her way to work for the physical therapy sessions in the afternoons. One of them would have to come get him. Help was in short supply in the farming community during spring planting. Mitch and Chris were on their own.

  Mitch had intended to get to Milwaukee once a week to see Jasmine and Alexus and to help Miss Bernie and Brother Williams, but with spring planting and equipment breakdowns, the month flew by. He called Miss Bernie every night praying for encouraging news. He only got yes’s and no’s when he tried talking to Jasmine. When he ran out of things to say, Jasmine handed the phone off to Alexus who chattered on as long as Mitch let her. The calls left him crushed.

  Miss Bernie had told him she tried to tell the therapist the pills were making Jasmine worse. The therapist told her they can take time and some­times dosages have to be adjusted. Miss Bernie wasn’t so sure.

  * * *

  A red Camry turned into the drive. Jennie was driving her boyfriend’s car. Mitch took a deep breath and went to greet them. Billy followed. The car pulled to a stop in front of the house, stirring up a dust cloud. When the dust cleared, Sid was glowering through the back passenger window, the left side of his face drooping. Chris popped the trunk. “We got a wheelchair to get him around for now.”

  Jennie stepped past Mitch and opened Sid’s door, never making eye contact. Chris unfolded the wheelchair and Jennie unstrapped Sid’s seatbelt.

  Mitch couldn’t take his eyes off Jennie. “I feel pretty useless. What should I do?”

  “Hold the wheelchair while we slide him out,” Chris said.

  Sid’s face twisted into a crooked scowl when Mitch pushed the wheel­chair up to the open door. “What the hell you doing here?” The words came out slow and slurred.

  Mitch took Miss Bernie’s advice and ignored Sid’s anger. “Just here to help.”

  “We don’t need your help.”

  “Yes, we do, Dad,” Chris said. “I can’t work the farm alone. Mitch has been here helping the whole time you were in the hospital. He built that ramp and set up a bedroom for you on the first floor.”

  Sid jabbed his right index finger into Chris’s chest. “Tell him to get off our land.”

  “It’s his farm too.”

  “Not anymore.”

  Chris leaned into Sid. “Then we lose the farm.”

  Mitch was shocked to hear Chris raise his voice to their dad.

  Sid turned back to Mitch. “I—don’t—want—you—here.”

  “I’m staying until you can get out of that wheelchair and chase me off. Deal with it.”

  Sid’s face and bald head went from red to purple.

  “Let’s get you inside and settled,” Jennie said. “Then you boys can get back to your pissing match.”

  Sid instantly calmed and gave Jennie a lopsided smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Jennie rolled him up the ramp with Chris and Mitch following. Sid clenched his lips while they moved him to the rented hospital bed. He held his right hand to his chest in a tight fist as if he were ready to punch somebody. His left arm hung limp.

  Jennie glanced from Chris to Mitch. “Give me a few minutes with him.”

  When she returned, she said, “He’s resting. The trip home wore him out and that little blowup didn’t help.”

  “Are we supposed to ignore the hollering?” Chris said.

  “Yes. Yes, you are. Unless you want him to have another stroke. And the next one could be catastrophic. So yes, ignore him.”

  “Jen, thanks for doing all this,” Mitch said.

  “Your dad’s a good man, in spite of that temper.”

  “Think sometime we could…?”

  “Oh, just so you know. I told him to behave himself. Said if he raises hell with you boys, I won’t be happy.”

  “Thanks.”

  He stared at the road long after she disappeared over the hill.

  * * *

  Mitch slept downstairs on the couch in case Sid needed help to the bathroom during the night. He wasn’t ready to sleep in his old room.

  Late that night, Mitch heard a crash from Sid’s room. He found Sid crumpled in a heap next to the wheelchair.

  “Don’t touch me,” Sid croaked. “Tell Chris to get in here.”

  “You okay?”

  “I said, tell Chris.”

  Mitch slid in behind Sid and slipped his arms through Sid’s armpits.

  Sid shook his good fist. “Get your goddamn hands off me.”

  Mitch ignored his own building anger and hefted Sid into the wheelchair.

  The right side of Sid’s lower lip stuck out like a pouting child. “Why you here?”

  “To help Chris with the farm.”

  Sid struggled to straighten himself in the wheelchair. “Bullshit. It’s Jen, ain’t it?”

  Mitch flared but didn’t respond. He wheeled Sid to the bathroom where he pulled Sid’s shorts down and sat him on the toilet. He’d never seen Sid naked below the waist. The pasty legs were far too skinny for his short, stocky torso. The sight of Sid’s sagging genitals was something he could have gone his entire life without seeing.

  Tears streamed down Sid’s face. “Goddamn humiliating,” he said as Mitch wiped him.

  Mitch’s anger faded to gloom. His dad, a powerful bull of a man, had been reduced to this whimpering, frail stranger.

  When Mitch got him back under the covers, Sid said softly, “Why can’t you just leave?”

  Because I don’t know how to give up. “Get some sleep. Next time call for help.”

  In the morning, Mitch fed Sid pancakes and tuned his bedroom television to the Turner Classic Movie Channel, then headed to the hayfield after letting Chris know.

  When Mitch came in for lunch, Chris told him he found Sid on the floor. He bruised his hip.

  Mitch approached Sid’s bed. “You okay?”

  “Go the hell back to those people, you love so much.”

  “Those people?”

  “Goddamn welfare bastards.”

  “The blacks?”

  “Damn right, the coloreds.”

  Mitch tried but couldn’t hold back. “So, you’re quite the fucking expert on black people. How many you know?”

  Sid’s eyes bulged. “Get the hell off my farm.”

  Mitch was stewing at the kitchen table, mad at himself for letting Sid get to him when a soft hand rubbed his neck.

  “How you holding up?” asked Jennie.

  “Okay, I guess.”

  “This must be tough, eh?”

  Mitch nodded, lost in her smile.

  “How’s the burn healing?”

  “Okay, I guess.” Jesus, that all I can say?

  “Let me take a look. Got some time before I take Sid to the clinic.”

  He couldn’t get his shirt off fast enough.

  She unwrapped the gauze. “These burns should have healed by now. Where’s the ointment?”

  He pointed to the counter stacked with dirty plates, pots, and a giant cast iron fry pan.

  She spread the ointment over the burns in gentle circular motions. Her warm hands on his back sent shivers through him.

  “I see you didn’t let yourself go.”

  “Heard you don’t like fat guys.”

  She laughed and pressed her cheek to the top of his head. “Let me change this from now on. How things going with Sid?”

  “He can’t stand the sight of me.”

  “Really? You’re not all that hard to look at.” She grinned. “That’s the stroke talking. Give him time.”

  After she finished, he pulled the sweaty T-shirt back on. “Jen, I need to tell you—”

  “I should go. Sid needs to get to the clinic, and I need to get to work.”

  He helped her wheel a jovial Sid to the car. Jennie had that effect on people.

  Mitch and Billy stoo
d in the drive as they drove off. “Just wanted to tell her I love her.”

  Billy licked Mitch’s hand and panted.

  Chapter 46

  An ambulance sped over the hilltop, red lights flashing. Mitch watched from the cab of the John Deere while mowing hay in the back field. He and Chris had settled into a routine with Mitch taking care of the fieldwork while Chris humped the chores. They took turns checking on Sid. Over the five days since Sid’s return, his violent verbal attacks on Mitch intensified. At times Mitch had to walk away.

  The ambulance slowed. He couldn’t see past the hill. The siren faded. Mitch’s chest tightened. He jumped from the tractor and ran over the choppy ground. The blue and white ambulance with Milroy EMS emblazoned on the side idled in front of their farmhouse. Red and white beams of light splashed across the house and barn. Mitch raced inside.

  Bob, the veteran EMT who was at the scene of Maggie’s tragic death, was at the foot of the gurney. They had Sid packaged and heading for the ambulance with Chris following.

  “What happened?”

  “Looks like a wrist fracture,” Bob said.

  Mitch stopped Chris. “Why didn’t you get me?”

  “I was out in the barn when I heard him hollering. Found him on the floor with his wrist flopped in a weird direction. Scared the hell out of both of us.” Chris lowered his voice. “And he pissed himself.”

  “I’ll go with him to ER.”

  From behind them, Sid slurred, “The hell you will. I want Chris.”

  “Dad. He’s an EMT,” Chris said.

  “I don’t care if he’s Jesus Christ.”

  “Chris it is,” Bob said. “Shouldn’t be long. ER’s usually slow Sunday mornings.”

  * * *

  After feeding calves, Mitch headed to the field. Rain was in the forecast the following week. The hay had to be cut, dried, and baled before the rains came or they’d lose the entire cutting if it got wet and moldy.

  He came in from the field when the red Camry turned into the drive. Chris and Jennie were wheeling Sid into the house by the time he got there.

  “Jen gave us a ride home,” Chris said.

  Sid’s right forearm was covered in a light blue cast. His blank expression spooked Mitch.

  “So, what did they find?” Mitch asked Jennie.

  “Fractured wrist and some bruised ribs.”

  After they got Sid tucked in, he followed Jennie to the porch. “Thanks, Jen.”

  “Sid hasn’t even been home a week, for crying out loud. You guys need to watch him better.”

  “We’ve been trying.”

  “Just take care of that old man. He’s your father.”

  “Right. Thanks.”

  The familiar ache in the pit of his stomach flared as Jennie drove away.

  Chris moved alongside him on the porch and gazed across the open field. “How we gonna keep going like this?”

  “It’s bound to get easier. Rehab should help.”

  “Things aren’t getting easier though. They’re getting worse.”

  “So, what should we do?”

  Chris sighed. “Maybe a nursing home?”

  Mitch clenched his jaw. “Nope. We’re not giving up.”

  “How, Mitch? How? Even if we keep going, the bank’s gonna take the farm next month.”

  “We take one day at a time.” And pray like hell.

  Chris walked to the barn shaking his head.

  Mitch plodded to the back field. The hay needed cutting. He needed to think.

  Chris checked on Sid through the afternoon, allowing Mitch to continue cutting hay until the evening dew set in. The pain pills kept Sid out for most of the day. After he woke, they took turns running him to the bathroom while the other worked his tail off to catch up on chores. Manure had to be cleaned from the milk parlor and barn. The calves had to be fed and pens cleaned, feed had to be mixed for the cows, and hay delivered to the pasture. Tomorrow they’d start all over and do it again along with the fieldwork, milking, and equipment maintenance.

  Well after midnight, they quit for the day. Chris dragged himself to bed and Mitch crashed on the couch.

  * * *

  “Goddamn it. Somebody get in here.”

  Mitch stumbled to Sid’s room, shaking the haze from his head. He choked. The room reeked of shit. He went into mouth breathing mode like Kenny taught him.

  “For Christ’s sake, I’ve been hollering for over half an hour. You deaf?”

  Mitch refused to answer and covered the wheelchair with towels before sliding Sid into it. While lifting him from the bed, Mitch was smeared with Sid’s excrement.

  “Oh, man. Not again,” Chris said, standing in the doorway wearing saggy jockey shorts. His small pot belly hung over the top of the shorts. He was looking more like Sid every day.

  “I’ll clean him in the tub. Can you change the bedding?” Mitch said.

  Sid banged the blue cast on the wheelchair. “Just put me—out—of— my—goddamn misery.”

  Chris stared at the soiled bed.

  “I can do that if you can’t,” Mitch said.

  “No. I got it. Take care of Dad.” The words sounded hollow.

  Once they had Sid settled, Chris went back to bed. Mitch stayed awake, listening for the old man. In the morning, Chris was milking before sunrise. When he came in, Mitch headed to the field. Rain was forecast for tomorrow.

  He fought the drowsiness by drowning himself in coffee and not eating. If he ate, he’d pass out. That couldn’t happen. Not after what happened with the combine and the fire. He had an alarm clock in the tractor so he could grab short naps to keep going through the day.

  Before crashing on the couch after a late supper of Dinty Moore beef stew, Mitch set the alarm to go off every two hours to check on the old man. Sid refused to acknowledge him when Mitch looked in on him. The silence had become unbearable. Mitch never thought he would welcome Sid’s rants.

  The following day, he battled exhaustion, working to get the hay in before the rain came.

  Mitch shut down the tractor when he spotted the four-wheeler bouncing over the field toward him with Jennie at the wheel. She skidded it to a stop.

  He swung down from the cab.

  Jennie motioned him over. “Where were you yesterday when I picked up your dad?”

  “I ah…”

  “You know these dressings have to be changed every day. Sit. I brought them with me. Got a few minutes before I take Sid in.”

  “What we gonna do with him? He’s like a zombie.”

  “I’ll see if I can get him in to see Doctor Mallory. He’s a clinical psychologist at UW.”

  Mitch closed his eyes while her warm hands moved tenderly over his back. “I think he’s the one who came out after I let…after Maggie died.”

  “Did he help?”

  “Not exactly.”

  She finished wrapping the burns and leaned into him. Her breasts pressing against his back triggered a familiar yearning. She whispered, “By the way, you look like shit. Try to get some sleep.” She rubbed his shoulders. “I’d better get Sid going.”

  And she was gone, leaving him fantasizing about kissing her lips, making love to her, being with her.

  Chapter 47

  Jennie’s tender massage stayed with Mitch the rest of the day. Images of the two of them together dominated his thoughts as he loaded wagons with the flaxen, bulging bales of hay. He beat the rain. Darkness set in by the time he cleaned and greased the John Deere baler. This was a good day.

  After washing up in the mudroom, he went to the kitchen to get a bite before helping Chris with late-night chores. He clicked the light on. For a brief second, Mitch thought Sid was slumped over the table, but it was Chris, his lined and haggard face drooping with exhaustion.

  “Thought you’d be out working yet,” Mitch said.

  “I couldn’t get in to check on Dad. Had a cow go down.”

  “You get her up?”

  “By the time I got inside, Dad was a mess. He
was on the floor. Crapped himself again. It’s not right to see your own dad like this.”

  “He okay?”

  “He won’t even talk anymore. I’m scared. It’s like he’s not even here.”

  Mitch nodded. “I’ll stay with him. You take care of chores. I’ll think of something.”

  “We need help.”

  * * *

  Mitch pulled a chair next to Sid’s bed after Chris left to finish chores. A shaft of soft moonlight illuminated Sid’s face. His right eye was open and vacant; the left in a permanent droop. “Don’t give up on us, Dad. We’ll get through this, I promise.”

  Sid’s right eye and mouth twitched.

  Mitch wiped the spittle from the corner of Sid’s mouth. Sid’s right eye slowly closed.

  Please, God. Help us.

  He dozed in the chair next to Sid’s bed.

  The kitchen phone rang. He rushed to answer it before it woke Sid. The wall clock showed twelve-thirty.

  “Oh, Mitch, Mitch, Mitch, that poor child,” Miss Bernie said.

  “What?”

  “We at Children’s Hospital. Amblance took her.”

  A ball of fear swelled in his chest. “Took who?”

  “Jasmine took bunch a them pills they give her. She wouldn’t wake when Alexus went in to say prayers.”

  “Is she…?”

  “Oh, my Lord, Mitch. This terrible. What we gonna do? What we gonna do? Sweet Jesus.”

  Mitch’s knees buckled. He gripped the edge of the counter. “Miss Bernie. Is she…?”

  “They pump those terrible pills out of her, but she still not awake.”

  “Who’s with you?”

  “Just me and Alexus. Brother Williams on the way.”

  “Tell Lexi I’m coming.”

  He woke Chris and told him what happened. Mitch jumped in the old van and drove through the late night, his mind numb.

  * * *

  When Mitch got to the hospital, he found Alexus sleeping on a couch in the waiting room with Miss Bernie and Brother Williams slumped in chairs on each side of her. Miss Bernie pushed herself from the chair and shuffled to Mitch. She clamped her arms around his back and rested her head on his shoulder. She shuddered.