by Mari Beck
“I don’t understand.”
“He made arrangements for them to be filed in case something happened to him and it came to this. To be honest, Riley, the poor man had enough reason to file before the accident. He just kept hoping and praying that things would change. But then the accident happened, you almost beat that Cole boy to death, you put your hands on your fiancée- scaring her pretty good- and to top it off you tried to kill yourself.”
Riley sat on his hospital bed feeling numb. He didn’t recognize the person who did all of those things. Damn the war. Damn that road. He wanted to die now more than ever.
“If I’d just died over there none of this would have happened.”
“Is that what you think?”
“Yes.” Riley felt the tears falling down his cheeks.
“Me too.” Louis said and Riley turned to him and stared. “ Surprised I’m agreeing with you, huh?” Riley nodded.
“Well, I do agree. It’s a fact. But, it’s also a fact that you didn’t die. Not then and not now. You ever stop to wonder why that is?”
“Yes.” Riley whispered through his tears.
“Me too. And that’s a fact. I’ve been there. Hell, I’m still there. I’m still asking.”
“But you don’t understand. It’s like they want me to be something I’m not.”
“They?”
“Misty. Brandon. My grandpa. The whole town.” Riley was wiping away the tears with his arm.
“What is it they want you to be? The hero they saw splashed across the front page of the newspapers and tv?”
“No.” Riley paused to wipe more tears away. “They want me to be me.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The Farmhouse
Brenda parked in front of the dilapidated farmhouse and sighed. She had driven almost a thousand miles only to find a house in ruins, overtaken by prairie grasses and weeds. The paint had almost completely peeled off the boards and most of the windows were broken. Pieces of the fence that used to surround the property were scattered everywhere. A large gnarled oak tree spiraled into the sky out front with an old tire swing hanging precariously on a thin branch. There was even an outhouse off to the side of the house and a work shed too. She got out of the car and looked around. She had made arrangements to meet Mr. Owen Samson the lawyer who had previously handled the estate. While she waited she decided to take a tour of her new living quarters. It was so much worse than she had imagined. But what else could she expect when the property had remained mostly vacant for almost 30 years? Shane had stopped spending summers here once his grandparents had passed away. He had been 7 or 8 years old. His own parents,who had him later in life, had died of illness shortly after he and Brenda were married. Neither one of them had lived long enough to see Callan or Taylor be born. It was sad, she thought, that Shane wouldn’t meet his grandchildren either.
She heard the sound of a car behind her and turned around in time to see Mr. Samson park his Cadillac behind her rental car. He was an elderly man in his 80’s wearing an oversized brown suit that hailed from at least two decades back, a wide striped tie in varying shades of tan, a cowboy hat and boots.
“Well, hello there!” Owen Samson called out as he stepped from his Cadillac waving a manilla envelope in her direction.
“Hello.”
“I’m Owen Samson and you are. . .”
“A friend of the family.” She had called Mr. Samson before leaving to tell him that she was sending a friend to look in on the property.
“I remember. I’m sorry that Mr. & Mrs. Jenner couldn’t make it down. I hope they are doing well.” She had been surprised when Owen Samson hadn’t seemed to know who Shane was or what had happened to him and while she had felt a twinge of guilt lying to him she knew she had no choice. But she felt it was a blessing that maybe he’d known too many people with the same name or that his memory was getting foggy. Just to be on the safe side she’d told him that neither she nor Shane could make it down to inspect the property and that she would be sending a friend to do it for them. When he asked her who would be coming down she decided to use her own middle name and her mother’s maiden name as an alias. She was also counting on the fact that the drastic change in her appearance, the cropped hair colored a deep drug-store brown would throw him off once she got there. She was right. He didn’t seem to recognize her at all from the media coverage. Well, that and the fact that he seemed to struggle to see her at all, squinting as he held out a hand.
“Miss Messersmith is it?” They shook hands and she marveled at how naked her left hand felt without her wedding rings.
“That’s right. You can call me Renae.” She willed the lump in her throat to recede as she heard Mr. Samson use the alias she’d created out of her middle name and her mother’s maiden name. “Well, it’s sure been a long time since we’ve had anyone associated with the family in this part of the country. I myself live further out west about an hour, but back when the Jenner’s lived here I had an office in town and a place about 10 miles from here.”
“I appreciate you driving all the way here for me, Mr. Samson.”
“No problem. No problem at t’all.” He said slowly making his way toward the house. Brenda followed him.
“As you can see, no one has lived here for quite some time.”
“Yes. It seems like I-I mean, like my friend has got her work cut out for her.” Brenda reached out to touch one of the remaining fence boards surrounding the front yard only to have it tip over and fall.
“Well,” Mr. Samson chuckled,” there’s no doubt about that but it’s nothing a little elbow grease can’t fix. Besides I think most of the problems are, what do the people on those home shows call them these days? Ah yes, cos-me-tic.”
“I think my friend was hoping to come out and maybe spend some time here. But I’m not sure that’s going to be possible at least not anytime soon.”
“Shall we take a look inside and see for ourselves? You never know. We might be pleasantly surprised.” She highly doubted it.
“All right. Lead the way, Mr. Samson” She said and watched as the elderly lawyer made his way up the sidewalk to the rickety wooden steps. There wasn’t any railing and as she watched him struggle to make it up each step she felt the need to give him her arm so he could maintain his balance.
“Well, thank you.” Mr. Samson said and gave her a grateful smile. “These old legs aren’t what they used to be that’s for sure.” They made their way onto the wooden porch and Brenda noticed that many of the boards were broken or eaten away by termites. The elderly gentleman fumbled in his much too large suit pockets for the key to the front door.
“It’s in here somewhere.” He laughed and she sincerely hoped so. It would be a shame for him to have come so far only to have left the key back home.
“Ah, here ’tis.” He inserted the key with trembling hands and turned it in the lock. It made a small click and after a bit of a push the door opened. Mr. Samson was right, what they found inside did surprise her. The large front room was flooded with natural light coming from 2 sets of broken windows and was empty of any furniture except for an old piano sitting against the wall nearest the narrow stairs leading to a second story. The dust covered floors looked like they were made out of pine and the water damaged wallpaper adorned with spiraling antique roses was peeling in several places. As she walked through what would have been the dining room she noticed an old wooden hutch in one corner and a lone chair sitting on its side in the middle of the room. She wondered what had happened to the rest of the furniture? Had it gone into storage? Had it been sold or stolen? Stepping into the kitchen she saw the old gas stove with a burner that looked like a bird might have made a nest in it and a smaller refrigerator next to a single sink. More broken windows and a torn screen door off to the side with a view of the work shed, water pump and outhouse. She inhaled and exhaled deeply. The house was certainly dated. She could hardly imagine Shane spending time here as a child and yet this is where he wanted their own chi
ldren to live after he came home from the war.
“Would you like to go upstairs, Miss Messersmith?” Mr. Owen called to her from the front door. She supposed she should complete the entire tour. Making her way back around to the front room she stepped onto the creaky wooden stairs and started climbing. The same rose patterned wall paper could be found upstairs as downstairs. As she made it to the top she could make out the tiny bathroom that Shane must have shared with his grandparents as a child. Amazingly the upstairs appeared to be more intact than the downstairs. She turned to the left and found the larger room she supposed had been the master bedroom and then made her way just a few feet in the opposite direction to where Shane’s bedroom was located. She placed a hand on the old door and nudged it. It made a loud creaking. There were a torn pair of gingham curtains fluttering off of the breeze coming in from the broken window in the empty room. Brenda stepped inside. It was so compact. Big enough for a bed and maybe a short chest of drawers but nothing else. She tried to imagine Shane standing in his old room. He would have looked like a giant. As she ran her hands across the peeling walls she felt a set of sharp grooves and leaned in to look. Tears welled up in her eyes when she realized what she was touching. There carved into walls of the small bedroom walls was his name. Brenda clapped a hand to her mouth and began to cry. Here she was face to face with the very thing from which she had tried to run, the loss of her husband and the guilt of her betrayal.
“Miss Messersmith? Miss Messersmith? Is everything all right?” Owen Samson’s voice startled her and she quickly tried to wipe the tears from her eyes.
“Yes, thank you, Mr. Samson. I’m just admiring the wallpaper.”
“It is pretty.” He said as she made her way back down the stairs. “If I recall my Missus had something similar to it in our house.”
“The house must have been something to see back when the family lived here.”
“Oh, yes!” Mr. Owen said following her out of the house and onto the front porch. “Mrs. Jenner was a very fine housekeeper. She was also an excellent baker. I enjoyed more than one good piece of pie here.”
“Did-did you know their grandson?”
“Oh, it’s been a long time. I can’t rightly say that I would know him now if I saw him. But back then he must have been no more than 6 or 7years old. We moved not too long after that even though I continued to handle their affairs.”
They started to walk back toward their cars.
“Did you want to walk the rest of the property? I won’t be able to follow you on account of these old legs but I’m happy to wait while you do.”
“I did a little bit of that when I first got here. I think I have a pretty good idea of what to tell my friend. I had hoped to help her get some of the surveys and property assessments done while I was out here but I was counting on staying in the actual house. “
“My, that won’t do, my dear. That won’t do. It does need some tender loving care. In the meantime, I can suggest a quaint motel in Broken Bow where you can stay while you complete the surveys and a wonderful little eating establishment here in Bess where you will find the best fried chicken in the entire county. So what do you say? Will you stay?”
Brenda knew there was no going back now. However complicated this was turning out to be she had to stay as far away as she could from Meagan McGuinnis and Jon Procter if she was going to succeed in protecting her boys and building a new life for herself. After a moment she looked at Mr. Samson, smiled and nodded.
“Thank you, Mr. Samson. I think I will.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Veteran's Group
Riley sat in a circle with a dozen other men dressed in bathrobes and hospital scrubs while another five or so wore street clothing. Most of them sat silently staring at their shoes and a few of them were talking to each other but not many. This was the another in a long series of group therapy sessions he’d attended while he was in the hospital. The difference is that this one was led by his caseworker Louis Montgomery. Riley figured he’d been at the hospital a week or two. Rightly or wrongly he’d made the decision not to attend his grandfather’s funeral even though Louis and the attending psychiatrist Dr. Nadeem had encouraged him to go. Louis would have taken him and brought him back to the hospital. Ultimately, it had been Riley’s decision and he just couldn’t bear going back and facing everyone. How could he after everything that had happened? Louis had stopped by his room one last time on the day of the funeral to check and see if he was going. But Riley just sat on his bed staring out the window in his bathrobe and didn’t say much. Pastor Dan and Old Jimmy tried to visit him but he refused to see them. Misty tried calling him once but he hung up on her as soon as he heard her voice. Everyone including Louis left him alone and didn’t ask him any questions until the day Louis asked him to go with him to one more group meeting. Riley had no interest in doing anything of the kind but Louis was persistent and reminded him that the more he took part in his own recovery the sooner he could go home. It made Riley laugh to think about that. What home? And just what did they mean by recovery? There was nothing for him to go home to but he decided he might as well do it. He didn’t have to go back to Bess, maybe he could go somewhere else, somewhere where no one knew who he was or what he’d done. Dear God-what he’d done! Now as he sat staring at all of the people seated around him he wondered what he was doing there. Louis had told him when he first arrived that if he went to a couple of group meetings and did what the doctor said he could get out. He’d done that, well most of it. He went to the meetings but he didn’t participate and he sat in Dr. Nadeem’s office during their sessions but he never really answered the man’s questions. It was mostly a staring contest where Nadeem asked him how he was feeling and then just waited for Riley to say something. He’d been waiting a long time. The most he had shared with anyone had been the day Louis had first come to tell him that his grandpa had passed away. He had told Louis things he hadn’t said out loud to anyone. Each day during group the leader would begin the meeting by talking about the rules, which they had created themselves, like turning off their cell phones. Something which seemed funny as far as most of them were concerned because the majority of the guys in the room were patients like him and they weren’t allowed to have any electronic devices. If they had any they were under lock and key at the nurses station. So that rule applied mostly to the leaders of the group, which mostly consisted of a psychotherapist named Janine Phelps and Dr. Nadeem, who due to the nature of his role at the hospital had to take calls and pages. Riley figured this group would be like all the others. Although Riley never asked Louis told him that the group was open to patients at the hospital and to a small group of men and women living at a halfway house nearby. Both men and women were encouraged to attend but there were also groups designated by gender for those participants who felt more comfortable in those settings. It didn’t matter to Riley what kind of group it was. For the most part he planned on sitting and not speaking, staring at the wall, the ceiling, the clock or the carpet. Riley took a seat in the circle nearest the door and Louis took a seat reserved for him further away.
“Well, let’s get started.” Louis’ voice carried across the room and the few men who had been talking stopped. Riley hadn’t realized how commanding Louis’ voice was when he spoke. It was conversational when it was just one-on-one but here in a large group it reminded Riley of a squad leader addressing his troops. “I want to thank you all for coming. As you know this group is voluntary, which means that you are here of your own free will. If it is otherwise, please know that you may leave at any time.” He glanced at Riley as he spoke. “No one will keep you here against your will. That being said, if you decide to stay there are only three rules by which you must abide. One- speak your truth, two-stand your ground and three-“ Louis paused and looked around the room making eye contact with each and every man in the room including Riley. “Forgive yourself.” This last phrase he said in almost a whisper. All eyes were on him as he continued.
/> “My name is Louis Montgomery. I’m a Vietnam veteran. I’m also an alcoholic. I’ve been sober for almost ten and a half years. I’m here because I haven’t mastered the third rule. I have a lot to learn and I think we can all help each other.” Louis nodded to the older man sitting to his right wearing an old army jacket, sporting thick glasses and a scruffy gray beard. He had been been staring at his hands while Louis spoke.
“My name is Arnold Willman. I also served in Vietnam. Bet most of you weren’t even born yet.” There was a slight chuckle from the group. “I’ve spent most of my time since traveling here and there. Guess you could call it being homeless. I’ve had the odd job or two. I probably dabbled in some drugs but if I did they musta worked ‘cause I don’t remember nothing about it.” Another ripple of laughter. “Anyway, I’m here because Louis found me a place at the halfway house. He said this group might be good for me. Don’t know about that but I’m willing to try. As far as that rule thing guess I never really though about it. Maybe I’ll figure it out while I’m here.” The next man couldn’t have been more than 24 or 25 years old. His dark hair was almost to his chin and his arms were propped up on his knees. Sitting on the edge of his chair he seemed to be rocking back and forth. Riley could also see the numerous jagged cuts going from his wrists up to the edges of his short sleeve t-shirt.
“My name’s Alex. I don’t think my last name matters. I did two tours in Iraq and it messed me up good. I lost my leg.” He said lifting up one side of his jeans so they could all see the prosthetic. “I hurt my back and got shrapnel lodged in my chest.” He lifted his shirt so they could see the angry red scars that hadn’t quite faded. “They don’t know how I survived. The pain was really bad so they gave me some pills but the pain never goes away. My family thinks I’m an addict that’s why they sent me to a rehab place. I made it through but just because I don’t take the pills anymore doesn’t mean that I’m not in pain. Sometimes it’s so bad that I have to do something, you know? So I don’t know if being here is going to help me or not.” He said and slid a trembling hand up and down one of his cut up arms. Louis nodded and it was the next man’s turn.