For that kindness, he’d be forever grateful.
He showered, shaved, put on a clean, ironed shirt and pressed khakis, and smoothed his damp hair back from his brow. Leaning his palms against the bureau, he stared at his reflection in the rectangular wood-framed mirror. It was the same mirror he’d stared into as a boy. The shape and bones of his face were different, but the eyes were the same. So, too, he thought, was the anxiety behind them. He straightened, adjusted his belt, then went downstairs.
His mother was waiting for him in the kitchen. Her eyes brightened at seeing him, shining with nervousness. Nona lingered over her coffee, her dark eyes watching him. She knew what was happening, as usual.
Mama June offered him a cup of steaming coffee. He took a few gulps but refused the bacon and biscuits. He couldn’t eat.
“Your father should just be finishing his breakfast,” Mama June told him, wiping her hands on her apron. She glanced up at him then, her meaning pulsing. “Now would be a good time for a visit.”
Preston was sitting upright in his bed watching the morning news. Beside him was a tray with his mother’s favorite Blue Willow pattern china half filled with the remains of his breakfast. He was shaved and dressed in a soft blue cotton shirt that was a near match to his eyes. These lit up when Morgan stepped into the room.
“Hey, Daddy,” he responded.
Kristina swung her head up from her task at the sound of his voice. She came from around the bed to turn off the television. She moved briskly and with purpose, casting him a loaded glance as she passed on her way out of the room. Only Blackjack remained, his tail thumping on the floor beside Preston’s bed.
His father’s eyes fixed on his face.
Morgan looked around for a chair, and finding his father’s favorite wingback near the window, he went to drag it over closer to the bed. Sitting, he crossed one leg over his knee and leaned back, each moment as labored and artificial as though he were on a stage.
“Nice day,” he began lamely.
The business of a one-way conversation was excruciating. He’d spoken only two lines and already he felt exhausted, frustrated and ready to bolt. Where was his voice? Sitting beside his father, he felt again like the frightened kid he saw staring in the mirror this morning.
Morgan closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He wanted his father to see him not as the boy he remembered, but as the man he’d become. What could he say? What could he tell him that would convey that image?
“I’m sorry I haven’t been in to visit much,” he began. He looked at his hands and gave off a short, bitter laugh. “I always seem to be apologizing to you for one thing or another, don’t I?”
He brought his leg down and leaned forward, closer to his father, intent on being heard. “I suppose you might be curious just what I’ve been up to these past years. Where I’ve been living, that kind of thing. Where do I start?” His fingers tapped his boot.
“Well, Montana is a nice-enough place. I have fifty acres, which is a spit in the bucket up there, but it’s all mine. I’ve got a couple of horses,” he went on, knowing his father would be interested in the livestock. “Tried goats for milk, but they were too much work.” He chuckled, pleased to see a quiver of a commiserating smile on his father’s face.
“There’s a cabin that I built myself. It’s not big,” he added modestly. “Only two bedrooms, but the well water is sweet and I’ve got a beautiful view that can sometimes take my breath away. Remember how you always talked about seeing the breath of God as it blew across His earth? I could feel that there, Daddy. When the wind whistles through the pines I swear I can hear the angels sing.”
He chuckled, a little embarrassed at his emotion. “Everything is so big there. The land stretches out forever, and the only thing bigger than it is the sky. A man can lose himself in a sky like that.” He paused, getting to the heart of it. “It’s a lot different from here, where there’s not a blade of grass that doesn’t connect me to some memory. I reckon that’s part of Montana’s appeal for me. There’s not a lot in the landscape to remind me of home.”
He cleared his throat, reining in his emotion. “I manage a herd of bison for a big ranch. They’re some rich movie folk who come by from time to time. They’re nice enough and leave me alone to do what I’m hired to do, which suits me. I don’t have many friends, but then again, I never felt I needed more than a few true ones. I wish I could tell you there was some fine lady back home waiting for me. I know Mama June wishes there were. But there isn’t. I’ve had my share of lady friends. But it never seems to work out very long. I reckon it’s my fault. To a one they tell me there’s something missing inside of me, something that keeps me from being able to commit.”
He closed his eyes. “I don’t know, Daddy, but they may be right.”
Opening them again, he saw his father looking at him intently, without criticism. Morgan knew without doubt that he was being heard. It was a far cry from the one-sided conversations they used to have. It was, in fact, a new experience in their relationship, and he felt the coil inside himself loosen more, freeing his tongue.
It was ironic, he thought to himself. All that time spent alone on a mountaintop trying to look inside himself and he saw nothing. And here he was peeling away the layers under the silent gaze of his father. He wondered if this was how the sinner felt in a confessional.
“I don’t blame them for things not working out. I blame myself. It’s hard to love a good woman the way she deserves when I can’t see beyond just getting through each day,” he continued. “I’m good at my job. I don’t cheat my employer of a dime I know they can afford to lose. I pay my taxes even though I believe it’s highway robbery. I go through the motions of living, day in and day out, year after year. But I don’t feel a lot of joy in it. I can’t remember the last time I did.”
He paused, knowing that wasn’t entirely true. He could mark the day—eighteen years earlier—when the joy in living ended, but he didn’t want to go into that with his father now.
“I’m not a mean man, Daddy. I care about people and animals and the earth we live on. You taught me that. But I am an angry one. I struggle to keep that blackness from roaring out. Trouble is, I’m not always strong enough. After a time, the anger always wins out. It begins with a sinking low for no specific reason, then the hurt starts howling. The only way I know how to douse the pain is through drink.
“I thought that if I stayed away from home it would be easier on everyone. I always seemed to fail you somehow, and I just had to stop trying. I don’t like living angry. It makes me feel small. And I sure as hell didn’t want to fight with you any more. So I stayed away.
“But then you called me on the phone.” He lowered his head and shook it. “That threw me for a loop. I never did find out what you wanted to tell me that night. I keep wondering what could have been so important that you’d pick up the phone after all those years to tell me.” He felt his throat thicken. “That night you called…I know it was the night of your stroke. I looked at the phone bill and it was right about the time you had it.” He felt his voice waver and struggled to maintain composure. “I got to wonder, Daddy, what the hell did I do that time to cause this?”
His father’s left hand lurched out toward him, grasping his shoulder and holding the fabric tight. His strength surprised Morgan as he drew him closer. Their eyes met and it startled him to see Preston’s eyes glisten with tears. Morgan surrendered to the pull and leaned forward, putting his head against his father’s chest. His father’s hand moved to his head, shaky with emotion.
Morgan squeezed his eyes tight. He felt his father’s forgiveness. In that moment the final layer peeled away and he laid himself bare, vulnerable, his underbelly exposed.
“Daddy, I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you when you needed me. I know how hard it’s been for you to keep this place going. I know what it took. I should have been a better son.”
For a while his father’s hand rested on Morgan’s head. Then he leaned back in his chair, and Pre
ston’s hand slid to the mattress. Morgan reached up with both hands to smooth back his hair, then mop his face with his palms.
“There’s more. I wasn’t sure I should tell you this but Mama June insisted.” He cleared his throat and rubbed his palms together.
“When I came home after you got sick, Mama June asked me to stay and help her bring you back here from the hospital. She’s a tough little lady under that delicate shell. We both know that.”
Preston blinked his red-rimmed eyes twice.
“Well, sir, my job was to work out the financial situation while she took care of you. That was the deal. I like to think we were making progress. You’re looking better. We’re all happy about that. You’ll be walking around giving orders again in no time.”
They both knew that a long series of battles had yet to be fought by Preston, but it felt good to sound the battle cry.
“As for me, I’ve been digging around best I could, making ends meet. And I’ve been working on a plan to get a conservation easement on the property. There are lots of benefits that I believe you’d like. Most important being the tax breaks that would allow us to hang on, awhile longer, anyway.”
His father jerked his head in a nod of approval.
Morgan rubbed his jaw, groping for the right words to tell him the rest. “But things have suddenly changed.”
His father’s brows lowered in caution as Morgan reached down beside the chair where he’d placed a manila envelope. Bringing it up, he pulled out the papers that bore the heading of the legal firm employed by Adele Blakely.
“Last night,” he began, “Adele delivered these papers. They outline a loan you got from her in 1989 after Hurricane Hugo. Do you remember?”
He saw Preston’s eyes searching, as though he was trying to remember.
“It was for five hundred thousand dollars. The expiration date for the loan has passed. She won’t even discuss further terms. See, what I don’t understand is her claim that there’s some kind of a partnership agreement that she entered into with you. According to the partnership terms, if the loan defaulted, or if you died or were incapacitated, it would trigger a buyout clause. Does this ring a bell?”
His father appeared confused and didn’t make any response. Morgan had a feeling of dread, but he pushed on, thinking it was better to get it all out in one fell swoop.
“The bottom line is Adele is preparing an offer to buy us out even as we speak, and we have no option but to sell.” Morgan began to lose heart. “She’s acting on this, Daddy, and it looks binding. Mama… We thought you should know what was happening.”
Preston’s gaze suddenly sharpened and his shoulders tightened. He began making strange noises, working his mouth as though trying to say something.
Morgan drew back, confused by the force of his father’s reaction. Beside the bed, Blackjack began whining.
“What, Daddy? What?”
Preston’s eyes pleaded with him as he held eye contact. Shaking with the effort, he raised his left hand high. Then, with a swift slash in the air, he slammed it down upon the tray, scattering the china.
Morgan leapt to his feet. His mouth was dry, but he pushed out the words as guilt cut deep in his gut.
“I’m sorry, Daddy. I know I failed you again.”
In what looked like fury, Preston kept bringing his hand down again and again on the china, breaking a cup, drawing blood.
“I’m sorry,” he cried again. Morgan’s heart beat hard and perspiration beaded on his forehead. He tasted salt, not knowing if it was sweat or tears. “I’m sorry.”
Mama June felt sure her knees wouldn’t hold her as she ran. Her heart was beating wildly. She didn’t know what she’d find as she followed the sound of Preston’s eerie screams. Was he having another stroke?
Entering the room, she saw Preston’s arm flailing and his face colored beet-red, as if he was having a fit. She’d been taught that outbursts could occur, usually because of anger or frustration, but she’d never expected this.
“Hush, Blackjack!” she ordered sharply. The dog stopped barking but panted and whimpered as he ran from person to person then back to Preston’s bed.
Kristina ran into the room and hurried around her to go directly to Preston’s side. She put her hands gently on the corded muscles of his shoulders and softly urged him to relax.
Mama June looked sharply at her son. “Morgan, I think you should go.”
Morgan swung his head toward Kristina. She didn’t interfere with the family dynamics, but in her eyes he saw her opinion shining bright and clear. Stay!
“No,” he told his mother. “I’m staying.”
Mama June looked at his face, surprised by his decision. “Then hold on to that dog,” she told him. “He’s not making things better.”
Mama June locked gazes with her husband and slowly approached him.
“Preston, it’s me, Mary June,” she said, trying to quiet him. “Hush, now. It’s all right. You have to stop this. Stop it right this minute. You’ll hurt yourself. And you’re breaking my china!”
Preston began to quiet. Even though his breathing remained ragged and his hands still trembled with agitation, she could see that he was working hard for control. He was bathed in sweat.
“Are you all right?” Kristina asked him. She was massaging his shoulders and spoke calmly. “Are you in pain?”
He jerked his head no, but all the while he stared fiercely at Mama June. While looking directly at her, he raised his hand and slowly, painstakingly, brought it over the tray, then let it fall, crashing onto the china. The bowl clattered against the plate, chipping the rim.
“Have you lost your mind?” she exclaimed. “That’s my mother’s china!”
He lurched forward, reaching out to hit the china again.
“Whatever is the matter? Is this something to do with my mother?”
When he hit the china again, she moved closer, eyeing him sharply even as his eyes bore into her with an alarming urgency.
“Preston, are you trying to tell me something?”
His whole body seemed to shiver with relief. He blinked twice.
“Lord, help us, I’m sorry! Morgan, he’s trying to tell us something! What can we do?”
“Play twenty questions,” said Kristina. “He can respond yes or no. Preston,” she told him, “we know you’re tired. But try.”
Preston took several bolstering breaths.
“Go ahead,” Kristina said.
Mama June looked at the tray, wondering where to begin. There was nothing there but leftover breakfast. She put her hand out and began, speaking clearly. “Is it the tray?”
He blinked once.
“No. The breakfast? Is it food?”
He shook his head.
She searched the tray. “The china?” she said with exaggeration.
He nodded.
“What?” she asked, surprised. “The china?”
His eyes shone as he blinked twice.
Mama June was bewildered. “Morgan, what were you telling him when he had this outburst?”
Morgan stroked the dog’s head as he held on to his collar. “I’d just told him about Adele’s buyout offer.”
Preston’s hand jerked upward in agitation.
“He’s excited about that,” Kristina said. “You’re on the right trail.”
“So you’re not angry with Morgan?” Mama June asked Preston.
His face grew sad and he shook his head no.
“Oh, thank the Lord,” she said with a tremendous relief.
“It sounds to me like he got angry about Adele,” said Kristina.
Mama June drew closer. “And that’s when you broke the china, right?”
When he nodded, Mama June felt a stirring of hope. She walked around the room, muttering the word china, her finger tapping her chin, fumbling with the pieces of the puzzle. “There’s something there. It’s niggling in the back of my brain. I just can’t quite grasp it.”
Morgan stood and placed his
hands on his hips. “What the hell does a Chinese plate have to do with a partnership agreement?”
Mama June stopped abruptly and looked up, eyes bright. “That’s it!”
She walked to where the papers were scattered beside the bed and picked them up.
“What is it?” Morgan asked, coming closer.
“It’s something about a Chinese Partnership! When you said it, something clicked in my brain. Is that right, darlin’?” she asked Preston.
Preston’s eyes shone with triumph.
Morgan felt the thrill of the hunt in his veins. “I don’t get it. Bring me up to speed.”
“Chinese Partnership. Your daddy told me something about it years ago. I remembered it because I’d thought it was a funny name for a partnership. You were unhappy about it,” she said to Preston. “I remember that clearly. He had a hissy fit because his sister wouldn’t loan the money using the farm as collateral.”
“Which would’ve been standard,” Morgan said.
“That’s what he’d asked her for. But Adele came up with this partnership idea.”
“I’m still lost,” said Kristina. “What’s a Chinese Partnership?”
“I have absolutely no idea,” Mama June replied. “But I know whatever it is, it’s got to do with whatever scheme Adele is cooking up.”
“I don’t know, either,” Morgan said. “I just wish to God I knew if Daddy still had his copy of the agreement floating around.”
“I’m sure he does,” she said, relief shining in her eyes. “Your father never threw anything out, especially not a legal document.”
“Then I’d like to know where it is. I’ve prowled through every sheet of paper in his office. There’s no record, not even a memo of any such agreement.”
“Did you go through the boxes stored up in the attic?”
“The what?” he exclaimed. “Why didn’t you tell me about them?”
“Because they’re all old papers. Anything still viable your father kept in his office. But maybe it got mixed up with something else? It was a long time ago, after all.”
Morgan’s eyes gleamed as he looked at his father. “If you can go through all that to tell us about the Chinese Partnership, you can bet the farm I’m going to find that damned agreement.”
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