We sat up and talked long into the night and I finally gave up, citing a need to get to the office early. Auggie climbed into the bed beside me. “I really like her,” she whispered, then turned, backed her bottom into me and fell promptly asleep. I lay there hard and wanting her for a very long time, the skin of her bottom caressing my throbbing penis. I didn’t have the heart to disturb her so I realized I would have to get accustomed to the yearning, for a few months at least.
I fell asleep peacefully.
***
The next morning, I rose early, patted Auggie on the bottom and left for the clinic. I had a first-thing patient but when we were finished, I checked with Patsy and she told me what I had hoped I would hear. Deborah Hunt had called to say she wouldn’t be in again and to transfer her patients to my workload. I sighed with relief internally, despite the extra work I didn’t really need right now. It was a white flag of surrender. The bitch was gone. I had won.
It was Halloween and leaves were blowing across the parking lot. Kids in costumes were going to the various stores that displayed signs offering treats. The sun was shining and the colors were splendid in their presentation. There was a festive atmosphere in the air and the juice bar was offering a selection of themed drinks based on apple cider.
I was in a jubilant mood and two of my clients had canceled for the end of the afternoon which gave me an early day after all. I was about to call Auggie and ask that she bring Mother in and the three of us would go to dinner when Patsy came up to me, her face solemn.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“There’s someone out here to see you, Worth, and I don’t think it’s good news.”
She never called me by my first name at the office so I knew this was not going to be something I would find pleasant.
He was dressed in a police uniform and his face was grave. I felt my heart racing, unsure whether he’d come to arrest me for some trumped up charge by my father or perhaps to serve papers for Jervis. It was neither.
“May we,” he said, motioning to my office and I nodded, taking him inside. I took my seat behind my desk and he sat opposite me.
“Dr. LaViere, when was the last time you saw your father?”
“Why, what’s he done now?” I asked, perturbed that the old man was not yet finished with me.
“Could you answer the question, Dr. LaViere?”
My mind raced, looking for an angle and deciding whether I should play my ace in the hole. After all, the law was sitting in front of me.
“I saw him last night. We talked and then I brought my mother home with me for a few days for a visit.”
“Everything was fine with him then, sir?” he asked. This wasn’t about what I thought, clearly.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I’m sorry to tell you, Dr. LaViere, that your father was discovered late this morning by someone who works at the house. He’s dead, apparently from a gunshot wound to the head.”
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
Worth
I followed the officer out to the farm and retched in the yard when I got out of the car. In my head, I was back to being that little boy who had forgotten to close the barn door and spent half the night chasing the mare who had escaped. I would come home, shaking and wet with mud after a dozen falls, my knees bleeding, but the mare safely put away. He would beat me with a horse whip. Worst of all, he seemed to enjoy it immensely.
Now, here I was, entering the house I’d left so recently and, this time, I was here to see him again, but not as a cowering child. I was here to identify his bloodied body.
He was just as I’d left him, seated at his desk, the bottle of bourbon empty and the glass turned over. It was his last mockery of the night — to leave a stain that could never be erased. I could see the gray tufts of hair stuck to the high back of his desk chair. The left side of his face was gone but there was enough left for me to recognize him. I nodded and the coroner replaced the sheet over the body.
“I think that will be all for now,” the coroner pronounced. “There will be an autopsy, of course, but it’s pretty apparent that he took his own life with the gun we found in his hand. One bullet was fired and the gun has been bagged for dusting. I’m sorry to bring you here to see this, Dr. LaViere, but we needed a family member to identify his remains.”
“I understand,” I said and felt the sourness in my stomach wanting to surface again. I turned away from the sight and went into the foyer. There were officials all over the house, taking photographs and stringing that horrid yellow crime scene tape everywhere. What was I going to say to Mother?
I stood outside in the yard beneath the spotlight and looked up at the sky that late October afternoon. There was a breeze rustling through what was left on the trees and the rest scattered across the yard and into the back near the barns. The horses were restless. They sensed something was terribly wrong and were anxious to run away. One of Father’s stable hands was standing at the edge of the yard and I strolled over to him. He was shaking and half-dressed, his shirt buttoned wrong.
“Pete,” I acknowledged.
“I’m awful sorry about Mr. LaViere, Doctor LaViere,” he mumbled, unsure what to say at a time like this.
“I know, Pete, and I appreciate it. Were you the one who found him?” I asked and he nodded.
“He didn’t come down to the barns like he always does and with your mother gone and no one else around, I got a little worried. I knocked on the door but no one came. I tried the handle and it was unlocked. I went in and called his name and when there was no answer, I kept on going until I found him like that, slumped over his desk.”
“You didn’t hear the shot?” I asked.
“No, sir… I was down at the next farm playing pinochle until real late and when I came back, I just went into the ranch house and went to bed. I did notice that the horses were restless, though, but I figured it was just because I’d been gone. They’re used to me always bein’ around, you know.”
I squeezed his shoulder in acknowledgment and sympathy. “Nothing you could have done, Pete. The old man always had his own way of doing things.”
Pete nodded, “That he did, Dr. LaViere… that he sure did.”
“Pete, I’d appreciate it if you’d keep this to yourself for a bit more today. I haven’t told my mother yet and I wouldn’t want her to hear it from anyone else or to see it on the news.”
“They were already here, Dr. LaViere. The crew from channel three. Isn’t much you can keep from those people.”
At Pete’s words, I pulled out my cell and quickly called Auggie’s number. She answered on the third ring.
“Auggie, listen to me and don’t say a word in return. Just trust me this once. Whatever you do, I don’t want you or Mother to turn on the television or the radio. If anyone comes to the door, don’t answer it. I’ll explain as soon as I get home. I’m fine and things will be okay, but you have to do as I say this once without argument or questions. I’m hanging up now and I’ll be home as soon as I can.”
Auggie said nothing and I heard the line go dead. Good girl, I thought. I can count on you.
I waited around another hour or so while the coroner’s van removed Father’s body from the house. The detectives finished up their work and left and suddenly, the house and grounds were quiet. It was an eerie feeling. One I never thought I’d witness. The reign of Worthington LaViere, II was over and now I was in charge. This would come with added responsibilities and at the moment, I wasn’t too sure I wanted them. There was nothing to be done about it for the time being, however.
“Pete, can you look after the horses and the place until I can figure out what we’re going to do?”
“Yes, sir, Dr. LaViere. Won’t be no problem at all.”
“Thank you, Pete. I’m going to lock up the house now, but I’ll leave you a key under the doormat and if anything looks suspicious, I want you to go in and check things out. Here is my number at the clinic and at home. You’re not to talk to m
y mother or my wife, though. Only leave a message and ask me to return the call. Can I trust you on this, Pete?”
“Yes, sir, you can always trust me. I’ve been with the family most all of my life. I won’t leave you short-handed right now.”
“I appreciate that. I won’t forget you, I promise. Whatever happens to the farm, you’ll be taken care of. Okay, I’m going now. When I leave, I want you to take a chain and put a No Trespassing sign across the end of the drive by the road. You keep an eye out and don’t let anyone on the property.”
“Yes, sir,” he said and I took one last look at the house before getting in the Escalade and driving away.
I don’t know whether shock or relief were the strongest emotions I was feeling on the ride back to town. There may have even been a bit of guilt built in, but I have no clear recollection of it now.
I remembered the story that Bill Daughtery had briefly told me and the packet of documentation, pictures, letters and even news clippings he’d given me. It had been the primary evidence as I verbally assaulted my father that last night. I tried to tell myself that this wasn’t my fault, but I was feeling strong guilt all the same.
My father had been wild when he was a young man. In many ways, my mother often compared me to him, telling me how like my father I was. I hated it when she said it because he embodied everything in my world that generated hatred. I even resembled him physically, and when I left for college, I’d vowed I would never do anything that would remind others I was his son.
When he had finished college, he took off with a couple of his friends, young men from good families in the area. They had headed west to buy breeding stock and to enjoy the life of young, rich bucks in the meantime. They ended up in California horse country, a storied land with a reputation almost as hallowed as these bluegrass hills that surrounded me as I drove.
Father had begun drinking heavily and taken up hanging out at the horse track at Santa Anita. His losses were piling up and he had exhausted his own spending money and borrowed heavily from the other guys he was with. Finally, they were all broke and there was nothing else to do but to call home for money. Although I never met him, I’d heard enough stories to know that the apple had not fallen far from the tree. Worthington LaViere I was someone to be reckoned with and ruled with an iron fist. It was he who had built the farm and its holdings from nothing.
My grandfather had been very angry and refused to give my father any more money, thinking it would teach him a lesson and force him to mend his ways. Therefore, my father turned to less legal ways of making money.
He had gotten involved with a group of men from the syndicate in Chicago. They needed someone young and who looked like he belonged in the stables at the back of the track. They needed someone like Father.
In return for financing his gambling, he was to keep tabs on the horses and jockeys and to fix certain races so the syndicate fellows would clean up. In essence, he did their dirty work. At the same time, Father continued to gamble, betting on the races that he fixed for the syndicate, and a few for himself. That was, until they found out.
He had made a deal with a jockey named Johnny Torez, a young rider out of Mexico, who was in the U.S. illegally but no one cared enough to check. He was built for the job and handled the horses like a magician. Father made a deal with Johnny to come in second in a stakes race and then he laid ten thousand at the window on the fixed odds. Johnny came through but my father refused to pay him his cut and the jockey got back at him by letting the syndicate know that Father had gone behind their backs.
They sent one of their men to kill him, but he’d gotten word just in time and when the hit men came, there was only Johnny to take the blame. They decided not to hit Johnny, but to leave him as bait. They knew Father’s gambling was a sickness and that sooner or later, he would return to try it a second time.
That’s exactly what he did. This time, he made the deal with Johnny and promised him a bigger share than before to make up for the hassle. Johnny came through and when the syndicate heard he was back they went in for the kill. All they found, however, was Johnny Torez, crumpled in a pile of hay in one of the stalls, a knife lodged in his heart. There was little doubt who had done it and little doubt who stood to benefit by silencing Johnny.
The word went out on Father and he hightailed it back for Kentucky and fell on his knees to my grandfather. The original Worth LaViere was not a man to be trifled with and he used his influence to call off the contract and paid the syndicate any monies they calculated they’d lost by Father’s betrayal. There was still the little matter of a dead jockey and there was little Grandfather could do about it at that late date.
So, my father had lived in the shadow of a crime he was afraid might resurface at any point. My guess was that his guilt made him all the meaner and more careless and that’s why he’d had the affair with Auggie’s mother. He cared little for anyone or anything because he could feel the leather straps of an electric chair on his footsteps every day of his life.
He had known I was smart and that I ran with the same set of people he’d been with. I presented a huge risk to him. I could find out and have him arrested at a moment’s notice. The risk was more than he could stomach and his fear became a sort of hatred, but it was directed at me. He saw in me the reckless, wanton behavior of his own youth, the same behavior that had gotten him into so much trouble. He didn’t want to beat it out of me. He wanted to beat me to cleanse himself of his own sins.
So, now, I drove away from the house I’d grown up in. It was sullied with blood in a way that couldn’t be cleaned with soap and water. I would never step foot in that house again as long as I lived.
Father found a way to get back at me, after all. He hoped, I’m sure, to leave me with a legacy of guilt, and most certainly of shame for having been the son of a man who was a murderer and a coward beneath the hateful exterior of a monster. He had the last word. I couldn’t tell him of the sense of relief his death brought… and not just to me.
What still remained was telling Mother. I pulled up to the condo and saw a news truck parked at the edge of the parking lot. I imagined that Auggie had thoughtfully notified the management to be on the lookout and that any non-resident would be denied access to the parking area inside the gate.
I went up to the condo, using every bit of my education to form the words that I must say. How could I tell my mother that her husband had hated his life — with her, with me, and with my child to come — enough to take his own life? She could never return to the farm now, either. There were too many painful memories for that to be a healthy choice.
Mother surprisingly accepted the news quietly. In fact, she didn’t even seem particularly surprised. It was as if she knew he had run out of options and when I’d offered for her to come with me, she was eager to be gone when he resolved his life in the only way that made sense to him. Perhaps she welcomed the shackles being cut. Her life was not over. She had friends and distant family. She was even still young enough to start over with a new husband and perhaps that would be her reward for having stayed.
After the coroner returned his report stating that Father had died by a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head, we had him cremated and his remains buried in the family cemetery at the back of the farm. There were few mourners; not even those people who would come to gloat. It was as if he had been erased from the memory of everyone who knew him.
When I walked into Joe’s the day after the funeral, the regulars put up a toast of respect, to Worth LaViere, III. I acknowledged all this meant and had shed the claustrophobic skin of being a son, finally.
We retreated from the world for a few days until the headlines disappeared. I’d canceled my appointments, but I don’t think anyone was really surprised. I had other doctors on staff to cover for me for the time being. I needed to be at home with my wife and my mother.
After the funeral, I felt we needed a change of scenery. I booked first-class seats for Puerto Rico and took Mother and
Auggie down to a resort for a week. Mother was as excited as a young child. Father never included her in any of his trips and she’d barely been out of Kentucky over her entire lifetime. It made me feel good to give her this simple pleasure.
The resort where we stayed had several pools and Mother respected our privacy and spent most days in the sun or lounging within a cabana with a book. Auggie and I, on the other hand, made love continually, only stopping to sleep and eat. I think we needed the reassurance that everything would be okay with us and with our future.
It happened that we ran into some people we knew from Louisville, most notably a gentleman of Mother’s acquaintance when she was in college. He was recently widowed as well, and they spent two evenings sharing over long dinners. If nothing else, it made her feel vibrant as a woman again, and I hoped they might get together upon returning home.
The blissful week finally came to an end. We had managed to wash off the horror of the preceding weeks and could look to our futures with a more positive view. Auggie’s shape was changing daily and I had never seen her more beautiful.
When we returned to Louisville, it was decided that Mother would remain with us at the condo. I couldn’t be certain, but her mood almost seemed superficially somber. She received calls from friends on a continual basis and it was almost as if there was relief on everyone’s mind.
I had counseled hundreds of patients for grieving. I understood the stages, the relief followed by the guilt. I asked myself if I was being cold, but I could not find grief in my heart. Not as a son, not as a man, not even as an admirer of a man who had managed to build an empire. He was simply and finally… gone.
I’d heard a story that Auggie’s mother had poured herself a glass of straight bourbon, downed it at one time and then slammed it down, proclaiming, “There! That’s the end of that!” It seemed no one would mourn him.
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