An August Harvest

by Ben Marney

  “What’s his name?”

  “Sir Charles Radcliffe the Third,” he said without emotion.

  “Sir Charles? Are you kidding?”

  “No, sir. That’s what it says on his papers.”

  I looked down at the puppy. “Sir Charles? Do you want me to call you Sir Charles?”

  He lifted his lip again and snarled.

  “Ok then, how about I call you Charley.” His tail started wagging and he gave me that silly smile again and licked my face.

  Rita was a bit stunned and frowned at me when I brought him home, but Audrey screamed with delight. I was worried and not sure how he would react to Rita and Audrey.

  I know this sounds stupid, but on the ride home, I had a long talk with him, telling him about Rita and Audrey and I warned him that if he wasn’t nice to them, he couldn’t stay. When I put him down on the floor he immediately ran up to them, smiling and wagging his tail.

  Although he never actually bit anyone, he came close a few times and he made it very clear that he didn’t like any of my friends and did not like to be petted. He scared the postman and the UPS guy so bad they refused delivery to my house, so I had to get a P.O. box to get my mail and drive to the UPS office to get my packages.

  The only two friends Charley accepted were Marshall and Mike O’Bannon.

  When he first met Marshall, he snarled and growled at him, his usual greeting, but when I told him that Marshall was my best friend and that we had grown up together, he instantly stopped growling and ran up to him, smiling, wagging his tail.

  Marshall’s mouth flew open and stared at me with wide eyes, “I thought you were kidding.”

  “I tried to tell you, “ I said grinning, “He understands everything I say.”

  Marshall squatted down and looked him in the eyes. “Grant tells me you don’t like the postman.”

  Charley lifted his lip and growled.

  “What about the UPS guy? What’s wrong with him?”

  Charley snorted and barked.

  “Ok, one more question. What about Mike O’Bannon? We grew up with him, too.”

  Charley lifted his lip, exposing his teeth. “Woof, woof.”

  “Come on, Charley. He’s really a good guy. Will you give him a chance?”

  Charley lowered his lip and thought for a second. “Arrr, arrr, arrr.” Then he smiled and wagged his tail.

  “Why did you ask about O’Bannon?” I asked.

  Marshall grinned. “He’s in the car. He was afraid to come in.”

  From that day on, Marshall, Mike O’Bannon and Charley have been buddies.

  So now do you believe me? Even a world-renowned doctor, the smartest man I know, believes Charley understands English and is possibly psychic.

  So what were the warnings and signals Charley was giving me? And if I believe what I’m telling you, why would I ignore them?

  Well, like you are thinking now, Charley’s actions and reactions, although amazing and cute, were impossible. How could a dog understand English and predict the future?

  The day I bought my first plane, I took Charley up for a quick flight. He absolutely loved it. From the minute he got in the plane, he showed no signs of fear. During the flight, he constantly stared out the windshield, barking and wagging his tail.

  He loved flying so much I often took him with me on my trips. When I couldn’t take him and tried to explain why, he would turn his back on me and pout. When I would get back from my trip, he wouldn’t be at the front door barking like usual. Instead he would avoid me for a few days, giving me the cold shoulder. Rita and Audrey thought it was hilarious. So to avoid his scorn, I tried to take him with me as often as possible.

  But this all changed when I bought my new plane. It actually started when I first showed Rita the brochure with pictures of it. I held it up for Charley to see and he immediately lifted his lip and growled. When I explained why I was buying it, he continued to snarl and growl at the pictures.

  A few days later, I took him with me to the airport to see the new plane in person.

  In the past, all I had to say was, “You want to go flying?” and he would instantly start spinning around in circles, grab his leash and run to the car. But on that day, he didn’t move. I had to drag him to the car. When we got to the airport he refused to get out, so I drug him out of the seat and led him to the plane.

  All I’d had to do before was open the passenger door and he would jump in the seat, but not in this plane. No matter what I said, he would not move. And for the first time since I’d owned him, he snapped and bit my hand when I reached toward him to pick him up. With blood trickling down my fingers, I drove him back home.

  That was eighteen months ago. Charley hasn’t flown with me again. And when I had to go on a trip, he did everything he could to prevent me from leaving, including blocking the front door. When I would finally get past him and leave, Rita told me that while I was gone, he wouldn’t eat and constantly paced the house, checking and re-checking the front door until I got back.

  It seems so obvious to me now. I should have realized why he was acting so strange, but I just couldn’t or wouldn’t see it.

  It was February 14th, Valentine’s Day, and I had a big day planned for my girls. I had hidden the two heart-shaped boxes of chocolates in the closet, and had made the florist promise me twice that the two arrangements of long stem roses would be delivered at 9:00 a.m. sharp.

  My plan was to drive them to Galveston, take them to brunch at a fancy restaurant and spend the rest of the day cruising the Gulf of Mexico on our boat, but those plans changed when the phone rang at 7:30 a.m.

  It was the foreman of one of my projects in Austin. There had been an accident and one of the construction workers had been hurt. A section of the steel support beams had collapsed. The building inspector was there on-site, questioning my design.

  I could hear the tension in the foreman’s voice. “Grant, I think you need to get over here and fast.”

  I had already told Rita and Audrey what I had planned for the day, so when I woke them up and and told them why I had to fly to Austin, they were both very disappointed.

  “Why don’t we go with you?” Rita asked, smiling at Audrey. “After you take care of your business, we can go out for dinner there in Austin.”

  Audrey’s blue eyes sparkled up at me. “Could we go, Daddy?”

  “I don’t see why not?” I said, pulling the two boxes of chocolates from the closet. “At least this way, I’ll get to spend all day with my two favorite girls.” I handed them the candy. “Will you be my Valentines?”

  When the three of us walked down the stairs, Charley started barking. He was standing in front of the door to the garage, trying to prevent us from leaving.

  “Sorry, Charley, I have no choice this time. Move!”

  He didn’t move and started barking louder.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Rita asked. “I’ve never seen him bark like this before.”

  “I have no idea, but we’re not getting through there. Go out the front door, I’ll keep him busy here.”

  Rita was right; I’d never seen him bark so hard and loud. He was barking, almost screaming and whining at the same time. When I closed the front door, he went completely ballistic, jumping up on the windows, sounding more like someone screaming than barking. He was still jumping up and down in the window, when I backed out of the drive and drove away.

  When we got to the airport, I checked on the weather and got an all clear all the way to Austin. There wasn’t a cloud in the crystal clear blue sky, a perfect day for flying. I had the tanks filled with fuel and did my walk around check. Then we all climbed in and headed to the runway.

  When we reached the end of the runway and were lined up for take off, I did everything on my normal final pre-flight checklist, except one thing.

  On every other take off I had done in that plane, before I hit the throttles, I had repeated these words out loud.

  "If an engine fails before V1: Close b
oth throttles and use the brakes to stop on the remaining runway.

  "If an engine fails after V1: Take off and deal with the problem as per the ‘engine-out’ procedure.”

  Repeating those words out loud were supposed to give me an instant review of what to do if something happened, but this time, I was too shy or embarrassed to say it out loud in front of Rita and Audrey.

  We had just reached speed and lifted off the runway, about 50 feet off the ground, when the right engine suddenly coughed and stopped. I had trained for this many times in the simulator, but never in real life. I tried to think of what to do, but I had panicked and my mind was blank.

  The plane twisted hard right. I think I hit the pedals and pulled the wheel hard left, but I’m really not sure. I remember looking up through the windshield and seeing the ground–we were inverted, upside down. The last clear memory I have was staring into Rita’s terrified blue eyes. Then everything went black.

  2

  Grand Theft

  Marshall’s image gradually appeared when I opened my eyes. He was standing over me. I was groggy, confused and disoriented. “What’s going on?” I whispered, “Where am I?”

  “You’re in the hospital,” he said. “Stop talking and be still.”

  I tried to sit up, but when I moved, a pain shot down my side like a bolt of electricity. “Why am I here? What happened?” Marshall looked away.

  “Marshall!” I tried to yell, but my voice was gravelly and weak. “Tell me what happened, talk to me.”

  Biting his lower lip, he stared down at me. His eyes were swollen and red. Then he pulled a chair up beside the bed, sat down and took a deep breath. “You don’t remember?”

  “Remember what?”

  His eyes darted from side to side as he searched for words. “Do you remember flying your plane?”

  The second he said the word plane it all came back. “OH GOD, WE CRASHED!” I yelled.

  “Yes,” he said softly.

  “Rita, Audrey! Are they OK?”

  He lowered his head, “I’m so sorry Grant, but…no, they’re not.”

  “Oh no!” My voice cracked. “Are they dead? Please tell me, Marshall... are they dead?”

  He took my hand and squeezed it. Tears were rolling down his face. “Little Audrey...” he choked and wiped his eyes, “She…she’s gone. I’m so sorry.”

  It felt like a hot poker had seared my heart. I tried to speak, but couldn’t catch my breath. I began to hyperventilate, bawling, coughing and gasping for air at the same time. The only words I could get out were, “My poor baby.”

  Marshall bent over my bed, wrapped his arms around me and we cried for a long time.

  I really didn’t want to know, but I whispered, “What about Rita?”

  He leaned back, wiped his eyes and slowly shook his head. “She’s still alive, but...she has suffered severe head trauma. We’re not seeing any brain waves. It’s killing me to have to tell you this, but I’m afraid she’s gone, too.”

  I wish I could describe it, but there are no accurate words to explain the pain that was racing through me at that moment, so I’m not gonna try. But that pain...that throbbing, searing pain...has never gone away.

  Inexplicably, I wasn’t hurt at all; just a few minor cuts and bruises. My beloved Rita and my baby girl were gone, and I didn’t even break a damn bone.

  An hour later, Marshall put me in a wheelchair and took me to see Rita. I wish now that he hadn’t, because when I think of her, instead of seeing her smiling face, her bright red hair and her beautiful blue eyes...all I see is a lifeless lump of a body, with tubes and wires everywhere. I tried, but I couldn’t find her beautiful face. Her head was so swollen and disfigured she was completely unrecognizable. And that’s the image I couldn’t stop seeing.

  My injuries were so superficial I was released from the hospital two days later. Following hospital procedure, the nurse put me in a wheelchair and pushed me out the front door, where Marshall was waiting. Walking with a slight limp, I followed him back inside and rode up the elevator with him to Rita’s floor.

  In a small office there, with Marshall sitting next to me, I listened carefully to her medical team explain her injuries and grim prognosis.

  “Mr. Nash,” the doctor began, “did Rita have a signed DNR?

  I glanced over at Marshall, not understanding the question. “Has Rita ever signed a do not resuscitate document?”

  I shook my head no.

  “Have you and Rita ever discussed it?” he asked. “Do you know what she thought about it?”

  I shook my head again. “We never talked about it.”

  “Mr. Nash, in that case,” the doctor said sliding a document in front of me, “we’re going to need your permission.”

  I raised my head and looked at Marshall. “No! I can’t do it. She’s still alive. Maybe she’ll wake up...how do they know for sure?”

  Marshall put his arm around my shoulder. “Grant, do you trust me? Do you believe I’m a good doctor?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “I’ve known Rita almost as long as you have...and you know that I love her, too.” He looked directly into my eyes. “Grant, Rita has no brain activity. You have to trust me on this. She’s never going to wake up.” He took my hand and squeezed it. “You know in your heart what she would want you to do.”

  That afternoon, at 3:30 p.m., February the 17th, I leaned over her bed and kissed my beloved Rita for the last time.

  I couldn’t watch them unplug her . I didn’t want to watch her die, so I left and waited in the lobby until Marshall came down and told me that it was all over.

  After that, he drove me home and gave me a strong sedative to help me get through the night. As you might expect, Charley already knew and quietly snuggled with me on the bed until I fell asleep.

  I don’t remember much about the next few days, because I slept through most of them, thanks to the strong sedatives. When I did wake up, all I did was relive the crash moment by moment, my mind flashing with images of me just sitting there, frozen like a stone, watching the ground getting closer and closer through the windshield. Then I would see Rita’s frightened blue eyes.

  “God, why take them and not me? How could you let this happen?”

  After a few hours of screaming at God and wallowing in my sorrow, I would take another pill and fall back to sleep.

  Every time I opened my eyes, Charley was lying there next to me. He never left my side. I didn’t realize it at the time, but neither did Marshall. He was there taking care of Charley and looking after me.

  Marshall had also made all the arrangements for the burials. The morning of their funerals, he pulled me out of the bed and threw me in the shower. Then he helped me put on a suit, tied my tie and walked me to the waiting limousine in my driveway that drove us to the church.

  I have no memories of the funeral, only a few flashes. I know I was there physically, but can’t remember a single word the preacher said, or anyone else that may have talked to me that day.

  Marshall told me all my friends were there and I appreciated them coming, but for whatever reason, that day has been erased from my memory banks.

  I decided to do it on Valentine’s Day, exactly one year after the crash. To be honest with you, I don’t remember much of that year, because for most of it...I was drunk. I could remember a few embarrassing flashes, but the rest of it was a complete blur.

  I guess that was a good thing, because everybody told me I’d made a complete ass of myself since the funeral. Maybe if I had been a stronger man, I could have pulled myself up out of the ashes of my life, moved on and survived it, but I was too weak. Instead, I gave up and crawled inside of a bottle to numb my pain and hide from the horrible reality of my shattered life.

  In those twelve months, I had lost my business, my partners and all of my friends. I wanted to call Marshall to tell him goodbye, but he was so disgusted with me we hadn’t talked in months and I knew he wouldn’t answer my calls. Even Charley wouldn
’t look at me.

  When I got to the marina, I knew what I was doing could have been considered grand theft. I didn’t own the boat any longer; the bank had repossessed it a few months earlier. But I didn’t pay the payments because I was broke. I had the money. I hadn’t paid the payments because that boat had too many memories of Rita and Audrey connected to it…memories I just couldn’t think about.

  The truth is I had more money in my bank account than I’d ever had…six million dollars to be exact. Five hundred thousand from Rita’s life insurance policy and five and a half million from the Beachcraft corporation, as their way of saying, “We’re sorry for building an engine that stopped running for no apparent reason.” Yeah, so far all of the experts couldn’t explain why that engine had stalled.

  That five-and a half-million dollar settlement check was the reason Marshall and I hadn’t talked in months. He wanted me to sue their pants off and take them for a lot more, fifty or a hundred million, but I couldn’t do that. I would have had to relive the crash over and over during a trial. And because the experts couldn’t find a reason the engine had stopped, the lawyers representing the insurance companies had actually accused me of crashing the plane on purpose to collect the insurance money. I was infuriated and couldn’t believe it when my lawyer told me, but they were prepared for a war and I knew I wouldn’t have survived a trial like that, so rather than fight them, I settled. I tried to explain why I did it to Marshall, but he didn’t want to hear another one of my excuses.

  The last words he had said to me were, “I used to admire you, but that was before I realized you were such a coward. I know why you didn’t want that trial...you couldn’t stay sober that long! I’m really sorry about Rita and Audrey. It was a real tragedy, but I’m sick of watching you use that tragedy as an excuse. I loved Rita and Audrey and I’m embarrassed of what you’re doing to their memories. You’re pathetic! It’s time, past time, for you to accept what’s happened and move on with your life. I’m not saying to forget them; we’ll never, ever forget them, but Grant, they are dead and you are alive! If you ever crawl out of that bottle and decide to become a man again, give me a call. Until then, I don’t want to talk to you.”